Argonauts of the Western Pacific: An Account of Native Enterprise and Adventure in the Archipelagoes of Melanesian New Guinea

The canoe, painted and decorated, stands now ready to be launched, a source of pride to the owners and to the makers, and an object of admiration to the other beholders. A new sailing craft is not only another utility created; it is more: it is a new entity sprung into being, something with which the future destinies of the sailors will be bound up, and on which they will depend. There can be no doubt that this sentiment is also felt by the natives and expressed in their customs and behaviour. The canoe receives a personal name, it becomes an object of intense interest to the whole district. Its qualities, points of beauty, and of probable perfection or faultiness are canvassed round the fires at night. The owner and his kinsmen and fellow villagers will speak of it with the usual boasting and exaggerations, and the others will all be very keen to see it, and to watch its performances. Thus the institution of ceremonial launching is not a mere formality prescribed by custom; it corresponds to the psychological needs of the community, it rouses a great interest, and is very well attended even when the canoe belongs to a small community. When a big chief’s canoe is launched, whether that of Kasana’i or Omarakana, Olivilevi or Sinaketa, up to a thousand natives will assemble on the beach.

This festive and public display of a finished canoe, with its full paint and ornament, is not only in harmony with the natives’ sentiments towards a new sailing craft; it also agrees with the way they treat in general the results of their economic activities. Whether in gardening or in fishing, in the building of houses or in industrial achievements, there is a tendency to display the products, to arrange them, and even adorn at least certain classes of them, so as to produce a big, æsthetic effect. In fishing, there are only traces of this tendency, but in gardening, it assumes very great proportions, and the handling, arranging and display of garden produce is one of the most characteristic features of their tribal life, and it takes up much time and work.1

Soon after the painting and adorning of the canoe, a date is fixed for the ceremonial launching and trial run, the tasasoria festivities, as they are called. Word is passed to the chiefs and headmen of the neighbouring villages. Those of them who own canoes and who belong to the same Kula community have always to come with their canoes and take part in a sort of regatta held on the occasion. As the new canoe is always constructed in connection with a Kula expedition, and as the other canoes of the same Kula community have to be either done up or replaced, it is the rule that on the tasasoria day a whole fleet of brand new or renovated canoes assemble on the beach, all resplendent in fresh colours and decoration of cowrie shells and bleached pandanus streamers.

The launching itself is inaugurated with a rite of the mwasila (Kula magic), called Kaytalula wadola waga (“staining red of the mouth of the canoe”). After the natives have taken off the plaited coco-nut leaves with which the canoe is protected against the sun, the toliwaga chants a spell over some red ochre, and stains both bow and stern of the canoe. A special cowrie shell, attached to the prow-board (tabuyo) is stained at each end. After that the canoe is launched, the villagers pushing it into the water over pieces of wood transversely placed which act as slips (see Plate XXX). This is done amidst shouts and ululations, such as are made on all occasions when some piece of work has to be done in a festive and ceremonial manner, when, for instance, the harvest is brought in and given ceremonially by a man to his brother-in-law, or when a gift of yams or taro is laid down before a fisherman’s house by an inland gardener, or the return gift of fish is made.

Thus the canoe is finally launched after the long series of mingled work and ceremony, technical effort and magical rite.

After the launching is done, there takes place a feast, or, more correctly, a distribution of food (sagali) under observation of all sorts of formalities and ritual. Such a distribution is always made when the toliwaga has not built the canoe himself, and when he therefore has to repay the cutter of the canoe and his helpers. It also takes place whenever the canoe of a big chief is launched, in order to celebrate the occasion, to show off his wealth and generosity, and to give food to the many people who have been summoned to assist in the construction.

After the sagali (ceremonial distribution of food) is over, as a rule, in the afternoon, the new canoe is rigged, the mast is put up, the sail attached, and this and all the other boats make a trial run. It is not a competitive race in the strict sense of the word. The chief’s canoe, which indeed would as a rule be best and fastest, in any case always wins the race. If it did not sail fastest, the others would probably keep back. The trial run is rather a display of the new canoe, side by side with the others.

In order to give one concrete illustration of the ceremonial connected with canoe building and launching, it may be well to relate an actual event. I shall therefore describe the tasasoria, seen on the beach of Kaulukuba, in February, 1916, when the new canoe of Kasana’i was launched. Eight canoes took part in the trial run, that is, all the canoes of Kiriwina, which forms what I have called the “Kula community,” the social group who make their Kula expeditions in a body, and who have the same limits within which they carry on their exchange of valuables.

Plate XXX  

Launching of a Canoe

Nigada Bu’a, after its renovation, being pushed into the water. (See Div. I.)

Plate XXXI  

The Tasasoria on the Beach of Kaulukuba

Stepping the masts and getting the sails ready for the run. In the foreground, To’uluwa, the chief of Kiriwina, standing at the mast, supervises the rigging of Nigada Bu’a. (See Div. I)

Plate XXXII  

A Chiefs Yam House in Kasana’i

This illustrates the display of yams in the interstices between the logs of the well, and the decorations of cocoanuts, running round the gable, along the supports and the walls. This yam house was quite recently put up and its barge boards had not yet been erected. (See Div. IV.)

Plate XXXIII  

Filling a Yam House in Yalumugwa

The yams are taken from the conical heaps and put into the bwayma (store houses) by the brother-in-law (wife’s brother) of the owner. Note the decorations on the gableûthe owner being a gumguya’u (chief of lower rank). See Div. IV.

The great event which was the cause of the building and renovating of the canoes, was a Kula expedition planned by To’ulawa and his Kula community. They were to go to the East, to Kitava, to Iwa or Gawa, perhaps even to Muruwa (Woodlark Island), though with this island the natives do not carry on the Kula directly. As is usual in such cases, months before the approximate date of sailing, plans and forecasts were made, stories of previous voyages were recounted, old men dwelt on their own reminiscences and reported what they had been told by their elders of the days when iron was unknown and everyone had to sail to the East in order to get the green stone quarried in Suloga on Woodlark Island. And so, as it always happens when future events are talked over round village fires, imagination outran all bounds of probability; and the hopes and anticipations grew bigger and bigger. In the end, everyone really believed his party would go at least to the Easternmost Marshall Bennetts (Gawa), whereas, as events turned out, they did not sail beyond Kitava.

For this occasion a new canoe had to be constructed in Kasana’i, and this was done by Ibena himself, the chief of that village, a man of rank equal to the highest chief (his kinsman, in fact) but of smaller power. Ibena is a skilled builder as well as a fair carver, and there is no class of magic in which he does not profess to be versed. The canoe was built, under his guidance; he carved the boards himself, he also performed the magic, and he was, of course, the toliwaga.

In Omarakana, the canoe had to be slightly altered in construction; it had to be re-lashed and re-painted. To do this To’uluwa, the chief, had summoned a master builder and carver from the island of Kitava, the same one who a couple of years before, had built this canoe. Also a new sail had to be made for the Omarakana boat, as the old one was too small. The ceremony of tasasoria (launching and regatta) ought by rights to have been held on the beach of Kasana’i, but as its sister village, Omarakana, is so much more important, it took place on Kaulukuba, the sea-shore of the latter.

As the date approached, the whole district was alive with preparations, since the coastal villages had to put their canoes in order, while in the inland communities, new festive dresses and food had to be made ready. The food was not to be eaten, but to be offered to the chief for his sagali (ceremonial distribution). Only in Omarakana, the women had to cook for a big festive repast to be eaten on return from the tasasoria. In the Trobriands it is always a sign that a festive event is pending when all the women go in the evening to the bush to collect plenty of firewood. Next morning, this will be used for the kumkumuli, the baking of food in the ground, which is one of the forms of cooking used on festive occasions. On the evening of the tasasoria ceremony, people in Omarakana and Kasana’i were also busy with the numerous other preparations, running to the shore and back, filling baskets with yams for the sagali, getting ready their festive dress and decorations for the morrow. Festive dress means, for a woman, a new grass skirt, resplendent in fresh red, white and purple, and for the man a newly bleached, snow-white pubic leaf, made of the stalk of areca palm leaf.

Early in the morning of the appointed day, the food was packed into baskets of plaited leaf, the personal apparel on top of it, all covered as usual with folded mats and conveyed to the beach. The women carried on their heads the large baskets, shaped like big inverted bells, the men shouldered a stick with two bag-shaped baskets at each end. Other men had to carry the oars, paddles, rigging and sail, as these paraphernalia are always kept in the village. From one of the villages, one of the large, prismatic receptacles for food made of sticks was carried by several men right over the raybwag (coral ridge) to be offered to the chief of Omarakana as a share in the sagali. The whole village was astir, and on its outskirts, through the surrounding groves, parties from inland could be seen making their way rapidly to the shore. I left the village with a party of notables at about eight o’clock in the morning. After leaving the grove of fruit and palm trees which grows especially densely around the village of Omarakana, we entered between the two walls of green, the usual monotonous Trobriand road, which passes through the low scrub. Soon, emerging on a garden space, we could see, beyond a gentle declivity, the rising slope of the raybwag, a mixture of rank vegetation with monumental boulders of grey coral standing out here and there. Through this, the path led on, following in an intricate course between small precipices and towering outcrops, passing huge, ancient ficus trees, spreading around them their many trunks and aerial roots. At the top of the ridge, all of a sudden the blue sea shone through the foliage, and the roar of waves breaking on the reef struck our ears. Soon we found ourselves among the crowd assembled on the beach, near to the big boat-shed of Omarakana.

By about nine o’clock, everybody was ready on the beach. It was fully exposed to the Eastern sun, but this was not yet sufficiently high to drop its light right from above, and thus to produce that deadly effect of tropical mid-day, where the shadows instead of modelling out the details, blur every vertical surface and make everything dull and formless. The beach appeared bright and gaudy, and the lively brown bodies looked well against the background of green foliage and white sand. The natives were anointed with coco-nut oil, and decorated with flowers and facial paint. Large red hibiscus blossoms were stuck into their hair, and wreaths of the white, wonderfully scented butia flowers crowned the dense black mops. There was a good display of ebony carvings, sticks and lime spoons. There were decorated lime pots, and such objects of personal adornment as belts of red shell discs or of small cowrie shells, nose sticks (very rarely used nowadays), and other articles so well known to everybody from ethnological collections in museums, and usually called “ceremonial,” though, as said above (Chapter III, Div. III) the description “objects of parade” would be much more in agreement with the correct meaning of the words.

Such popular festivities as the one just being described are the occasions on which these objects of parade, some of which astonish us by their artistic perfection, appear in native life. Before I had opportunities to see savage art in actual display, in its proper, “living” setting, there seemed to me always to exist some incongruity between the artistic finish of such objects and the general crudity of savage life, a crudity marked precisely on the æsthetic side. One imagines greasy, dirty, naked bodies, moppy hair full of vermin, and other realistic features which make up one’s idea of the “savage,” and in some respects reality bears out imagination. As a matter of fact though, the incongruity does not exist when once one has seen native art actually displayed in its own setting. A festive mob of natives, with the wonderful golden-brown colour of their skins brought out by washing and anointing and set off by the gaudy white, red and black of facial paint, feathers and ornaments, with their exquisitely carved and polished ebony objects, with their finely worked lime pots, has a distinct elegance of its own, without striking one as grotesque or incongruous in any æsthetic detail. There is an evident harmony between their festive mood, the display of colours and forms, and the manner in which they put on and bear their ornaments.

Those who have come from a distance, and who would spoil their decorations by the long march, wash with water and anoint themselves with coco-nut grease immediately before arriving at the scene of festivities. As a rule the best paint is put on later on, when the climax of the proceedings approaches. On this occasion, after the preliminaries (distribution of food, arrival of other canoes) were over, and when the races were just going to be started, the aristocracy of Omarakana—the wives and children of To’uluwa, his relatives and himself—withdrew behind the shelters, near the boat shed, and proceeded to put on the red, white and black of full facial paint. They crushed young betel-nut, mixed it with lime, and put it on with the pestles of betel mortars; then some of the aromatic black resin (sayaku) and white lime were applied. As the habit of mirrors is not quite well established yet in the Trobriands, the painting was done by one person on the face of another, and great care and patience were displayed on both sides.

The numerous crowd spent the day without taking much refreshment—a feature strongly differentiating Kiriwinian festivities from our ideal of an entertainment or picnic. No cooking was done, and only a few bananas were eaten here and there, and green coco-nuts were drunk and eaten. But even these refreshments were consumed with great frugality.

As always on such occasions, the people collected together in sets, the visitors from each village forming a group apart. The local natives kept to their own boat houses, those of Omarakana and Kurokaiwa having their natural centres on the beach of Kaulukuba. The other visitors similarly kept together in their position on the beach, according to their local distribution; thus, men from the Northern villages would keep to the Northern section of the beach, those from the South would stick to that point of the compass, so that villages which were neighbours in reality would also be side by side on the shore. There was no mingling in the crowd, and individuals would not walk about from one group to another. The aristocrats, out of personal dignity, humble folk because of a modesty imposed by custom, would keep in their places. To’uluwa sat practically still during the whole performance, on the platform erected for this purpose, except when he went over to his boat, to trim it for the race.

The boat shed of Omarakana, round which the chief, his family and the other villagers were grouped, was the centre of all the proceedings. Under one of the palms, a fairly high platform was put up to accommodate To’uluwa. In a row in front of the sheds and shelters, there stood the prismatic food receptacles (pwata’i). They had been erected by the inhabitants of Omarakana and Kasana’i, on the previous day, and partially filled with yams. The rest had to be supplied by people from the other villages, on the day of the boat races. As the natives came to the beach on that day, village after village, they brought their contribution, and before settling down on their particular spot on the shore, they paid a visit to the chief and offered him their tributes. These would be put into one of the pwata’i. All the villages did not contribute their share, but the majority did, though some of them brought only a few baskets. One of the villages brought one complete pwata’i, filled with yams, and offered the whole to the chief.

In the meantime, the eight canoes arrived, including that of Kasana’i, which had been ceremonially launched that morning with the accompanying magical rite, on its own beach about half a mile away. The canoe of Omarakana had also been launched on this morning (Plate XXX), and the same rite performed over it. It ought to have been done by To’uluwa, the chief. As he, however, is quite incapable of remembering magical spells—in fact, he never does any of the magic which his rank and office impose on him—the rite was performed on this occasion by one of his kinsmen. This is a typical case of a rule very stringently formulated by all informants when you ask about it, yet in reality often observed with laxity. If you inquire directly, everyone will tell you that this rite, as all others of the mwasila (Kula magic) has to be done by the toliwaga. But every time when he ought to perform it, To’uluwa will find some excuse, and delegate it to another.

When all the canoes were present, as well as all the important villages, at about eleven o’clock a.m., there took place the sagali (ceremonial distribution). The food was given to people from various villages, especially such as took part in the races, or had assisted in the building of the new canoe. So we see that food contributed by all the villages before the sagali was simply redistributed among them, a considerable quantity having been added first by the chief; and this indeed is the usual procedure at a sagali. In this case, of course, the lion’s share was taken by the Kitavans who helped at the building.

After the sagali was over, the canoes were all brought up to one spot, and the natives began to prepare them for the race. The masts were stepped, the fastenings trimmed, the sails made ready (see Plate XXXI). After that the canoes all put off and gathered about half a mile off the shore, beyond the fringing reef; and at a sign given by some one on one of them, they all started. As said before, such a run is not a race properly speaking, in which the canoes would start scrupulously at the same minute, have the same distance to cover, and which would clearly show which is the fastest. In this case, it was merely, as always, a review of the boats sailing along as well as they were able, a review in which they all began to move, more or less at the same time, went in the same direction, and covered practically the same distance.

As to the time table of the events, the sagali was over before mid-day. There was a pause; and then, at about one p.m., the natives began rigging the canoes. Then all hands had a spell, and not before three p.m. were the races started. The whole affair was over by about four o’clock, and half an hour later, the boats from the other villages started to sail home, the people on the shore dispersed, so that by sunset, that is, about six o’clock, the beach was almost deserted.

Such was the tasasoria ceremony which I saw in February, 1916. It was a fine sight from the spectacular point of view. A superficial onlooker could have hardly perceived any sign of white man’s influence or interference. I was the only white man present, and besides myself only some two or three native missionary teachers were dressed in white cotton. Amongst the rest of us there could be seen sparsely a coloured rag, tied round as a neckerchief or head-dress. But otherwise there was only a swarm of naked brown bodies, shining with coco-nut oil, adorned in new festive dress, with here and there the three-coloured grass skirt of a woman (see Plates XXX and XXXI).

But alas, for one who could look below the surface and read the various symptoms of decay, deep changes would be discernible from what must have been the original conditions of such a native gathering. In fact, some three generations ago, even its appearances would have been different. The natives then would have been armed with shields and spears; some would have borne decorative weapons, such as the big sword-clubs of hard wood, or massive ebony cudgels, or small throwing-sticks. A closer inspection would have shown many more decorations and ornaments, such as nose-sticks, finely carved lime spatulæ, gourds with burnt-in designs, some of which are now out of use, or those used of inferior workmanship or without decoration.

But other and much deeper changes have taken place in the social conditions. Three generations ago both the canoes in the water and the people on the shore would have been more numerous. As mentioned above, in the olden days there would have been some twenty canoes in Kiriwina, as against eight at the present time. Again, the far stronger influence of the chief, and the much greater relative importance of the event would have attracted a larger proportion out of the then more numerous population. Nowadays, other interests, such as diving for pearls, working on white man’s plantations, divert the native attention, while many events connected with Missions, Government and trading, eclipse the importance of old customs.

Again, the people on the shore would have had to adhere in olden days even more closely to the local distribution, men of the same village community keeping together still more strictly, and looking with mistrust and perhaps even hostility, at other groups, especially those with whom they had hereditary feuds. The general tension would often be broken by squabbles or even miniature fights, especially at the moment of dispersing, and on the way home.

One of the important features of the performance, and the one of which the natives think perhaps most—the display of food—would also have been quite different. The chief whom I saw sitting on a platform surrounded by a few wives only, and with small attendance would, under the old conditions, have been the owner of thrice as many wives and consequently relatives-in-law, and as it is these from whom he derives most of his income, he would have provided a much bigger sagali than he is able to do nowadays.

Three generations ago the whole event would have been much more solemn and dramatic to the natives. The very distance to the neighbouring island of Kitava is nowadays dwarfed. In the past, it would not, as now, be quickly obliterated by a white man’s steam-launch. Then, the canoes on the beach were the only means of arriving there, and their value in the eyes of the natives must have, therefore, been even higher, although they think so much of them now. The outlines of the distant island and the small fleet of canoes on the beach formed for the natives the first act of a big over seas expedition, an event of far deeper significance to them then than now. A rich haul of arm-shells, the arrival of many much-coveted utilities, the bringing back of news from the far-off land, all this meant much more in older days than it can mean at present. War, dancing, and the Kula supplied tribal life with its romantic and heroic elements. Nowadays, with war prohibited by the Government, with dancing discredited by missionary influence, the Kula alone remains, and even that is stripped of some of its glamour.

Before we proceed to the next stage, we must pause in following the events of a Kula expedition, and consider one or two points of more general importance. I have touched in the narrative, but not dwelt upon, certain problems of the sociology of work. At the outset of the preceding chapter it was mentioned that canoe-building requires a definite organisation of work, and in fact we saw that in the course of construction, various kinds of labour were employed, and more especially towards the end, much use was made of communal labour. Again, we saw that during the launching ceremony payment was given by the owner to the expert and his helpers. These two points therefore, the organisation of labour and communal labour in particular, and the system of payment for experts’ work must be here developed.

Organisation of Labour.—First of all, it is important to realise that a Kiriwinian is capable of working well, efficiently and in a continuous manner. But he must work under an effective incentive: he must be prompted by some duty imposed by tribal standards, or he must be lured by ambitions and values also dictated by custom and tradition. Gain, such as is often the stimulus for work in more civilised communities, never acts as an impulse to work under the original native conditions. It succeeds very badly, therefore, when a white man tries to use this incentive to make a native work.

This is the reason why the traditional view of the lazy and indolent native is not only a constant refrain of the average white settler, but finds its way into good books of travel, and even serious ethnographic records. With us, labour is, or was till fairly recently, a commodity sold as any other, in the open market. A man accustomed to think in terms of current economic theory will naturally apply the conceptions of supply and demand to labour, and he applies them therefore to native labour. The untrained person does the same, though in less sophisticated terms, and as they see that the native will not work well for the white man, even if tempted by considerable payment and treated fairly well, they conclude that his capacity for labour is very small. This error is due to the same cause which lies at the bottom of all our misconceptions about people of different cultures. If you remove a man from his social milieu, you eo ipso deprive him of almost all his stimuli to moral steadfastness and economic efficiency and even of interest in life. If then you measure him by moral, legal or economic standards, also essentially foreign to him, you cannot but obtain a caricature in your estimate.

But the natives are not only capable of energetic, continuous and skilful work; their social conditions also make it possible for them to employ organised labour. At the beginning of Chapter IV, the sociology of canoe-building was given in outline, and now, after the details of its successive stages have been filled in, it is possible to confirm what has been said there, and draw some conclusions as to this organisation of labour. And first, as we are using this expression so often, I must insist again on the fact that the natives are capable of it, and that this contention is not a truism, as the following considerations should show. The just mentioned view of the lazy, individualistic and selfish savage, who lives on the bounties of nature as they fall ripe and ready for him, implicitly precludes the possibility of his doing effective work, integrated into an organised effort by social forces. Again, the view, almost universally accepted by specialists, is that the lowest savages are in the pre-economic stage of individualistic search for food, whereas the more developed ones, such as the Trobrianders, for instance, live at the stage of isolated household economy. This view also ignores, when it does not deny explicitly, the possibility of socially organised labour.

The view generally held is that, in native communities each individual works for himself, or members of a household work so as to provide each family with the necessities of life. Of course, a canoe, even a masawa, could obviously be made by the members of a household, though with less efficiency and in a longer time. So that there is a priori nothing to foretell whether organised labour, or the unaided efforts of an individual or a small group of people should be used in the work. As a matter of fact, we have seen in canoe-building a number of men engaged in performing each a definite and difficult task, though united to one purpose. The tasks were differentiated in their sociological setting; some of the workers were actually to own the canoe; others belonged to a different community, and did it only as an act of service to the chief. Some worked in order to derive direct benefit from the use of the canoe, others were to be paid. We saw also that the work of felling, of scooping, of decorating, would in some cases be performed by various men, or it might be performed by one only. Certainly the minute tasks of lashing, caulking and painting, as well as sail-making, were done by communal labour as opposed to individual. And all these different tasks were directed towards one aim: the providing the chief or headman with the title of ownership of a canoe, and his whole community with its use.

It is clear that this differentiation of tasks, co-ordinated to a general purpose, requires a well developed social apparatus to back it up, and that on the other hand, this social mechanism must be associated and permeated with economic elements. There must be a chief, regarded as representative of a group; he must have certain formal rights and privileges, and a certain amount of authority, and also he must dispose of part of the wealth of the community. There must also be a man or men with knowledge sufficient to direct and co-ordinate the technical operations. All this is obvious. But it must be clearly set forth that the real force which binds all the people and ties them down in their tasks is obedience to custom, to tradition.

Every man knows what is expected from him, in virtue of his position, and he does it, whether it means the obtaining of a privilege, the performance of a task, or the acquiescence in a status quo. He knows that it always has been thus, and thus it is all around him, and thus it always must remain. The chief’s authority, his privileges, the customary give and take which exist between him and the community, all that is merely, so to speak, the mechanism through which the force of tradition acts. For there is no organised physical means by which those in authority could enforce their will in a case like this. Order is kept by direct force of everybody’s adhesion to custom, rules and laws, by the same psychological influences which in our society prevent a man of the world doing something which is not “the right thing.” The expression “might is right” would certainly not apply to Trobriand society. “Tradition is right, and what is right has might”—this rather is the rule governing the social forces in Boyowa, and I dare say in almost all native communities at this stage of culture.

All the details of custom, all the magical formulæ, the whole fringe of ceremonial and rite which accompany canoe-building, all these things add weight to the social scheme of duties. The importance of magical ideas and rites as integrating forces has been indicated at the outset of this description. It is easy to see how all the appurtenances of ceremony, that is, magic, decoration, and public attendance welded together into one whole with labour, serve to put order and organisation into it.

Another point must be enlarged upon somewhat more. I have spoken of organised labour, and of communal labour. These two conceptions are not synonymous, and it is well to keep them apart. As already defined, organised labour implies the co-operation of several socially and economically different elements. It is quite another thing, however, when a number of people are engaged side by side, performing the same work, without any technical division of labour, or social differentiation of function. Thus, the whole enterprise of canoe-building is, in Kiriwina, the result of organised labour. But the work of some twenty to thirty men, who side by side do the lashing or caulking of the canoe, is communal labour. This latter form of work has a great psychological advantage. It is much more stimulating and more interesting, and it allows of emulation, and therefore of a better quality of work. For one or two men, it would require about a month to do the work which twenty to thirty men can do in a day. In certain cases, as in the pulling of the heavy log from the jungle to the village, the joining of forces is almost indispensable. True, the canoe could be scooped out in the raybwag, and then a few men might be able to pull it along, applying some skill. But it would entail great hardships. Thus, in some cases, communal labour is of extreme importance, and in all casesit furthers the course of work considerably. Sociologically, it is important, because it implies mutual help, exchange of services, and solidarity in work within a wide range.

Communal labour is an important factor in the tribal economy of the Trobriand natives. They resort to it in the building of living-huts and storehouses, in certain forms of industrial work, and in the transport of things, especially at harvest time, when great quantities of produce have to be shifted from one village to another, often over a great distance. In fishing, when several canoes go out together and fish each for itself, then we cannot speak of communal labour. When on the other hand, they fish in one band, each canoe having an appointed task, as is sometimes done, then we have to do with organised labour. Communal labour is also based upon the duties of urigubu, or relatives-in-law. That is, a man’s relatives-in-law have to assist him, whenever he needs their co-operation. In the case of a chief, there is an assistance on a grand scale, and whole villages will turn out. In the case of a commoner, only a few people will help. There is always a distribution of food after the work has been done, but this can hardly be considered as payment, for is is not proportional to the work each individual does.

By far the most important part communal labour has to play, is in gardening. There are as many as five different forms of communal labour in the gardens, each called by a different name, and each distinct in its sociological nature. When a chief or headman summons the members of a village community, and they agree to do their gardens communally, it is called tamgogula. When this is decided upon, and the time grows near for cutting the scrub for new gardens, a festive eating is held on the central place, and there all men go, and takayva (cut down) the scrub on the chief’s plot. After that, they cut in turn the garden plots of everyone, all men working on the one plot during a day, and getting on that day food from the owner. This procedure is reproduced at each successive stage of gardening; at the fencing, planting of yams, bringing in supports, and finally, at the weeding, which is done by women. At certain stages, the gardening is often done by each one working for himself, namely at the clearing of the gardens after they are burnt, at the cleaning of the roots of yams when they begin to produce tubers, and at harvesting.

There are, as a rule, several communal feasts during the progress, and one at the end of a tamgogula period. Gardens are generally worked in this fashion, in years when big ceremonial dancing or some other tribal festivity is held. This usually makes the work very late, and it has then to be done quickly and energetically, and communal labour has evidently been found suitable for this purpose.

When several villages agree to work their gardens by communal labour, this is called lubalabisa. The two forms do not differ very much except by name, and also by the fact that, in the latter form, more than one chief or headman has to direct the process. The lubalabisa would only be held when there are several small villages, clustered together, as is the case in the village compounds of Sinaketa, Kavataria, Kabwaku or Yalaka.

When a chief or headman, or man of wealth and influence summons his dependents or his relatives-in-law to work for him, the name kabutu is given to the proceedings. The owner has to give food to all those co-operating. A kabutu may be instituted for one bit of gardening, for example, a headman may invite his villagers to do his cutting for him, or his planting or his fencing. It is clear that whenever communal labour is required by one man in the construction of his house or yam store, the labour is of the kabutu type, and it is thus called by the natives.

The fourth form of communal labour is called ta’ula, and takes place whenever a number of villagers agree to do one stage of gardening in common, on the basis of reciprocity. No great or special payments take place. The same sort of communal labour extending over all stages of gardening, is called kari’ula, and it may be counted as the fifth form of communal labour in the gardens. Finally, a special word, tavile’i, is used when they wish to say that the gardens are done by individual labour, and that everyone works on his own plot. It is a rule, however, that the chief’s plots, especially those of an influential chief of high rank, are always gardened by communal labour, and this latter is also used with regard to certain privileged plots, on which, in a given year, the garden magic is performed first, and with the greatest display.

Thus there is a number of distinct forms of communal labour, and they show many more interesting features which cannot be mentioned in this short outline. The communal labour used in canoe-building is obviously of the kabutu type. In having a canoe made, the chief is able to summon big numbers of the inhabitants of a whole district, the headman of an important village receives the assistance of his whole community, whereas a man of small importance, such as one of the smaller headmen of Sinaketa or Vakuta, would have to rely on his fellow villagers and relations-in-law. In all these cases, it would be the call of duty, laid down by custom, which would make them work. The payment would be of secondary importance, though in certain circumstances, it would be a considerable one. The distribution of food during launching forms such a payment, as we have seen in Division I of this chapter. In olden days, a meal of Pigs, an abundance of betel-nut and coco-nut and sugar cane would have made a veritable feast for the natives.

Another point of importance from the economic aspect is the payment given by the chief to the builder of the canoe. The canoe of Omarakana was made, as we saw, for To’uluwa by a specialist from Kitava, who was well paid with a quantity of food, pigs and vaygua (native valuables). Nowadays, when the power of the chiefs is broken, when they have much less wealth than formerly to back up their position, and cannot use even the little force they ever did and when the general breaking up of custom has undermined the traditional deference and loyalty of their subjects, the production of canoes and other forms of wealth by the specialist for the chief is only a vestige of what it once was. In olden days it was, economically, one of the most important features of the Trobriand tribal life. In the construction of the canoe, Which a chief in olden days would never build himself, we meet with an example of this.

Here it will be enough to say that whenever a canoe is built for a chief or headman by a builder, this has to be paid for by an initial gift of food. Then, as long as the man is at work, provisional gifts of food are given him. If he lives away from home, like the Kitavan builder on the beach of Omarakana, he is fed by the toliwaga and supplied with dainties such as coco-nut, betel-nut, pigs’ flesh, fish and fruits. When he works in his own home, the toliwaga will bring him choice food at frequent intervals, inspecting, as he does so, the progress of the work. This feeding of the worker or bringing him extra choice food is called vakapula. After the canoe is finished, a substantial gift is given to the master-builder during the ceremonial distribution of food. The proper amount would be a few hundred basketfuls of yams, a pig or two, bunches of betel-nut, and a great number of coco-nuts; also, a large stone blade or a pig, or a belt of red shell discs, and some smaller vaygua of the non-Kula type.

In Vakuta, where chieftainship is not very distinct, and the difference in wealth less great, a toliwaga also has to feed the workers during the time of hollowing out, preparing, and building a canoe. Then, after the caulking, some fifty basketfuls are given to the builder. After the launching and trial run, this builder gives a rope, symbol of the canoe, to his wife, who, blowing the conch shell, presents the rope to the toliwaga. He, on the spot, gives her a bunch of betel or bananas. Next day, a considerable present of food, known as yomelu, is given by the chief, and then at the next harvest, another fifty or sixty basketfuls of yams as karibudaboda or closing up gift.

I have chosen the data from two concrete cases, one noted in Kiriwina, the other in Vakuta—that is, in the district where the chief’s power is greatest, and in that where there never has been more than a rudimentary distance in rank and wealth between chief and commoner. In both cases there is a payment, but in Kiriwina the payment is greater. In Vakuta, it is obviously rather an exchange of services, whereas in Kiriwina the chief maintains, as well as rewards his builder. In both cases we have the exchange of skilled services against maintenance by supply of food.

We shall pass now to the next ceremonial and customary performance in the succession of Kula events, to the display of a new canoe to the friends and relatives of the toliwaga. This custom is called kabigidoya. The tasasoria (launching and trial run) is obviously at the same time the last act of ship-building, and by its associated magical rite, by the foretaste of sailing, it is also one of the beginning stages of the Kula. The kabigidoya being a presentation of the new canoe, belongs to the series of building ceremonials; but in so far as it is a provisioning trip, it belongs to the Kula.

The canoe is manned with the usual crew, it is rigged and fitted out with all its paraphernalia, such as paddles, baler, and conch shell, and it sets out on a short trip to the beaches of the neighbouring villages. When the canoe belongs to a compound settlement like Sinaketa, then it will stop at every beach of the sister villages. The conch shell is blown, and people in the village will know “The kabigidoya men have arrived.” The crew remains in the canoe, the toliwaga goes ashore, taking one paddle with him. He goes to the house of his fellow-headman, and thrusts the paddle into the frame of the house, with the words: “I offer thee thy bisila (pandanus streamer); take a vaygua (valuable), catch a pig and break the head of my new canoe.” To which the local headman will answer—giving a present: “This is the katuvisala dabala (the breaking of the head) of thy new canoe!” This is an example of the quaint, customary wording used in the exchange of gifts, and in other ceremonial transactions. The bisila (pandanus streamer) is often used as a symbol for the canoe, in magical spells, in customary expressions, and in idiomatic terms of speech. Bleached pandanus streamers are tied to the mast, rigging and sail; a specially medicated strip is often attached to the prow of the canoe to give it speed, and there is also other bisila magic to make a district partner inclined for Kula.

The gifts given are not always up to the standard of those mentioned in the above customary phrase. The kabigidoya, especially from the neighbouring villages, often brings only a few mats, a few dozen coco-nuts, some betel-nut, a couple of paddles, and such articles of minor value. And even in these trifles there is not much gain from the short kabigidoya. For as we know, at the beginning of the Kula all the canoes of, say, Sinaketa or Kiriwina are either rebuilt or renewed. What therefore one canoe receives on its kabigidoya round, from all the others, will have to be more or less returned to them, when they in their turn kabigidoya one after the other. Soon afterwards, however, on an appointed day, all the canoes sail together on a visit to the other districts, and on this kabigidoya, they receive as a rule much more substantial presents, and these they will only have to return much later, after a year or two, when the visited district will come back to them on their own kabigidoya. Thus, when the canoes of Kirwina are built and renovated for a big Kula expedition, they will sail South along the coast, and stop first in Olivilevi, receiving presents from the chief there, and walking on a round of the inland villages of Luba. Then they will proceed to the next sea village, that of Wawela, leaving their canoes there, and going from there across to Sinaketa. Thence they proceed still further South, to Vakuta. The villages on the Lagoon, such as Sinaketa and Vakuta, will return these visits, sailing North along the Western shore on the Lagoon side. Then they stop at Tukwaukwa or Kavataria, and from there walk inland to Kiriwina, where they receive presents (see Map IV, p. 50).

The kabigidoya trips of the Vakutans and Sinaketans are more important than those of the Northern or Eastern districts, because they are combined with a preliminary trade, in which the visitors replenish their stock of goods, which they will need presently on their trip South to Dobu. The reader will remember that Kuboma is the industrial district of the Trobriands, where are manufactured most of the useful articles, for which these islands are renowned in the whole of Eastern New Guinea. It lies in the Northern half of the island, and from Kiriwina it is only a few miles walk, but to reach it from Sinaketa or Vakuta it is necessary to sail North. The Southern villages therefore go to Kavataria, and from there walk inland to Bwoytalu, Luya, Yalaka and Kadukwaykela, where they make their purchases. The inhabitants of these villages also when they hear that the Sinaketans are anchored in Kavataria, bring their wares to the canoes.

A brisk trade is carried on during the day or two that the Sinaketans remain in Kavataria. The natives of Kuboma are always eager to buy yams, as they live in an unfertile district, and devote themselves more to industrial productions than to gardening. And they are still more eager to acquire coco-nuts and betel-nut, of which they have a great scarcity. They desire besides to receive in exchange for their produce the red shell discs manufactured in Sinaketa and Vakuta, and the turtle-shell rings. For objects of great value, the Sinaketans would give the big clay pots which they receive directly from the Amphletts. For that they obtain different articles according to the villages with which they are exchanging. From Bwoytalu, they get the wonderfully fashioned and decorated wooden dishes of various sizes, depths and finish, made out of either hard or soft wood; from Bwaytelu, Wabutuma and Buduwaylaka, armlets of plaited fern fibre, and wooden combs; from Buduwaylaka, Yalaka, and Kadukwaykela, lime pots of different qualities and sizes. From the villages of Tilataula, the district North-east of Kuboma, the polished axe blades used to be acquired in olden days.

I shall not enter into the technicalities of this exchange, nor shall I give here the approximate list of prices which obtain. We shall have to follow the traded goods further on to Dobu, and there we shall see how they change hands again, and under what conditions. This will allow us to compare the prices and thus to gauge the nature of the transaction as a whole. It will be better therefore to defer all details till then.

Here, however, its seems necessary to make another digression from the straight narrative of the Kula, and give an outline of the various forms of trade and exchange as we find them in the Trobriands. Indeed, the main theme of this volume is the Kula, a form of exchange, and I would be untrue to my chief principle of method, were I to give the description of one form of exchange torn out of its most intimate context; that is, were I to give an account of the Kula without giving at least a general outline of the forms of Kiriwinian payments and gifts and barter.

In Chapter II, speaking of some features of Trobriand tribal life, I was led to criticise the current views of primitive economic man. They depict him as a being indolent, independent, happy-go-lucky, yet at the same time governed exclusively by strictly rational and utilitarian motives, and logical and consistent in his behaviour. In this chapter again, in Division II, I pointed out another fallacy implied in this conception, a fallacy which declares that a savage is capable only of very simple, unorganised and unsystematic forms of labour. Another error more or less explicitly expressed in all writings on primitive economics, is that the natives possess only rudimentary forms of trade and exchange; that these forms play no essential part in the tribal life, are carried on only spasmodically and at rare intervals, and as necessity dictates.

Whether we have to deal with the wide-spread fallacy of the primitive Golden Age, characterised mainly by the absence of any distinction between mine and thine; or whether we take the more sophisticated view, which postulates stages of individual search for food, and of isolated household catering; or if we consider for the moment the numerous theories which see nothing in primitive economics but simple pursuits for the maintenance of existence—in none of these can we find reflected even a hint of the real state of affairs as found in the Trobriands; namely, that the whole tribal life is permeated by a constant give and take; that every ceremony, every legal and customary act is done to the accompaniment of material gift and counter gift; that wealth, given and taken, is one of the main instruments of social organisation, of the power of the chief, of the bonds of kinship, and of relationship in law.2

These views on primitive trade, prevalent though erroneous, appear no doubt quite consistent, that is, if we grant certain premises. Now these premises seem plausible, and yet they are false, and it will be good to have a careful look at them so that we can discard them once and for all. They are based on some sort of reasoning, such as the following one: If, in tropical conditions, there is a plenty of all utilities, why trouble about exchanging them? Then, why attach any value to them? Is there any reason for striving after wealth, where everyone can have as much as he wants without much effort? Is there indeed any room for value, if this latter is the result of scarcity as well as utility, in a community, in which all the useful things are plentiful? On the other hand, in those savage communities where the necessities of life are scarce, there is obviously no possibility of accumulating them, and thus creating wealth.

Plate XXXIV  

Display of Pigs and Yams at a Distribution (Sagali)

All food to be given away is several times displayed before, during, and after the ceremony. Exhibiting of food in large, prismatic receptacles (pwata’i) is one of the typical features of Trobriand custom. (See Div. IV.)

Plate XXXV  

Communal Cooking of Mona (Taro Dumplings)

Large clay-pots, imported from the Amphletts, are used for the purpose; in these, coco-nut oil is brought to a boil, pieces of pounded taro being thrown in afterwards, while a man stirs the contents with a long, decorated, wooden ladle.

Plate XXXVI  

Scene in the Wasi (Ceremonial Exchange of Vegetables for Fish)

The inland party have brought their yams by boat to the village of Oburaku, which is practically inaccessible by land. They are putting up the vegetables into square, wooden crates in order to carry them ceremonially and to place each before the partner’s house.

Plate XXXVII  

Vava, Direct Barter of Vegetables for Fish

In the picture, the inland natives exchange bundles of taro directly for fish, without observing the rites and ceremonies obligatory in a wasi. (See Div. VI)

Again, since, in savage communities, whether bountifully or badly provided for by nature, everyone has the same free access to all the necessities, is there any need to exchange them? Why give a basketful of fruit or vegetables, if everybody has practically the same quantity and the same means of procuring it? Why make a present of it, if it cannot be returned except in the same form?3

There are two main sources of error at the bottom of this faulty reasoning. The first is that the relation of the savage to material goods is a purely rational one, and that consequently, in his conditions, there is no room for wealth or value. The second erroneous assumption is that there can be no need for exchange if anyone and everyone can, by industry and skill, produce all that represents value through its quantity or its quality.

As regards the first proposition, it is not true either with regard to what may be called primary wealth, that is, food stuffs, nor with regard to articles of luxury, which are by no means absent in Trobriand society. First as to food-stuffs, they are not merely regarded by the natives as nourishment, not merely valued because of their utility. They accumulate them not so much because they know that yams can be stored and used for a future date, but also because they like to display their possessions in food. Their yam houses are built so that the quantity of the food can be gauged, and its quality ascertained through the wide interstices between the beams (see Plates XXXII and XXXIII). The yams are so arranged that the best specimens come to the outside and are well visible. Special varieties of yams, which grow up to two metres length, and weigh as much as several kilograms each, are framed in wood and decorated with paint, and hung on the outside of the yam houses. That the right to display food is highly valued can be seen from the fact that in villages where a chief of high rank resides, the commoners’ storehouses have to be closed up with coco-nut leaves, so as not to compete with his.

All this shows that the accumulation of food is not only the result of economic foresight, but also prompted by the desire of display and enhancement of social prestige through possession of wealth.

When I speak about ideas underlying accumulation of food stuffs in the Trobriands, I refer to the present, actual psychology of the natives, and I must emphatically declare that I am not offering here any conjectures about the “origins” or about the “history” of the customs and their psychology, leaving this to theoretical and comparative research.

Another institution which illuminates the native ideas about food storage is the magic called vilamalya, performed over the crops after harvest, and at one or two other stages. This magic is intended to make the food last long. Before the store-house is filled with yams, the magician places a special kind of heavy stone on the floor, and recites a long magical spell. On the evening of the same day, after the food houses have been filled, he spits over them with medicated ginger root, and he also performs a rite over all the roads entering into the village, and over the central place. All this will make food plentiful in that village, and will make the supplies last long. But, and this is the important point for us, this magic is conceived to act, not on the food, but on the inhabitants of the village. It makes their appetites poor, it makes them, as the natives put it, inclined to eat wild fruit of the bush, the mango and bread fruit of the village grove, and refuse to eat yams, or at least be satisfied with very little. They will boast that when this magic is performed well, half of the yams will rot away in the storehouses, and be thrown on the wawa, the rubbish heap at the back of the houses, to make room for the new harvest. Here again we meet the typical idea that the main aim of accumulating food is to keep it exhibited in the yam houses till it rots, and then can be replaced by a new étalage.

The filling of the storehouses involves a double display of food, and a good deal of ceremonial handling. When the tubers are taken out of the ground they are first displayed in the gardens. A shed of poles is erected, and covered with taitu vine, which is thrown thickly over it. In such arbours, a circle is pegged out on the ground, and within this the taitu (the ordinary small yams of the Trobriands which form the staple harvest) are carefully piled up into a conical heap. A great deal of care is lavished on this task, the biggest are selected, scrupulously cleaned, and put on the outside of the heap. After a fortnight or more of keeping the yams in the garden, where they are much admired by visiting parties, the owner of the garden plot summons a party of friends or relatives-in-law, and these transport them into a village. As we know already, from Chapter II, such yams will be offered to the owner’s sister’s husband. It is to his village that they are brought, where again they are displayed in conical heaps, placed before his yam house. Only after they have thus remained for several days—sometimes up to a fortnight—are they put into the storehouse (see Plate XXXIII).

Indeed, it would be enough for anyone to see how the natives handle the yams, how they admire big tubers, how they pick out freaks and sports and exhibit them, to realise that there is a deep, socially standardised sentiment centring round this staple product of their gardens. In many phases of their ceremonial life, big displays of food form the central feature. Extensive mortuary distributions called sagali, are, in one of their aspects, enormous exhibitions of food, connected with their re-apportionment (see Plate XXXIV). At harvest of the early yams (kuvi) there is an offering of first fruits to the memory of the recently dead. At the later, main harvest of taitu (small yams), the first tubers are dug out ceremonially brought into the village and admired by the whole community. Food contests between two villages at harvest, in olden days often followed by actual fighting, are also one of the characteristic features which throw light on the natives’ attitude towards edible wealth. In fact, one could almost speak of a “cult of food” among these natives, in so far as food is the central object of most of their public ceremonies.

In the preparation of food, it must be noted that many taboos are associated with cooking, and especially with the cooking pots. The wooden dishes on which the natives serve their food are called kaboma, which means “tabooed wood.” The act of eating is as a rule strictly individual. People eat within their family circles, and even when there is public ceremonial cooking of the taro pudding (mona) in the big clay pots, especially tabooed for this purpose (see Plate XXXV), they do not eat in one body, but in small groups. A clay pot is carried into the different parts of the village, and men from that part squat round it and eat, followed afterwards by the women. Sometimes again the pudding is taken out, placed on wooden dishes, and eaten within the family.

I cannot enter here into the many details of what could be called the social psychology of eating, but it is important to note that the centre of gravity of the feast lies, not in the eating, but in the display and ceremonial preparation of the food (see Plate XXXV). When a pig is to be killed, which is a great culinary and festive event, it will be first carried about, and shown perhaps in one or two villages; then roasted alive, the whole village and neighbours enjoying the spectacle and the squeals of the animal. It is then ceremonially, and with a definite ritual, cut into pieces and distributed. But the eating of it is a casual affair; it will take place either within a hut, or else people will just cook a piece of flesh and eat it on the road, or walking about in the village. The relics of a feast such as pigs’ jaws and fish tails, however, are often collected and displayed in houses or yam stores.4

The quantity of food eaten, whether in prospect or retrospect, is what matters most. “We shall eat, and eat till we vomit,” is a stock phrase, often heard at feasts, intended to express enjoyment of the occasion, a close parallel to the pleasure felt at the idea of stores rotting away in the yam house. All this shows that the social act of eating and the associated conviviality are not present in the minds or customs of the Trobrianders, and what is socially enjoyed is the common admiration of fine and plentiful food, and the knowledge of its abundance. Naturally, like all animals, human or otherwise, civilised or savage, the Trobrianders enjoy their eating as one of the chief pleasures of life, but this remains an individual act, and neither its performance nor the sentiments attached to it have been socialised.

It is this indirect sentiment, rooted of course in reality in the pleasures of eating, which makes for the value of food in the eyes of the natives. This value again makes accumulated food a symbol, and a vehicle of power. Hence the need for storing and displaying it. Value is not the result of utility and rarity, intellectually compounded, but is the result of a sentiment grown round things, which, through satisfying human needs, are capable of evoking emotions.

The value of manufactured objects of use must also be explained through man’s emotional nature, and not by reference to his logical construction of utilitarian views. Here, however, I think that the explanation must take into account, not so much the user of these objects, as the workman who produces them. These natives are industrious, and keen workers. They do not work under the spur of necessity, or to gain their living, but on the impulse of talent and fancy, with a high sense and enjoyment of their art, which they often conceive as the result of magical inspiration. This refers especially to those who produce objects of high value, and who are always good craftsmen and are fond of their workmanship. Now these native artists have a keen appreciation of good material, and of perfection in craft. When they find a specially good piece of material it lures them on to lavish on it an excess of labour, and to produce things too good to be used, but only so much the more desirable for possession.

The careful manner of working, the perfection of craftmanship, the discrimination in material, the inexhaustible patience in giving the final touches, have been often noted by those who have seen natives at work. These observations have also come under the notice of some theoretical economists, but it is necessary to see these facts in their bearing upon the theory of value. That is, namely, that this loving attitude towards material and work must produce a sentiment of attachment to rare materials and well-worked objects, and that this must result in their being valued. Value will be attached to rare forms of such materials as the craftsman generally uses: classes of shell which are scarce, lending themselves especially to fashioning and polishing; kinds of wood which are also rare, like ebony; and more particularly, special varieties of that stone out of which implements are made.5

We can now compare our results with the fallacious views on Primitive Economic Man, sketched out at the beginning of this Division. We see that value and wealth exist, in spite of abundance of things, that indeed this abundance is valued for its own sake. Great quantities are produced beyond any possible utility they could possess, out of mere love of accumulation for its own sake; food is allowed to rot, and though they have all they could desire in necessities, yet the natives want always more, to serve in its character of wealth. Again, in manufactured objects, and more especially in objects of the vaygu’a type (comp. Chapter III, Div. III), it is not rarity within utility which creates value, but a rarity sought out by human skill within the workable materials. In other words, not those things are valued, which being useful or even indispensable are hard to get, since all the necessities of life are within easy reach of the Trobriand Islander. But such an article is valued where the workman, having found specially fine or sportive material, has been induced to spend a disproportionate amount of labour on it. By doing so, he creates an object which is a kind of economic monstrosity, too good, too big, too frail, or too overcharged with ornament to be used, yet just because of that, highly valued.

Thus the first assumption is exploded, “that there is no room for wealth or value in native societies.” What about the other assumption, namely, “That there is no need to exchange if anyone can by industry and skill, produce all that represents value through its quantity or its quality?” This assumption is confuted by realising a fundamental fact of native usage and psychology: the love of give and take for its own sake; the active enjoyment in possession of wealth, through handing it over.

In studying any sociological questions in the Trobriands, in describing the ceremonial side of tribal life, or religion and magic, we constantly meet with this give and take, with exchange of gifts and payments. I had occasion several times to mention this general feature, and in the short outline of the Trobriand sociology in Chapter II, I gave some examples of it. Even a walk across the island, such as we imagined in that chapter, would reveal to an open-eyed Ethnographer this economic truth. He would see visiting parties—women carrying big food baskets on their head, men with loads on their shoulders—and on inquiring he would learn that these were gifts to be presented under one of the many names they bear, in fulfilment of some social obligation. Offerings of first fruits are given to the chief or to relatives-in-law, when the mango or bread fruit or sugar cane are ripe. Big quantities of sugar cane being borne to a chief, carried by some twenty to thirty men running along the road, produce the impressions of a tropical Birnam Wood moving through the jungle. At harvest time all the roads are full of big parties of men carrying food, or returning with empty baskets. From the far North of Kiriwina a party will have to run for some twelve miles to the creek of Tukwa’ukwa, get into canoes, punt for miles along the shallow Lagoon, and have another good walk inland from Sinaketa; and all this is in order to fill the yam house of a man who could do it quite well for himself, if it were not that he is under obligation to give all the harvest to his sister’s husband! Displays of gifts associated with marriage, with sagali (food distributions), with payments for magic, all these are some of the most picturesque characteristics of the Trobriand garden, road and village, and must impress themselves upon even a superficial observer.

The second fallacy, that man keeps all he needs and never spontaneously gives it away, must therefore be completely discarded. Not that the natives do not possess a strongly retentive tendency. To imagine that they differ from other human beings in this, would be to fall out of one fallacy into the opposite one also already mentioned, namely that there is a sort of primitive communism among the natives. On the contrary, just because they think so much of giving, the distinction between mine and thine is not obliterated but enhanced; for the presents are by no means given haphazardly, but practically always in fulfilment of definite obligations, and with a great deal of formal punctilio. The very fundamental motive of giving, the vanity of a display of possession and power, a limine rules out any assumption of communistic tendencies or institutions. Not in all cases, but in many of them, the handing over of wealth is the expression of the superiority of the giver over the recipient. In others, it represents subordination to a chief, or a kinship relation or relationship-in-law. And it is important to realise that in almost all forms of exchange in the Trobriands, there is not even a trace of gain, nor is there any reason for looking at it from the purely utilitarian and economic standpoint, since there is no enhancement of mutual utility through the exchange.

Thus, it is quite a usual thing in the Trobriands for a type of transaction to take place in which A gives twenty baskets of yams to B, receiving for it a small polished blade, only to have the whole transaction reversed in a few weeks’ time. Again, at a certain stage of mortuary ritual, a present of valuables is given, and on the same day later on, the identical articles are returned to the giver. Cases like that described in the kabigidoya custom (Div. III of this chapter), where each owner of a new canoe made a round of all the others, each thus giving away again what he receives, are typical. In the wasi—exchange of fish for yams, to be described presently—through a practically useless gift, a burdensome obligation is imposed, and one might speak of an increase of burdens rather than an increase of utilities.

The view that the native can live in a state of individual search for food, or catering for his own household only, in isolation from any interchange of goods, implies a calculating, cold egotism, the possibility of enjoyment by man of utilities for their sake. This view, and all the previously criticised assumptions, ignore the fundamental human impulse to display, to share, to bestow. They ignore the deep tendency to create social ties through exchange of gifts. Apart from any consideration as to whether the gifts are necessary or even useful, giving for the sake of giving is one of the most important features of Trobriand sociology, and, from its very general and fundamental nature, I submit that it is a universal feature of all primitive societies.

I have dwelt at length on economic facts which on the surface are not directly connected with the Kula. But if we realise that in these facts we may be able to read the native’s attitude towards wealth and value, their importance for the main theme becomes obvious. The Kula is the highest and the most dramatic expression of the native’s conception of value, and if we want to understand all the customs and actions of the Kula in their real bearings we must, first and foremost, grasp the psychology that lies at its basis.

I have on purpose spoken of forms of exchange, of gifts and counter-gifts, rather than of barter or trade, because, although there exist forms of barter pure and simple, there are so many transitions and gradations between that and simple gift, that it is impossible to draw any fixed line between trade on the one hand, and exchange of gifts on the other. Indeed, the drawing of any lines to suit our own terminology and our own distinctions is contrary to sound method. In order to deal with these facts correctly it is necessary to give a complete survey of all forms of payment or present. In this survey there will be at one end the extreme case of pure gift, that is an offering for which nothing is given in return. Then, through many customary forms of gift or payment, partially or conditionally returned, which shade into each other, there come forms of exchange, where more or less strict equivalence is observed, arriving finally at real barter. In the following survey I shall roughly classify each transaction according to the principle of its equivalence.

Such tabularised accounts cannot give the same clear vision of facts as a concrete description might do, and they even produce the impression of artificiality, but, and this must be emphatically stated, I shall not introduce here artificial categories, foreign to the native mind. Nothing is so misleading in ethnographic accounts as the description of facts of native civilisations in terms of our own. This, however, shall not be done here. The principles of arrangement, although quite beyond the comprehension of the natives, are nevertheless contained in their social organisation, customs, and even in their linguistic terminology. This latter always affords the simplest and surest means of approach towards the understanding of native distinctions and classifications. But it also must be remembered that, though important as a clue to native ideas, the knowledge of terminology is not a miraculous short-cut into the native’s mind. As a matter of fact, there exist many salient and extremely important features of Trobriand sociology and social psychology, which are not covered by any term, whereas their language distinguishes sub-divisions and subtleties which are quite irrelevant with regard to actual conditions. Thus, a survey of terminology must always be supplemented by a direct analysis of ethnographic fact and inquiry into the native’s ideas, that is, by collecting a body of opinions, typical expressions, and customary phrases by direct cross-questioning. The most conclusive and deepest insight, however, must always be obtained by a study of behaviour, by analysis of ethnographic custom and concrete cases of traditional rules.

It is easy to see that almost all the categories of gifts, which I have classified according to economic principles, are also based on some sociological relationship. Thus the first type of gifts, that is, the free gifts, take place in the relationship between husband and wife, and in that between parents and children. Again, the second class of gifts, that is, the obligatory ones, given without systematic repayment, are associated with relationship-in-law, mainly, though the chief’s tributes also belong to this class.

If we drew up a scheme of sociological relations, each type of them would be defined by a special class of economic duties. There would be some parallelism between such a sociological classification of payments and presents, and the one given above. But such parallelism is only approximate. It will be therefore interesting to draw up a scheme of exchanges, classified according to the social relationship, to which they correspond. This will give us good insight into the economics of Trobriand sociology, as well as another view of the subject of payments and presents.

Going over the sociological outline in Chapter II, Divisions V and VI, we see that the family, the clan and sub-clan, the village community, the district and the tribe are the main social divisions of the Trobriands. To these groupings correspond definite bonds of social relationship. Thus, to the family, there correspond no less than three distinct types of relationship, according to native ideas. First of all there is the matrilineal kinship (veyola) which embraces people, who can trace common descent through their mothers. This is, to the natives, the blood relationship, the identity of flesh, and the real kinship. The marriage relation comprises that between husband and wife, and father and children. Finally, the relationship between the husband and the wife’s matrilineal kinsmen forms the third class of personal ties corresponding to family. These three types of personal bonds are clearly distinguished in terminology, in the current linguistic usage, in custom, and in explicitly formulated ideas.

To the grouping into clans and sub-clans, there pertain the ties existing between clansmen and more especially between members of the same sub-clan, and on the other hand, the relationship between a man and members of different clans. Membership in the same sub-clan is a kind of extended kinship. The relationship to other clans is most important, where it assumes the form of special friendship called luba’i. The grouping into village communities results in the very important feature of fellow membership in the same village community. The distinction of rank associated with clanship, the division into village communities and districts, result, in the manner sketched out in Chapter II, in the subordination of commoners to chiefs. Finally, the general fact of membership in the tribe creates the bonds which unite every tribesman with another and which in olden days allowed of a free though not unlimited intercourse, and therefore of commercial relations. We have, therefore, eight types of personal relationship to distinguish. In the following table we see them enumerated with a short survey of their economic characteristics.

1. Matrilineal kinship.—The underlying idea that this means identity of blood and of substance is by no means forcibly expressed on its economic side. The right of inheritance, the common participation in certain titles of ownership, and a limited right to use one another’s implements and objects of daily use are often restricted in practice by private jealousies and animosities. In economic gifts more especially, we find here the remarkable custom of purchasing during lifetime, by instalments, the titles to garden plots and trees and the knowledge of magic, which by right ought to pass at death from the older to the younger generation of matrilineal kinsmen. The economic identity of matrilineal kinsmen comes into prominence at the tribal distributions—sagali—where all of them have to share in the responsibilities of providing food.

2. Marriage ties.—(Husband and wife; and derived from that, father and children). It is enough to tabulate this type of relationship here, and to remind the reader that it is characterised by free gifts, as has been minutely described in the foregoing classification of gifts, under (1).

3. Relationship-in-law.—These ties are in their economic aspect not reciprocal or symmetrical. That is, one side in it, the husband of the woman, is the economically favoured recipient, while the wife’s brothers receive from him gifts of smaller value in the aggregate. As we know, this relationship is economically defined by the regular and substantial harvest gifts, by which the husband’s storehouse is filled every year by his wife’s brothers. They also have to perform certain services for him. For all this, they receive a gift of vaygu’a (valuables) from time to time, and some food in payment for services rendered.

4. Clanship.—The main economic identification of this group takes place during the sagali, although the responsibility for the food rests only with those actually related by blood with the deceased man. All the members of the sub-clan, and to a smaller extent members of the same clan within a village community, have to contribute by small presents given to the organisers of the sagali.

5. The Relationship of Personal Friendship.—Two men thus bound as a rule will carry on Kula between themselves, and, if they belong to an inland and Lagoon village respectively, they will be partners in the exchange of fish and vegetables (wasi).

6. Fellow-citizenship in a Village Community.—There are many types of presents given by one community to another. And, economically, the bonds of fellow-citizenship mean the obligation to contribute one’s share to such a present. Again, at the mortuary divisions, sagali, the fellow-villagers of clans, differing from the deceased man’s, receive a series of presents for the performance of mortuary duties.

7. Relationship between Chiefs and Commoners.—The tributes and services given to a chief by his vassals on the one hand, and the small but frequent gifts which he gives them, and the big and important contribution which he makes to all tribal enterprises are characteristic of this relationship.

8. Relationship between any two tribesmen.—This is characterised by payments and presents, by occasional trade between two individuals, and by the sporadic free gifts of tobacco or betel-nut which no man would refuse to another unless they were on terms of hostility.

With this, the survey of gifts and presents is finished. The general importance of give and take to the social fabric of Boyowan society, the great amount of distinctions and sub-divisions of the various gifts can leave no doubt as to the paramount rôle which economic acts and motives play in the life of these natives.

After so many preparations and preliminaries, we might expect that, once embarked, the natives would make straight for the high mountains, which beckon them alluringly from the distant South. Quite on the contrary, they are satisfied with a very short stage the first day, and after sailing a few miles, they stop on a big sand bank called Muwa, lying to the southwest of the village of Sinaketa. Here, near the sandy shore, edged with old, gnarled trees, the canoes are moored by sticks, while the crews prepare for a ceremonial distribution of food, and arrange their camp for the night on the beach.

This somewhat puzzling delay is less incomprehensible, if we reflect that the natives, after having prepared for a distant expedition, now at last for the first time find themselves together, separated from the rest of the villagers. A sort of mustering and reviewing of forces, as a rule associated with a preliminary feast held by the party, is characteristic of all the expeditions or visits in the Trobriands.

I have spoken already about big and small expeditions, but I have not perhaps made quite clear that the natives themselves make a definite distinction between big, competitive Kula expeditions, called uvalaku, and sailings on a smaller scale, described as ‘just Kula,’ (“Kula wala”). The uvalaku are held every two or three years from each district, though nowadays, as in everything else, the natives are getting slack. One would be held, whenever there is a great agglomeration of vaygu’a, due to reasons which I shall describe later on. Sometimes, a special event, such as the possession by one of the head men of an exceptionally fine pig, or of an object of high value, might give rise to an uvalaku. Thus, in 1918, a big competitive expedition (uvalaku) from Dobu was held ostensibly for the reason that Kauyaporu, one of the head men of Tu’utauna, owned a very large boar with tusks almost curling over into a circle. Again, plenty of food, or in olden days the completion of a successful war expedition, would form the raison d’être of an uvalaku. Of course these reasons, explicitly given by the natives, are, so to speak, accessory causes, for in reality an uvalaku would be held whenever its turn came, that is, barring great scarcity of food or the death of an important personage.

The uvalaku is a Kula expedition on an exceptionally big scale, carried on with a definite social organisation under scrupulous observance of all ceremonial and magical rites, and distinguished from the smaller expeditions by its size, by a competitive element, and by one or two additional features. On an uvalaku, all the canoes in the district will sail, and they will sail fully manned. Everybody will be very eager to take part in it. Side by side with this natural desire, however, there exists the idea that all the members of the crews are under an obligation to go on the expedition. This duty they owe to the chief, or master of the uvalaku. The toli’uvalaku, as he is called, is always one of the sectional chiefs or headmen. He plays the part of a master of ceremonies, on leaving the beach of Sinaketa, at the distributions of food, on arrival in the overseas villages, and on the ceremonial return home. A streamer of dried and bleached pandanus leaf, attached to the prows of his canoe on a stick, is the ostensible sign of the dignity. Such a streamer is called tarabauba’u in Kiriwinian, and doya in the Dobuan language. The headman, who is toli’uvalaku on an expedition, will as a rule receive more Kula gifts than the others. On him also will devolve the glory of this particular expedition. Thus the title of toli, in this case, is one of honorary and nominal ownership, resulting mainly in renown (butura) for its bearer, and as such highly valued by the natives.

From the economic and legal point of view, however, the obligation binding the members of the expedition to him is the most important sociological feature. He gives the distribution of food, in which the others participate, and this imposes on them the duty of carrying out the expedition, however hard this might be, however often they would have to stop or even return owing to bad weather, contrary winds, or, in olden days, interference by hostile natives. As the natives say,

“We cannot return on uvalaku, for we have eaten of the pig, and we have chewed of the betel-nut given by the toli’uvalaku.”

Only after the most distant community with whom the Sinaketans kula has been reached, and after due time has been allowed for the collection of any vaygu’a within reach, will the party start on the return journey. Concrete cases are quoted in which expeditions had to start several times from Sinaketa, always returning within a few days after all the provisions had been eaten on Muwa, from where a contrary wind would not allow the canoes to move south. Or again, a memorable expedition, some few decades ago, started once or twice, was becalmed in Vakuta, had to give a heavy payment to a wind magician in the village of Okinai, to provide them with a propitious northerly wind, and then, sailing South at last, met with a vineylida, one of the dreadful perils of the sea, a live stone which jumps from the bottom of the sea at a canoe. But in spite of all this, they persevered, reached Dobu in safety, and made a successful return.

Thus we see that, from a sociological point of view, the uvalaku is an enterprise partially financed by the toli’uvalaku, and therefore redounding to his credit, and bringing him honour; while the obligation imposed on others by the food distributed to them, is to carry on the expedition to a successful end.

It is rather puzzling to find that, although everyone is eager for the expedition, although they all enjoy it equally and satisfy their ambition and increase their wealth by it, yet the element of compulsion and obligation is introduced into it; for we are not accustomed to the idea of pleasure having to be forced on people. None the less, the uvalaku is not an isolated feature, for in almost all tribal enjoyments and festive entertainments on a big scale, the same principle obtains. The master of the festivities, by an initial distribution of food, imposes an obligation on the others, to carry through dancing, sports, or games of the season. And indeed, considering the ease with which native enthusiasms flag, with which jealousies, envies and quarrels creep in, and destroy the unanimity of social amusements, the need for compulsion from without to amuse oneself appears not so preposterous as at first sight.

I have said that an uvalaku expedition is distinguished from an ordinary one, in so far also as the full ceremonial of the Kula has to be observed. Thus all the canoes must be either new or relashed, and without exception they must be also repainted and redecorated. The full ceremonial launching, tasasoria, and the presentation, kabigodoya, are carried out with every detail only when the Kula takes the form of an uvalaku. The pig or pigs killed in the village before departure are also a special feature of the competitive Kula. So is the kayguya’u ceremonial distribution held on Muwa, just at the point of the proceedings at which we have now arrived. The tanarere, a big display of vaygu’a and comparison of the individual acquisitions at the end of an expedition, is another ceremonial feature of the uvalaku and supplies some of the competitive element. There is also competition as to the speed, qualities and beauties of the canoes at the beginning of such an expedition. Some of the communities who present their vaygu’a to an uvalaku expedition vie with one another, as to who will give most, and in fact the element of emulation or competition runs right through the proceedings. In the following chapters, I shall have, in several more points, occasion to distinguish an uvalaku from an ordinary Kula sailing.

It must be added at once that, although all these ceremonial features are compulsory only on an uvalaku sailing, and although only then are they one and all of them unfailingly observed, some and even all may also be kept during an ordinary Kula expedition, especially if it happens to be a somewhat bigger one. The same refers to the various magical rites—that is to say the most important ones—which although performed on every Kula expedition, are carried out with more punctilio on an uvalaku.

Finally, a very important distinctive feature is the rule, that no vaygu’a can be carried on the outbound sailing of an uvalaku. It must not be forgotten that a Kula overseas expedition sails, in order mainly to receive gifts and not to give them, and on an uvalaku this rule is carried to its extreme, so that no Kula valuables whatever may be given by the visiting party. The natives sailing from Sinaketa to Dobu on ordinary Kula may carry a few armshells with them, but when they sail on a ceremonial competitive uvalaku, no armshell is ever taken. For it must be remembered that Kula exchanges, as has been explained in Chapter III, never take place simultaneously. It is always a gift followed after a lapse of time by a counter-gift. Now on a uvalaku the natives would receive in Dobu a certain amount of gifts, which, within a year or so, would be returned to the Dobuans, when these pay a visit to Sinaketa. But there is always a considerable amount of valuables which the Dobuans owe to the Sinaketans, so that when now the Sinaketans go to Dobu, they will claim also these gifts due to them from previous occasions. All these technicalities of Kula exchange will become clearer in one of the subsequent chapters (Chapter XIV).

To sum up, the uvalaku is a ceremonial and competitive expedition. Ceremonial it is, in so far as it is connected with the special initial distribution of food, given by the master of the uvalaku. It is also ceremonial in that all the formalities of the Kula are kept rigorously and without exception, for in a sense every Kula sailing expedition is ceremonial. Competitive it is mainly in that at the end of it all the acquired articles are compared and counted. With this also the prohibition to carry vaygu’a, is connected, so as to give everyone an even start.

Returning now to the Sinaketan fleet assembled at Muwa, as soon as they have arrived there, that is, some time about noon, they proceed to the ceremonial distribution. Although the toli’uvalaku is master of ceremonies, in this case he as a rule sits and watches the initial proceedings from a distance. A group of his relatives or friends of lesser rank busy themselves with the work. It might be better perhaps here to give a more concrete account, since it is always difficult to visualise exactly how such things will proceed.

This was brought home to me when in March, 1918, I assisted at these initial stages of the Kula in the Amphlett Islands. The natives had been preparing for days for departure, and on the final date, I spent the whole morning observing and photographing the loading and trimming of the canoes, the farewells, and the setting out of the fleet. In the evening, after a busy day, as it was a full-moon night, I went for a long pull in a dinghy. Although in the Trobriands I had had accounts of the custom of the first halt, yet it gave me a surprise when on rounding a rocky point I came upon the whole crowd of Gumasila natives, who had departed on the Kula that morning, sitting in full-moon light on a beach, only a few miles from the village which they had left with so much to-do some ten hours before. With the fairly strong wind that day, I was thinking of them as camping at least half way to the Trobriands, on one of the small sand banks some twenty miles North. I went and sat for a moment among the morose and unfriendly Amphlett Islanders, who, unlike the Trobrianders, distinctly resented the inquisitive and blighting presence of an Ethnographer.

To return to our Sinaketan party, we can imagine the chiefs sitting high up on the shore under the gnarled, broad-leafed branches of the shady trees. They might perhaps be resting in one group, each with a few attendants, or else every headman and chief near his own canoe, To’udawada silently chewing betel-nut, with a heavy and bovine dignity, the excitable Koutauya chattering in a high pitched voice with some of his grown-up sons, among whom there are two or three of the finest men in Sinaketa. Further on, with a smaller group of attendants, sits the infamous Sinakadi, in conference with his successor to chieftainship, his sister’s son, Gomaya, also a notorious scoundrel. On such occasions it is good form for chiefs not to busy themselves among the groups, nor to survey the proceedings, but to keep an aloof and detached attitude. In company with other notables, they discuss in the short, jerky sentences which make native languages so difficult to follow, the arrangements and prospects of the Kula, making now and then a mythological reference, forecasting the weather, and discussing the merits of the canoes.

In the meantime, the henchmen of the toli’uvalaku, his sons, his younger brothers, his relatives-in-law, prepare the distribution. As a rule, either To’udawada or Koutauya would be the toli’uvalaku. The one who at the given time has more wealth on hand and prospects of receiving more vaygu’a, would take over the dignity and the burdens. Sinakadi is much less wealthy, and probably it would be an exception for him and his predecessors and successors to play the part. The minor headmen of the other compound villages of Sinaketa would never fill the rôle.

Whoever is the master of the expedition for the time being will have brought over a couple of pigs, which will now be laid on the beach and admired by the members of the expedition. Soon some fires are lit, and the pigs, with a long pole thrust through their tied feet, are hung upside down over the fires. A dreadful squealing fills the air and delights the hearers. After the pig has been singed to death, or rather, into insensibility, it is taken off and cut open. Specialists cut it into appropriate parts, ready for the distribution. Yams, taro, coco-nuts and sugar cane have already been put into big heaps, as many as there are canoes—that is, nowadays, eight. On these heaps, some hands of ripe bananas and some betel-nut bunches are placed. On the ground, beside them, on trays of plaited coco-nut leaves, the lumps of meat are displayed. All this food has been provided by the toli’uvalaku, who previously has received as contributions towards it special presents, both from his own and from his wife’s kinsmen. In fact, if we try to draw out all the strands of gifts and contributions connected with such a distribution we would find that it is spun round into such an intricate web, that even the lengthy account of the foregoing chapter does not quite do it justice.

After the chief’s helpers have arranged the heaps, they go over them, seeing that the apportionment is correct, shifting some of the food here and there, and memorising to whom each heap will be given. Often in the final round, the toli’uvalaku inspects the heaps himself, and then returns to his former seat. Then comes the culminating act of the distribution. One of the chief’s henchmen, always a man of inferior rank, accompanied by the chief’s helpers, walks down the row of heaps, and at each of them screams out in a very loud voice:

“O, Siyagana, thy heap, there, O Siyagana, O!” At the next one he calls the name of another canoe: “O Gumawora, thy heap, there! O Gumawora O!”

He goes thus over all the heaps, allotting each one to a canoe. After that is finished, some of the younger boys of each canoe go and fetch their heap. This is brought to their fire, the meat is roasted, and the yams, the sugar cane and betel-nut distributed among the crew, who presently sit down and eat, each group by itself. We see that, although the toli’uvalaku is responsible for the feast, and receives from the natives all the credit for it, his active part in the proceedings is a small one, and it is more nominal than real. On such occasions it would perhaps be incorrect to call him ‘master of ceremonies,’ although he assumes this rôle, as we shall see, on other occasions. Nevertheless, for the natives, he is the centre of the proceedings. His people do all the work there is to be done, and in certain cases he would be referred to for a decision, on some question of etiquette.

After the meal is over, the natives rest, chew betel-nut and smoke, looking across the water towards the setting sun—it is now probably late in the afternoon—towards where, above the moored canoes, which rock and splash in the shallows, there float the faint silhouettes of the mountains. These are the distant Koya, the high hills in the d’Entrecasteaux and Amphletts, to which the elder natives have often already sailed, and of which the younger have heard so many times in myth, tales and magical spells. Kula conversations will predominate on such occasions, and names of distant partners, and personal names of specially valuable vaygu’a will punctuate the conversation and make it very obscure to those not initiated into the technicalities and historical traditions of the Kula. Recollections how a certain big spondylus necklace passed a couple of years ago through Sinaketa, how So-and-so handed it to So-and-so in Kiriwina, who again gave it to one of his partners in Kitava (all the personal names of course being mentioned) and how it went from there to Woodlark Island, where its traces become lost—such reminiscences lead to conjectures as to where the necklace might now be, and whether there is a chance of meeting it in Dobu. Famous exchanges are cited, quarrels over Kula grievances, cases in which a man was killed by magic for his too successful dealings in the Kula, are told one after the other, and listened to with never failing interest. The younger men amuse themselves perhaps with less serious discussions about the dangers awaiting them on the sea, about the fierceness of the witches and dreadful beings in the Koya, while many a young Trobriander would be warned at this stage of the unaccommodating attitude of the women in Dobu, and of the fierceness of their men folk.

After nightfall a number of small fires are lit on the beach. The stiff pandanus mats, folded in the middle, are put over each sleeper so as to form a small roof, and the whole crowd settle down for the night.

Next morning, if there is a fair wind, or a hope of it, the natives are up very early, and all are feverishly active. Some fix up the masts and rigging of the canoes, doing it much more thoroughly and carefully than it was done on the previous morning, since there may be a whole day’s sailing ahead of them perhaps with a strong wind, and under dangerous conditions. After all is done, the sails ready to be hoisted, the various ropes put into good trim, all the members of the crew sit at their posts, and each canoe waits some few yards from the beach for its toliwaga (master of the canoe). He remains on shore, in order to perform one of the several magical rites which, at this stage of sailing, break through the purely matter-of-fact events. All these rites of magic are directed towards the canoes, making them speedy, seaworthy and safe. In the first rite, some leaves are medicated by the toliwaga as he squats over them on the beach and recites a formula. The wording of this indicates that it is a speed magic, and this is also the explicit statement of the natives.

Now at last the Kula expedition is properly set going. The canoes are started on a long stage, before them the sea-arm of Pilolu, stretching between the Trobriands and the d’Entrecasteaux. On the North, this portion of the sea is bounded by the Archipelago of the Trobriands, that is, by the islands of Vakuta, Boyowa and Kayleula, joining in the west on to the scattered belt of the Lousançay Islands. On the east, a long submerged reef runs from the southern end of Vakuta to the Amphletts, forming an extended barrier to sailing, but affording little protection from the eastern winds and seas. In the South, this barrier links on to the Amphletts, which together with the Northern coast of Fergusson and Goodenough, form the Southern shore of Pilolu. To the West, Pilolu opens up into the seas between the mainland of New Guinea and the Bismarck Archipelago. In fact, what the natives designate by the name of Pilolu is nothing else but the enormous basin of the Lousançay Lagoon, the largest coral atoll in the world. To the natives, the name of Pilolu is full of emotional associations, drawn from magic and myth; it is connected with the experiences of past generations, told by the old men round the village fires and with adventure personally lived through.

As the Kula adventurers speed along with filled sails, the shallow Lagoon of the Trobriands soon falls away behind; the dull green waters, sprinkled with patches of brown where seaweed grows high and rank, and lit up here and there with spots of bright emerald where a shallow bottom of clean sand shines through, give place to a deeper sea of strong green hue. The low strip of land, which surrounds the Trobriand Lagoon in a wide sweep, thins away and dissolves in the haze, and before them the southern mountains rise higher and higher. On a clear day, these are visible even from the Trobriands. The neat outlines of the Amphletts stand diminutive, yet firmer and more material, against the blue silhouettes of the higher mountains behind. These, like a far away cloud are draped in wreaths of cumuli, almost always clinging to their summits. The nearest of them, Koyatabu—the mountain of the taboo—1 on the North end of Fergusson Island, a slim, somewhat tilted pyramid, forms a most alluring beacon, guiding the mariners due South. To the right of it, as we look towards the South-West, a broad, bulky mountain, the Koyabwaga’u—mountain of the sorcerers—marks the North-western corner of Fergusson Island. The mountains on Goodenough Island are visible only in very clear weather, and then very faintly.

Within a day or two, these disembodied, misty forms are to assume what for the Trobrianders seems marvellous shape and enormous bulk. They are to surround the Kula traders with their solid walls of precipitous rock and green jungle, furrowed with deep ravines and streaked with racing water-courses. The Trobrianders will sail deep, shaded bays, resounding with the, to them unknown, voice of waterfalls; with the weird cries of strange birds which never visit the Trobriands, such as the laughing of the kookooburra (laughing jackass), and the melancholy call of the South Sea crow. The sea will change its colour once more, become pure blue, and beneath its transparent waters, a marvellous world of multi-coloured coral, fish and seaweed will unfold itself, a world which, through a strange geographical irony, the inhabitants of a coral island hardly ever can see at home, and must come to this volcanic region to discover.

In these surroundings, they will find also wonderful, heavy, compact stones of various colours and shapes, whereas at home the only stone is the insipid, white, dead coral. Here they can see, besides many types of granite and basalt and volcanic tuff, specimens of black obsidian, with its sharp edges and metallic ring, and sites full of red and yellow ochre. Besides big hills of volcanic ash, they will behold hot springs boiling up periodically. Of all these marvels the young Trobriander hears tales, and sees samples brought back to his country, and there is no doubt that it is for him a wonderful experience to find himself amongst them for the first time, and that afterwards he eagerly seizes every opportunity that offers to sail again to the Koya. Thus the landscape now before them is a sort of promised land, a country spoken of in almost legendary tone.

And indeed the scenery here, on the borderland of the two different worlds, is singularly impressive. Sailing away from the Trobriands on my last expedition, I had to spend two days, weatherbound, on a small sandbank covered with a few pandanus trees, about midway between the Trobriands and the Amphletts. A darkened sea lay to the North, big thunderclouds hanging over where I knew there was the large flat island of Boyowa—the Trobriands. To the South, against a clearer sky, were the abrupt forms of the mountains, scattered over half of the horizon. The scenery seemed saturated with myth and legendary tales, with the strange adventures, hopes and fears of generations of native sailors. On this sandbank they had often camped, when becalmed or threatened with bad weather. On such an island, the great mythical hero, Kasabwaybwayreta stopped, and was marooned by his companions, only to escape through the sky. Here again a mythical canoe once halted, in order to be re-caulked. As I sat there, looking towards the Southern mountains, so clearly visible, yet so inaccessible, I realised what must be the feelings of the Trobrianders, desirous to reach the Koya, to meet the strange people, and to kula with them, a desire made perhaps even more acute by a mixture of fear. For there, to the west of the Amphletts, they see the big bay of Gabu, where once the crews of a whole fleet of Trobriand canoes were killed and eaten by the inhabitants of unknown villages, in attempting to kula with them. And stories are also told of single canoes, drifted apart from the fleet and cast against the northern shore of Fergusson Island, of which all the crew perished at the hands of the cannibals. There are also legends of some inexperienced natives, who, visiting the neighbourhood of Deyde’i and arriving at the crystal water in the big stone basins there, plunged in, to meet a dreadful death in the almost boiling pool.

But though the legendary dangers on the distant shores may appall the native imagination, the perils of actual sailing are even more real. The sea over which they travel is seamed with reefs, studded with sandbanks and coral rocks awash. And though in fair weather these are not so dangerous to a canoe as to a European boat, yet they are bad enough. The main dangers of native sailing, however, lie in the helplessness of a canoe. As we have said before, it cannot sail close to the wind, and therefore cannot beat. If the wind comes round, the canoe has to turn and retrace its course. This is very unpleasant, but not necessarily dangerous. If, however, the wind drops, and the canoe just happens to be in one of the strong tides, which run anything between three and five knots, or if it becomes disabled, and makes leeway at right angles to its course, the situation becomes dangerous. To the West, there lies the open sea, and once far out there, the canoe would have slender chances of ever returning. To the East, there runs the reef, on which in heavy weather a native canoe would surely be smashed. In May, 1918, a Dobuan canoe, returning home a few days after the rest of the fleet, was caught by a strong South-Easterly wind, so strong that it had to give up its course, and make North-West to one of the Lousançay Islands. It had been given up as lost, when in August it came back with a chance blow of the North-Westerly wind. It had had, however, a narrow escape in making the small island. Had it been blown further West, it would never have reached land at all.

There exist other tales of lost canoes, and it is a wonder that accidents are not more frequent, considering the conditions under which they have to sail. Sailing has to be done, so to speak, on straight lines across the sea. Once they deviate from this course, all sorts of dangers crop up. Not only that, but they must sail between fixed points on the land. For, and this of course refers to the olden days, if they had to go ashore, anywhere but in the district of a friendly tribe, the perils which met them were almost as bad as those of reefs and sharks. If the sailors missed the friendly villages of the Amphletts and of Dobu, everywhere else they would meet with extermination. Even nowadays, though the danger of being killed would be smaller—perhaps not absolutely non-existent—yet the natives would feel very uncomfortable at the idea of landing in a strange district, fearing not only death by violence, but even more by evil magic. Thus, as the natives sail across Pilolu, only very small sectors of their horizon present a safe goal for their journey.

On the East, indeed, beyond the dangerous barrier reef, there is a friendly horizon, marked for them by the Marshall Bennett Islands, and Woodlark, the country known under the term Omuyuwa. To the South, there is the Koya, also known as the land of the kinana, by which name the natives of the d’Entrecasteaux and the Amphletts are known generically. But to the South-West and West there is the deep open sea (bebega), and beyond that, lands inhabited by tailed people, and by people with wings, of whom very little more is known. To the North, beyond the reef of small coral islands, lying off the Trobriands, there are two countries, Kokopawa and Kaytalugi. Kokopawa is peopled with ordinary men and women, who walk about naked, and are great gardeners. Whether this country corresponds to the South coast of New Britain, where people really are without any clothing, it would be difficult to say.

The other country, Kaytalugi, is a land of women only, in which no man can survive. The women who live there are beautiful, big and strong, and they walk about naked, and with their bodily hair unshaven (which is contrary to the Trobriand custom). They are extremely dangerous to any man through the unbounded violence of their passion. The natives never tire of describing graphically how such women would satisfy their sensuous lust, if they got hold of some luckless, shipwrecked man. No one could survive, even for a short time, the amorous yet brutal attacks of these women. The natives compare this treatment to that customary at the yousa, the orgiastic mishandling of any man, caught at certain stages of female communal labour in Boyowa (cf. Chapter II, Division II). Not even the boys born on this island of Kaytalugi can survive a tender age. It must be remembered the natives see no need for male co-operation in continuing the race. Thus the women propagate the race, although every male needs must come to an untimely end before he can become a man.

None the less, there is a legend that some men from the village of Kaulagu, in eastern Boyowa, were blown in their canoe far North from the easterly course of a Kula expedition, and were stranded on the coast of Kaytalugi. There, having survived the first reception, they were apportioned individually and married. Having repaired their canoe, ostensibly for the sake of bringing some fish to their wives, one night they put food and water into it, and secretly sailed away. On their return to their own village, they found their women married to other men. However, such things never end tragically in the Trobriands. As soon as their rightful lords reappeared their women came back to them. Among other things these men brought to Boyowa a variety of banana called usikela, not known before.

Returning again to our Kula party, we see that, in journeying across Pilolu, they move within the narrow confines of familiar sailing ground, surrounded on all sides both by real dangers and by lands of imaginary horrors. On their track, however, the natives never go out of sight of land, and in the event of mist or rain, they can always take sufficient bearings to enable them to make for the nearest sand-bank or island. This is never more than some six miles off, a distance which, should the wind have dropped, may even be reached by paddling.

Plate XL  

A Waga Sailing on a Kula Expedition

A canoe fully loaded with a crew of twelve men, just about to furl sail arriving in the Amphletts. Note the cargo at the gebobo and each man’s personal bundle of folded mat on top of it. (See Div. II.)

Plate XLI  

The Rigging of a Canoe

Each time before a canoe starts, its mast has to put up and fixed by means of stays and a special arrangement of crescent-shaped cross-pieces and a rope, to be seen in the picture. (See Div. II.) Note the small kewoúcanoe to the left.

Another thing that also makes their sailing not so dangerous as one would imagine, is the regularity of the winds in this part of the world. As a rule, in each of the two main seasons, there is one prevailing direction of wind, which does not shift more than within some ninety degrees. Thus, in the dry season, from May to October, the trade wind blows almost incessantly from the South-East or South, moving sometimes to the North-East, but never beyond that. As a matter of fact, however, this season, just because of the constancy of the wind, does not lend itself very well to native sailing. For although with this wind it is easy to sail from South to North, or East to West, it is impossible to retrace the course, and as the wind often blows for months without veering, the natives prefer to do their sailings between the seasons, or in the time when the monsoon blows. Between the seasons—November, December or March and April—the winds are not so constant, in fact they shift from one position on the compass to another. On the other hand, there is very seldom a strong blow at this time, and so this is the ideal season for sailing. In the hot summer months, December till March, the monsoon blows from the North-West or South-West, less regularly than a trade wind, but often culminating in violent storms which almost always come from the North-West. Thus the two strong winds to be met in these seas come from definite directions, and this minimises the danger. The natives also as a rule are able to foretell a day or two beforehand the approach of a squall. Rightly or wrongly, they associate the strength of the North-Westerly gales with the phases of the moon.

There is, of course, a good deal of magic to make wind blow or to put it down. Like many other forms of magic, wind magic is localised in villages. The inhabitants of Simsim, the biggest village in the Lousançay Islands, and the furthest North-Westerly settlement of this district, are credited with the ability of controlling the North-Westerly wind, perhaps through association with their geographical position. Again, the control over the South-Easterly wind is granted to the inhabitants of Kitava, lying to the East of Boyowa. The Simsim people control all the winds which blow habitually during the rainy season, that is the winds on the western side of the compass, from North to South. The other half can be worked by the Kitavan spells.

Many men in Boyowa have learnt both spells and they practise the magic. The spells are chanted broadcast into the wind, without any other ritual. It is an impressive spectacle to walk through a village, during one of the devastating gales, which always arise at night and during which people leave their huts and assemble in cleared spaces. They are afraid the wind may lift their dwellings off the ground, or uproot a tree which might injure them in falling, an accident which actually did happen a year or two ago in Wawela, killing the chief’s wife. Through the darkness from the doors of some of the huts, and from among the huddled groups, there resound loud voices, chanting, in a penetrating sing-song, the spells for abating the force of the wind. On such occasions, feeling myself somewhat nervous, I was deeply impressed by this persistent effort of frail, human voice, fraught with deep belief, pitting itself so feebly against the monotonous, overpowering force of the wind.

Taking the bearing by sight, and helped by the uniformity of winds, the natives have no need of even the most elementary knowledge of navigation. Barring accidents they never have to direct their course by the stars. Of these, they know certain Outstanding constellations, sufficient to indicate for them the direction, should they need it. They have names for the Pleiades, for Orion, for the Southern Cross, and they also recognise a few constellations of their own construction. Their knowledge of the stars, as we have mentioned already in Chapter II, Division V, is localised in the village of Wawela, where it is handed over in the maternal line of the chiefs of the village.

In order to understand better the customs and problems of sailing, a few words must be said about the technique of managing a canoe. As we have said before, the wind must always strike the craft, on the outrigger side, so the sailing canoe is always tilted with its float raised, and the platform slanting towards the body of the canoe. This makes it necessary for it to be able to change bows and stern at will; for imagine that a canoe going due South, has to sail with a North-Easterly wind, then the lamina (outrigger) must be on the left hand, and the canoe sails with what the natives call its “head” forward. Now imagine that the wind turns to the North-West. Should this happen in a violent squall, without warning, the canoe would be at once submerged. But, as such a change would be gradual, barring accidents, the natives could easily cope with it. The mast, which is tied at the fourth cross-pole (ri’u) from the temporary bows of the canoe, would be unbound, the canoe would be turned 180 degrees around, so that its head would now form the stern, its u’ula (foundation) would face South, and become its bows, and the platform would be to our right, facing West. The mast would be attached again to the fourth cross-pole (ri’u), from the u’ula end, the sail hoisted, and the canoe would glide along with the wind striking it again on its outrigger side, but having changed bows to stern (see Plate XLI).

The natives have a set of nautical expressions to describe the various operations of changing mast, of trimming the sail, of paying out the sheet rope, of shifting the sail, so that it stands up with its bottom end high, and its tip touching the canoe, or else letting it lie with both boom and gaff almost horizontal. And they have definite rules as to how the various manœuvres should be carried out, according to the strength of the wind, and to the quarter on which it strikes the canoe. They have four expressions denoting a following wind, wind striking the outrigger beam, wind striking the canoe from the katala (built-out body), and wind striking the canoe on the outrigger side close to the direction of sailing. There is no point, however, in adducing this native terminology here, as we shall not any further refer to it; it is enough to know that they have got definite rules, and means of expressing them, with regard to the handling of a canoe.

It has been often remarked here, that the Trobriand canoes cannot sail close to the wind. They are very light, and shallow, and have very little water board, giving a small resistance against making lee-way. I think that this is also the reason, why they need two men to do the steering for the steering oars act as lee-boards. One of the men wields a big, elongated steering oar, called kuriga. He sits at the stern, of course, in the body of the canoe. The other man handles a smaller steering paddle, leaf-shaped, yet with a bigger blade than the paddling oars; it is called viyoyu. He sits at the stern end of the platform, and does the steering through the sticks of the pitapatile (platform).

The other working members of the crew are the man at the sheet, the tokwabila veva, as he is called, who has to let out the veva or pull it in, according as the wind shifts and varies in strength.

Another man, as a rule, stands in the bows of the ship on the look-out, and if necessary, has to climb the mast in order to trim the rigging. Or again, he would have to bale the water from time to time, as this always leaks through, or splashes into the canoe. Thus four men are enough to man a canoe, though usually the functions of the baler and the man on the look-out and at the mast are divided.

When the wind drops, the men have to take to the small, leaf-shaped paddles, while one, as a rule, wields a pulling oar. But in order to give speed to a heavy masawa canoe, at least ten men would have to paddle and pull. As we shall see, on certain ceremonial occasions, the canoes have to be propelled by paddling, for instance when they approach their final destination, after having performed the great mwasila magic. When they arrive at a halting place, the canoes, if necessary, are beached. As a rule, however, the heavily loaded canoes on a Kula expedition, would be secured by both mooring and anchoring, according to the bottom. On muddy bottoms, such as that of the Trobriand Lagoon, a long stick would be thrust into the slime, and one end of the canoe lashed to it. From the other, a heavy stone, tied with a rope, would be thrown down as an anchor. Over a hard, rocky bottom, the anchor stone alone is used.

It can be easily understood that with such craft, and with such limitations in sailing, there are many real dangers which threaten the natives. If the wind is too strong, and the sea becomes too rough, a canoe may not be able to follow its course, and making lee-way, or even directly running before the wind, it may be driven into a quarter where there is no landfall to be made, or from where at best there is no returning at that season. This is what happened to the Dobuan boat mentioned before. Or else, a canoe becalmed and seized by the tide may not be able to make its way by means of paddling. Or in stormy weather, it may be smashed on rocks and sandbanks, or even unable to withstand the impact of waves. An open craft like a native canoe easily fills with sea water, and, in a heavy rain-storm, with rain water. In a calm sea this is not very dangerous, for the wooden canoe does not sink; even if swamped, the water can be baled out and the canoe floats up. But in rough weather, a water-logged canoe loses its buoyancy and gets broken up. Last and not least, there is the danger of the canoe being pressed into the water, outrigger first, should the wind strike it on the opposite side. With so many real dangers around it, it is a marvellous thing, and to the credit of native seamanship, that accidents are comparatively rare.

We now know about the crew of the canoe and the different functions which every man has to fulfil. Remembering what has been said in Chapter IV, Division V, about the sociological division of functions in sailing, we can visualise concretely the craft with all its inmates, as it sails on the Pilolu; the toliwaga usually sits near the mast in the compartment called kayguya’u. With him perhaps is one of his sons or young relatives, while another boy remains in the bows, near the conch-shell ready to sound it, whenever the occasion arises. Thus are employed the toliwaga and the dodo’u (small boys). The usagelu or members of the crew, some four or five strong, are each at his post, with perhaps one supernumerary to assist at any emergency, where the task would require it. On the platform are lounging some of the silasila, the youths not yet employed in any work, and not participating in the Kula, but there for their pleasure, and to learn how to manage a boat (see Plate XL).

All these people have not only special posts and modes of occupation assigned to them, but they have also to keep certain rules. The canoe on a Kula expedition, is surrounded by taboos, and many observances have to be strictly kept, else this or that might go wrong. Thus it is not allowed to ‘point to objects with the hand’ (yosala yamada), or those who do it will become sick. A new canoe has many prohibitions connected with it, which are called bomala wayugo (the taboos of the lashing creeper). Eating and drinking are not allowed in a new canoe except after sunset. The breaking of this taboo would make the canoe very slow. On a very quick waga this rule might perhaps be disregarded, especially if one of the young boys were hungry or thirsty. The toliwaga would then bale in some sea-water, pour it over one of the lashings of the creeper with the words:

“I sprinkle thy eye, O kudayuri creeper, so that our crew might eat.”

After that, he would give the boy something to eat and drink. Besides this eating and drinking taboo, on a new waga the other physiological needs must not be satisfied. In case of urgent necessity, a man jumps into the water, holding to one of the cross sticks of the outrigger, or if it were a small boy, he is lowered into the water by one of the elders. This taboo, if broken, would also make the canoe slow. These two taboos, however, as was said, are kept only on a new waga, that is on such a one which either sails for the first time, or else has been relashed and repainted before this trip. The taboos are in all cases not operative on the return journey. Women are not allowed to enter a new waga before it sails. Certain types of yams may not be carried on a canoe, which has been lashed with the rites of one of the wayugo magical systems. There are several systems of this magic (compare Chapter XVII, Division VII) and each has got its specific taboos. These last taboos are to be kept right through the sailing. On account of a magic to be described in the next chapter, the magic of safety as it might be called, a canoe has to be kept free from contact with earth, sand and stones. Hence the natives of Sinaketa do not beach their canoes if they can possibly avoid it.

Among the specific taboos of the Kula, called bomala lilava (taboos of the magical bundle) there is a strict rule referring to the entering of a canoe. This must not be entered from any other point but on the vitovaria, that is, the front side of the platform, facing the mast. A native has to scale the platform at this place, then, crouching low, pass to the back or front, and there descend into the body of the canoe, or sit down where he is. The compartment facing the lilava (magical bundle) is filled out with other trade goods. In front of it sits the chief, behind it the man who handles the sheets. The natives have special expressions which denote the various manners of illicitly entering a canoe, and, in some of the canoe exorcisms, these expressions are used to undo the evil effects of the breaking of these taboos. Other prohibitions, which the natives call the taboo of the mwasila, though not associated with the lilava, are those which do not allow of using flower wreaths, red ornaments, or red flowers in decorating the canoe or the bodies of the crew. The red colour of such ornaments is, according to native belief, magically incompatible with the aim of the expedition—the acquisition of the red spondylus necklaces. Also, yams may not be roasted on the outward journey, while later on, in Dobu, no local food may be eaten, and the natives have to subsist on their own provisions, until the first Kula gifts have been received.

There are, besides, definite rules, referring to the behaviour of one canoe towards another, but these vary considerably with the different villages. In Sinaketa, such rules are very few; no fixed sequence is observed in the sailing order of the canoes, anyone of them can start first, and if one of them is swifter it may pass any of the others, even that of a chief. This, however, has to be done so that the slower canoe is not passed on the outrigger side. Should this happen, the transgressing canoe has to give the other one a peace offering (lula), because it has broken a bomala lilava, it has offended the magical bundle.

There is one interesting point with regard to priorities in Sinaketa, and to describe this we must hark back to the subject of canoe-building and launching. One of the sub-clans of the Lukwasisiga clan, the Tolabwaga sub-clan, have the right of priority in all the successive operations of piecing together, lashing, caulking, and painting of their canoes. All these stages of building and all the magic must first be done on the Tolabwaga canoe, and this canoe is also the first to be launched. Only afterwards, the chief’s and the commoners’ canoes may follow. A correct observance of this rule ‘keeps the sea clean’ (imilakatile bwarita). If it were broken, and the chiefs had their canoes built or launched before the Tolabwaga, the Kula would not be successful.

“We go to Dobu, no pig, no soulava necklace is given. We would tell the chiefs: ‘Why have you first made your canoes? The ancestor spirits have turned against us, for we have broken the old custom!’ ”

Once at sea, however, the chiefs are first again, in theory at least, for in practice the swiftest canoe may sail first.

In the sailing custom of Vakuta, the other South Boyowan community, who make the Kula with the Dobu, a sub-clan of the Lukwasisiga clan, called Tolawaga, have the privilege of priority in all the canoe-building operations. While at sea, they also retain one prerogative, denied to all the others: the man who steers with the smaller oar, the tokabina viyoyu, is allowed permanently to stand up on the platform. As the natives put it,

“This is the sign of the Tolawaga (sub-clan) of Vakuta: wherever we see a man standing up at the viyoyu, we say: ‘there sails the canoe of the Tolawaga!’“

The greatest privileges, however, granted to a sub-clan in sailing are those which are to be found in Kavataria. This fishing and sailing community from the North shore of the Lagoon makes distant and dangerous sailings to the North-Western end of Fergusson Island. These expeditions for sago, betel-nut, and pigs will be described in Chapter XXI. Their sea customs, however, have to be mentioned here.

The Kulutula sub-clan of the Lukwasisiga clan enjoy all the same privileges of priority in building, as the Tolabwaga and Tolawaga clans in the southern villages, only in a still higher degree. For their canoe has to pass each stage of construction on the first day, and only the day after can the others follow. This refers even to launching, the Kulutula canoe being launched one day, and on the next those of the chiefs and commoners. When the moment of starting arrives, the Kulutula canoe leaves the beach first, and during the sailing no one is allowed to pass ahead of it. When they arrive at the sandbanks or at an intermediate place in the Amphletts, the Kulutula have to anchor first, and first go ashore and make their camp ready. Only after that can the others follow. This priority expires at the final point of destination. When they arrive at the furthest Koya the Kulutula go ashore first, and they are the first to be presented with the welcoming gift of the ‘foreigner’ (tokinana). He receives them with a bunch of betel-nut, which he beats against the head of the canoe, till the nuts scatter. On the return journey, the Kulutula clan sink again into their naturally inferior position.

It may be noted that all the three privileged sub-clans in the three villages belong to the Lukwasisiga clan, and that the names of two of them, Tolawaga, Tolabwaga have a striking resemblance to the word toliwaga, although these resemblances would have to be tested by some stricter methods of etymological comparison, than I have now at my disposal. The fact that these clans, under special circumstances of sailing, resume what may be a lost superiority points to an interesting historical survival. The name Kulutula is undoubtedly identical with Kulutalu, which is an independent totemic clan in the Eastern Marshall Bennetts and in Woodlark.2

Let us return now to our Sinaketan fleet, moving southwards along the barrier reef and sighting one small island after the other. If they did not start very early from Muwa—and delay is one of the characteristics of native life—and if they were not favoured with a very good wind, they would probably have to put in at one of the small sand islands, Legumatabu, Gabuwana or Yakum. Here, on the western side, sheltered from the prevalent trade winds, there is a diminutive lagoon, bounded by two natural breakwaters of coral reef running from the Northern and Southern ends of the island. Fires are lit on the clean, white sand, under the scraggy pandanus trees, and the natives boil their yam food and the eggs of the wild sea fowl, collected on the spot. When darkness closes in and the fires draw them all into a circle, the Kula talk begins again.

Let us listen to some such conversations, and try to steep ourselves in the atmosphere surrounding this handful of natives, cast for a while on to the narrow sandbank, far away from their homes, having to trust only to their frail canoes on the long journey which faces them. Darkness, the roar of surf breaking on the reef, the dry rattle of the pandanus leaves in the wind, all produce a frame of mind in which it is easy to believe in the dangers of witches and all the beings usually hidden away, but ready to creep out at some special moment of horror. The change of tone is unmistakable, when you get the natives to talk about these things on such an occasion, from the calm, often rationalistic way of treating them in broad daylight in an Ethnographer’s tent. Some of the most striking revelations I have received of this side of native belief and psychology were made to me on similar occasions. Sitting on a lonely beach in Sanaroa, surrounded by a crew of Trobrianders, Dobuans, and a few local natives, I first heard the story of the jumping stones. On a previous night, trying to anchor off Gumasila in the Amphletts, we had been caught by a violent squall, which tore one of our sails, and forced us to run before the wind, on a dark night, in the pouring rain. Except for myself, all the members of the crew saw clearly the flying witches in the form of a flame at the mast head. Whether this was St. Elmo’s fire I could not judge, as I was in the cabin, seasick and indifferent to dangers, witches, and even ethnographic revelations. Inspired by this incident, my crew told me how this is, as a rule, a sign of disaster, how such a light appeared a few years ago in a boat, which was sunk almost on the same spot where the squall had caught us; but fortunately all were saved. Starting from this, all sorts of dangers were spoken about, in a tone of deep conviction, rendered perfectly sincere by the experiences of the previous night, the surrounding darkness, and the difficulties of the situation—for we had to repair our sail and again attempt the difficult landing in the Amphletts.

I have always found that whenever natives are found under similar circumstances, surrounded by the darkness and the imminent possibility of danger, they naturally drift into a conversation about the various things and beings into which the fears and apprehensions of generations have traditionally crystallised.

Thus if we imagine that we listen to an account of the perils and horrors of the seas, sitting round the fire at Yakum or Legumatabu, we do not stray from reality. One of those who are specially versed in tradition, and who love to tell a story, might refer to one of his own experiences; or to a well-known case from the past, while others would chime in, and comment, telling their own stories. General statements of belief would be given, while the younger men would listen to the tales so familiar, but always heard with renewed interest.

They would hear about an enormous octopus (kwita) which lies in wait for canoes, sailing over the open seas. It is not an ordinary kwita of exceptional size, but a special one, so gigantic that it would cover a whole village with its body; its arms are thick as coco-nut palms, stretching right across the sea. With typical exaggeration, the natives will say: ‘ikanubwadi Pilolu,’ … ‘he covers up all the Pilolu’ (the sea-arm between the Trobriands and the Amphletts). Its proper home is in the East, ‘o Muyuwa,’ as the natives describe that region of sea and islands, where also it is believed some magic is known against the dreadful creature. Only seldom does it come to the waters between the Trobriands and Amphletts, but there are people who have seen it there. One of the old men of Sinaketa tells how, coming from Dobu, when he was quite young, he sailed in a canoe ahead of the fleet, some canoes being to the right and some to the left behind him. Suddenly from his canoe, they saw the giant kwita right in front of them. Paralysed with fear, they fell silent, and the man himself, getting up on the platform, by signs warned the other canoes of the danger. At once they turned round, and the fleet divided into two, took big bends in their course, and thus gave the octopus a wide berth. For woe to the canoe caught by the giant kwita! It would be held fast, unable to move for days, till the crew, dying of hunger and thirst, would decide to sacrifice one of the small boys of their number. Adorned with valuables, he would be thrown overboard, and then the kwita, satisfied, would let go its hold of the canoe, and set it free. Once a native, asked why a grown-up would not be sacrificed on such an occasion, gave me the answer:

“A grown-up man would not like it; a boy has got no mind. We take him by force and throw him to the kwita.”

Another danger threatening a canoe on the high seas, is a big, special Rain, or Water falling from above, called Sinamatanoginogi. When in rain and bad weather a canoe, in spite of all the efforts to bale it out, fills with water, Sinamatanoginogi strikes it from above and breaks it up. Whether at the basis of this are the accidents with waterspouts, or cloud-bursts or simply extremely big waves breaking up the canoe, it is difficult to judge. On the whole, this belief is more easily accounted for than the previous one.

The most remarkable of these beliefs is that there are big, live stones, which lie in wait for sailing canoes, run after them, jump up and smash them to pieces. Whenever the natives have reasons to be afraid of them, all the members of the crew will keep silence, as laughter and loud talk attracts them. Sometimes they can be seen, at a distance, jumping out of the sea or moving on the water. In fact I have had them pointed to me, sailing off Koyatabu, and although I could see nothing, the natives, obviously, genuinely believed they saw them. Of one thing I am certain, however, that there was no reef awash there for miles around. The natives also know quite well that they are different from any reefs or shallows, for the live stones move, and when they perceive a canoe will pursue it, break it up on purpose and smash the men. Nor would these expert fishermen ever confuse a jumping fish with anything else, though in speaking of the stones they may compare them to a leaping dolphin or stingaree.

There are two names given to such stones. One of them, nuwakekepaki, applies to the stones met in the Dobuan seas. The other, vineylida, to those who live ‘o Muyuwa.’ Thus, in the open seas, the two spheres of culture meet, for the stones not only differ in name but also in nature. The nuwakekepaki are probably nothing but malevolent stones. The vineylida are inhabited by witches, or according to others, by evil male beings.3 Sometimes a vineylida will spring to the surface, and hold fast the canoe, very much in the same manner as the giant octopus would do. And here again offerings would have to be given. A folded mat would first be thrown, in an attempt to deceive it; if this were of no avail, a little boy would be anointed with coco-nut oil, adorned with arm-shells and bagi necklaces, and thrown over to the evil stones.

It is difficult to realise what natural phenomena or actual occurrences might be at the bottom of this belief, and the one of the giant octopus. We shall presently meet with a cycle of beliefs presenting the same striking features. We shall find a story told about human behaviour mixed up with supernatural elements, laying down the rules of what would happen, and how human beings would behave, in the same matter of fact way, as if ordinary events of tribal life were described. I shall have to comment on the psychology of these beliefs in the next chapter, where also the story is told. Of all the dangerous and frightful beings met with on a sailing expedition, the most unpleasant, the best known and most dreaded are the flying witches, the yoyova or mulukwausi. The former name means a woman endowed with such powers, whereas mulukwausi describes the second self of the woman, as it flies disembodied through the air. Thus, for instance, they would say that such and such a woman in Wawela is a yoyova. But sailing at night, one would have to be on the look out for mulukwausi, among whom might possibly be the double of that woman in Wawela. Very often, especially at moments when the speaker would be under the influence of fear of these beings, the deprecating euphemism—‘vivila’ (women) would be used. And probably our Boyowan mariners would speak of them thus in their talk round the campfire, for fear of attracting them by sounding their real name. Dangerous as they always are, at sea they become infinitely more dreaded. For the belief is deep that in case of shipwreck or mishap at sea, no real evil can befall the crows except by the agency of the dreaded women.

As through their connection with shipwreck, they enter inevitably into our narrative, it will be better to leave our Kula expedition on the beach of Yakum in the midst of Pilolu, and to turn in the next chapter to Kiriwinian ethnography and give there an account of the natives’ belief in the flying witches and their legend of shipwreck.

In this chapter an account will be given of the ideas and beliefs associated with shipwreck, and of the various precautions which the natives take to insure their own safety. We shall find here a strange mixture of definite, matter of fact information, and of fantastic superstitions. Taking a critical, ethnographic side view, it may be said directly that the fanciful elements are intertwined with the realities in such a manner, that it is difficult to make a distinction between what is mere mytho-poetic fiction and what is a customary rule of behaviour, drawn from actual experience. The best way of presenting this material will be to give a consecutive account of a shipwreck, as it is told in Kiriwinian villages by the travelled old men to the younger generation. I shall adduce in it the several magical formulæ, the rules of behaviour, the part played by the miraculous fish, and the complex ritual of the saved party as they flee from the pursuing mulukwausi.

These—the flying witches—will play such an important part in the account, that I must begin with a detailed description of the various beliefs referring to them, though the subject has been touched upon once or twice before (Chapter II, Division VII, and other places). The sea and sailing upon it are intimately associated in the mind of a Boyowan with these women. They had to be mentioned in the description of canoe magic, and we shall see what an important part they play in the legends of canoe building. In his sailing, whether he goes to Kitava or further East, or whether he travels South to the Amphletts and Dobu, they form one of the main preoccupations of a Boyowan sailor. For they are not only dangerous to him, but to a certain extent, foreign. Boyowa, with the exception of Wawela and one or two other villages on the Eastern coast, and in the South of the island, is an ethnographic district, where the flying witches do not exist, although they visit it from time to time. Whereas all the surrounding tribes are full of women who practice this form of sorcery. Thus sailing South, the Boyowan is travelling straight into the heart of their domain.

These women have the power of making themselves invisible, and flying at night through the air. The orthodox belief is that a woman who is a yoyova can send forth a double which is invisible at will, but may appear in the form of a flying fox or of a night bird or a firefly. There is also a belief that a yoyova develops within her a something, shaped like an egg, or like a young, unripe coco-nut. This something is called as a matter of fact kapuwana, which is the word for a small coco-nut.1 This idea remains in the native’s mind in a vague, indefinite, undifferentiated form, and any attempt to elicit a more detailed definition by asking him such questions, as to whether the kapuwana is a material object or not, would be to smuggle our own categories into his belief, where they do not exist. The kapuwana is anyhow believed to be the something which in the nightly flights leaves the body of the yoyova and assumes the various forms in which the mulukwausi appears. Another variant of the belief about the yoyova is, that those who know their magic especially well, can fly themselves, bodily transporting themselves through the air.

But it can never be sufficiently emphasised that all these beliefs cannot be treated as consistent pieces of knowledge; they flow into one another, and even the same native probably holds several views rationally inconsistent with one another. Even their terminology (compare the last Division of the foregoing chapter), cannot be taken as implying a strict distinction or definition. Thus, the word yoyova is applied to the woman as we meet her in the village, and the word mulukwausi will be used when we see something suspicious flying through the air. But it would be incorrect to systematise this use into a sort of doctrine and to say: “An individual woman is conceived as consisting of an actual living personality called yoyova, and of an immaterial, spiritual principle called mulukwausi, which in its potential form is the kapuwana.” In doing this we would do much what the Mediæval Scholastics did to the living faith of the early ages. The native feels and fears his belief rather than formulates it clearly to himself. He uses terms and expressions, and thus, as used by him, we must collect them as documents of belief, but abstain from working them out into a consistent theory; for this represents neither the native’s mind nor any other form of reality.

As we remember from Chapter II, the flying witches are a nefarious agency, second in importance to the bwaga’u (male sorcerer), but in efficiency far more deadly even than he himself. In contrast to the bwaga’u, who is simply a man in possession of a special form of magic, the yoyova have to be gradually initiated into their status. Only a small child, whose mother is a witch, can become a witch herself. When a witch gives birth to a female child, she medicates a piece of obsidian, and cuts off the navel string. The navel string is then buried, with the recital of a magical formula, in the house, and not, as is done in all ordinary cases, in the garden. Soon after, the witch will carry her daughter to the sea beach, utter a spell over some brine in a coco-nut cup, and give the child to drink. After that, the child is submerged in water and washed, a kind of witch’s baptism! Then she brings back the baby into the house, utters a spell over a mat, and folds her up in it. At night, she carries the baby through the air, and goes to a trysting place of other yoyova, where she presents her child ritually to them. In contrast to the usual custom of young mothers of sleeping over a small fire, a sorceress lies with her baby in the cold. As the child grows up, the mother will take it into her arms and carry it through the air on her nightly rounds. Entering girlhood at the age when the first grass skirt is put on a maiden, the little prospective witch will begin to fly herself.

Another system of training, running side by side with flying, consists in accustoming the child to participation in human flesh. Even before the growing witch will begin to fly on her own account, the mother will take her to the ghoulish repasts, where she and other witches sit over a corpse, eating its eyes, tongue, lungs, and entrails. There the little girl receives her first share of corpse flesh, and trains her taste to like this diet.

There are other forms of training ascribed to mothers solicitous that their daughters should grow up into efficient yoyova and mulukwausi. At night the mother will stand on one side of the hut, with the child in her hands, and throw the little one over the roof. Then quickly, with the speed only possible to a yoyova, she will move round, and catch the child on the other side. This happens before the child begins to fly, and is meant to accustom it to passing rapidly through the air. Or again, the child will be held by her feet, head down, and remain in this position while the mother utters a spell. Thus gradually, by all these means, the child acquires the powers and tastes of a yoyova.

It is easy to pick out such girls from other children. They will be recognisable by their crude tastes, and more especially by their habit of eating raw flesh of pigs or uncooked fish. And here we come to a point, where mythical superstition plays over into something more real, for I have been assured by reliable informants, and those not only natives, that there are cases of girls who will show a craving for raw meat, and when a pig is being quartered in the village will drink its blood and tear up its flesh. These statements I never could verify by direct observations, and they may be only the result of very strong belief projecting its own realities, as we see on every side in our own society in miraculous cures, spiritistic phenomena, etc., etc. If, however, the eating of raw flesh by girl children really occurs, this simply means that they play up to what they know is said and believed about them. This again is a phenomenon of social psychology met with in many phases of Trobriand society and in our own.

This does not mean that the character of a yoyova is publicly donned. Indeed, though a man often owns up to the fact that he is a bwaga’u, and treats his speciality quite openly in conversation, a woman will never directly confess to being a yoyova, not even to her own husband. But she will certainly be marked by everyone as such a one, and she will often play up to the rôle, for it is always an advantage to be supposed to be endowed with supernatural powers. And moreover, being a sorceress is also a good source of income. A woman will often receive presents with the understanding that such and such a person has to be injured. She will openly take gifts, avowedly in payment for healing someone who has been hurt by another witch. Thus the character of a yoyova is, in a way, a public one, and the most important and powerful witches will be enumerated by name. But no woman will ever openly speak about being one. Of course to have such a character would in no way spoil matrimonial chances, or do anything but enhance the social status of a woman.

So deep is the belief in the efficacy of magic, and in magic being the only means of acquiring extraordinary faculties, that all powers of a yoyova are attributed to magic. As we saw in the training of a young yoyova, magic has to be spoken at every stage in order to impart to her the character of a witch. A full blown yoyova has to utter special magic each time she wishes to be invisible, or when she wants to fly, or acquire higher speed, or penetrate darkness and distance in order to find out whether an accident is happening there. But like everything referring to this form of witchcraft, these formulæ never come to light. Although I was able to acquire a whole body of spells of the bwaga’u sorcery, I could not even lift the fringe of the impenetrable veil, surrounding the magic of the yoyova. As a matter of fact, there is not the slightest doubt for me that not one single rite, not one single word of this magic, have ever existed.

Once a mulukwausi is fully trained in her craft, she will often go at night to feed on corpses or to destroy shipwrecked mariners, for these are her two main pursuits. By a special sense, acquired through magic, she can ‘hear,’ as the natives say, that a man has died at such and such a place, or that a canoe is in danger. Even a young apprenticed yoyova will have her hearing so sharpened that she will tell her mother: “Mother, I hear, they cry!” Which means that a man is dead or dying at some place. Or she will say: “Mother, a waga is sinking!” And then they both will fly to the spot.

When she goes out on such an errand, the yoyova leaves her body behind. Then she climbs a tree, and reciting some magic, she ties a creeper to it. Then, she flies off, along this creeper, which snaps behind her. This is the moment when we see the fire flying through the sky. Whenever the natives see a falling star, they know it is a mulukwausi on her flight. Another version is that, when a mulukwausi recites a certain spell, a tree which stands somewhere near her destination bends down towards the other tree on which she is perched. She jumps from one top to the other, and it is then that we see the fire. According to some versions, the mulukwausi, that is, the witch in her flying state, moves about naked, leaving her skirt round the body, which remains asleep in the hut. Other versions depict her as tying her skirt tightly round her when flying, and beating her buttocks with a magical pandanus streamer. These latter versions are embodied in the magic quoted above in Chapter V.

Arrived at the place where lies the corpse, the mulukwausi, with others who have also flown to the spot, perches on some high object, the top of a tree or the gable of a hut. There they all wait till they can feast on the corpse, and such is their greed and appetite that they are also very dangerous to living men. People who collect round the dead body to mourn and wake over it often have a special spell against the mulukwausi recited over them, by the one who knows it. They are careful not to stray away from the others, and, during burial of the dead and afterwards, they believe the air to be infested with these dangerous witches, who spread the smell of carrion around them.

The mulukwausi will eat out the eyes, the tongue, and the ‘insides’ (lopoula) of the corpse; when they attack a living man they may simply hit him or kick him, and then he becomes more or less sick. But sometimes they get hold of an individual and treat him like a corpse and eat some of his organs, and then the man dies. It is possible to diagnose this, for such a person would quickly fail, losing his speech, his vision, sometimes suddenly being bereft of all power of movement. It is a less dangerous method to the living man when the mulukwausi instead of eating his ‘insides’ on the spot, simply remove them. They hide them in a place only known to themselves, in order to have provision for a future feast. In that case there is some hope for the victim. Another yoyova, summoned quickly by the relations of the dying and well paid by them, will, in the form of a mulukwausi, go forth, search for the missing organs, and, if she is fortunate enough to find and restore them, save the life of the victim.

Kenoriya, the favourite daughter of To’ulawa, the chief of Omarakana, while on a visit to another village, was deprived of her internal organs by the mulukwausi. When brought home, she could neither move nor speak, and lay down as if dead. Her mother and other relatives already began their mortuary wailing over her, the chief himself broke out into loud lamentations. But nevertheless, as a forlorn hope, they sent for a woman from Wawela, a well-known yoyova, who after receiving valuables and food, flew out as a mulukwausi, and the very next night found Kenoriya’s insides somewhere in the raybwag, near the beach of Kaulukuba, and restored her to health.

Another authentic story is that of the daughter of a Greek trader and a Kiriwinian woman from Oburaku. This story was told me by the lady herself, in perfectly correct English, learnt in one of the white settlements of New Guinea, where she had been brought up in the house of a leading missionary. But the story was not spoilt by any scepticism; it was told with perfect simplicity and conviction.

When she was a little girl, a woman called Sewawela, from the Island of Kitava, but married to a man of Wawela, came to her parents’ house and wanted to sell a mat. They did not buy it, and gave her only a little food, which, as she was a renowned yoyova and accustomed therefore to deferential treatment, made her angry. When night came, the little one was playing on the beach in front of the house, when the parents saw a big firefly hovering about the child. The insect then flew round the parents and went into the room. Seeing that there was something strange about the firefly, they called the girl and put her to bed at once. But she fell ill immediately, could not sleep all night, and the parents, with many native attendants, had to keep watch over her. Next morning, added the Kiriwinian mother, who was listening to her daughter telling me the tale, the girl “boge ikarige; kukula wala ipipisi,” “she was dead already, but her heart was still beating.” All the women present broke out into the ceremonial lamentations. The father of the girl’s mother, however, went to Wawela, and got hold of another yoyova, called Bomrimwari. She took some herbs and smeared her own body all over. Then she went out in the form of a mulukwausi in search of the girl’s lopoulo (inside). She searched about and found it in the hut of Sewawela, where it lay on the shelf on which are kept the big clay-pots, in which the mona (taro pudding), is cooked ceremonially. There it lay “red as calico.” Sewawela had left it there, while she went into the garden with her husband, meaning to eat it on her return. Had this happened, the girl could not have been saved. As soon as Bomrimwari found it, she made some magic over it then and there. Then she came back to the trader’s compound, made some more magic over ginger-root, and water, and caused the lopoulo to return to its place. After that, the little girl soon got better. A substantial payment was given by the parents to the yoyova for saving their child.

Living in Oburaku, a village on the Southern half of Boyowa, I was on the boundary between the district where the yoyova do not exist, and the other one, to the East, where they are plentiful. On the other side of the Island, which is very narrow at this part, is the village of Wawela, where almost every woman is reputed to be a witch, and some are quite notorious. Going over the raybwag at night, the natives of Oburaku would point out certain fireflies which would suddenly disappear, not to relight again. These were the mulukwausi. Again, at night, swarms of flying foxes used to flap over the tall trees, making for the big, swampy Island of Boymapo’u which closes in the Lagoon opposite the village. These too were mulukwausi, travelling from the East, their real home. They also used to perch on the tops of the trees growing on the water’s edge, and this was therefore an especially dangerous spot after sunset. I was often warned not to sit there on the platforms of the beached canoes, as I liked to do, watching the play of colours on the smooth, muddy waters, and on the bright mangroves. When I fell ill soon after, everybody decided that I had been ‘kicked’ by the mulukwausi, and some magic was performed over me by my friend Molilakwa, the same who gave me some formulæ of kayga’u, the magic spoken at sea against witches. In this case his efforts were entirely successful, and my quick recovery was attributed by the natives solely to the spells.

What interests us most about mulukwausi, is their association with the sea and shipwreck. Very often they will roam over the sea, and meet at a trysting place on a reef. There they will partake of a special kind of coral, broken off from a reef, a kind called by the natives nada. This whets their appetite for human flesh, exactly as the drinking of salt water does with the bwaga’u. They have also some indirect power over the elements in the sea. Although the natives do not quite agree on the point, there is no doubt that a definite connection exists between the mulukwausi and all the other dangers which may be met in the sea, such as sharks, the ‘gaping depth’ (ikapwagega wiwitu), many of the small sea animals, crabs, some of the shells and the other things to be mentioned presently, all of which are considered to be the cause of death of drowning men. Thus the belief is quite definite that, in being cast into the water by the shipwreck, men do not meet any real danger except by being eaten by the mulukwausi, the sharks, and the other animals. If by the proper magic these influences can be obviated, the drowning men will escape unscathed. The belief in the omnipotence of man, or rather, woman in this case, and of the equal power in antidoting by magic, governs all the ideas of these natives about shipwreck. The supreme remedy and insurance against any dangers lies in the magic of mist, called kayga’u, which, side by side with Kula magic, and the magic of the canoes, is the third of the indispensable magical equipments of a sailor.

A man who knows well the kayga’u is considered to be able to travel safely through the most dangerous seas. A renowned chief, Maniyuwa, who was reputed as one of the greatest masters in kayga’u as well as in other magic, died in Dobu on an expedition about two generations ago. His son, Maradiana, had learnt his father’s kayga’u. Although the mulukwausi are extremely dangerous in the presence of a corpse, and though the natives would never dream of putting a dead body on a canoe, and thus multiplying the probabilities of an attack by the witches, still, Maradiana, trusting to his kayga’u, brought the corpse back to Boyowa without mishap. This act, a testimony to the daring sailor’s great prowess, and to the efficiency of the kayga’u magic, is kept alive in the memory and tradition of the natives. One of my informants, boasting of his kayga’u, told me how once, on a return from Dobu, he performed his rites. Such a mist arose as a consequence of it that the rest of the canoes lost their way, and arrived in the island of Kayleula. Indeed, if we can speak of a belief being alive, that is, of having a strong hold over human imagination, the belief in the danger from mulukwausi at sea is emphatically such a one. In times of mental stress, in times of the slightest danger at sea, or when a dying or dead person is near, the natives at once respond emotionally in terms of this belief. No one could live among these natives, speaking their language, and following their tribal life, without constantly coming up against the belief in mulukwausi, and in the efficiency of the kayga’u.

As in all other magic, also here, there are various systems of kayga’u, that is, there are various formulæ, slightly differing in their expressions, though usually similar in their fundamental wordings and in certain ‘key’ expressions. In each system, there are two main types of spells, the giyotanawa, or the kayga’u of the Underneath, and the giyorokaywa, or the kayga’u of the Above. The first one usually consists of a short formula or formulæ spoken over some stones and some lime in a lime pot and over some ginger root. This giyotanawa, as its name indicates, is magic directed against the evil agencies, awaiting the drowning men from below. Its spells close up ‘the gaping depth’ and they screen off the shipwrecked men from the eyes of the sharks. They also protect them from the other evil things, which cause the death of a man in drowning. The several little sea worms found on the beach, the crabs, the poisonous fish, soka, and the spiky fish, baiba’i, as well as the jumping stones, whether vineylida or nu’akekepaki, are all warded off and blinded by the giyotanawa. Perhaps the most extraordinary belief in this connection is that the tokwalu, the carved human figures on the prow boards, the guwaya, the semi-human effigy on the mast top, as well as the canoe ribs would ‘eat’ the drowning men if not magically ‘treated.’

The kayga’u of the ‘Above,’ the giyorokaywa, consists of long spells, recited over some ginger root, on several occasions before sailing, and during bad weather or shipwreck. They are directed exclusively against the mulukwausi, and form therefore the more important class of the two. These spells must never be recited at night, as then the mulukwausi could see and hear the man, and make his magic inefficient. Again, the spell of the Above, when recited at sea, must be spoken so that the magician is not covered with spray, for if his mouth were wet with sea water, the smell would attract rather than disperse, the flying witches. The man who knows the kayga’u must also be very careful at meal times. Children may not speak, play about, or make any noise while he eats, nor should anyone go round him behind his back while he is thus engaged; normay they point out anything with the finger. Should the man be thus disturbed during his food, he would have to stop eating at once, and not resume it till the next meal time.

Now the leading idea of kayga’u is that it produces some sort of mist. The mulukwausi who follow the canoe, the sharks and live stones which lie in wait for it, the depth with all its horror, and the débris of the canoe ready to harm the owner, all these are blinded by the mist that arises in obedience to these spells. Thus the paralysing effect of these two main forms of magic and the specialised sphere of influence of each of them, are definite and clear dogmas of native belief.

But here again we must not try to press the interpretation of these dogmas too far. Some sort of mist covers the eyes of all the evil agencies or blinds them; it makes the natives invisible from them. But to ask whether the kayga’u produces a real mist, visible also to man, or only a supernatural one, visible only to the mulukwausi; or whether it simply blinds their eyes so that they see nothing, would be asking too much. The same native who will boast of having produced a real mist, so great that it led astray his companions, will next day perform the kayga’u in the village during a burial, and affirm that the mulukwausi are in a mist, though obviously a perfectly clear atmosphere surrounds the whole proceedings. The natives will tell how, sailing on a windy but clear day, after a kayga’u has been recited into the eye of the wind, they hear the shrieks of the mulukwausi, who, losing their companions and the scent of the trail, hail one another in the dark. Again, some expressions seem to represent the view that it is mainly an action on the eyes of the witches. ‘Idudubila matala mulukwausi,’—‘It darkens the eyes of the mulukwausi,’ or ‘iguyugwayu’—‘It blinds,’ the natives will say. And when asked:

“What do the mulukwausi see, then?” they will answer: “They will see mist only. They do not see the places, they do not see the men, only mist.”

Thus here, as in all cases of belief, there is a certain latitude, within which the opinions and views may vary, and only the broad outline, which surrounds them, is definitely fixed by tradition, embodied in ritual, and expressed by the phraseology of magical formulæ or by the statements of a myth.

I have thus defined the manner in which the natives face the dangers of the sea; we have found, that the fundamental conceptions underlying this attitude are, that in shipwreck, men are entirely in the hands of the witches, and that from this, only their own magical defence can save them. This defence consists in the rites and formulæ of the kayga’u, of which we have also learnt the leading principles. Now, a consecutive description must be given of how this magic is performed when a toliwaga sets out on an expedition. And following up this expedition, it must be told how the natives imagine a shipwreck, and what they believe the behaviour of the shipwrecked party would be.

I shall give this narrative in a consecutive manner, as it was told to me by some of the most experienced and renowned Trobriand sailors in Sinaketa, Oburaku, and Omarakana. We can imagine that exactly such a narrative would be told by a veteran toliwaga to his usagelu on the beach of Yakum, as our Kula party sit round the camp fires at night. One of the old men, well-known for the excellence of his kayga’u, and boastful of it, would tell his story, entering minutely into all the details, however often the others might have heard about them before, or even assisted at the performance of his magic. He would then proceed to describe, with extreme realism, and dwelling graphically on every point, the story of a shipwreck, very much as if he had gone through one himself. As a matter of fact, no one alive at present has had any personal experience of such a catastrophe, though many have lived through frequent narrow escapes in stormy weather. Based on this, and on what they have heard themselves of the tradition of shipwrecks, natives will tell the story with characteristic vividness. Thus, the account given below is not only a summary of native belief, it is an ethnographic document in itself, representing the manner in which such type of narrative would be told over camp fires, the same subject being over and over again repeated by the same man, and listened to by the same audience, exactly as we, when children, or the peasants of Eastern Europe, will hearken to familiar fairy tales and Märchen. The only deviation here from what would actually take place in such a story-telling, is the insertion of magical formulæ into the narrative. The speaker might indeed repeat his magic, were he speaking in broad daylight, in his village, to a group of close kinsmen and friends. But being on a small island in the middle of the ocean, and at night, the recital of spells would be a taboo of the kayga’u; nor would a man ever recite his magic before a numerous audience, except on certain occasions at mortuary vigils, where people are expected to chant their magic aloud before hundreds of listeners.

Returning then again to our group of sailors, who sit under the stunted pandanus trees of Yakum, let us listen to one of the companions of the daring Maradiana, now dead, to one of the descendants of the great Maniyuwa. He will tell us how, early in the morning, on the day of departure from Sinaketa, or sometimes on the next morning, when they leave Muwa, he performs the first rite of kayga’u. Wrapping up a piece of leyya (wild ginger root) in a bit of dried banana leaf, he chants over it the long spell of the giyorokaywa, the kayga’u of the Above. He chants this spell into the leaf, holding it cup-shaped, with the morsel of ginger root at the bottom, so that the spell might enter into the substance to be medicated. After that, the leaf is immediately wrapped round, so as to imprison the magical virtue, and the magician ties the parcel round his left arm, with a piece of bast or string. Sometimes he will medicate two bits of ginger and make two parcels, of which the other will be placed in a string necklet, and carried on his breast. Our narrator, who is the master of one of the canoes, will probably not be the only one within the circle round the camp fire, who carries these bundles of medicated ginger; for though a toliwaga must always perform this rite as well as know all the other magic of shipwreck, as a rule several of the older members of his crew also know it, and have also prepared their magical bundles.

This is one of the spells of the giyorokaywa, such as the old man said over the ginger root:

Our party, sailing from the North, reach first the main island of Gumasila, a tall, steep mountain with arched lines and great cliffs, suggesting vaguely some huge Gothic monument. To the left, a heavy pyramid, the island of Domdom, recedes behind the nearer mountain as the travellers approach. The fleet now sails along the westerly shore of Gumasila, on which side the jungle, interspersed with bald patches, ascends a steep slope, ribbed with rocky ridges, and creased by valleys which run at their foot into wide bays. Only here and there can be seen triangular clearings, signs of cultivation made by the natives from the other side of the island, where the two villages are situated. At the South-West end of Gumasila, a narrow promontory runs into a flat, low point with a sandy beach on both sides. On the North side of the point, hidden from the villages, the fleet comes to a halt, on the beach of Giyawana (called by the Trobrianders Giyasila). This is the place where all the fleets, arriving from the North, stop before approaching the villages. Here also the inhabitants of the Amphletts rest for a day, after the first false start they have made from the villages, and before they actually set off for the Trobriands. This beach, in short, is the Amphlettan counterpart of the sandbank Muwa. It was also here that I surprised the Gumasilan canoes on a full moon night, in March, 1918, after they had started to join the uvalaku expedition to Sinaketa.

On this beach, the Sinaketans perform the final stage of Kula magic, before approaching their partners in Gumasila. The same magic will be repeated before arriving in Dobu, and as a matter of fact, when the objective of the big uvalaku is Dobu, the full and ceremonial performance of the magic might usually be deferred till then. It will be better therefore to postpone the description of this magic till we have brought our fleet to the beach of Sarubwoyna. Here it will be enough to mention that on occasions when magic is performed, after an hour’s or half hour’s pause on the beach of Giyawana, all the men get into their canoes, take the paddles and oars, and the fleet sails round the point where, in a small, very picturesque bay, there lies the smaller village of Gumasila, called Nu’agasi (see Plate I). This village in olden days was perched on a narrow ledge some one hundred metres above the sea level, a fastness difficult of access, and overlooking all its approaches. Now, after the white man’s influence has rendered unnecessary all precautions against raiding parties, the village has come down to the narrow strip of foreshore, a bridge between the sea and a small swamp formed at the foot of the hill. Some of the canoes will come to this beach, the others will sail further, under a precipitous black rock of some 150 metres high and 300 metres wide (see Plate XLII). Turning another corner, they arrive at the big village of Gumasila, built on artificial stone terraces, surrounded by dykes of small stones, forming square lagoons and diminutive harbours (compare the description given above in Chapter I, Division V). This is the old village which, practically inaccessible by sea, formed a fastness of a different kind from the other, high-perched villages typical of this district. Exposed to the full onslaught of the South-Easterly winds and seas, against which it was protected by its stone bulwarks and dykes, it was approachable only in all weathers by a small channel to the South, where a big rock and a reef shelter it from the rough waters.

Plate XLII  

Scenery in the Amphletts.

(See Div. I.)

Plate XLIII  

Landing in the Main Village of Gumasila.

(See Div. I.)

Without any preliminary welcoming ceremony or formal reception, the Sinaketan guests now leave their canoes and disperse among the villagers, settle down in groups near the houses of their friends, and engage in betel chewing and conversations. They speak in Kiriwinian, a language which is universally known in the Amphletts. Almost as soon as they go ashore, they give to their partners presents of pari (opening gift), some small object, such as a comb, a lime pot, or a lime stick. After that, they await some Kula gifts to be given them. The most important headman will offer such a gift first to Kouta’uya, or To’udawada, whichever of them is the toli’uvalaku of the occasion. The soft, penetrating sound of a conch-shell soon announces that the first gift has been given. Other blasts of conch-shells follow, and the Kula is in full swing. But here again, what happens in the Amphletts, is only a minor interlude to the Sinaketan adventurers, bent on the bigger goal in Dobu. And in order for us to remain in harmony with the native perspective we shall also wait for the detailed and circumstantial description of the Kula proceedings till we arrive on the beach of Tu’utauna, in Dobu. The concrete account of how such a visiting fleet is received and behaves on arrival will be given, when I describe a scene I saw with my own eyes in the village of Nabwageta, another Amphlett island, when sixty Dobuan canoes arrived there on their uvalaku, en route for Boyowa.

To give a definite idea of the conversations which take place between the visitors and the Amphlettans, I shall give a sample noted down, during a visit of some Trobrianders to Nu’agasi, the smaller village of Gumasila. A few canoes had arrived a day or two before, in the neighbouring island, Nabwageta, coming from the small Western islands of the Trobriands on a Kula. One of them paddled across to Nu’agasi with a crew of some six men, in order to offer pari gifts to their partners and see what was to be done in the way of Kula. The canoe was sighted from a distance, and its purpose was guessed at once, as word had been brought before of the arrival in Nabwageta of this small expedition. The headman of Nu’agasi, Tovasana, hurried back to his house from my tent, where I was taking great pains to obtain some ethnographic information from him.

Tovasana is an outspoken character, and he is the most important headman in the Amphletts. I am not using the word ‘chief,’ for in the Amphletts, as I have said, the natives do not observe either the court ceremonial with crouching and bending, nor do the headmen have any power or economic influence, at all comparable with those of the Trobriands. Yet, although I came from the Trobriands, I was struck by the authoritative tone used, and the amount of influence evidently wielded by Tovasana. This is partly due undoubtedly to the lack of white man’s interference, which has so undermined native authority and morality in the Trobriands, whereas the Amphletts have so far escaped to a large extent Missionary teaching and Government law and order. On the other hand, however, the very narrow sphere of his powers, the authority over a small village, consolidates the headman’s influence. The oldest and the most aristocratic by descent of all the headmen, he is their acknowledged ‘doyen.’

In order to receive his visitors he went to the beach in front of his house and sat there on a log, looking impassively over the sea. When the Trobrianders arrived each man took a gift and went to his partner’s house. The chief did not rise to meet them, nor did they come in a body to greet him. The toliwaga came towards the place where Tovasana was sitting; he carried a bundle of taro and a piece of gugu’a (objects of small value, such as combs, lime pots, etc.). These he laid down near the seated headman, who, however, took no notice of it. A small boy, a grandchild of Tovasana, I think, took up the gifts and put them into his house. Then, without having yet exchanged a word, the toliwaga sat down on the platform next to Tovasana. Under a shady tree, which spread its branches like a canopy above the bleached canoe, the men formed a picturesque group sitting cross-legged on the platform. Beside the slim, youthful figure of the Kaduwaga man, the old Tovasana, with his big, roughly carved features, with his large aquiline nose sticking out from under an enormous turban-like wig, looked like an old gnome. At first exchanging merely a word or two, soon they dropped into more animated conversation, and when other villagers and the rest of the visitors joined them, the talk became general. As they spoke in Kiriwinian, I was able to jot down the beginning of their conversation.

Tovasana asked:

“Where have you anchored?”

“In Nabwageta.”

“When did you come?”

“Yesterday.”

“From where did you start on the last day before arriving?”

“From Gabuwana.”

“When?”

“The day before yesterday.”

“What wind?”

“Started from home with yavata; wind changed. Arrived on sandbank (Gabuwana); we slept; so-and-so made wind magic; wind changed again; good wind.”

Then Tovasana asked the visitors about one of the chiefs from the island of Kayleula (to the West of Kiriwina), and when he was going to give him a big pair of mwali. The man answered they do not know; to their knowledge that chief has no big mwali at present. Tovasana became very angry, and in a long harangue, lapsing here and there into the Gumasila language, he declared that he would never kula again with that chief, who is a topiki (mean man), who has owed him for a long time a pair of mwali as yotile (return gift), and who always is slow in making Kula. A string of other accusations about some clay pots given by Tovasana to the same chief, and some pigs promised and never given, were also made by the angry headman. The visitors listened to it with polite assent, uttering here and there some noncommital remark. They, in their turn, complained about some sago, which they had hoped to receive in Nabwageta, but which was churlishly refused for some reason or other to all the men of Kaduwaga, Kaysiga and Kuyawa.

Tovasana then asked them, “How long are you going to stay?”

“Till Dobu men come.”

“They will come,” said Tovasana, “not in two days, not in three days, not in four days; they will come tomorrow, or at the very last, the day after tomorrow.”

“You go with them to Boyowa?”

“I sail first to Vakuta, then to Sinaketa with the Dobu men. They sail to Susuwa beach to fish, I go to your villages, to Kaduwaga, to Kaysiga, to Kuyawa. Is there plenty of mwali in your villages?”

“Yes, there are. So-and-so has …”

Here followed a long string of personal names of big armshells, the approximate number of smaller, nameless ones, and the names of the people in whose possession they were at the time.

The interest of both hearers and speakers was very obvious, and Tovasana gave the approximate dates of his movements to his visitors. Full moon was approaching, and the natives have got names for every day during the week before and after full moon, and the following and preceding days can therefore be reckoned. Also, every seven-day period within a moon is named after the quarter which falls in it. This allows the natives to fix dates with a fair exactitude. The present example shows the way in which, in olden times, the movements of the various expeditions were known over enormous areas; nowadays, when white men’s boats with native crews often move from one island to the other, the news spreads even more easily. In former times, small preliminary expeditions such as the one we have just been describing, would fix the dates and make arrangements often for as much as a year ahead.

The Kaduwaga men next inquired as to whether any strangers from the Trobriands were then staying in Gumasila. The answer was that there was in the village one man from Ba’u, and one from Sinaketa. Then inquiries were made as to how many Kula necklaces there were in Gumasila, and the conversation drifted again into Kula technicalities.

It is quite customary for men from the Trobriands to remain for a long time in the Amphletts, that is, from one expedition to another. For some weeks or even months, they live in the house of their partner, friend, or relative, careful to keep to the customs of the country. They will sit about with the men of the village and talk. They will help in the work and go out on fishing expeditions. These latter will be specially attractive to a Trobriander, a keen fisherman himself, who here finds an entirely new type of this pursuit. Whether an expedition would be made on one of the sandbanks, where the fishermen remain for a few days, casting their big nets for dugong and turtle; or whether they would go out in a small canoe, trying to catch the jumping gar fish with a fishing kite; or throwing a fish trap into the deep sea—all these would be a novelty to the Trobriander, accustomed only to the methods suitable to the shallow waters of the Lagoon, swarming with fish.

In one point the Trobriander would probably find his sojourn in the Amphletts uncongenial; he would be entirely debarred from any intercourse with women. Accustomed in his country to easy intrigues, here he has completely to abstain, not only from sexual relations with women married or unmarried, but even from moving with them socially, in the free and happy manner characteristic of Boyowa. One of my main informants, Layseta, a Sinaketa man, who spent several years in the Amphletts, confessed to me, not without shame and regret, that he never succeeded in having any intrigues with the women there. To save his face, he claimed that he had had several Amphlett belles declaring their love to him, and offering their favours, but he always refused them:

“I feared; I feared the bowo’u of Gumasila; they are very bad.”

The bowo’u are the local sorcerers of the Amphletts. Whatever we might think about Layseta’s temptations—and his personal appearance and charm do not make his boastings very credible—and whether he was afraid of sorcery or of a sound thrashing, the fact remains that a Trobriander would have to change his usual mode of behaviour when in the Amphletts, and keep away from the women entirely. When big parties arrive in Gumasila, or Nabwageta, the women run away, and camp in the bush till the beach is clear.

The Amphlettans, on the contrary, were used to receive favours from unmarried women in Sinaketa. Nowadays, the male inhabitants of that village, always disapproving of the custom, though not to the extent of taking any action, tell the Amphlettans that the white man’s Government has prohibited the men from Gumasila and Nabwageta to have sexual relations in Sinaketa. One of the very few occasions, when the men from the Amphletts showed any interest in talking to me was when they asked me whether this was true.

“The Sinaketa men tell us that we will go to jail if we sleep with girls in Sinaketa. Would the Government put us into jail, in truth?”

As usually, I simply disclaimed all knowledge of the white man’s arcana in such matters.

The small party of Kaduwaga men, whose visit to Tovasana I have just been describing, sat there for about two hours, smoked and chewed betel-nut, the conversation flagging now and then, and the men looking into the distance with the habitual self-important expression worn on such occasions. After the final words about mutual plans were exchanged, and a few pots had been brought by small boys to the canoe as taio’i (farewell gift to the visitors), they embarked, and paddled back three or four miles across to Nabwageta.

We must imagine the big Kula party from Sinaketa, whom we just watched landing in the two villages of Gumasila, behaving more or less in the same manner; conducting similar conversations, offering the same type of pari gifts to their partners. Only everything happens of course on a much bigger scale. There is a big group seated before each house, parties walk up and down the village, the sea in front of it is covered with the gaudy, heavily laden canoes. In the little village, of which Tovasana is headman, the two chiefs, To’udawada and Kouta’uya, will be seated on the same platform, on which we saw the old man receiving his other guests. The other headmen of the Sinaketans will have gone to the bigger village round the corner, and will encamp there under the tall palms, looking across the straits towards the pyramidal forms of Domdom, and further South, to the main island fronting them with the majestic form of Koyatabu. Here, among the small houses on piles, scattered picturesquely through the maze of little harbours, lagoons and dykes, large groups of people will be seated on mats of plaited coco-nut, each man as a rule under the dwelling of his partner, chewing betel-nut stolidly, and watching stealthily the pots being brought out to be presented to them, and still more eagerly awaiting the giving of Kula gifts, although he remains to a superficial glance quite impassive.

In Chapter III I spoke about the sociology of Kula, and gave a concise definition of partnership with its functions and obligations. I said there that people enter into this relationship in a definite manner, and remain in it for the rest of their life. I also said that the number of partners a man possesses, depends upon his social position and rank. The protective character of an overseas partner becomes now clearer, after we have realised the nervous tension with which each Kula party in olden days would have approached a land full of mulukwausi, bowo’u and other forms of sorcery, a land from which originate the very tauva’u themselves.1 To have a friend there, one who will not on the surface of it have bad intentions, is a great boon. What this really means to the natives can, however, only be realised when we arrive at Dobu, learn the special safety magic performed there and find how genuinely serious these apprehensions are.

We must now make another short digression from our consecutive account, and discuss the several aspects of the sociology of the Kula one after the other.

1. Sociological Limitations to the Participation in the Kula.—Not everyone who lives within the cultural sphere of the Kula does participate in it. More especially in the Trobriand Islands, there are whole districts which do not practise the Kula. Thus a series of villages in the North of the main Island, the villages on the Island of Tuma, as well as the industrial villages of Kuboma and the agricultural ones of Tilataula do not practise Kula. In villages like Sinaketa, Vakuta, Gumasila and Nabwageta, every man carries on the Kula. The same applies to the small Islands which link up the big gaps of the Kula chain, the Islands of Kitava, Iwa, Gawa and Kwayawata, strewn on the seas between the Trobriands and Woodlark Island, to Tubetube and Wari, etc., etc. In the Dobuan speaking district, on the other hand, I think that certain village complexes either do not practice Kula at all, or else practice it on a small scale, that is, their headmen have only a few partners in the neighbouring villages.

In some of the big chiefs’ villages in Kiriwina there are certain people who never practice Kula. Thus, in a village where the headman has the rank of guya’u (chief) or gumguya’u (minor chief) the commoners of the lowest rank and unrelated to the headman are not supposed to carry on the Kula. In olden days this rule would be very strictly observed, and nowadays even, though somewhat relaxed, not many commoners of this description practice the Kula. Limitations as to entry into the Kula, therefore, exist only in big Kula districts such as that of Dobu and of the Trobriands, and they are partly local, excluding whole villages, and partly social, excluding certain people of low rank.

2. The Relation of Partnership.—The name for an overseas partner is in the Trobriand language karayta’u; ‘my partner’ is styled ulo karayta’u, ulo being the possessive pronoun of remote relation. In Gumasila he is called ulo ta’u, which means simply ‘my man’; in Dobuan, yegu gumagi. The inland partners are known in Kiriwinian by the term denoting a friend, ‘lubaygu,’ the suffixed possessive pronoun gu being that of nearest possession.

Only after this relationship has been established between two men, can the two make Kula with one another. An overseas visitor would as a rule go to his partner’s house and offer him a small present as pari. This again would be returned by the local man by means of a talo’i present. There would not be any great intimacy between two overseas partners. But, in sharp contrast to the essential hostility between two strange tribesmen, such a relationship of friendship would stand out as the most remarkable deviation from the general rule. In inland relations between two partners of neighbouring villages, the closeness and intimacy would be relatively small as compared to other ties. This relation was defined to me in these words:

“My partner same as my clansman (kakaveyogu)—he might fight me. My real kinsman (veyogu), same navelstring, would always side with us.”

The best way of obtaining detailed information, and of eliminating any errors which might have crept into ethnographic generalisations, is to collect concrete data. I have drawn up a complete list of the partners of Kouta’uya, who is one of the biggest Kula men in the whole Ring; another list of a smaller Sinaketa headman, Toybayoba; and of course I know several complements of partners of smaller men, who, as a rule, have about four to six partners each.

The full list of Kouta’uya includes fifty-five men in the Northern Half of Boyowa, that is, in Luba, Kulumata and Kiriwina. From these the chief receives armshells. To the South, his partners in the Southern districts of Boyowa and Vakuta are twenty-three by number; in the Amphletts eleven, and twenty-seven in Dobu. Thus we see that the numbers to the South and North almost balance, the Southern exceeding the Northern by six. These numbers include his partners in Sinaketa, where he makes Kula with all his fellow chiefs, and with all the headmen of the divisional villages, and in his own little village he kulas with his sons. But even there, everyone of his partners is either South or North to him, that is, either gives him the necklaces or armshells.

All the clans are represented in the list. Often when asked with regard to the name of some man, why he is in partnership with him, the answer would be—“Because he is my kinsman,” which means, in this case, clansman of equal rank. Men of other clans are included, as ‘friends’ or relatives-in-law, or for some other reason more or less imaginary. I shall speak presently of the mechanism through which the man enters on this relation.

The list of Toybayoba’s partners includes twelve men to the North, four in Southern Boyowa, three in the Amphletts and eleven in Dobu, the balance here also being on the Southern side. As said above, minor men might have anything between four to ten partners all told, whereas there are men in northern Boyowa who have only two partners, one on each side of the ring, so to speak, with whom they make Kula.

In drawing up these lists, which I shall not reproduce here in extenso, another striking feature comes to light: on both sides, there is a definite geographical limit, beyond which a man cannot have any partners. For all men in the village of Sinaketa, for instance, this limit, as regards the armshells, coincides with the furthest boundary of Kiriwina; that is, no man from Sinaketa has any partners in Kitava, which is the next Kula district beyond Kiriwina. South, in the direction from which the soulava are received, the villages at the South-East end of Fergusson Island are the last places where partners of Sinaketan men are still to be found. The small Island of Dobu itself lies just beyond this boundary, and no man in this Island or in any of the villages on Normanby Island makes Kula with the Sinaketans (compare the circles, indicating Kula Communities on Map V).

Beyond these districts, the men still know the names of what could be called their partners-once-removed, that is, the partners of their partners. In the case of a man who has only a couple of partners on each side, who, again being modest men, have also only one or two, this relationship is not devoid of importance. If I, in Sinaketa, have one partner, say in Kiriwina, who again has one partner in Kitava, it is no small matter for me to learn that this Kitava man just obtained a splendid pair of armshells. For this means that there is about a quarter of a chance of my receiving these armshells, on the supposition that the Kitavan and Kiriwinian have two partners each between whom they can choose in bestowing them. In the case of a big chief like Kouta’uya, however, the number of once-removed partners becomes so great that they lose any personal significance for him. Kouta’uya has some twenty-five partners in Kiriwina; among them To’uluwa, the big chief, makes Kula with more than half of all the men in Kitava. Some other of Kouta’uya’s partners in Kiriwina, of lesser rank, yet quite important, also make Kula with a great number, so that probably practically everybody in Kitava is Kouta’uya’s partner-once-removed.

If we were to imagine that on the Kula Ring there are many people who have only one partner on each side, then the Ring would consist of a large number of closed circuits, on each of which the same articles would constantly pass. Thus if A in Kiriwina always kulas with B in Sinaketa who kulas with C in Tubetube, who kulas with D in Murua, who kulas with E in Kitava, who kulas with A in Kiriwina, then A B C D E F would form such one strand in the big Kula circuit. If an armshell got into the hands of one of them, it could never leave this strand. But the Kula Ring is nothing approaching this, because every small Kula partner has, as a rule, on one side or the other, a big one, that is a chief. And every chief plays the part of a shunting-station for Kula objects. Having so many partners on each side, he constantly transfers an object from one strand to another. Thus, any article which on its rounds has travelled through the hands of certain men, may on its second round come through an entirely different channel. This, of course, supplies a large part of the zest and excitement of the Kula exchange.

The designation of such a partner-once-removed in the language of Kiriwina is muri-muri. A man will say that such and such a one is ‘my partner-once-removed,’ ‘ulo murimuri.’ Another expression connected with this relationship is to inquire ‘whose hand’ has passed on such and such a vaygu’a. When To’uluwa gives a pair of armshells to Kouta’uya, this latter will ask: ‘availe yamala’ (‘whose hand’)? The answer is ‘yamala Pwata’i,’ (‘the hand of Pwata’i’). And, as a rule, more or less the following conversation will ensue: “who gave this pair of armshells to Pwata’i?” “how long were they kept by a man in the Island of Yeguma, and then distributed on the occasion of a so’i (feast)?” “when they had been the last time in Boyowa?” etc., etc.

3. Entering the Kula Relationship.—In order to become a practising member of the Kula, a man must have passed the stage of adolescence; he must have the status and rank required, that is in such villages where this condition is demanded; he must know the magic of the Kula; and last, not least, he must be in possession of a piece of vaygu’a. The membership, with all its concomitant implications, may be received from the father, who teaches his son the magic, gives him a piece of vaygu’a, and provides him with a partner, very often in his own person.

Supposing one of the sons of Kouta’uya has reached the stage where a lad may begin to kula. The chief will have been teaching him the spells for some time already. Moreover the lad, who from childhood has taken part in overseas expeditions, has many a time seen the rites performed and heard the spells uttered. When the time is ripe, Kouta’uya, having the conch-shell blown, and with all due formalities, presents a soulava to his son. This latter, soon afterwards, goes somewhere North. Perhaps he goes only to one of the neighbouring villages within Sinaketa, perhaps he accompanies his father on a visit as far North as Omarakana, and in any case he makes Kula, either with one of his father’s friends and partners, or with a special friend of his own. Thus, at one stroke, the lad is equipped with magic, vaygu’a, and two partners, one of whom is his father. His northern partner will give him in due course an armshell, and this he will probably offer to his father. The transactions once started continue. His father soon gives him another vaygu’a, which he may kula with the same northern partner, or he may try to establish another partnership. The next mwali (armshells) he receives from the North, he will probably give to another partner in the South, and thus establish a new relationship. A chief’s son, who is always a commoner himself (since the chief cannot marry within his own sub-clan and the son has the status of his mother), would not multiply his partners beyond the limit numerically given by the above mentioned partners of Toybayoba.

Not everyone, however, is as fortunate as to be the son of a chief, which in the Trobriands is, on the whole, one of the most enviable positions, since it confers many privileges, and entails no special responsibilities. A young chief himself would have to pay substantially for establishing his position in the Kula, for a chief is always the son of a woman of high rank, and the nephew of a chief, though his father may be a commoner of small influence only. In any case, his maternal uncle will expect from him some pokala (offerings by instalment), in payment for magic, vaygu’a, and finally for a leading position in the Kula. The young chief would marry, and thus acquire wealth within limits, and with this he would have to give presents to his maternal uncle, who in turn would introduce him into the Kula, exactly as a chief does his son, only not disinterestedly.

A commoner enters into the Kula like a chief, with the only exception that everything is on a smaller scale, the amount of the pokala which he gives to his maternal uncle, the vaygu’a which he receives, and the number of partners with whom he kulas. When a man gives to another a piece of vaygu’a, of the Kula kind, but not as a Kula exchange but as a gift, let us say as youlo (gift in repayment for the harvest supply offerings, see above, Chapter VI, Division VI), this vaygu’a does not leave the Kula Ring. The receiver, if he had not been in the Kula yet, enters into it by acquiring the vaygu’a, and can then choose his partner, and go on with the exchange.

There is one important qualification of the statement made at the beginning of this section. I said there that a man entering the Kula Ring, must learn the mwasila magic. This refers only to those who practise overseas Kula. For people who do only the inland exchange, magic is not necessary, and in fact it is never learned by them.

4. Participation of Women in the Kula.—As I have said in the general descriptive chapter on the Kula tribes, the position of women among them is by no means characterised by oppression or social insignificance. They have their own sphere of influence, which, in certain cases and in certain tribes, is of great importance. The Kula, however, is essentially a man’s type of activity. As mentioned above, in the section between Sinaketa and Dobu, women do not sail on the big expeditions. From Kiriwina young, unmarried girls would sail East to Kitava, Iwa, and Gawa, and from these Islands even old, married women, indeed whole families, come to Kiriwina. But they do not carry on overseas Kula exchange, neither among themselves, nor with men.

In Kiriwina, some women, notably the chief’s wives, are admitted to the honour and privilege of exchanging vaygu’a, though in such cases the transactions are done en famille. To take a concrete case, in October or November, 1915, To’uluwa, the chief of Omarakana, brought a fine haul of mwali from Kitava. The best pair of these he presented to his veteran wife, Bokuyoba, a wife whom he had inherited from his elder brother Numakala. Bokuyoba in turn gave the pair, without much delay, to Kadamwasila, the favourite wife of the chief, the mother of five sons and one daughter. She again gave it to her son, Namwana Guyau, who kula’d it on to some of his southern partners. Next time he receives a soulava necklace, he will give it, not to his father directly, but to his mother, who will hand it over to her senior colleague, and this venerable lady will give it to To’uluwa. The whole transaction is evidently a complimentary interpolation of the two giyovila (chief’s wives) in between the simple transaction of the chief giving the vaygu’a to his son. This interpolation gives the women much pleasure, and is highly valued by them. In fact, at that time I heard more about that than about all the rest of the exchanges associated with this overseas trip.

In Southern Boyowa, that is in Sinaketa and Vakuta, the rôle of women is similar, but they play besides another part. A man would sometimes send his wife with a Kula gift to his partner in the neighbouring village. On some occasions, when he needs vaygu’a very badly, as for instance when he is expecting some uvalaku visitors, his wife may help him to obtain the vaygu’a from that partner. For, though this latter might refuse to give it to his Sinaketan partner, he would not do so to his wife. It must be added that no sexual motives are associated with it, and that it is only a sort of customary compliment paid to the fair sex.

In Dobu, the wife, or the sister of a man, is always credited with a great influence over his Kula decisions. Therefore, there is a special form of magic, used by the Sinaketans, in order to act on the minds of the Dobuan women. Although, in matters of sex, a Trobriander would have absolutely to keep aloof from Dobuan women, married or unmarried, he would approach them with nice speeches and gifts in matters of Kula. He would reproach an unmarried girl with her brother’s conduct towards him. She would then ask for a piece of betel-nut. This would be given with some magic spoken over it, and the girl, it is believed, would then influence her brother to kula with his partner.2

In the short outline of the Amphlett tribe which was given in Chapter II, Division IV, I called them ‘typical monopolists,’ both with reference to their economic position and to their character. Monopolists they are in two respects, namely as manufacturers of the wonderful clay pots which form the only supply for the surrounding districts; and in the second place, as a commercial community, situated half-way between the populous country of Dobu, with its rich gardens and coco-nut plantations, on the one hand, and the Trobriands, the main industrial community in Eastern New Guinea on the other.

The expression ‘monopolists’ must, however, be correctly understood. The Amphletts are not a centre of commercial middle-men, constantly busy importing and exporting desirable utilities. Only about once or twice a year, a big expedition comes to their Islands, and every few months they themselves will sail South-East or North and again receive visits from smaller expeditions from one of the neighbours or the other. It is through just such small expeditions that they collect a relatively considerable amount of utilities from all surrounding districts, and these they can give to such visitors as need and desire them. Nor would they impose high prices on any such exchange, but they are certainly considered less liberal, less ready to give or to trade and always on the look out for higher return gifts and extras. In their bartering away of the clay pots, they also cannot ask extortionate prices, such as, according to the laws of supply and demand, they could impose on their neighbours. For, no more than any other natives, can they run counter to customary rules, which regulate this exchange as much as all others. Indeed, considering the great amount of trouble which they have in obtaining the clay, and the high degree of skill necessary to produce the pots, the prices for which they sell them are very low. But here again, their manners over this transaction are distinctly haughty, and they are well aware of their value as potters and distributors of pots to the other natives.

A few more words must be said about their pot making industry as well as about the trade in these islands.

The natives of the Amphletts are exclusive manufacturers of pottery, within a wide radius. They are the only purveyors to the Trobrianders, to the inhabitants of the Marshall Bennett Islands, and also, I believe, all the clay-pots in Woodlark come from the Amphletts.3 To the South, they export their pots to Dobu, Du’a’u, and further South as far as Milne Bay. This is not all, however, for although in some of these farther districts the Amphlett pots are used side by side with other ones, they are infinitely superior to any earthenware found in the whole of British New Guinea. Of a large size, yet extremely thin, they possess great durability, and in form they are extremely well shaped and finished (see Plate XLVI).

The best Amphlett pots owe their high quality to the excellence of their material as well as their workmanship. The clay for them has to be imported into the Islands from Yayawana, a quarry on the Northern shore of Fergusson Island, about a day’s journey from the Amphletts. Only a very inferior clay can be found in the islands of Gumasila and Nabwageta, good enough to make small pots, but quite useless for the big ones.

There is a legend, explaining why the good clay cannot be obtained nowadays in the Amphletts. In olden days, two brothers, Torosipupu and Tolikilaki, lived on one of the summits of Gumasila called Tomonumonu. There was plenty of fine clay there at that time. One day Torosipupu went to fish with a trap. He caught a very fine giant clam-shell. When he came back, Tolikilaki said: “O my shell! I shall eat it!” Torosipupu refused it and answered with a very obscene allusion to the bivalvular mollusc and to the uses he was going to make of it. Tolikilaki asked again; Torosipupu refused. They quarrelled. Tolikilaki then took part of the clay with him, and went to Yayawana on the main island. Torosipupu afterwards took the rest and followed him. What were their further destinies, the legend does not say. But on Gumasila there remained only very poor clay, which is all that can be found there ever since.

Since then, the men have to go about twice yearly to Yayawana in order to bring the clay from which the women afterwards will manufacture the pots. It takes them about a day to reach Yayawana, to which, as it lies to the South-West, they can travel with any of the prevailing winds and return equally well. They remain for a couple of days there, digging the clay, drying it and filling a few vataga baskets with it. I estimate that each canoe carries about two ton weight on its return journey. This will last the women for half a year’s production. The pale, straw-coloured clay is kept under the houses in big troughs made of sides of discarded canoes.

In olden days, before the white man’s advent, the conditions were a little more complicated. Only one island, Kwatouto, being on friendly terms with the natives had the freedom of the Northern shore. Whether the other islands used also to fetch the clay from there, doing so armed and ready for attack; or whether they used to acquire the clay by barter from Kwatouto, I could not definitely establish. The information one receives in the Amphletts is exceedingly unsatisfactory, and my several informants gave contradictory accounts on this point. The fact seems clear, in my case, that Kwatouto, then as now, was the source of the best pottery, but that both Gumasila and Nabwageta also always manufactured pots, though perhaps inferior ones. The fourth island, Domdom, never participated in this trade, and up to the present there is not a single woman in Domdom who can shape a pot.

Plate XLIV 

Technology of Pot Making (I.)

Top picture: the clumps of clay have been put in a circle and joined up, forming thick, circular roll. Bottom picture: the roll is being worked upwards, caving in all round. (See Div. III.)

Plate XLV 

Technology of Pot Making (II.)

Top picture: the dome-shaped mass of clay is worked near the hole in the top; presently the latter will be closed, and, as this is a small pot, only after that is the pot beaten, as shown in the picture below. (See Div. III.)

The manufacturing of this article, as said, is exclusively the work of women. They sit in groups of two or three under the houses, surrounded by big clumps of clay and the implements of their craft, and produce in these very shabby and mean conditions, veritable masterpieces of their art. Personally I had only the opportunity of seeing groups of very old women at work, although I spent about a month in the Amphletts.

With regard to the technology of pot-making, the method is that of first roughly moulding the clay into its form and then beating with a spatula and subsequently scraping the walls to the required thinness with a mussel-shell. To give the description in detail, a woman starts first by kneading a certain amount of clay for a long time. Of this material she makes two semi-circular clumps, or several clumps, if a big pot is to be made. These clumps are then placed in a ring, touching one another upon a flat stone or board, so that they form a thick, circular roll (Plate XLIV, top). The woman now begins to work this roll with both hands, gradually pressing it together, and at the same time bringing it up all round into a slanting wall (see Plate XLIV, bottom). Her left hand works as a rule on the inside, and her right on the outside of this wall; gradually it begins to shape into a semi-spherical dome. On the top of the dome there is a hole, through which the woman thrusts her left hand, working with it on the inside of the dome (see Plate XLV, top). At first the main movements of her hands were from downward up, flattening out the rolls into thin walls. The traces of her fingers going up and down on the outside leave longitudinal furrows (see details on Plate XLV, top). Towards the end of this stage her hands move round and round, leaving concentric, horizontal marks on the dome. This is continued until the pot has assumed a good curvature all round.

It seems almost a miracle to see how, in a relatively short time, out of this after all brittle material, and with no implements whatever, a woman will shape a practically faultless hemisphere, often up to a metre in diameter.

After the required shape has been obtained the woman takes a small spatula of light-wood into her right hand and she proceeds to tap the clay gently (see Plate XLV, bottom). This stage lasts a fairly long time, for big pots about an hour. After the dome has been sufficiently worked in this way small pieces of clay are gradually fitted in at the top, closing the orifice, and the top of the dome is beaten again. In the case of small pots the beating is done only after the orifice has been closed. The pot is put with the mat into the sun, where it remains for a day or two to harden. It is then turned round, so that its mouth is now uppermost, and its bottom is carefully placed into a basket. Then, round the rim of the mouth, a flat strip of clay is placed horizontally, turned towards the inside, forming a graceful lip. Three small lumps of clay are put 120° distance from each other near the lip as ornaments, and, with a pointed stick, a design is scratched in round the lip and sometimes down the outside of the body. In this state the pot is again left in the sun for some length of time.

After it has sufficiently hardened to be handled with safety, though it must be done with the utmost care, it is placed on some dried sticks, mouth downwards, supported by stones put between the sticks. It is surrounded with twigs and pieces of wood on its outside, fire is kindled, the sticks below bake it from the inside, and those from above on the outside. The final result is a beautiful pot, of a brick red colour when new, though after several uses it becomes completely black. Its shape is not quite semi-spherical; it is rather half an ellipsoid, like the broader half of an egg, cut off in the middle. The whole gives the feeling of perfection in form and of elegance, unparalleled in any South Sea pottery I know (see Plate XLVI).

These pots in Kiriwinian language kuria, are called by the Amphlett natives kuyana or va’ega. The biggest specimens are about a metre across their mouth, and some sixty centimetres deep; they are used exclusively for the ceremonial cooking of mona (see Plate XXXV), and are called kwoylamona (in the Amphletts: nokunu). The second size kwoylakalagila (in the Amphletts, nopa’eva) are used for ordinary boiling of yams or taro. Kwoylugwawaga (Amphletts, nobadala), are used for the same purposes but are much smaller. An especial size, kwoylamegwa (Amphletts, nosipoma) are used in sorcery. The smallest ones, which I do not remember ever having seen in the Trobriands though there is a Trobriand word for them, kwoylakekila, are used for everyday cooking in the Amphletts where they are called va’ega, in the narrower sense of the word.

I have expatiated on this singular and artistic achievement of the natives of the Amphletts, because from all points of view it is important to know the details of a craft so far in advance of any similar achievement within the Melanesian region.

A few words must now be said about trade in the Amphletts. The central position of this little archipelago situated between, on one side, the big, flat, extremely fertile coral islands, which, however, are deprived of many indispensable, natural resources; and on the other, the rich jungle and varied mineral supplies of the volcanic regions in the d’Entrecasteaux archipelago, indicates on which lines this trade would be likely to develop. To this natural inequality between them and their neighbours are added social elements. The Trobrianders are skilful, industrious, and economically highly organised. In this respect, even the Dobuans stand on a lower level, and the other inhabitants of the d’Entrecasteaux much more so.

If we imagine a commercial diagram drawn on the map, we would first of all notice the export in pottery, radiating from the Amphletts as its source. In the inverse direction, flowing towards them, would be imports in food such as sago, pigs, coco-nut, betel-nut, taro and yams. An article very important in olden days, which had to be imported into the Amphletts, was the stone for implements coming via the Trobriands from Woodlark Island. These indeed would be traded on by the Amphlettans, as all the d’Entrecasteaux relied, for the most part at least, on the imports from Woodlark, according to information I obtained in the Amphletts. The Amphlett islands further depended on the Trobriands for the following articles: wooden dishes, manufactured in Bwoytalu; lime-pots manufactured in several villages of Kuboma; three-tiered baskets and folding baskets, made in Luya; ebony lime pots and mussel shells, these latter fished mainly by the village of Kavataria in the lagoon. These articles were paid for, or matched as presents by the following ones: first of all, of course the pots; secondly, turtle-shell earrings, special nose sticks, red ochre, pumice stone and obsidian, all of these obtainable locally. Further, the natives of the Amphletts procured on Fergusson Island, for the Trobrianders, wild banana seeds used for necklaces, strips of rattan used as belts and for lashing, feathers of the cassowary and red parrot, used for dancing decorations, plaited fibre-belts, bamboo and barbed spears.

It may be added that in olden days, the natives in the Amphletts would not sail freely to all the places on the main island. Each Amphlett village community had a district on the mainland, with which they were on friendly terms and with which they could trade without incurring any danger. Thus, as said above, only the village of Kwatouto, in the southernmost inhabited Amphlett island, was free to go unmolested to the district round Yayawana, from whence they obtained the pale yellow clay, so excellent for pottery. The natives of Nabwageta had a few villages eastwards from Yayawana to deal with, and those of Gumasila went further East still. Domdom natives were never great traders or sailors. The trading conditions in the islands were further complicated by the constant internal quarrels and warfare between the districts. Kwatouto and Domdom on the one side, Gumasila and Nabwageta on the other were allies, and between these two factions there was a constant, smouldering hostility, preventing any development of friendly commercial intercourse, and breaking out now and then into open warfare. This was the reason why the villages were all perched on high, inaccessible ledges, or like Gumasila, were built so as to be protected by the sea and reefs from attack.

Plate XLVI  

Fine Specimens of Amphlett Pots.

The largest type of cooking pots, used only for the preparation of taro pudding, are an article of high value and often handled and displayed in connection with ceremonial distributions (sagali) and communal cooking. (See Div. III.)

Plate XLVII  

A Canoe in Gumasila Loading Pots.

The main article of export from the Amphletts has to be stowed away very carefully. (See Div. I.)

The influence of the surrounding great districts, that is, of the Trobriands and of Dobu upon the Amphletts neither was nor is merely commercial. From the limited linguistic material collected in the Amphletts, I can only say that their language is related both to that of the Trobriands and of Dobu. Their social organisation resembles closely that of the Trobrianders with the exception of chieftainship, which is lacking in the Amphletts. In their beliefs as to sorcery, spirits, etc., they seem to be more akin to the Dobuans than to the Trobrianders. Their canoe magic has come from the Trobriands, but the art of building their canoes is that of Dobu, which as we have seen before is also the one adopted by the Trobrianders. The magic of the Kula, known in the Amphletts, is partly adopted from the Trobriands, and partly from Dobu. There is only one indigenous system of magic which originated in the islands. Long ago there lived a man of the Malasi clan, who had his abode in the rock of Selawaya, which stands out of the jungle, above the big village of Gumasila. This man knew the magic of ayowa, which is the name given to mwasila (Kula magic) in the language of the Amphletts and of Dobu. Some people passed near the stone while it was being recited within it; they learned it, and handed it over to their descendants.

One more point of importance must be mentioned here, a point bearing upon the intertribal relations in this district. As we saw, some Trobriand people remain sometimes on prolonged visits in the Amphletts. This custom, however, is never reciprocated, and people from the Amphletts never visit for any length of time their Northern neighbours. The same refers to the relations between the Trobriands and the district of Dobu. In discussing the lists of Kula partners of Kouta’uya and Toybayoba, I was told about some of their Southern partners, that they were veyola (maternal kinsmen) of my informant. On further inquiry it appeared that these people were emigrants from the Trobriands, who settled down in Tewara, Sanaroa or the big Dobuan settlements on the North-West shores of Dawson Straits.

When I asked whether, on the contrary, there were any cases of Dobuans settling in Boyowa, it was emphatically denied that such a thing could happen. And indeed, in the numerous genealogical data which I have collected from all over the district, there is no trace of migration from the South, although frequent migrations occur within the district and some from the Marshall Bennett Islands. In general, all these migrations within the Trobriands show also a marked tendency to move form North to South. Thus, the most aristocratic sub-clan, the Tabalu, originated in the Northernmost village of Laba’i. But now their stronghold is further South in Omarakana, and the members of the same sub-clan are ruling in Olivilevi, and Tukwa’ukwa, that is in the middle of the island. Some of them even migrated as far South as Vakuta, where they established a feeble imitation of chieftainship, never being able to subdue the other natives to any extent. Several sub-clans, now firmly established in the Middle and Southern portions of the island, trace their descent from the North, and in the Amphletts there are also a couple of cases of sub-clans immigrated from Boyowa.

In contrast to this migration of people from North to South, we have noted the spread of one of the main cultural elements, of the canoe, from South to North. We saw how the nagega, the big, sea-worthy, but heavy and slow canoe has been superseded by the masawa or tadobu, which spread a few generations ago, till it arrived at the island of Kitava. It is more difficult to follow the movements of beliefs. But I have reason to assume that beliefs in sorcery, more especially in the mulukwausi and tauva’u, move from South to North.

In the next Chapter, we shall return to our Sinaketan expedition, in order to move them for a short distance along their route into the first settlements of the Dobu speaking people. These places will suggest a new theme for a lengthy digression, this time into the mythological subjects and legends connected with the Kula.

At daybreak the party leave the Amphletts. This is the stage when the parting gifts, the talo’i are given. The clay pots, the several kinds of produce of the islands and of the Koya, which had been laid aside the previous day, are now brought to the canoes (see Plate XLVII). Neither the giver nor the main receiver, the toliwaga, take much notice of the proceedings, great nonchalance about give and take being the correct attitude prescribed by good manners. Children bring the objects, and the junior members of the crew stow them away. The general behaviour of the crowds, ashore and in the canoes, is as unostentatious at this moment of parting as it was at the arrival. No more farewells than greetings are spoken or shouted, nor are there any visible or formal signs of grief, or of hope of meeting again, or of any other emotions. The busy, self-absorbed crews push off stolidly, step the mast, set sail, and glide away.

They now approach the broad front of Koyatabu, which with a favourable wind, they might reach within two hours or so. They probably sail near enough to get a clear view of the big trees standing on the edge of the jungle, and of the long waterfall dividing the mountain’s flank right down the middle; of the triangular patches under cultivation, covered with the vine of yams and big leaves of taro. They could also perceive here and there smoke curling out of the jungle where, hidden under the trees, there lies a village, composed of a few miserable huts. Nowadays these villages have come down to the water’s edge, in order to supplement their garden yield with fish. In olden days they were all high up on the slope, and their huts hardly ever visible from the sea.

The inhabitants of these small and ramshackle villages are shy and timid, though in olden days they would have been dangerous to the Trobrianders. They speak a language which differs from that of Dobu and is usually called by the natives ‘the Basima talk.’ There seem to be about four or five various languages on the island of Fergusson, besides that of Dobu. My acquaintance with the Basima natives is very small, due only to two forced landings in their district. They struck me as being physically of a different type from the Dobuans, though this is only an impression. They have got no boats, and do the little sailing they require on small rafts of three or five logs tied together. Their houses are smaller and less well-made than those in Dobu. Further investigation of these natives would be very interesting, and probably also very difficult, as is always the case when studying very small communities, living at the same time right out of touch with any white man.

This land must remain, for the present anyhow, veiled for ourselves, as it also is for the Trobriand natives. For these, indeed, the few attempts which they occasionally made to come into contact with these natives, and the few mishaps which brought them to their shores, were all far from encouraging in results, and only strengthened the traditional superstitious fear of them. Several generations ago, a canoe or two from Burakwa, in the island of Kayeula, made an exploring trip to the district of Gabu, lying in a wide bay under the North-West flank of Koyatabu. The natives of Gabu, receiving them at first with a show of interest, and pretending to enter into commercial relations, afterwards fell on them treacherously and slew the chief Toraya and all his companions. This story has become famous, and indeed one of the outstanding historical events of the Trobriands, because Tomakam, the slain chief’s younger brother, went to the Koya of Gabu, and killed the head man of one of the villages, avenging thus his brother’s death. He then composed a song and a dance which is performed to this day in Kiriwina, and has indeed one of the finest melodies in the islands.

This is the verbatim account of the story as it was told to me by To’uluwa himself, the chief of Omarakana, who at present ‘owns’ this Gumagabu dance, his ancestors having acquired it from the descendants of Tomakam by a laga payment.1 It is a commentary to the song, and begins only with the avenging expedition of Tomakam, which is also the theme of the song.

When the Sinaketan fleet passes the two mythical rocks of Atu’a’ine and Aturamo’a, the final goal of the expedition has been already reached. For before them, there stretch in a wide expanse the N.W. shores of Dawson Straits, where on the wide beach, there are scattered the villages of Bwayowa, Tu’utauna and Deyde’i, at the foot of Koyava’u. This latter, the Boyowans call Koyaviguna—the final mountain. Immediately behind the two rocks, there stretches the beach of Sarubwoyna, its clean, white sand edging the shallow curve of a small bay. This is the place where the crews, nearing their final destination, have to make a halt, to prepare themselves magically for approaching their partners in Dobu. As, on their start from Sinaketa, they stopped for some time on Muwa and there performed the last act of their inaugurating rites and ceremonies, so in the same manner this beach is the place where they once more muster their forces after the journey has been accomplished.

Plate XLVIII  

A Kula Fleet Halting to Perform the Final Rites of Mwasila.

This photograph was taken in the Trobriands, and it shows the Dobuan fleet just arriving and its final halt (cf. Chapter XVI, Division II). The scene on the beach of Sarubwoyna would present an identical picture. Note the two men in the forefront, wading ashore to produce the leaves for the Kaykakaya. (See Div. I.)

Plate XLIX  

The Beauty Magic of the Mwasila.

The whole fleet are preparing for the final approach; in each canoe magic is spoken over cosmetics and every man combs his hair, anoints his body, and paints his face. (See Div. I.)

This is the place which was already mentioned in Chapter II when, in giving a description of the district, we imagined ourselves passing near this beach and meeting there a large fleet of canoes, whose crews were engaged in some mysterious activities. I said there that up to a hundred canoes might have been seen anchored near the beach, and indeed, on a big uvalaku expedition in olden days such a figure could easily have been reached. For, on a rough estimate, Sinaketa could have produced some twenty canoes; the Vakutans could have joined them with about forty; the Amphlettans with another twenty; and twenty more would have followed from Tewara, Siyawawa, and Sanaroa. Some of them would indeed not have taken part in the Kula, but have followed only out of sheer curiosity, just as in the big uvalaku expedition, which I accompanied in 1918 from Dobu to Sinaketa, the sixty Dobuan canoes were joined by some twelve canoes from the Amphletts and about as many again from Vakuta.

The Sinaketans having arrived at this beach, now stop, moor the canoes near the shore, adorn their persons, and perform a whole series of magical rites. Within a short space of time they crowd in a great number of short rites, accompanied by formulæ as a rule not very long. In fact, from the moment they have arrived at Sarubwoyna up to their entry into the village, they do not cease doing one magical act or another, and the toliwaga never stop incessantly muttering their spells. To the observer, a spectacle of feverish activity unfolds itself, a spectacle which I witnessed in 1918 when I assisted at an analogous performance of the Dobuan Kula fleet approaching Sinaketa.

The fleet halts; the sails are furled, the masts dismounted, the canoes moored (see Plate XLVIII). In each canoe, the elder men begin to undo their baskets and take out their personal belongings. The younger ones run ashore and gather copious supplies of leaves which they bring back into the canoes. Then the older men again murmur magical formulæ over the leaves and over other substances. In this, the toliwaga is assisted by others. Then, they all wash in sea-water, and rub themselves with the medicated leaves. Coco-nuts are broken, scraped, medicated, and the skin is rubbed with the mess, which greases it and gives it a shining surface. A comb is chanted over, and the hair teased out with it (see Plate XLIX). Then, with crushed betel-nut mixed with lime, they draw red ornamental designs on their faces, while others use the sayyaku, an aromatic resinous stuff, and draw similar lines in black. The fine-smelling mint plant, which has been chanted over at home before starting, is taken out of its little receptacle where it was preserved in coco-nut oil. The herb is inserted into the armlets, while the few drops of oil are smeared over the body, and over the lilava, the magical bundle of pari (trade goods).

All the magic which is spoken over the native cosmetics is the mwasila (Kula magic) of beauty. The main aim of these spells is the same one which we found so clearly expressed in myth; to make the man beautiful, attractive, and irresistible to his Kula partner. In the myths we saw how an old, ugly and ungainly man becomes transformed by his magic into a radiant and charming youth. Now this mythical episode is nothing else but an exaggerated version of what happens every time, when the mwasila of beauty is spoken on Sarubwoyna beach or on other similar points of approach. As my informants over and over again told me, when explaining the meaning of these rites:

“Here we are ugly; we eat bad fish, bad food; our faces remain ugly. We want to sail to Dobu; we keep taboos, we don’t eat bad food. We go to Sarubwoyna; we wash; we charm the leaves of silasila; we charm the coco-nut; we putuma (anoint ourselves); we make our red paint and black paint; we put in our fine-smelling vana (herb ornament in armlets); we arrive in Dobu beautiful looking. Our partner looks at us, sees our faces are beautiful; he throws the vaygu’a at us.”

The bad fish and bad food here mentioned are the articles which are tabooed to those who know the mwasila, and a man may often unwittingly break such a taboo.

There is no doubt that a deep belief in the efficacy of such magic might almost make it effective. Although actual beauty cannot be imparted by spells, yet the feeling of being beautiful through magic may give assurance, and influence people in their behaviour and deportment, and as in the transaction it is the manner of the soliciting party which matters, this magic, no doubt, achieves its aim by psychological means.

This branch of Kula magic has two counter-parts in the other magical lore of the Trobrianders. One of them is the love magic, through which people are rendered attractive and irresistible. Their belief in these spells is such that a man would always attribute all his success in love to their efficiency. Another type closely analogous to the beauty magic of the Kula is the specific beauty magic practised before big dances and festivities.

Let us now give one or two samples of the magic which is performed on Sarubwoyna beach. The ritual in all of it is exceedingly simple. In each case the formula is spoken over a certain substance, and then this substance is applied to the body. The first rite to be performed is that of ceremonial washing. The toliwaga brings his mouth close to the big bundles of herbs, brought from the shore and utters the formula called kaykakaya (the ablution formula) over them. After an ablution, these leaves are rubbed over the skins of all those in the canoe who practise Kula. Then, in the same succession as I mention them, the coco-nut, the comb, the ordinary or the aromatic black paint or the betel-nut are charmed over.1 Only one, as a rule, of the paints is used. In some cases the toliwaga does the spell for everybody. In other cases, a man who knows, say, the betel-nut or the comb spell, will do it for himself or even for all others. In some cases again, out of all these rites, only the kaykakaya (ablution) and one of the others will be performed.

In the last chapter, we spoke about the institution of gwara (mortuary taboo) and of the threatening reception accorded to the visiting party, at the time when it is laid upon the village, and when it has to be lifted. When there is no gwara, and the arriving fleet are on an uvalaku expedition, there will be a big and ceremonial welcome. The canoes, as they approach, will range themselves in a long row facing the shore. The point selected will be the beach, corresponding to a hamlet where the main partner of the toli’uvalaku lives. The canoe of the toli’uvalaku, of the master of the uvalaku expedition, will range itself at the end of the row. The toli’uvalaku will get up on to the platform and harangue the natives assembled on the beach. He will try to appeal to their ambition, so that they might give the visitors a large amount of valuables and surpass all other occasions. After that, his partner on the shore will blow a conch-shell, and, wading through the water, advance towards the canoe, and offer the first gift of valuables to the master of the expedition. This may be followed by another gift, again given to the toli’uvalaku. Other blasts then follow, and men disengage themselves from the throng on the shore, approaching the canoes with necklaces for their partners. A certain order of seniority will be observed in this. The necklaces are always carried ceremonially; as a rule they will be tied by both ends to a stick, and carried hanging down, with the pendant at the bottom (see Plate LXI). Sometimes, when a vaygu’a (valuable) is carried to the canoes by a woman (a headman’s wife or sister) it will be put into a basket and carried on her head.

After this ceremonial reception, the fleet disperses. As we remember from Chapter II, the villages in Dobu are not built in compact blocks of houses, but scattered in hamlets, each of about a dozen huts. The fleet now sails along the shore, every canoe anchoring in front of the hamlet in which its toliwaga has his main partner.

We have at last arrived at the point when the real Kula has begun. So far, it was all preparations, and sailing with its concomitant adventure, and a little bit of preliminary Kula in the Amphletts. It was all full of excitement and emotion, pointing always towards the final goal, the big Kula in Dobu. Now we have at last reached the climax. The net result will be the acquisition of a few dirty, greasy, and insignificant looking native trinkets, each of them a string of flat, partly discoloured, partly raspberry-pink or brick-red discs, threaded one behind the other into a long, cylindrical roll. In the eyes of the natives, however, this result receives its meaning from the social forces of tradition and custom, which give the imprint of value to these objects, and surround them with a halo of romance. It seems fit here to make these few reflections upon the native psychology on this point, and to attempt to grasp its real significance.

It may help us towards this understanding to reflect, that not far from the scenes of the Kula, large numbers of white adventurers have toiled and suffered, and many of them given their lives, in order to acquire what to the natives would appear as insignificant and filthy as their bagi are to us—a few nuggets of gold. Nearer, even, in the very Trobriand Lagoon, there are found valuable pearls. In olden days, when the natives on opening a shell to eat it, found a waytuna, as they called it, a ‘seed’ of the pearl shell, they would throw it to their children to play with. Now they see a number of white men straining all their forces in competition to acquire as many of these worthless things as they can. The parallel is very close. In both cases, the conventionalised value attached to an object carries with it power, renown, and the pleasure of increasing them both. In the case of the white man, this is infinitely more complex and indirect, but not essentially different from that of the natives. If we would imagine that a great number of celebrated gems are let loose among us, and travel from hand to hand—that Koh-i-noor and Orloff and other celebrated diamonds, emeralds and rubies—were on a continuous round tour, and to be obtained through luck, daring and enterprise, we would have a still closer analogy. Even though the possession of them would be a short and temporary one, the renown of having possessed them and the mania of ‘collectioneering’ would add its spur to the lust for wealth.

This general, human, psychological foundation of the Kula must be kept constantly in mind. If we want, however, to understand its specific forms, we have to look for the details and technicalities of the transaction. A short outline of these has been given before in Chapter III. Here, after we have acquired a better knowledge of preliminaries, and a more thorough grasp of native psychology and custom, we shall be more ready to enter into a detailed description.

The main principle of the Kula exchange has been laid down in the before-mentioned chapter; the Kula exchange has always to be a gift, followed by a counter-gift; it can never be a barter, a direct exchange with assessment of equivalents and with haggling. There must be always in the Kula two transactions, distinct in name, in nature and in time. The exchange is opened by an initial or opening gift called vaga, and closed by a final or return present called yotile. They are both ceremonial gifts, they have to be accompanied by the blow of a conch shell, and the present is given ostentatiously and in public. The native term “to throw” a valuable describes well the nature of the act. For, though the valuable has to be handed over by the giver, the receiver hardly takes any notice of it, and seldom receives it actually into his hands. The etiquette of the transaction requires that the gift should be given in an off-hand, abrupt, almost angry manner, and received with equivalent nonchalance and disdain. A slight modification in this is introduced when, as it happens sometimes, in the Trobriands, and in the Trobriands only, the vaygu’a is given by a chief to a commoner, in which case the commoner would take it into his hand, and show some appreciation of it. In all other cases, the valuable would be placed within the reach of the receiver, and an insignificant member of his following would pick it up.

It is not very easy to unravel the various motives which combine to make up this customary behaviour on receiving and giving a gift. The part played by the receiver is perhaps not so difficult to interpret. Right through their ceremonial and commercial give and take, there runs the crude and fundamental human dissatisfaction with the value received. A native will always, when speaking about a transaction, insist on the magnitude and value of the gift he gave, and minimise those of the equivalent accepted. Side by side with this, there is the essential native reluctance to appear in want of anything, a reluctance which is most pronounced in the case of food, as we have said before (Chapter VI, Division IV). Both these motives combine to produce the, after all, very human and understandable attitude of disdain at the reception of a gift. In the case of the donor, the histrionic anger with which he gives an object might be, in the first place, a direct expression of the natural human dislike of parting with a possession. Added to this, there is the attempt to enhance the apparent value of the gift by showing what a wrench it is to give it away. This is the interpretation of the etiquette in giving and taking at which I have arrived after many observations of native behaviour, and through many conversations and casual remarks of the natives.

The two gifts of the Kula are also distinct in time. It is quite obvious this must be so in the case of an overseas expedition of an uvalaku type, on which no valuables whatever are taken with them by the visiting party, and so, any valuable received on such an occasion, whether as vaga or yotile, cannot therefore be exchanged at the same time. But even when the exchange takes place in the same village during an inland Kula, there must be an interval between the two gifts, of a few minutes at least.

There are also deep differences in the nature of the two gifts. The vaga, as the opening gift of the exchange, has to be given spontaneously, that is, there is no enforcement of any duty in giving it. There are means of soliciting it, (wawoyla), but no pressure can be employed. The yotile, however, that is, the valuable which is given in return for the valuable previously received, is given under pressure of a certain obligation. If I have given a vaga (opening gift of valuable) to a partner of mine, let us say a year ago, and now, when on a visit, I find that he has an equivalent vaygu’a, I shall consider it his duty to give it to me. If he does not do so, I am angry with him, and justified in being so. Not only that, if I can by any chance lay my hand on his vaygu’a and carry if off by force (lebu), I am entitled by custom to do this, although my partner in that case may become very irate. The quarrel over that would again be half histrionic, half real.

Another difference between a vaga and a yotile occurs in overseas expeditions which are not uvalaku. On such expeditions, valuables sometimes are carried, but only such as are due already for a past vaga, and are to be given as yotile. Opening gifts, vaga, are never taken overseas.

As mentioned above, the vaga, entails more wooing or soliciting than the yotile. This process, called by the natives wawoyla, consists, among others of a series of solicitary gifts. One type of such gifts is called pokala, and consists of food.1 In the myth of Kasabwaybwayreta, narrated in Chapter XII, this type of gift was mentioned. As a rule, a considerable amount of food is taken on an expedition, and when a good valuable is known to be in the possession of a man, some of this food will be presented to him, with the words: “I pokala your valuable; give it to me.” If the owner is not inclined to part with his Valuable, he will not accept the pokala. If accepted, it is an intimation that the vaygu’a will sooner or later be given to the man who offers the pokala. The owner, however, may not be prepared to part with it at once, and may wish to receive more solicitary gifts.

Another type of such a gift is called kaributu, and consists of a valuable which, as a rule, is not one of those which are regularly kulaed. Thus, a small polished axe blade, or a valuable belt is given with the words: “I kaributu your necklace (or armshells); I shall take it and carry it off.” This gift again may only be accepted if there is an intention to satisfy the giver with the desired vaygu’a. A very famous and great valuable will often be solicited by gift of pokala and of kaributu, one following the other. If, after one or two of such solicitory gifts, the big vaygu’a is finally given, the satisfied receiver will often give some more food to his partner, which gift is called kwaypolu.

The food gifts would be returned on a similar occasion if it arises. But there would be no strict equivalence in the matter of food. The kaributu gift of a valuable, however, would always have to be returned later on, in an equivalent form. It may be added that the pokala offerings of food would be most often given from a district, where food is more abundant than in the district to which it is carried. Thus, the Sinaketans would bring pokala to the Amphletts, but they would seldom or never pokala the Dobuans, who are very rich in food. Again, within the Trobriands, a pokala would be offered from the Northern agricultural district of Kiriwina to men of Sinaketa, but not inversely.

Another peculiar type of gift connected with the Kula is called korotomna. After a Sinaketan has given a necklace to a man of Kiriwina, and this latter receives a minor valuable from his partner further East, this minor valuable will be given to the Sinaketan as the korotomna of his necklace. This gift usually consists of a lime spatula of whalebone ornamented with spondylus discs, and it has to be repaid.

It must be noted that all these expressions are given in the language of the Trobriands, and they refer to the gifts exchanged between the Northern and Southern Trobriands on the one hand, and these latter and the Amphletts on the other. In an overseas expedition from Sinaketa to Dobu, the solicitary gifts would be rather given wholesale, as the visitors’ gifts of pari, and the subtle distinctions in name and in technicality would not be observed. That this must be so becomes clear, if we realise that, whereas, between the Northern and Southern Trobriands the news about an exceptionally good valuable spreads easily and quickly, this is not the case between Dobu and Boyowa. Going over to Dobu, therefore, a man has to make up his mind, whether he will give any solicitory presents to his partner, what and how much he will give him, without knowing whether he has any specially fine valuables to expect from him or not. If, however, there was any exceptionally valuable gift in the visitors’ pari, it will have to be returned later on by the Dobuans.

Another important type of gift essential to the Kula is that of the intermediary gifts, called basi. Let us imagine that a Sinaketan man has given a very fine pair of armshells to his Dobuan partner at their last meeting in Sinaketa. Now, arriving in Dobu, he finds that his partner has not got any necklace equivalent in value to the armshells given. He none the less will expect his partner to give him meanwhile a necklace, even though it be of inferior value. Such a gift is a basi, that is, not a return of the highly valuable vaga, but a gift given to fill in the gap. This basi will have to be repaid by a small equivalent pair of armshells at a later date. And the Dobuan on his side has still to repay the big armshells he received, and for which he has as yet got no equivalent in his possession. As soon as this is obtained, it will be given, and will close the transaction as a clinching gift, or kudu. Both these names imply figures of speech. Kudu means ‘tooth,’ and is a good name for a gift which clinches or bites. Basi means to pierce, or to stab, and this is the literal translation of a native comment on this name:

“We say basi, for it does not truly bite, like a kudu (tooth); it just basi (pierces) the surface; makes it lighter.”

The equivalence of the two gifts, vaga and yotile, is expressed by the word kudu (tooth) and bigeda (it will bite). Another figure of speech describing the equivalence is contained in the word va’i, to marry. When two of the opposite valuables meet in the Kula and are exchanged, it is said that these two have married. The armshells are conceived as a female principle, and the necklaces as the male. An interesting comment on these ideas was given to me by one of the informants. As mentioned above, a gift of food is never given from Sinaketa to Kiriwina, obviously because it would be a case of bringing coals to Newcastle. When I asked why this is so, I received the answer:

“We do not now kwaypolu or pokala the mwali, for they are women, and there is no reason to kwaypolu or pokala them.”

There is little logic in this comment, but it evidently includes some idea about the smaller value of the female principle. Or else perhaps it refers to the fundamental idea of the married status, namely that it is for the woman’s family to provide the man with food.

The idea of equivalence in the Kula transaction is very strong and definite, and when the receiver is not satisfied with the yotile (return gift) he will violently complain that it is not a proper ‘tooth’ (kudu) for his opening gift, that it is not a real ‘marriage,’ that it is not properly ‘bitten.’

These terms, given in the Kiriwinian language, cover about half of the Kula ring from Woodlark Island and even further East, from Nada (Loughlan Islands) as far as the Southern Trobriands. In the language of Dobu, the same word is used for vaga and basi, while yotile is pronounced yotura, and kudu is udu. The same terms are used in the Amphletts.

So much about the actual regulations of the Kula transactions. With regard to the further general rules, the definition of Kula partnership and sociology has been discussed in detail in Chapter XI. As to the rule that the valuables have always to travel and never to stop, nothing has to be added to what has been said about this in Chapter III, for there are no exceptions to this rule. A few more words must be said on the subject of the valuables used in the Kula. I said in Chapter III, stating the case briefly, that in one direction travel the armshells, whilst in the opposite, following the hands of the clock, travel the necklaces. It must now be added that the mwali—armshells—are accompanied by another article, the doga, or circular boar’s tusks. In olden days, the doga were almost as important as the mwali in the stream of the Kula. Nowadays, hardly any at all are to be met as Kula articles. It is not easy to explain the reason for this change. In an institution having the importance and traditional tenacity which we find in the Kula, there can be no question of the interference of fashion to bring about changes. The only reason which I can suggest is that nowadays, with immensely increased intertribal intercourse, there is a great drainage on all Kula valuables by other districts lying outside the Kula. Now, on the one hand the doga are extremely valued on the main-land of New Guinea, much more, I assume, than they are within the Kula district. The drainage therefore would affect the doga much more strongly than any other articles, one of which, the spondylus necklaces, are actually imported into the Kula region from without, and even manufactured by white men in considerable quantities for native consumption. The armshells are produced within the district in sufficient numbers to replace any leakage, but doga are extremely difficult to reproduce, as they are connected with a rare freak of nature—a boar with a circular tusk.

One more article which travels in the same direction as the mwali, consists of the bosu, the big lime spatulæ made of whale-bone and decorated with spondylus shells. They are not strictly speaking Kula articles, but play a part as the korotomna gifts mentioned above and nowadays are hardly to be met with. With the necklaces, there travel only as an unimportant subsidiary Kula article, belts made of the same red spondylus shell. They would be given as return presents for small armshells, as basi, etc.

There is one important exception in the respective movements of necklace and armshell. A certain type of spondylus shell strings, much bigger and coarser than the strings which are used in the Kula, are produced in Sinaketa, as we saw in the last Chapter. These strings, called katudababile in Kiriwinian, or sama’upa in Dobuan, are sometimes exported from Sinaketa to Dobu as Kula gifts, and function therefore as armshells. These katudababile, however, never complete the Kula ring, in the wrong direction, as they never return to the Trobriands from the East. Part of them are absorbed into the districts outside the Kula, part of them come back again to Sinaketa, and join the other necklaces in their circular movement.

Another class of articles, which often take a subsidiary part in the Kula exchange, consists of the large and thin polished axe blades, called in the Kiriwinian language beku. They are never used for any practical purposes, and fulfil only the function of tokens of wealth and objects of parade. In the Kula they would be given as kaributu (solicitary gifts), and would go both ways. As they are quarried in Woodlark Island and polished in Kiriwina, they would, however, move in the direction from the Trobriands to Dobu more frequently than in the opposite one.

To summarise this subject, it may be said that the proper Kula articles are on the one hand, the armshells (mwali), and the curved tusks (doga); and, on the other hand, the fine, long necklaces (soulava or bagi), of which there are many sub-classes. An index of the special position of these three articles is that they are the only ones, or at least, by far the most important ones, mentioned in the spells. Later on, I shall enumerate all the sub-classes and varieties of these articles.

Although, as we have seen, there is both a good deal of ceremony attached to the transaction and a good deal of decorum, one might even say commercial honour, implied in the technicalities of the exchange, there is much room left as well for quarrelling and friction. If a man obtains a very fine valuable, which he is not already under an obligation to offer as yotile (return payment), there will be a number of his partners, who will compete to receive it. As only one can be successful, all the others will be thwarted and more or less offended and full of malice. Still more room for bad blood is left in the matter of equivalence. As the valuables exchanged cannot be measured or even compared with one another by an exact standard; as there are no definite correspondences or indices of correlation between the various kinds of the valuables, it is not easy to satisfy a man who has given a vaygu’a of high value. On receiving a repayment (yotile), which he does not consider equivalent, he will not actually make a scene about it, or even show his displeasure openly in the act. But he will feel a deep resentment, which will express itself in frequent recriminations and abuse. These, though not made to his partner’s face, will reach his ears sooner or later. Eventually, the universal method of settling differences may be resorted to—that of black magic, and a sorcerer will be paid to cast some evil spell over the offending party.

When speaking about some celebrated vaygu’a, a native will praise its value in the words: “Many men died because of it”—which does not mean that they died in battle or fight, but were killed by black magic. Again, there is a system of signs by which one can recognise, on inspecting the corpse the day after death, for what reasons it has been bewitched. Among these signs there are one or two which mean that the man has been done away with, because of his success in Kula, or because he has offended somebody in connection with it. The mixture of punctilio and decorum, on the one hand, with passionate resentment and greed on the other, must be realised as underlying all the transactions, and giving the leading psychological tone to the natives’ interest. The obligation of fairness and decency is based on the general rule, that it is highly improper and dishonourable to be mean. Thus, though a man will generally strive to belittle the thing received, it must not be forgotten that the man who gave it was genuinely eager to do his best. And after all, in some cases when a man receives a really fine valuable, he will boast of it and be frankly satisfied. Such a success is attributed of course not to his partner’s generosity, but to his own magic.

A feature which is universally recognised as reprehensible and discreditable, is a tendency to retain a number of valuables and be slow in passing them on. A man who did this would be called “hard in the Kula.” The following is a native description of this feature as exhibited by the natives of the Amphletts.

“The Gumasila, their Kula is very hard; they are mean, they are retentive. They would like to take hold of one soulava, of two, of three big ones, of four perhaps. A man would pokala them, he would pokapokala; if he is a kinsman he will get a soulava. The Kayleula only, and the Gumasila are mean. The Dobu, the Du’a’u, the Kitava are good. Coming to Muyuwa—they are like Gumasila.”

This means that a man in Gumasila would let a number of necklaces accumulate in his possession; would require plenty of food as pokala—a characteristic reduplication describes the insistence and perseverance in pokala—and even then he would give a necklace to a kinsman only. When I inquired from the same informant whether such a mean man would also run a risk of being killed by sorcery, he answered

“A man who is very much ahead in the Kula—he will die—the mean man not; he will sit in peace.”

Returning now to the concrete proceedings of the Kula, let us follow the movements of a Sinaketan toliwaga. He has presumably received a necklace or two on his arrival; but he has more partners and he expects more valuables. Before he receives his fill, he has to keep a taboo. He may not partake of any local food, neither yams, nor coco-nuts, nor betel pepper or nut. According to their belief, if he transgressed this taboo he would not receive any more valuables. He tries also to soften the heart of his partner by feigning disease. He will remain in his canoe and send word that he is ill. The Dobu man will know what such a conventional disease means. None the less, he may yield to this mode of persuasion. If this ruse does not succeed, the man may have recourse to magic. There is a formula called kwoygapani or ‘enmeshing magic,’ which seduces the mind of a man on whom it is practised, makes him silly, and thus amenable to persuasion. The formula is recited over a betel-nut or two, and these are given to the partner and to his wife or sister.

The return journey of the Sinaketan fleet is made by following exactly the same route as the one by which they came to Dobu. In each inhabited island, in every village, where a halt had previously been made, they stop again, for a day or a few hours. In the hamlets of Sanaroa, in Tewara and in the Amphletts, the partners are revisited. Some Kula valuables are received on the way back, and all the talo’i gifts from those intermediate partners are also collected on the return journey. In each of these villages people are eager to hear about the reception which the uvalaku party have received in Dobu; the yield in valuables is discussed, and comparisons are drawn between the present occasion and previous records.

No magic is performed now, no ceremonial takes place, and there would be very little indeed to say about the return journey but for two important incidents; the fishing for spondylus shell (kaloma) in Sanaroa Lagoon, and the display and comparison of the yield of Kula valuables on Muwa beach.

The natives of Sinaketa, as we have seen in the last chapter, acquire a certain amount of the Koya produce by means of trade. There are, however, certain articles, useful yet unobtainable in the Trobriands, and freely accessible in the Koya, and to these the Trobrianders help themselves. The glassy forms of lava, known as obsidian, can be found in great quantities over the slopes of the hills in Sanaroa and Dobu. This article, in olden days, served the Trobrianders as material for razors, scrapers, and sharp, delicate, cutting instruments. Pumice-stone abounding in this district is collected and carried to the Trobriands, where it is used for polishing. Red ochre is also procured there by the visitors, and so are the hard, basaltic stones (binabina) used for hammering and pounding and for magical purposes. Finally, very fine silica sand, called maya, is collected on some of the beaches, and imported into the Trobriands, where it is used for polishing stone blades, of the kind which serve as tokens of value and which are manufactured up to the present day.

But by far the most important of the articles which the Trobrianders collect for themselves are the spondylus shells. These are freely, though by no means easily, accessible in the coral outcrops of Sanaroa Lagoon. It is from this shell that the small circular perforated discs (kaloma) are made, out of which the necklaces of the Kula are composed, and which also serve for ornamenting almost all the articles of value or of artistic finish which are used within the Kula district. But, only in two localities within the district are these discs manufactured, in Sinaketa and in Vakuta, both villages in Southern Boyowa. The shell can be found also in the Trobriand Lagoon, facing these two villages. But the specimens found in Sanaroa are much better in colour, and I think more easily procured. The fishing in this latter locality, however, is done by the Sinaketans only.

Whether the fishing is done in their own Lagoon, near an uninhabited island called Nanoula, or in Sanaroa, it is always a big, ceremonial affair, in which the whole community takes part in a body. The magic, or at least part of it, is done for the whole community by the magician of the kaloma (towosina kaloma), who also fixes the dates, and conducts the ceremonial part of the proceedings. As the spondylus shell furnishes one of the essential episodes of a Kula expedition, a detailed account both of fishing and of manufacturing must be here given. The native name, kaloma (in the Southern Massim districts the word sapi-sapi is used) describes both the shell and the manufactured discs. The shell is the large spondylus shell, containing a crystalline layer of a red colour, varying from dirty brick-red to a soft, raspberry pink, the latter being by far the most prized. It lives in the cavities of coral outcrop, scattered among shallow mud-bottomed lagoons.

This shell is, according to tradition, associated with the village of Sinaketa. According to a Sinaketan legend, once upon a time, three guya’u (chief) women, belonging to the Tabalu sub-clan of the Malasi clan, wandered along, each choosing her place to settle in. The eldest selected the village of Omarakana; the second went to Gumilababa; the youngest settled in Sinaketa. She had kaloma discs in her basket, and they were threaded on a long, thin stick, called viduna, such as is used in the final stage of manufacture. She remained first in a place called Kaybwa’u, but a dog howled, and she moved further on. She heard again a dog howling, and she took a kaboma (wooden plate) and went on to the fringing reef to collect shells. She found there the momoka (white spondylus), and she exclaimed: “Oh, this is the kaloma!” She looked closer, and said: “Oh no, you are not red. Your name is momoka.” She took then the stick with the kaloma discs and thrust it into a hole of the reef. It stood there, but when she looked at it, she said: “Oh, the people from inland would come and see you and pluck you off.” She went, she pulled out the stick; she went into a canoe, and she paddled. She paddled out into the sea. She anchored there, pulled the discs off the stick, and she threw them into the sea so that they might come into the coral outcrop. She said: “It is forbidden that the inland natives should take the valuables. The people of Sinaketa only must dive.” Thus only the Sinaketa people know the magic, and how to dive.

This myth presents certain remarkable characteristics. I shall not enter into its sociology, though it differs in that respect from the Kiriwinian myths, in which the equality of the Sinaketan and the Gumilababan chiefs with those of Omarakana is not acknowledged. It is characteristic that the Malasi woman in this myth shows an aversion to the dog, the totem animal of the Lukuba clan, a clan which according to mythical and historical data had to recede before and yield its priority to the Malasi (compare Chapter XII, Division IV). Another detail of interest is that she brings the kaloma on their sticks, as they appear in the final stage of manufacturing. In this form, also, she tries to plant them on the reef. The finished kaloma, however, to use the words of one of my informants, “looked at her, the water swinging it to and fro; flashing its red eyes.” And the woman, seeing it, pulls out the too accessible and too inviting kaloma and scatters them over the deep sea. Thus she makes them inaccessible to the uninitiated inland villagers, and monopolises them for Sinaketa. There can be no doubt that the villages of Vakuta have learnt this industry from the Sinaketans. The myth is hardly known in Vakuta, only a few are experts in diving and manufacturing; there is a tradition about a late transference of this industry there; finally the Vakutans have never fished for kaloma in the Sanaroa Lagoon.

Now let us describe the technicalities and the ceremonial connected with the fishing for kaloma. It will be better to give an account of how this is done in the Lagoon of Sinaketa, round the sandbank of Nanoula, as this is the normal and typical form of kaloma fishing. Moreover, when the Sinaketans do it in Sanaroa, the proceedings are very much the same, with just one or two phases missed out.

The office of magician of the kaloma (towosina kaloma) is hereditary in two sub-clans, belonging to the Malasi clan, and one of them is that of the main chief of Kasi’etana. After the Monsoon season is over, that is, some time in March or April, ogibukuvi (i.e., in the season of the new yams) the magician gives the order for preparations. The community give him a gift called sousula, one or two bringing a vaygu’a, the rest supplying gugu’a (ordinary chattels), and some food. Then they prepare the canoes, and get ready the binabina stones, with which the spondylus shell will be knocked off the reef.

Next day, in the morning, the magician performs a rite called ‘kaykwa’una la’i,’ ‘the attracting of the reef,’ for, as in the case of several other marine beings, the main seat of the kaloma is far away. Its dwelling place is the reef Ketabu, somewhere between Sanaroa and Dobu. In order to make it move and come towards Nanoula, it is necessary to recite the above-named spell. This is done by the magician as he walks up and down on the Sinaketa beach and casts his words into the open, over the sea, towards the distant seat of the kaloma. The kaloma then ‘stand up’ (itolise) that is start from their original coral outcrop (vatu) and come into the Lagoon of Sinaketa. This spell, I obtained from To’udavada, the present chief of Kasi’etana, and descendant of the original giver of this shell, the woman of the myth. It begins with a long list of ancestral names; then follows a boastful picture of how the whole fleet admires the magical success of the magician’s spell. The key-word in the main part is the word ‘itolo’: ‘it stands up,’ i.e., ‘it starts,’ and with this, there are enumerated all the various classes of the kaloma shell, differentiated according to size, colour and quality. It ends up with another boast; “My canoe is overloaded with shell so that it sinks,” which is repeated with varying phraseology.

Plate L (A)  

Working the Kaloma Shell (I.)

The spondylus shell broken and made into roughly circular pieces by knocking all round; this is done by men.

Plate L (B)  

Working the Kaloma Shell (II.)

Women grinding pieces of shell into flat discs. Each piece is inserted into a hole at the end of a wooden cylinder and ground on a flat sandstone.(See Div. III.)

This spell the magician may utter once only, or he may repeat it several times on successive days. He fixes then the final date for the fishing expedition. On the evening before that date, the men perform some private magic, every one in his own house. The hammering stone, the gabila, which is always a binabina (it is a stone imported from the Koya), is charmed over. As a rule it is put on a piece of dried banana leaf with some red hibiscus blossoms and leaves or flowers of red colour. A formula is uttered over it, and the whole is then wrapped up in the banana leaf and kept there until it is used. This will make the stone a lucky one in hitting off many shells, and it will make the shells very red.

Another rite of private magic consists in charming a large mussel shell, with which, on the next morning, the body of the canoe will be scraped. This makes the sea clear, so that the diver may easily see and frequently find his spondylus shells.

Next morning the whole fleet starts on the expedition. Some food has been taken into the canoes, as the fishing usually lasts for a few days, the nights being spent on the beach of Nanoula. When the canoes arrive at a certain point, about half-way between Sinaketa and Nanoula, they all range themselves in a row. The canoe of the magician is at the right flank, and he medicates a bunch of red hibiscus flowers, some red croton leaves, and the leaves of the red-blossomed mangrove—red coloured substances being used to make the shell red, magically. Then, passing in front of all the other canoes, he rubs their prows with the bundle of leaves. After that, the canoes at both ends of the row begin to punt along, the row evolving into a circle, through which presently the canoe of the magician passes, punting along its diameter. At this place in the Lagoon, there is a small vatu (coral outcrop) called Vitukwayla’i. This is called the vatu of the baloma (spirits). At this vatu the magician’s canoe stops, and he orders some of its crew to dive down and here to begin the gathering of shells.

Some more private magic is performed later on by each canoe on its own account. The anchor stone is charmed with some red hibiscus flowers, in order to make the spondylus shell red. There is another private magic called ‘sweeping of the sea,’ which, like the magic of the mussel shell, mentioned above, makes the sea clear and transparent. Finally, there is an evil magic called ‘besprinkling with salt water.’ If a man does it over the others, he will annul the effects of their magic, and frustrate their efforts, while he himself would arouse astonishment and suspicion by the amount of shell collected. Such a man would dive down into the water, take some brine into his mouth, and emerging, spray it towards the other canoes, while he utters the evil charm.

So much for the magic and the ceremonial associated with the spondylus fishing in the Trobriand Lagoon. In Sanaroa, exactly the same proceedings take place, except that there is no attracting of the reef, probably because they are already at the original seat of the kaloma. Again I was told that some of the private magic would be performed in Sinaketa before the fleet sailed on the Kula expedition. The objects medicated would be then kept, well wrapped in dried leaves.

It may be added that neither in the one Lagoon nor in the other are there any private, proprietary rights to coral outcrops. The whole community of Sinaketa have their fishing grounds in the Lagoon, within which every man may hunt for his spondylus shell, and catch his fish at times. If the other spondylus fishing community, the Vakutans, encroached upon their grounds, there would be trouble, and in olden days, fighting. Private ownership in coral outcrops exists in the Northern villages of the Lagoon, that is in Kavataria, and the villages on the island of Kayleula.

We must now follow the later stages of the kaloma industry. The technology of the proceedings is so mixed up with remarkable sociological and economic arrangements that it will be better to indicate it first in its main outlines. The spondylus consists of a shell, the size and shape of a hollowed out half of a pear, and of a flat, small lid. It is only the first part which is worked. First it has to be broken into pieces with a binabina or an utukema (green stone imported from Woodlark Island) as shown on Plate L (A). On each piece, then, can be seen the stratification of the shell: the outside layer of soft, chalky substance; under this, the layer of red, hard, calcareous material, and then the inmost, white, crystalline stratum. Both the outside and inside have to be rubbed off, but first each piece has to be roughly rounded up, so as to form a thick circular lump. Such a lump (see foregrounds of Plates L (A), L (B)) is then put in the hole of a cylindrical piece of wood. This latter serves as a handle with which the lumps are rubbed on a piece of flat sandstone (see Plate L (B)). The rubbing is carried on so far till the outside and inside layers are gone, and there remains only a red, flat tablet, polished on both sides. In the middle of it, a hole is drilled through by means of a pump drill—gigi’u—(see Plate LI), and a number of such perforated discs are then threaded on a thin, but tough stick (see Plate LII), with which we have already met in the myth. Then the cylindrical roll is rubbed round and round on the flat sandstone, until its form becomes perfectly symmetrical (see Plate LII). Thus a number of flat, circular discs, polished all round and perforated in the middle, are produced. The breaking and the drilling, like the diving are done exclusively by men. The polishing is as a rule woman’s work.

Plate LI  

Working the Kaloma Shell (III.)

By means of a pump drill, a hole is bored in each disc. (See Div. III.)

Plate LII 

Working the Kaloma Shell (IV.)

The shell discs, flat and perforated, but of irregular contour still, are now threaded on to a thin, tough stick, and in this form they are ground on a flat sandstone till the roll is cylindrical, that is, each disc is a perfect circle. (See Div. III.)

This technology is associated with an interesting sociological relation between the maker and the man for whom the article is made. As has been stated in Chapter II, one of the main features of the Trobriand organisation consists of the mutual duties between a man and his wife’s maternal kinsmen. They have to supply him regularly with yams at harvest time, while he gives them the present of a valuable now and then. The manufacture of kaloma valuables in Sinaketa is very often associated with this relationship. The Sinaketan manufacturer makes his kutadababile (necklace of large beads) for one of his relatives-in-law, while this latter pays him in food. In accordance with this custom, it happens very frequently that a Sinaketan man marries a woman from one of the agricultural inland villages, or even a woman of Kiriwina. Of course, if he has no relatives-in-law in one of these villages, he will have friends or distant relatives, and he will make the string for one or the other of them. Or else he will produce one for himself, and launch it into the Kula. But the most typical and interesting case is, when the necklace is produced to order for a man who repays it according to a remarkable economic system, a system similar to the payments in instalments, which I have mentioned with regard to canoe making. I shall give here, following closely the native text, a translation of an account of the payments for kaloma making.

In the twelve preceding chapters, we have followed an expedition from Sinaketa to Dobu. But branching off at almost every step from its straight track, we studied the various associated institutions and underlying beliefs; we quoted magical formulæ, and told mythical stories, and thus we broke up the continuous thread of the narrative. In this chapter, as we are already acquainted with the customs, beliefs and institutions implied in the Kula, we are ready to follow a straight and consecutive tale of an expedition in the inverse direction, from Dobu to Sinaketa.

As I have seen, indeed followed, a big uvalaku expedition from the South to the Trobriands, I shall be able to give some of the scenes from direct impression, and not from reconstruction. Such a reconstruction for one who has seen much of the natives’ tribal life and has a good grip over intelligent informants is neither very difficult nor need it be fanciful at all. Indeed, towards the end of my second visit, I had several times opportunities to check such a reconstruction by witnessing the actual occurrence, for after my first year’s stay in the Trobriands I had written out already some of my material. As a rule, even in minute details, my reconstructions hardly differed from reality, as the tests have shown. None the less, it is possible for an Ethnographer to enter into concrete details with more conviction when he describes things actually seen.

Plate LIII  

On the Beach of Nabwageta.

In the middle of the picture a sail is seen, hung on a scaffolding of sticks; natives are pausing in their work of overhauling it and patching it up. (See Div. I.)

In September, 1917, an uvalaku expedition was led by Kouta’uya from Sinaketa to Dobu. The Vakutans joining them on the way, and the canoes of the Amphletts following them also, some forty canoes finally arrived at the western shore of Dawson Straits. It was arranged then and there that a return expedition from that district should visit Sinaketa in about six months’ time. Kauyaporu, the esa’esa (headman) of Kesora’i hamlet in the village of Bwayowa, had a pig with circular tusks. He decided therefore to arrange an uvalaku expedition, at the beginning of which the pig was to be killed and feasted upon and its tusks turned into ornaments.

When, in November, 1917, I passed through the district, the preparing of the canoes was already afoot. All of those, which still could be repaired, had been taken to pieces and were being relashed, recaulked and repainted. In some hamlets, new dug-outs were being scooped. After a few months stay in the Trobriands, I went South again in March, 1918, intending to spend some time in the Amphletts. Landing there is always difficult, as there are no anchorages near the shore, and it is quite impossible to disembark in rough weather at night. I arrived late in a small cutter, and had to cruise between Gumasila and Domdom, intending to wait till daybreak and then effect a landing. In the middle of the night, however, a violent north-westerly squall came down, and making a split in the main-sail, forced us to run before the wind, southwards towards Dobu. It was on this night that the native boys employed in the boat, saw the mulukwausi flaming up at the head of the mast. The wind dropped before daybreak, and we entered the Lagoon of Sanaroa, in order to repair the sail. During the three days we stopped there, I roamed over the country, climbing its volcanic cones, paddling up the creeks and visiting the villages scattered on the coral plain. Everywhere I saw signs of the approaching departure for Boyowa; the natives preparing their canoes on the beach to be loaded, collecting food in the gardens and making sago in the jungle. At the head of one of the creeks, in the midst of a sago swamp, there was a long, low shelter which serves as a dwelling to Dobuan natives from the main Island when they come to gather sago. This swamp was said to be reserved to a certain community of Tu’utauna.

Another day I came upon a party of local natives from Sanaroa, who were pounding sago pulp out of a palm, and sluicing it with water. A big tree had been felled, its bark stripped in the middle of the trunk in a large square, and the soft, fleshy interior laid open. There were three men standing in a row before it and pounding away at it. A few more men waited to relieve the tired ones. The pounding instruments, half club, half adzes, had thick but not very broad blades of green stone, of the same type as I have seen among the Mailu natives of the South Coast.1

The pulp was then carried in baskets to a neighbouring stream. At this spot there was a natural trough, one of the big, convex scales, which form the basis of the sago leaf. In the middle of it, a sieve was made of a piece of coco-nut spathing, a fibre which covers the root of a coco-nut leaf, and looks at first sight exactly like a piece of roughly woven material. Water was directed so that it flowed into the trough at its broad end, coming out at the narrow one. The sago pulp was put at the top, the water carried away with it the powdered sago starch, while the wooden, husky fibres were retained by the sieve. The starch was then carried with the water into a big wooden canoe-shaped trough; there the heavier starch settled down, while the water welled over the brim. When there is plenty of starch, the water is drained off carefully and the starch is placed into another of the trough-shaped, sago leaf bases, where it is allowed to dry. In such receptacles it is then carried on a trading expedition, and is thus counted as one unit of sago.

I watched the proceedings for a long time with great interest. There is something fascinating about the big, antideluvian-looking sago palm, so malignant and unapproachable in its unhealthy, prickly swamp, being turned by man into food by such simple and direct methods. The sago produced and eaten by the natives is a tough, starchy stuff, of dirty white colour, very unpalatable. It has the consistency of rubber, and the taste of very poor, unleavened bread. It is not clear, like the article which is sold under the name of sago in our groceries, but is mealy, tough, and almost elastic. The natives consider it a great delicacy, and bake it into little cakes, or boil it into dumplings.

The main fleet of the Dobuans started some time in the second half of March from their villages, and went first to the beach of Sarubwoyna, where they held a ceremonial distribution of food, eguya’i, as it is called in Dobu. Then, offering the pokala to Aturamo’a and Atu’a’ine, they sailed by way of Sanaroa and Tewara, passing the tabooed rock of Gurewaya to the Amphletts. The wind was light and changeable, weak S.W. breezes prevailing. The progress of this stage of the journey must have been very slow. The natives must have spent a few nights on the intermediate islands and sandbanks, a few canoes’ crews camping at one spot.

At that time I had already succeeded in reaching the Amphletts, and had been busy for two or three weeks doing ethnographic work, though not very successfully; for, as I have already once or twice remarked, the natives here are very bad informants. I knew of course that the Dobuan fleet was soon to come, but as my experience had taught me to mistrust native time-tables and fixtures of date, I did not expect them to be punctual. In this, however, I was mistaken. On a Kula expedition, when the dates are once fixed, the natives make real and strenuous efforts to keep to them. In the Amphletts the people were busy preparing for the expedition, because they had the intention of joining the Dobuans and proceeding with them to the Trobriands. A few canoes went to the mainland to fetch sago, pots were being mustered and made ready for stowing away, canoes were overhauled. When the small expedition returned from the mainland with sago, after a week or so, a sagali (in Amphlettan: madare), that is, a ceremonial distribution of food was held on the neighbouring island, Nabwageta.

My arrival was a very untoward event to the natives, and complicated matters, causing great annoyance to Tovasana, the main headman. I had landed in his own little village, Nu’agasi, on the island of Gumasila, for it was impossible to anchor near the big village, nor would there have been room for pitching a tent. Now, in the Amphletts, a white man is an exceedingly rare occurrence, and to my knowledge, only once before, a white trader remained there for a few weeks. To leave me alone with the women and one or two old men was impossible, according to their ideas and fears, and none of the younger men wanted to forgo the privilege and pleasure of taking part in the expedition. At last, I promised them to move to the neighbouring island of Nabwageta, as soon as the men were gone, and with this they were satisfied.

As the date fixed for the arrival of the Dobuans approached, the excitement grew. Little by little the news arrived, and was eagerly received and conveyed to me: “Some sixty canoes of the Dobuans are coming,” “the fleet is anchored off Tewara,” “each canoe is heavily laden with food and gifts,” “Kauyaporu sails in his canoe, he is toli’uvalaku, and has a big pandanus streamer attached to the prow.” A string of other names followed which had very little meaning for me, since I was not acquainted with the Dobuan natives. From another part of the world, from the Trobriands, the goal of the whole expedition, news reached us again: “To’uluwa, the chief of Kiriwina has gone to Kitava—he will soon come back, bringing plenty of mwali.” “The Sinaketans are going there to fetch some of the mwali.” “The Vakutans have been in Kitava and brought back great numbers of mwali.” It was astonishing to hear all this news, arriving at a small island, apparently completely isolated with its tiny population, within these savage and little navigated seas; news only a few days old, yet reporting events which had occurred at a travelling distance of some hundred miles.

It was interesting to follow up the way it had come. The earlier news about the Dobuans had been brought by the canoes, which had fetched the sago to Gumasila from the main island. A few days later, a canoe from one of the main island villages had arrived here, and on its way had passed the Dobuans in Tewara. The news from the Trobriands in the North had been brought by the Kuyawa canoe which had arrived a couple of days before in Nabwageta (and whose visit to Nu’agasi I have described in Chapter XI). All these movements were not accidental, but connected with the uvalaku expedition. To show the complexity, as well as the precise timing of the various movements and events, so perfectly synchronised over a vast area, in connection with the uvalaku, I have tabulated them in the Chart, facing this page, in which almost all the dates are quite exact, being based on my own observations. This Chart also gives a clear, synoptic picture of an uvalaku, and it will be useful to refer to it, in reading this Chapter.

In olden days, not less than now, there must have been an ebullition in the inter-tribal relations, and a great stirring from one place to another, whenever an uvalaku Kula was afoot. Thus, news would be carried rapidly over great distances, the movements of the vast numbers of natives would be co-ordinated, and dates fixed. As has been said already, a culminating event of an expedition, in this case the arrival of the Dobuan fleet in Sinaketa, would be always so timed as to happen on, or just before, a full moon, and this would serve as a general orientation for the preliminary movements, such as in this case, the visits of the single canoes.

Indeed, from that moment, the events on and about the Amphlett Islands moved rapidly. The day after the visit from the Kuyawan canoes, the canoes of the main village of Gumasila sailed off to the Trobriands, starting therefore a few days ahead of the Dobuan uvalaku fleet. I rowed over in a dinghy to the big village, and watched the loading and departing of the canoes. There was a bustle in the village, and even a few old women could be seen helping the men in their tasks. The large canoes were being pushed into the water from their supports, on which they were beached. They had been already prepared for the journey there, their platforms covered with plaited palm leaves, frames put in their bottoms to support the cargo, boards placed crossways within the canoe to serve as seats for the crew, the mast, rigging and sail laid handy. The loading, however, begins only after the canoe is in water. The large, trough-shaped chunks of sago were put at the bottom, while men and women carefully brought out the big clay pots, stowing them away with many precautions in special places in the middle (see Plate XLVII). Then, one after the other, the canoes went off, paddling round the southern end of the island towards the West. At about ten o’clock in the morning, the last canoe disappeared round the promontory, and the village remained practically empty. There was no saying of farewells, not a trace of any emotion on the part of those leaving or those remaining. But it must be remembered that, owing to my presence, no women except one or two old hags, were visible on the shore. All my best informants gone, I intended to move to Nabwageta next morning. At sunset, I made a long excursion in my dinghy round the western shores of Gumasila, and it was on that occasion that I discovered all those who had left that morning on the Kula sitting on Giyasila beach, in accordance with the Kula custom of a preliminary halt, such as the one on Muwa described in Chapter VII.

Next morning, I left for the neighbouring island and village of Nabwageta, and only after he saw me safely off, Tovasana and his party left in his canoe, following the others to Vakuta. In Nabwageta, the whole community were in the midst of their final preparations for departure, for they intended to wait for the Dobuans and sail with them to Kiriwina. All their canoes were being painted and renovated, a sail was being repaired on the beach (see Plate LIII). There were some minor distributions of food taking place in the village, the stuff being over and over again allotted and re-allotted, smaller pieces carved out of the big chunks and put into special wrappings. This constant handling of food is one of the most prominent features of tribal life in that part of the world. As I arrived, a sail for one of the canoes was just being finished by a group of men. In another canoe, I saw them mending the outrigger by attaching the small log of light, dry wood to make the old, waterlogged float more buoyant. I could also watch in detail the final trimming of the canoes, the putting up of the additional frames, of the coco-nut mats, the making of the little cage in the central part for the pots and for the lilava (the sacred bundle), I was, nevertheless, not on sufficiently intimate terms with these Nabwageta natives to be allowed to witness any of the magic. Their system of mwasila is identical with that of Boyowa, in fact, it is borrowed from there.

Next day—in this village again I had difficulty in finding any good informants, a difficulty increased by the feverish occupation of all the men—I went for a long row in the afternoon with my two ‘boys,’ hoping to reach the island of Domdom. A strong current, which in this part is at places so pronounced that it breaks out into steep, tidal waves, made it impossible to reach our goal. Returning in the dark, my boys suddenly grew alert and excited, like hounds picking up a scent. I could perceive nothing in the dark, but they had discerned two canoes moving westwards. Within about half-an-hour, a fire became visible, twinkling on the beach of a small, deserted island South of Domdom; evidently some Dobuans were camping there. The excitement and intense interest shown by my boys, one a Dobuan, the other from Sariba (Southern Massim), gave me an inkling of the magnitude of this event—the vanguard of a big Kula fleet slowly creeping up towards one of its intermediate halting places. It also brought home to me vividly the inter-tribal character of this institution, which unites in one common and strongly emotional interest so many scattered communities. That night, as we learnt afterwards, a good number of canoes had anchored on the outlying deserted islands of the Amphletts, waiting for the rest of the fleet to arrive. When we came that evening to Nabwageta, the news had already been received of the important event, and the whole village was astir.

Next day, the weather was particularly fine and clear, with the distant mountains wreathed only in light cumuli, their alluring outlines designed in transparent blue. Early in the afternoon, with a blast of conch shell, a Dobuan waga, in full paint and decoration, and with the rich pandanus mat of the sail glowing like gold against the blue sea, came sailing round the promontory. One after the other, at intervals of a few minutes each, other canoes came along, all sailing up to some hundred yards from the beach, and then, after furling the sail, paddling towards the shore (see Plate XL). This was not a ceremonial approach, as the aim of the expedition this time did not embrace the Amphletts, but was directed towards the Trobriands only, Vakuta, and Sinaketa; these canoes had put in only for an intermediate halt. Nevertheless, it was a great event, especially as the canoes of Nabwageta were going to join with the fleet later on. Out of the sixty or so Dobuan canoes, only about twenty-five with some 250 men in them had come to Nabwageta, the others having gone to the big village of Gumasila. In any case, there were about five times as many men gathered in the village as one usually sees. There was no Kula done at all, no conch-shells were blown on the shore, nor do I think were any presents given or received by either party. The men sat in groups round their friends’ houses, the most distinguished visitors collected about the dwelling of Tobwa’ina, the main headman of Nabwageta.

Many canoes were anchored along the coast beyond the village beach, some tucked away into small coves, others moored in sheltered shallows. The men sat on the shore round fires, preparing their food, which they took out of the provisions carried on the canoes. Only the water did they obtain from the island, filling their coco-nut-made water vessels from the springs. About a dozen canoes were actually moored at the village beach. Late at night, I walked along the shore to observe their sleeping arrangements. In the clear, moonlit night, the small fires burnt with a red, subdued glow; there was always one of them between each two sleepers, consisting of three burning sticks, gradually pushed in as they were consumed. The men slept with the big, stiff pandanus mats over them; each mat is folded in the middle, and when put on the ground, forms a kind of miniature prismatic tent. All along the beach, it was almost a continuous row of man alternating with fire, the dun-coloured mats being nearly invisible against the sand in the full moonlight. It must have been a very light sleep for every now and then, a man stirred, peeping up from under his shell, re-adjusting the fire, and casting a searching glance over the surroundings. It would be difficult to say whether mosquitoes or cold wind or fear of sorcery disturbed their sleep most, but I should say the last.

The next morning, early, and without any warning, the whole fleet sailed away. At about 8 o’clock the last canoe punted towards the offing, where they stepped their mast and hoisted their sail. There were no farewell gifts, no conch shell blowing, and the Dobuans this time left their resting place as they had come, without ceremony or display. The morning after, the Nabwagetans followed them. I was left in the village with a few cripples, the women and one or two men who had remained perhaps to look after the village, perhaps specially to keep watch over me and see that I did no mischief. Not one of them was a good informant. Through a mistake of mine, I had missed the cutter which had come two days before to the island of Gumasila and left without me. With bad luck and bad weather, I might have had to wait a few weeks, if not months in Nabwageta. I could perhaps have sailed in a native canoe, but this could only be done without bedding, tent, or even writing outfit and photographic apparatus, and so my travelling would have been quite useless. It was a piece of great good luck that a day or two afterwards, a motor launch, whose owner had heard about my staying in the Amphletts, anchored in front of Nabwageta village, and within an hour I was speeding towards the Trobriands again, following the tracks of the Kula fleet.

On the next morning, as we slowly made our way along the channels in the opalescent, green lagoon, and as I watched a fleet of small, local canoes fishing in their muddy waters, and could recognise on the surrounding flat shores a dozen well-known villages, my spirits rose, and I felt well pleased to have left the picturesque, but ethnographically barren Amphletts for the Trobriands, with their scores of excellent informants.

Moreover, the Amphletts, in the persons of their male inhabitants were soon to join me here. I went ashore in Sinaketa, where everybody was full of the great moment which was soon to arrive. For the Dobuan fleet was known to be coming, though on that morning, so far, no news had reached them of its whereabouts. As a matter of fact, the Dobuans, who had left Nabwageta forty-eight hours ahead of me, had made a slow journey with light winds, and sailing a course to the East of mine, had arrived that morning only in Vakuta.

All the rumours which had been reported to me in the Amphletts about the previous movements of the Trobriand natives had been correct. Thus the natives of Vakuta had really been to the East, to Kitava, and had brought with them a big haul of armshells. To’uluwa, the chief of Kiriwina, had visited Kitava later, and about five or six days before had returned from there, bringing with him 213 pairs of armshells. The Sinaketans then had gone to Kiriwina, and out of the 213 pairs had succeeded in securing 154. As there had been previously 150 pairs in Sinaketa, a total of 304 was awaiting the Dobuans. On the morning of my arrival, the Sinaketan party had just returned from Kiriwina, hurrying home so as to have everything ready for the reception of the Dobuans. Of these, we got the news that very afternoon—news which travelled overland from one village to another, and reached us from Vakuta with great rapidity. We were also told that the uvalaku fleet would be at Sinaketa within two or three days.

This period I utilised in refurbishing my information about that phase of the Kula, which I was going to witness, and trying to get a clear outline of every detail of all that was going soon to happen. It is extremely important in sociological work to know well beforehand the underlying rules and the fundamental ideas of an occurrence, especially if big masses of natives are concerned in it. Otherwise, the really important events may be obliterated by quite irrelevant and accidental movements of the crowd, and thus the significance of what he sees may be lost to the observer. No doubt if one could repeat one’s observations on the same phenomenon over and over again, the essential and relevant features would stand out by their regularity and permanence. If, however, as it often happens in ethnographic field-work, one gets the opportunity only once of witnessing a public ceremony, it is necessary to have its anatomy well dissected beforehand, and then concentrate upon observing how these outlines are followed up concretely, gauge the tone of the general behaviour, the touches of emotion or passion, many small yet significant details which nothing but actual observation can reveal, and which throw much light upon the real, inner relation of the native to his institution. So I was busy going over my old entries and checking them and putting my material into shape in a detailed and concrete manner.

On the third day, as I was sitting and taking notes in the afternoon, word ran all round the villages that the Dobuan canoes had been sighted. And indeed, as I hastened towards the shore, there could be seen, far away, like small petals floating on the horizon, the sails of the advancing fleet. I jumped at once into a canoe, and was punted along towards the promontory of Kaykuyawa, about a mile to the South of Sinaketa. There, one after the other, the Dobuan canoes were arriving, dropping their sails and undoing the mast as they moored, until the whole fleet, numbering now over eighty canoes, were assembled before me (see Plate XLVIII). From each a few men waded ashore, returning with big bunches of leaves. I saw them wash and smear themselves and perform the successive stages of native, festive adornment (see Plate XLIX). Each article was medicated by some man or another in the canoe before it was used or put on. The most carefully handled articles of ornamentation were the ineffective looking, dried up herbs, taken out of their little receptacles, where they had remained since they had been becharmed in Dobu, and now stuck into the armlets. The whole thing went on quickly, almost feverishly, making more the impression of a piece of technical business being expeditiously performed, than of a solemn and elaborate ceremony taking place. But the ceremonial element was soon to show itself.

After the preparations were finished, the whole fleet formed itself into a compact body, not quite regular, but with a certain order, about four or five canoes being in a row, and one row behind the other. In this formation they punted along over the Lagoon, too shallow for paddling, towards the beach of Sinaketa. When they were within about ten minutes of the shore, all the conch shells began to be sounded, and the murmur of recited magic rose from the canoes. I could not come sufficiently near the canoes, for reason of etiquette, to be able to see the exact arrangement of the reciters, but I was told that it was the same as that observed by the Trobrianders on their approach to Dobu, described in Chapter XIII. The general effect was powerful, when this wonderfully painted and fully decorated fleet was gliding swiftly over the green waters of the Lagoon towards the palm grove above the sand beach, at that moment thick with expectant natives. But I imagine that the arrival of a Trobriand fleet in Dobu must be considerably more effective even than that. The much more picturesque landscape, the ceremonial paddling with the leaf-shaped oars over the deep water, the higher sense of danger and tension, than that which the Dobuans feel, when coming to visit the meek Trobrianders, all this must make it even more dramatic and impressive than the scene I have just described.

Plate LIV 

The Dobuan Canoes Pulled Up on Sinaketa Beach.

Plate LV 

Some Canoes Moored on the Shallow Lagoon near the Shore.

Plate LVI 

Dobuan Visitors in Sinaketa.

Top picture: the Kula visitors and hosts sitting side by side on a house platform in Sinaketa. Bottom picture: to the right Tovasana, wearing a wig of pandanus fibre, holding his lime pot and spatula and ornamented with buna shell on his leg, sits with Kauyaporu (on the left), the chief of the Dobuans, on the platform of one of the Sinaketan chiefs. Note the aromatic herbs in Kauyaporu’s armlets.

Within some twenty metres from the shore, the canoes formed themselves into a double row, the canoe of the toli’uvalaku on the left flank of the first row. Kauyaporu, as soon as all the craft were in position, rose in his canoe, and in a loud voice, addressed in Dobuan those standing on the shore. His words, preserved in the memory of his hearers, were transmitted to me that same evening in their Kiriwinian equivalent. He spoke:

“Who will be first in the Kula? The people of Vakuta or yourselves? I deem you will have the lead! Bring armshells, one basketful, two baskets; catch pigs; pluck coco-nuts; pluck betel-nut! For this is my uvalaku. By and by, thou, Kouta’uya, wilt make an uvalaku, and we shall give thee then plenty of vaygu’a!”

So spoke Kauyaporu, addressing his main partner, Kouta’uya, the second chief of Sinaketa. He did not address To’udawada, the most important chief, because he was not his main partner.

As soon as the speech was finished, Kouta’uya waded through the water from the beach, carrying a pair of armshells in each hand. Behind him came a small boy, the youngest son, blowing a conch shell. He was followed again by two men, who between them had a stick resting on their shoulders, on which several pairs of mwali (armshells) were displayed. This procession waded towards the canoe of Kauyaporu, whom Kouta’uya addressed in these words, throwing the armshells on the platform of the canoe:

“This is a vaga (opening gift)! In due time, I shall make a uvalaku to Dobu; thou shalt return to me a big soulava (necklace) as kudu (equivalent gift) for this. Plenty more armshells thou wilt receive now. There are plenty of armshells in Sinaketa. We know there were plenty of armshells in Vakuta. By and by thou and thy usagelu come ashore, I shall catch a pig. I shall give you plenty of food, coco-nuts, betel-nut, sugar cane, bananas!”

As soon as he was back on the shore, his wife, the eldest one, with a peta basket on her head, containing a pair of armshells, went into the water and carried it to Kauyaporu’s canoe, the boy with the conch shell following her also. After that, conch shells were blown on all sides on the shore, and single men or groups detached themselves from the rest, and waded towards the canoes. The mwali were carried with ceremony on sticks or in outstretched arm. But the grossly exaggerated way of putting one pair of armshells into a basket which was big enough to hold some four score, was only done by the chief’s wife. All this lasted for perhaps half-an-hour, while the setting sun poured down its glowing light on the painted canoes, the yellow beach, and the lively bronze forms moving upon it. Then, in a few moments, the Dobuan canoes were partly beached, partly moored, whilst their crews spread over the seven villages of Sinaketa. Large groups could be seen sitting on platforms chewing betel-nut and conversing in Dobuan with their hosts (see Plate LVI).

For three days, the Dobuans remained in Sinaketa. Every now and then, blasts of conch shell announced that a Kula transaction had taken place, that is, that a pair of armshells had been handed over to one of the visitors. Swarms of people from the other districts had assembled in Sinaketa; every day, natives from the inland villages of Southern Boyowa crowded into their capital, whilst people from Kuboma, Luba, and Kiriwina, that is, the Central and Northern districts, were camping in their relatives’ houses, in yam stores and under provisional shelters. Reckoning that the number of the visitors, that is, the Dobuans, the Amphlettans and the Vakutans, who had joined them on their way, amounted to some eight hundred; that the Sinaketans numbered about five hundred people, and that some twelve hundred had come from the other villages, it will be seen that the crowd in and about Sinaketa was considerable, numbering over two thousand.

The Trobriand natives, of course, looked after their own provisions. The Dobuans had also brought a considerable amount of food with them, and would receive some additional vegetables and pigs’ flesh from their hosts, while they acquired fish from some of the other villages of Boyowa. As a matter of fact, stingaree, shark and some other fish are the only articles for which the Dobuans barter on their own account. The rest of the trade, in the same way as is done in Dobu by the Sinaketans, must be done with the community who receive visitors, that is, with Sinaketa. The Sinaketans buy from the manufacturing districts of Boyowa the same industrial products that they take with them to Dobu, that is baskets, lime pots, lime spatulæ, etc. Then they sell these to the Dobuans in just the same manner and with the same profit as was described in Chapter XV. As has been said there also, a man of Sinaketa would never trade with his partner, but with some other Dobuan. Between the partners, only presents are exchanged. The gift offered by the Dobuans to the Sinaketans is called vata’i, and it differs only in name and not in its economic or sociological nature from the pari gift offered by the Boyowans to their overseas partners. The talo’i, or farewell gift offered to them is as a rule more substantial than the vata’i.

The Dobuans, during their stay in Sinaketa, lived on the beach or in their canoes (see Plates LIV and XX). Skilfully rigged up with canopies of golden mats covering parts of the craft, their painted hulls glowing in the sun against the green water, some of the canoes presented the spectacle of some gorgeously fantastic pleasure boat (see Plate LV). The natives waded about amongst them, making the Lagoon lively with movement, talk and laughter. Groups camped on the sea shore, boiling food in the large clay pots, smoking and chewing betel-nut. Big parties of Trobrianders walked among them, discreetly but curiously watching them. Women were not very conspicuous in the whole proceedings, nor did I hear any scandal about intrigues, although such may have taken place.

On the fourth day, conch shells were blown again in the morning, though on the last of the three days their sounds had almost died out. These were the signs of the departure. Food and small presents were brought to the canoes as talo’i, and a few mwali were given at the last, for which the conch shells were blown. Without any ceremony or farewell speeches, the Dobuan canoes sailed away, one after the other.

Their journey home was also interrupted by a customary halt for fishing, but this time for fish, not shell. Some of them stop on the beach of Muwa, but the bulk camp on a beach called Susuwa, half way between Sinaketa and Vakuta, where they catch the fish by means of a poisonous root, which they have brought for this purpose from home. This time, they remained three days in Susuwa and Muwa, and then sailed to Vakuta to receive there talo’i. Their further journey I could not trace step by step, but afterwards I heard that quickly, and without any accident, they had reached their homes.

Their tanarere on Sarubwoyna beach—that is, the competitive display of the yield—gave more or less the following results:

From Sinaketa they received 304 armshells.

From Vakuta they received 344 armshells.

The total therefore was 648. As there were about sixty canoes making the proper uvalaku from Dobu, that is, not counting those from the Amphletts and Vakuta which joined on the way and appeared before Sinaketa, there were at the outside some five hundred Dobuan natives on that expedition. Out of these, however, not more than half were grown-up, Kula making men. So that, on the average, there were nearly thirteen armshells for every five men. Some would not get more than one pair, some perhaps even none, whilst the headmen received large quantities.

We shall follow in a later chapter the movements of some at least of those who had collected in Sinaketa from the other districts, in connection with the Kula. It did not take them more than a few days to disperse completely, and for the village to resume its ordinary aspect and routine.

In treating of the various customs and practices of the Kula, I had at every step to enter into the description of magical rites and into the analysis of spells. This had to be done, first of all, because magic looms paramount in the natives’ view of the Kula. Again, all magical formulæ disclose essentials of belief and illustrate typical ideas in a manner so thorough and telling that no other road could lead us as straight into the inner mind of the native. Finally, there is a direct, ethnographic interest in knowing the details of magical performance, which has such an overweening influence over tribal life, and enters so deeply into the make-up of the natives’ mentality.

It is now necessary to complete our knowledge of magic and to focus all the dispersed data into one coherent picture. So far, the many scattered references and numerous concrete details have not furnished a general idea, of what magic means to the natives; how they imagine the working of the magical forces; what are their implied and expressed views on the nature of magical power. Collecting all the material which has already been presented in the previous chapters, and supplementing it with native and ethnographic comments, we shall be able to arrive at a certain synthesis, respecting the Kiriwinian theory of magic.

All the data which have been so far mustered disclose the extreme importance of magic in the Kula. But if it were a question of treating of any other aspect of the tribal life of these natives, it would also be found that, whenever they approach any concern of vital importance, they summon magic to their aid. It can be said without exaggeration that magic, according to their ideas, governs human destinies; that it supplies man with the power of mastering the forces of nature; and that it is his weapon and armour against the many dangers which crowd in upon him on every side. Thus, in what is most essential to man, that is in his health and bodily welfare, he is but a plaything of the powers of sorcery, of evil spirits and of certain beings, controlled by black magic. Death in almost all its forms is the result of one of these agencies. Permanent ill-health and all kinds of acute sickness, in fact everything, except such easily explainable ailments as physical overstrain or slight colds, are attributed to magic. I have spoken (Chapter II) of the several ways in which the evil powers bring disease and death. The tauva’u, who bring epidemics and the tokway, who inflict shooting pains and minor ailments, are the only examples of non-human beings’ exerting any direct influence on human destinies, and even the members of this restricted pantheon of demonology only occasionally descend among the mortals to put into action their potential powers. By far the deepest dread and most constant concern of the natives are with the bwaga’u, the entirely human sorcerers, who carry out their work exclusively by means of magic. Second to them in the quantity of magical output and in the frequency of their exploits, are the mulukwausi, the flying witches, which have been described in detail in Chapter XI. They are a good example of how every belief in a superior power is at the bottom a belief in magic. Magic gives to these beings the capacity to destroy human life and to command other agents of destruction. Magic also gives man the power and the means to defend himself, and if properly applied, to frustrate all the nefarious attempts of the mulukwausi. Comparing the two agencies, it may be said that in every-day life, the sorcerer is by far the most feared and is most frequently believed to be at work; while the mulukwausi enter upon the scene at certain dramatic moments, such as the presence of death, a catastrophe on land, and more especially at sea; but then, they enter with even deadlier weapons than the bwaga’u. Health, the normal state of human beings can, if once lost, be regained by magic and by magic only. There is no such thing as natural recovery, return to health being always due to the removal of the evil magic by means of magical counter-action.

All those crises of life, which are associated with fear of danger, with the awakening of passions or of strong emotions, have also their magical accompaniment. The birth of a child is always ushered in by magic, in order to make the child prosper, and to neutralise the dangers and evil influences. There is no rite or magic at puberty; but then, with this people, puberty does not present any very definite crisis in the life of the individual, as their sexual life starts long before puberty arrives, and gradually shapes and develops as the organism matures. The passion of love, however, has a very elaborate magical counterpart, embodied in many rites and formulæ, to which a great importance is attached, and all success in sexual life is ascribed to it. The evil results of illicit love—that is love within the clan, which, by the way, is considered by these natives as the main class of sexual immorality—can also be counteracted by a special type of magic.

The main social interests, ambition in gardening, ambition in successful Kula, vanity and display of personal charms in dancing—all find their expression in magic. There is a form of beauty magic, performed ceremonially over the dancers, and there is also a kind of safety magic at dances, whose object is to prevent the evil magic of envious sorcerers. Particular garden magic, performed by an individual over his crops and seeds, as well as the evil magic which he casts on the gardens of his rivals, express the private ambitions in gardening, as contrasted with the interests of the whole village, which are catered for by communal garden magic.

Natural forces of great importance to man, such as rain and sunshine, the appropriate alternative operation of which makes his crops thrive; or wind, which must be controlled for purposes of sailing and fishing, are also governed by magic. The magic of rain and sunshine can be used for good, as well as for nefarious purposes, and in this they have a special interest in the Trobriands, because the most powerful system of this magic is in the hands of the paramount chiefs of Kiriwina. By bringing about a prolonged drought, the chiefs of Omarakana have always been able to express their general displeasure with their subjects, and thus enhance their wholesale power, independently of any other mechanism, which they might have used for forcing their will on private individuals or on whole communities.

The basic, food-providing economic activities, which in the Trobriands are mainly gardening and fishing, are also completely magic-ridden. The success of these pursuits is of course largely due to luck, chance or accident, and to the natives they require supernatural assistance. We had examples of economic magic in describing the construction of a canoe, and the fishing for kaloma shell. The communal garden-magic and the fishing magic of certain village communities show to a higher degree even than the cases described, the feature which we found so distinct in canoe magic, namely: that the rites and formulæ are not a mere appendage, running side by side with economic efforts, without exercising any influence over these. On the contrary, it may be said that a belief in magic is one of the main, psychological forces which allow for organisation and systemisation of economic effort in the Trobriands.1 The capacity for art, as well as the inspiration in it, is also ascribed to the influence of magic.

The passions of hatred, envy, and jealousy, besides finding their expression in the all powerful sorcery of the bwaga’u and mulukwausi, are also responsible for many forms of witchery, known by the generic term of bulubwalata. The classical forms of this magic have as their object the estrangement of the affections of a wife or a sweetheart, or the destruction of the domestic attachment of a pig. The pig is sent away into the bush, having been made to take a dislike to its master and to its domestic habits; the wife, though the spells used to estrange her are slightly different, can be made also to take a dislike to her domestic life, abandon her husband and return to her parents. There is a bulubwalata of gardens, of canoes, of Kula, of kaloma, in fact of everything, and a good deal of beneficial magic is taken up with exorcising the results of bulubwalata.

The list of magic is not quite exhausted yet. There is the magic of conditional curses, performed in order to guard property from possible harm, inflicted by others; there is war-magic; there is magic associated with taboos put on coco-nuts and betel-nuts, in order to make them grow and multiply; there is magic to avert thunder and resuscitate people who are struck by lightning; there is the magic of tooth-ache, and a magic to make food last a long time.

All this shows the wide diffusion of magic, its extreme importance and also the fact that it is always strongest there, where vital interests are concerned; where violent passions or emotions are awakened; when mysterious forces are opposed to man’s endeavours; and when he has to recognise that there is something which eludes his most careful calculations, his most conscientious preparations and efforts.

Let us now proceed to formulate some short statement of the essential conception of magic, as it is entertained by the natives. All statement of belief, found among human beings so widely different from us, is full of difficulties and pitfalls, which perhaps beset us most there, where we try to arrive at the very foundation of the belief—that is, at the most general ideas which underlie a series of practices and a body of traditions. In dealing with a native community at the stage of development which we find in the Trobriands, we cannot expect to obtain a definite, precise and abstract statement from a philosopher, belonging to the community itself. The native takes his fundamental assumptions for granted, and if he reasons or inquires into matters of belief, it would be always only as regards details and concrete applications. Any attempts on the part of the Ethnographer to induce his informant to formulate such a general statement would have to be in the form of leading questions of the worst type because in these leading questions he would have to introduce words and concepts essentially foreign to the native. Once the informant grasped their meaning, his outlook would be warped by our own ideas having been poured into it. Thus the Ethnographer must draw the generalisation for himself, must formulate the abstract statement without the direct help of a native informant.

I am saying direct help because the generalisation must be entirely based on indirect data supplied by the natives. In the course of collecting information, of discussing formulæ and translating their text, a considerable number of opinions on matters of detail will be set forth by the natives. Such spontaneous opinions, if placed in a correctly constructed mosaic, might almost of themselves give us a true picture, might almost cover the whole field of native belief. And then our task would only be to summarise this picture in an abstract formula.

The Ethnographer, however, possesses an even better supply of evidence from which to draw his conclusions. The objective items of culture, into which belief has crystallised in the form of tradition, myth, spell and rite are the most important source of knowledge. In them, we can face the same realities of belief as the native faces in his intimate intercourse with the magical, the same realities which he not only professes with his tongue, but lives through partly in imagination and partly in actual experience. An analysis of the contents of the spells, the study of the manner in which they are uttered; in which the concomitant rites are performed; the study of the natives’ behaviour, of the actors as well as of the spectators; the knowledge of the social position and social functions, of the magical expert—all this reveals to us, not only the bare structure of their ideas on magic, but also the associated sentiments and emotions, and the nature of magic as a social force.

An Ethnographer who, from the study of such objective data, has been able to penetrate into the natives’ attitude, to formulate a general theory of magic, can then test his conclusions by direct questionings. For he will be already in a position to use native terminology and to move along the lines of native thought, and in his questionings he will be able to accept the lead of his informant instead of misleading the latter and himself by leading questions. More especially in obtaining opinions of actual occurrences from the natives, he will not have to move in abstract generalities, but will be able to translate them into concrete applications and into the native modes of thought.

In arriving at such general conclusions about vast aspects of primitive human thought and custom, the Ethnographer’s is a creative work, in so far as he brings to light phenomena of human nature which, in their entirety, had remained hidden even from those in whom they happened. It is creative in the same sense as is the construction of general principles of natural science, where objective laws of very wide application lie hidden till brought forth by the investigating human mind. In the same sense, however, as the principles of natural science are empirical, so are also the final generalisations of ethnographic sociology because, though expressly stated for the first time by the investigator, they are none the less objective realities of human thinking, feeling and behaviour.

We can start from the question of how the natives imagine their magic to have originated. If we would ask even the most intelligent informant some such concretely framed questions as: “Where has your magic been made? How do you imagine its invention?”—they would necessarily remain unanswered. Not even a warped and half-suggested reply would be forthcoming. Yet there is an answer to this question, or rather to its generalised equivalent. Examining the mythology of one form of magic after the other, we find that there are in every one either explicitly stated or implied views about how magic has become known to man. As we register these views, compare them, and arrive at a generalisation, we easily see, why our imaginary question, put to the natives, would have to remain unanswered. For, according to native belief, embedded in all traditions and all institutions, magic is never conceived as having been made or invented. Magic has been handed on as a thing which has always been there. It is conceived as an intrinsic ingredient of everything that vitally affects man. The words, by which a magician exercises his power over a thing or a process, are believed to be co-existent with them. The magical formula and its subject matter were born together.

In some cases, tradition represents them literally as being ‘born’ by the same woman. Thus, rain was brought forth by a woman of Kasana’i, and the magic came with it, and has been handed on ever since in this woman’s sub-clan. Again, the mythical mother of the Kultur-hero Tudava gave birth, among other plants and animals, also to the kalala fish. The magic of this fish is also due to her. In the short myth about the origin of kayga’u magic—the one to protect drowning sailors from witches and other dangers—we saw that the mother, who gave birth to the Tokulubweydoga dog, also handed the magic over to him. In all these cases, however, the myth does not point to these women’s inventing or composing the magic; indeed, it is explicitly stated by some natives that the women had learned the magic from their matrilineal ancestors. In the last case, the woman is said in the myth to have known the magic by tradition.

Other myths are more rudimentary, yet, though less circumstantial about the origin of the magic, show us just as unmistakably that magic is a primeval thing, indeed, in the literal sense of the word, autochthonous. Thus, the Kula magic in Gumasila came out of the rock of Selawaya; the canoe magic out of the hole in the ground, brought by the men, who originally emerged with it; garden magic is always conceived as being carried from underground by the first ancestors, who emerged out of the original hole of that locality. Several minor forms of magic of local currency, such as fish magic, practised in one village only, wind magic, etc., are also imagined to have been carried out of the ground. All the forms of sorcery have been handed over to people by non-human beings, who passed them on but did not create them. The bwaga’u sorcery is due to a crab, who gave it to a mythical personage, in whose dala (sub-clan) the magic was carried on and from it distributed all over the islands. The tokway (wood-sprites) have taught man certain forms of evil magic. There are no myths in Kiriwina about the origin of flying witch magic. From other districts, however, I have obtained rudimentary information pointing to the fact that they were instructed in this magic by a mythical, malevolent being called Taukuripokapoka, with whom even now some sort of relations are kept up, culminating in nocturnal meetings and sexual orgies which remind one very strongly of the Walpurgisnacht.

Love magic, the magic of thunder and lightning, are accounted for by definite events. But in neither of them are we led to imagine that the formula is invented, in fact, there is a sort of petitio principii in all these myths, for on the one hand they set out to account for how magic came, and on the other, in all of them magic is represented as being there, ready made. But the petitio principii is due only to a false attitude of mind with which we approach these tales. Because, to the native mind, they set out to tell, not how magic originated, but how magic was brought within the reach of one or other of the Boyowan local groups or sub-clans.

Thus it may be said, in formulating a generalisation from all these data, that magic is never invented. In olden days, when mythical things happened, magic came from underground, or was given to a man by some non-human being, or was handed on to descendants by the original ancestress, who also brought forth the phenomenon governed by the magic. In actual cases of the present times and of the near-past generations whom the natives of to-day knew personally, the magic is given by one man to another, as a rule by the father to his son or by the maternal kinsman. But its very essence is the impossibility of its being manufactured or invented by man, its complete resistance to any change or modification by him. It has existed ever since the beginning of things; it creates, but is never created; it modifies, but must never be modified.

It is now easy to see that no questions about the origins of magic, such as we formulated before, could have been asked of a native informant without distorting the evidence in the very act of questioning, while more general and quite abstract and colourless inquiries cannot be made intelligible to him. He has grown up into a world where certain processes, certain activities have their magic, which is as much an attribute of theirs’ as anything else. Some people have been traditionally instructed how this magic runs, and they know it; how men came by magic is told in numerous mythical narratives. That is the correct statement of the native point of view. Once arrived at this conclusion inductively, we can of course, test our conclusions by direct questions, or by a leading question, for the matter of that. To the question: “where human beings found magic?” I obtained the following answer:—

“All magic, they found long ago in the nether world. We do not find ever a spell in a dream; should we say so, this would be a lie. The spirits never give us a spell. Songs and dances they do give us, that is true, but no magic.”

This statement, expressing the belief in a very clear and direct manner, I had confirmed, reiterated with variations and amplifications, by ever so many informants. They all emphasise the fact that magic has its roots in tradition, that it is the most immutable and most valuable traditional item, that it cannot leak into human knowledge by any present human intercourse with spirits or with any non-human beings such as the tokway or tauva’u. The property of having been received from previous generations is so marked that any breach of continuity in this succession cannot be imagined, and any addition by an actual human being would make the magic spurious.

At the same time, magic is conceived as something essentially human. It is not a force of nature, captured by man through some means and put to his service; it is essentially the assertion of man’s intrinsic power over nature. In saying that, I, of course translate native belief into abstract terms, which they would not use themselves for its expression. None the less it is embodied in all their items of folk-lore and ways of using magic and thinking about it. In all the traditions, we find that magic is always in possession of man, or at least of anthropomorphic beings. It is carried out from underground by man. It is not conceived as having been there somewhere outside his knowledge and then captured. On the contrary, as we saw, often the very things which are governed by magic have been brought forth by man, as for instance rain, the kalala fish; or disease, created by the anthropomorphic crab.

The close sociological association of magic with a given sub-clan emphasises this anthropocentric conception of magic. In the majority of cases indeed, magic refers to human activities or to the response of nature to human activities, rather than to natural forces alone. Thus, in gardening and in fishing, it is the behaviour of plants and animals tended or pursued by man; in the canoe magic, in the carver’s magic, the object is a human-made thing; in the Kula, in love magic, in many forms of food magic, it is human nature on to which the force is directed. Disease is not conceived as an extraneous force, coming from outside and settling on the man, it is directly a man-made, sorcerer-made something. We may, therefore, amplify the above given definition, and say that magic is a traditionally handed on power of man over his own creations, over things once brought forth by man, or over responses of nature to his activities.

There is one more important aspect of the question of which I have spoken already—the relation of magic to myth. It has been stated in Chapter XII, that myth moves in the realm of the supernatural, or better, super-normal, and that magic bridges over the gap between that and present-day reality. Now this statement acquires a new importance; magic appears to us as the essence of traditional continuity with ancestral times. Not only, as I have emphasised in this chapter, is it never conceived as a new invention, but it is identical in its nature with the supernatural power which forms the atmosphere of mythical events. Some of this power may have been lost on its way down to our times—mythical stories relate how it has been lost; but never has anything been added to it. There is nothing in it now which has not been in it in the ancient, hoary times of myth. In this the natives have a definitely regressive view of the relation between now and before; in this they have their counterpart to a Golden Age, and to a Garden of Eden of sorts. Thus we fall back upon the recognition of the same truth, whether we approach the matter by looking for beginnings of magic, or by studying the relations between the present and the mythical reality. Magic is a thing never invented and never tampered with, by man or any other agency.

This, of course, means that it is so in native belief. It hardly needs explicitly stating that in reality magic must constantly change. The memory of men is not such, that it could hand over verbally exactly what it had received, and, like any other item of traditional lore, a magical formula is in reality constantly being re-shaped as it passes from one generation to another, and even within the mind of the same man. As a matter of fact, even from the material collected by me in the Trobriands, it can be unmistakably recognised that certain formulæ are much older than others, and indeed, that some parts of spells, and even some whole spells, are of recent invention. Here I cannot do more than refer to this interesting subject, which, for its full development, needs a good deal of linguistic analysis, as well as of other forms of “higher criticism.”

All these considerations have brought us very near to the essential problem: what does magic really mean to the natives? So far, we have seen that it is an inherent power of man over those things which vitally affect him, a power always handed over through tradition.2 About the beginnings of magic they know as little, and are occupied as little as about the beginnings of the world. Their myths describe the origin of social institutions and the peopling of the world by men. But the world is taken for granted, and so is the magic. They ask no questions about magiogony any more than they do about cosmogony.

So far we have not gone beyond the examination of myths and of what we can learn from them about the nature of magic. To gain a deeper insight into this subject, we must study more closely the concrete data about magical performance. Even in the foregoing chapters a sufficient material has been collected to allow of correct inferences, and I shall only here and there have to allude to other forms of magic, besides that of canoe, Kula and sailing.

I have spoken so far about “magic” in a wholesale manner, as if it were all of one piece. As a matter of fact, magic all the world over, however rudimentary or developed it might be, presents three essential aspects. In its performance there enter always some words spoken or chanted, some actions carried out, and there are always the minister or ministers of the ceremony. In analysing the concrete details of magical performances, therefore, we have to distinguish the formula, the rite, and the condition of the performer.

These three factors stand out quite clearly and definitely in the Trobriand magic, whether we examine the facts themselves or the natives’ way of looking at them. It may be said at once that in this society the relative importance of the three factors is not quite the same. The spell is by far the most important constituent of magic. In their linguistic use, although these natives have a special word, yopa, they very often use the word magic, megwa, to describe a spell. The spell is the part of the magic which is kept secret and known only to the esoteric circle of practitioners. When a magic is handed over, whether by purchase, gift, or inheritance, only the spell has to be taught to the new recipient, and as already once said before, it is usually taught in instalments, while the payment is received in that manner. When one speaks about magical knowledge, or in inquiries whether an individual knows some magic, this invariably refers to the formula, for the nature of the rite is always quite public property. Even from the examples given in this book, it can be seen how simple are the rites and how elaborate often the formulæ. To direct questions on the subject, the natives always reply that the spell is the more important part. The question: “where is the real strength of magic?” would receive the reply: “in the spell.” The condition of the magician is, like the rite, essential to the performance of the magic, but it also is considered by the natives as subservient to the spell.

All this must be made clearer by the examination of actual facts. First of all, let us examine the relation between spell and rite; and to this purpose it will be best to group the various magical performances into several classes according to the complexity of the concomitant rite. We shall begin with the simplest rites.

Spells uttered directly without concomitant rite.—We had one or two examples of such magic where the performer simply utters a formula directly into space. For example, the communal magician of the kaloma (spondylus shell) fishing performs the first act by walking on the beach and reciting his spell towards the sea. In the moment of actual shipwreck, before abandoning the canoe, the toliwaga launches his last kayga’u directly into the elements. Again, he lets his voice float over the waters, when invoking the marvellous fish, who will bring the drowning party to some friendly shore. The final spell of the Kula, by which the approaching canoe ‘shakes the mountain,’ chanted by a trio of magical reciters, is thrown directly towards the Koya. The clearing of the sea in the kaloma fishing is also done this way, and many more examples could be adduced from garden magic, wind magic, and other classes not described in this book.

The natives have a special expression for such acts; they say that the formula is recited ‘by the mouth only,’ ‘o wadola wala.’ This form of magic with such a rudimentary rite is, however, relatively uncommon. Although one could say that there is no rite at all in such cases, for the magician does not manipulate anything or perform any action beyond speaking, yet from another point of view, the whole performance is ritual in so far as he has always to cast his voice towards the element, or being, which he addresses. Indeed here, as in all other cases, the voice of the reciter has to be somehow or other conveyed to the object which he wishes to becharm. We see, moreover, that in all these instances, the nature of this object is such that it can be directly reached by the voice, whilst on the other hand, there would be some difficulty in applying any substance or performing any action over, let us say, wind, or a shell growing on a distant reef or the Koya (mountain).

Spells accompanied by simple rites of impregnation.—A large number of the cases described in this book falls under this heading. We saw quite at the beginning (Chapter V, Division II and III) how the magician charms the blade of his adze, the ropes by which the canoe had been pulled, the lashing creeper, the caulking, and the paint of the canoe. Among the Kula rites, the initial magic over the aromatic mint, over the lilava (magical bundle) over the gebobo (central part of canoe); all the beauty magic on Sarubwoyna beach, over coco-nuts, over the facial paints as well as the conch shell magic, belong here. In all these performances an object is put well within reach of the voice, and in an appropriate position. Often, the object is placed within a receptacle or covering so that the voice enters an enclosed space and is concentrated upon the substance to be charmed. Thus, when the lilava is chanted over, the voice is cast into the mats, which are afterwards carefully wrapped up. The aromatic mint is charmed, lying at the bottom of a bag made of baked and thus toughened banana leaf, which afterwards is carefully folded together and bound with string. Again, the adze blade is first of all half wrapped up in a banana leaf, and the voice enters the blade and the inside of the leaf, which subsequently is folded over and tied over the blade. In the magic of the conch shell, I drew attention to the fact that immediately after the charm has been spoken, both holes of the instrument are carefully stuffed up. In all cases where an object is going to be used immediately, not so many precautions are taken, but always, without any exception, the mouth is put quite close to the object medicated (see Plate LVII) and wherever possible, this latter is placed in some sort of cavity, such as a folded piece of leaf, or even the two palms of the hand put together. All this shows that it is essential to a correct performance of magic, that the voice should be conveyed directly to the substance, if possible enclosed and condensed round it, and then, imprisoned permanently there by means of some wrapping. Thus, in this type of rite, the action serves mainly to convey carefully and to retain the spell round the object.

It may be noted that in almost all cases described, the substance harmed in the rite is not the final aim of the magic, but forms only a constituent part of the object in view or is an accessory of it, or an instrument used in its making. Thus the wayugo creeper, the kaybasi (caulking), the paint, the prow-boards, all these are constituent parts of the canoe, and the magic performed over them does not aim at giving them any qualities, but aims at imparting swiftness and lightness to the canoe of which they are parts only. Again, the herbs and the colours of the coco-nut ointment medicated in the Kula are accessories of the final end of this magic, that is, of the personal beauty and attractiveness of the performer. The adze, the breaking stone in kaloma magic are implements used in obtaining the object, towards which the magic is directed. There are only a few instances in which the simple rite of impregnation is directly performed on the object in view. If we compare this type of rite with the one of the previous category, we see that the difference lies mainly in the size of the object. If you want to cast a charm over a mountain, over a reef, or over the wind, you cannot put your object into a little bag made of banana leaf. Nor can you put there the human mind. And as a rule, the final objects of magical rites are not small things, which could be easily handled. In the magic described in this book, there is, I think, not one single instance, in which the substance handled in the rite and impregnated by condensing the charm upon it artificially, is the final object of the spell. In war magic the points of the spears are made effective and the shields are made spear-proof (see Plate LVIII) by magic uttered over them. In private garden magic, the planted yams are made fruitful by a spell, and a few more examples could be adduced from other types of magic.

Plate LVII  

A Magical Spell Associated with Pregnancy.

The women are bent over a special garment to be worn by the pregnant woman. They almost touch it with their mouths so that it may be well pervaded with their breath which conveys the virtues of the spell. (See Div. IV.)

Plate LVIII  

A Rite of War Magic.

Kanukubusi, the last war wizard of Kiriwina (see Div. V), showing, in reconstruction, the manner in which he used to charm the shields in olden days. (See Div. IV.)

Plate LIX  

A Rite of Garden Magic.

An offering of cooked food is exposed to the spirits for some time in the garden. The magician, with the ceremonial axe on his arm, is seen squatting to the right. In the forefront, a big bundle of leaves which he will presently charm over. (See Div. IV.)

Spells accompanied by a rite of transference.—When we compare the rite of medicating the adze blade with the rite of medicating some dried grass, with which the canoe is afterwards beaten, we see that, in the second case, the magic is uttered over a something, which has no intrinsic connection with the final object of the magic, that is, with the canoe. It is neither to become a part of it, nor to be used as an implement in its manufacture. We have here the introduction for purposes of the rite, of a special medium, used to absorb the magical force, and to transfer it to the final object. We can therefore call rites where such mediums are used rites of transference. When a stick is charmed to be used afterwards for the magical knocking out of a canoe; or a mussel-shell, with which the canoe will be scraped; or a piece of coco-nut husk, which will be thrown into the water to remove the heaviness of the canoe; or a pandanus streamer, which will give it swiftness, there is introduced into every one of these rites a substance which has to play a magical rôle only. The rite, therefore, is not the simple charming of a part or of a constructive implement, which will enter into the composition or be used in the making of an object. The rite here is more autonomous, possesses more of its own significance. The beating of a canoe with two bunches of grass, one after the other, in order first to extract its heaviness and then impart to it lightness, has a meaning parallel to the spell but independent of it. So has also the throwing down of the coco-nut husk. The flutter of the pandanus streamers has direct association with speed, as the natives explicitly state. As the bisila streamers flutter in the wind, so should the canoe and the sail shake with the swiftness of their going. In the case of the ginger, which is spat over the Dobuans feigning hostility, the inherent quality of the substance, which our pharmacopæas describe as a stimulant, makes the meaning of the rite plain. We can easily see that some of the rites are rather more creative than others. That is, the very act performed produces, according to native ideas, a more definite effect than in others. So it is with the spitting of the ginger, and still more directly the spilling of the lime, in order to produce a mist, and shut the eyes of the mulukwausi. These two, for instance, are more creative than the hanging up of the pandanus streamer.

Spells accompanied by offerings and invocations.—In the very first rite described in this book, we saw an offering being laid before, and an invocation being addressed to the wood-sprite, tokway. There are a number of rites, accompanied by offerings given to ancestral spirits, whose participation in the offering is solicited. Such rites are performed in garden magic (see Plate LIX) in fishing magic, and in weather magic. It must, however, be said at once that there is no worship and no sacrificial offering involved in these rites, that is, not of the usual description, because the spirits are not imagined to serve as agents of the magician, in carrying out the bidding of his magic. We shall return to the subject presently. Here it will be enough to notice that the only instance of such a spell we have come across—that is, the invocation of the tokway—has its concomitant offering made only as a sort of compensation for having chased him out, or as a means of persuading him to go. Probably it is the first rather than the second, because the tokway has no free choice left, after he has been exorcised. He must obey the bidding of the magician.

This survey shows clearly that the virtue, the force, the effective principle of magic lies in the spell. We saw that in many cases, the spell is quite sufficient, if directly breathed upon the object. Again, in what may be called the prevalent type of ritual, the action which accompanies the utterance of the formula serves only to direct and condense the spell upon the object. In all such cases the rite lacks all independent significance, all autonomous function. In some cases, the rite introduces a substance which is used for magical purposes only. As a rule, the substance then intensifies, through a parallel action, the meaning of the spell. On the whole, it may be said that the main creative power of magic resides in the formula; that the rite serves to convey, or transfer it to the object, in certain cases emphasising the meaning of the spell through the nature of the transferring medium, as well as through the manner in which it is finally applied. It is hardly necessary to state that in the Trobriand magic, there are no rites performed without the spell.

It is also evident in studying the manner in which the force of the spell is conveyed to the object, that the voice of the reciter transfers the virtue. Indeed, as has been repeatedly pointed out, in quoting the formulæ, and as we shall have to discuss later still, the magical words are, so to speak, rubbed in by constant repetition to the substance. To understand this better we must inquire into the natives’ conceptions of psycho-physiology. The mind, nanola, by which term intelligence, power of discrimination, capacity for learning magical formulæ, and all forms of non-manual skill are described, as well as moral qualities, resides somewhere in the larynx. The natives will always point to the organs of speech, where the nanola resides. The man who cannot speak through any defect of his organs, is identified in name (tonagowa) and in treatment with all those mentally deficient. The memory, however, the store of formulæ and traditions learned by heart, resides deeper, in the belly. A man will be said to have a good nanola, when he can acquire many formulæ, but though they enter through the larynx, naturally, as he learns them, repeating word for word, he has to stow them away in a bigger and more commodious receptacle; they sink down right to the bottom of his abdomen. I made the discovery of this anatomical truth, while collecting war magic, from Kanukubusi, the last office holder of the long succession of war magicians to the chiefs of Omarakana. Kanukubusi is an old man, with a big head, a broad, high forehead, a stumpy nose, and no chin, the meekest and most docile of my informants, with a permanently puzzled and frightened expression on his honest countenance (see Plate LVIII). I found this mild old man very trustworthy and accurate, an excellent informant indeed, within the narrow sphere of his speciality, which he and his predecessors had used to make ‘anger flare up in the nanola’ of Omarakana men, to make the enemy fly in terror, pursued and slaughtered by the victorious warriors. I paid him well for the few formulæ he gave me, and inquired at the end of our first session, whether he had any more magic to produce. With pride, he struck his belly several times, and answered: “Plenty more lies there!” I at once checked his statement by an independent informant, and learned that everybody carries his magic in his abdomen.

There exist also certain ideas about stratification of magic, namely, that certain forms of magic have to be learnt first, so that they sink down, while others come on top. But these ideas are vague and contradictory, whereas the main idea, that magic rests in the belly, is clear and definite. This fact gives us a new insight into native ideas about magic. The force of magic, crystallised in the magical formulæ, is carried by men of the present generation in their bodies. They are the depositories of this most valuable legacy of the past. The force of magic does not reside in the things; it resides within man and can escape only through his voice.

So far, we only spoke of the relation between spell and rite. The last point, however, brings us to the problem of the condition of the performer. His belly is a tabernacle of magical force. Such a privilege carries its dangers and obligations. It is clear that you cannot stuff foreign matter indiscriminately into a place, where extremely valuable possessions are kept. Food restrictions, therefore, become imperative. Many of them are directly determined by the contents of the spell. We saw some examples of this, as when red fish, invoked in magic, is tabooed to the performer; or the dog, spoken about in the Ka’ubanai spell, may not be heard howling while the man eats. In other cases, the object which is the aim of the magic, cannot be partaken by the magician. This is the rule in the case of shark fishing, kalala fishing, and other forms of fishing magic. The garden magician is also debarred from partaking of new crops, up to a certain period. There is hardly any clear doctrine, as to why things mentioned in magical formulæ, whether they are the aims of the magic or only cooperating factors, should not be eaten. There is just the general apprehension that the formula would be damaged by it. There are other taboos, binding the magician, some of them permanent, some of them temporary, during the season of his magical performance. We saw some permanent ones, as in the case of the man who knows Kayga’u magic, and is not allowed to eat while children make noises. The temporary ones, such as the sexual abstinence during the first rites of the Kula, could be supplemented by numerous examples from other forms of magic. Thus, in order to bring about rain, the magician paints himself black and has to remain unwashed and unkempt for some time. The shark magician has to keep his house open, to remove his pubic leaf and to sit with his legs apart, while the fishing and the magic last, “so that the shark’s mouth might remain gaping.” But we cannot enter too much into enumeration of these taboos and observances, and have only to make it clear that the proper behaviour of the magician is one of the essentials of magic, and that in many cases this behaviour is dictated by the contents of the spell.

The taboos and observances are not the only conditions which a man must fulfil in order to carry out certain forms of magic. In many cases the most important condition is his membership in a social group, for many forms of magic are strictly local, and must be performed by one, who is the descendant of the mythical, original owner of the magic. Thus in every case of garden magic, a magic which to the natives ranks first among all the other types of beneficent magic, the performer must be genealogically related to the first ancestor, who locally emerged from the hole. Certain exceptions to this rule are to be found only in cases where a family of high rank has come and usurped the headmanship of the group, but these exceptions are rare. In the case of the several systems of local fishing magic, the office of magician is hereditary, and associated with the locality. The important rain and sun magic which have been ‘born’ in Kasana’i, can only be performed by the chiefs of that spot, who have usurped this important privilege from the original local headman. The succession, is of course, always matrilineal. A man may make a gift of such a magic to his son, but this latter may be obliged to relinquish the privilege at his father’s death, and he never will be allowed to hand it over to his son, unless this latter belongs again to the local group, through cross-cousin marriage. Even in transactions where magic is sold or given away from one clan to another, the prestige of certain local groups as main specialists and experts in a branch of magic still remain. For instance, the black magic, though practised all over the place and no more localised, is still believed to be best known in the villages of Ba’u and Bwoytalu, where the original crab fell down from the skies, and brought with him the magic. The Kula magic is also spread over the whole district, yet it is still associated with definite localities.

To summarise these sociological observations, We may say that, where the local character of magic is still maintained, the magician has to belong to the dala (sub-clan or local group) of the mythical ancestor. In all other cases, the local character of magic is still recognised, even though it does not influence the sociology of the magician.

The traditional character of magic and the magical filiation of the performer find their expression in another important feature of the spells. In some of them, as we have seen, references to mythical events are made, or names of mythical ancestors are uttered. Even more often, we find a whole list of names, beginning with the mythical founder of the magic, and ending with the name of the immediate predecessor, that is, of the man from whom the magic was obtained by the actual performer. Such a list links up the present magician by a sort of magical pedigree with all those, who had previously been using this formula. In other formulæ again, the magician identifies himself with some mythical individual, and utters the latter’s name in the first person. Thus, in the spell uttered whilst plucking the mint plant, we found the phrase: “I, Kwoyregu, with my father, we cut the sulumwoya of Laba’i.” Both the actual genealogical descent of the magician from the mythical ancestors, and the magical filiation expressed in the formulæ show again the paramount importance of tradition, in this case acting on the sociological determination of the performer. He is placed in a definite social group of those, who by birth, or what could be called ‘magical adoption’, have had the right of performing this magic. In the very act of uttering the spell, the magician bears testimony to his indebtedness to the past by the enumeration of magical names, and by references to myth and mythical events. Both the sociological restrictions, wherever they still exist, and the magical filiation confirm once more the dependence of magic on tradition. On the other hand, both show, as also do the taboos, that the obligations imposed on the magician and the conditions he has to fulfil, are largely derived from the spell.

Closely connected with the questions discussed in the preceding division, is the subject of the systems of magic and the distinction between ‘systematic’ and ‘independent’ magical rites and formulæ. As we saw in the beginning of this chapter, the whole body of magic naturally falls into several big divisions, each of them corresponding to a department of nature, such as wind or weather; to some activity of man, such as gardening, fishing, hunting or warfare; or to some real or imaginary force, such as artistic inspiration, witchcraft, personal charm or prowess.

There is, however, an important distinction to be made within each such division of magic; some of the rites and spells are isolated and independent, they can be used by themselves, whenever the need arises. Such are almost all the incantations of wind magic; some spells of individual garden magic; formulæ against toothache, and minor ailments; some spells of hunting and food collecting; a few rites of love magic and of the magic of carving. When a man, for instance, paddles along the Lagoon in his canoe and an unfavourable wind sets in, he will utter a spell to make it abate and change. The same spell would be recited in the village, when there arises a wind so strong as to be dangerous. The incantation is a free, individual act, which may be performed and is performed in any of the circumstances which require it.

It is quite another matter with the spells belonging to what I have called here systematic magic. Such magic consists of a connected and consecutive body of incantations and concomitant rites, no one of which can be torn out of its sequence and performed by itself. They have to be carried out one after the other in a determined order, and the more important of them, at least, can never be omitted, once the series has been started. Such a series is always closely connected with some activity, such as the building of a canoe or an overseas Kula voyage, a fishing expedition or the making and harvesting of a garden. It will not be difficult for us to realise the nature of systematic magic, for in this book almost all the rites and spells described belong to this class. In general, in the Trobriands, the independent uncorrelated rites and formulæ are quite an insignificant minority, both in number and in importance.

Let us consider one of the forms of systematic magic previously described, whether canoe magic or that of the Kula, whether the kayga’u formulæ, or the magical ritual of kaloma fishing. The first general fact to be noted here is, that we are in the presence of a type of enterprise or activity, which is never embarked upon without magic. No canoe will be built, no uvalaku started, no kaloma fished, without its magic ceremonial. This ceremonial will be scrupulously observed in its main features, that is, some of the most important formulæ will never be omitted, as some minor ones might be, a fact which has been previously noted. The association between the practical activity and its magical concomitant is very intimate. The stages and acts of the first, and the rites and spells of the latter, correspond to each other one by one. Certain rites have to be done in order to inaugurate certain activities; others have to be performed at the end of the practical work; others again are part and parcel of the activity. But each of the rites and spells is to the native mind, quite as indispensable for the success of the enterprise, as is the practical activity. Thus, the tokway has to be expelled, or the tree would be entirely unsuitable for a canoe; the adze, the lashing creeper, the caulking and the paint have to be charmed, or else the canoe would be heavy and unwieldy, and such an omission might even prove dangerous to life. Going mentally over the various cases quoted in the previous chapters, it can be easily seen, how this intimate association between enterprise and magic imparts to systematic magic its specific character. The consecutive progress of work and of magic are inseparable, just because, according to native ideas, work needs magic, and magic has only meaning as an indispensable ingredient of work.

Both work and magic are directed towards the same aim; to construct a swift and a stable canoe; to obtain a good Kula yield; to insure safety from drowning and so on. Thus we see that systematic magic consists in a body of rites and spells associated with one enterprise, directed towards one aim, and progressing in a consecutive series of performances which have to be carried out in their proper place. The point—the proper understanding of what is meant by systematic magic—is of the greatest theoretical importance because it reveals the nature of the relation between magical and practical activities, and shows how deeply the two are connected with one another. It is one of these points, also, which cannot be properly explained and grasped without the help of a Chart. In the appended “Table of Kula Magic and of the Corresponding Activities,” I have prepared such a Chart, in which has been summarised the substance of several of the foregoing Chapters. The Table allows of a rapid survey of the consecutive activities of the Kula in their relation to magic, beginning with the first act of canoe-building and finishing with the return home. It shows the salient features of systematic magic in general, and of the mwasila and canoe magic in particular. It shows the relation between magical, ritual and practical activities, the correlated sequence of the two, their rolling off, stage after stage, and side by side, towards one central aim—a successful Kula. The Table thus serves to illustrate the meaning of the expression ‘systematic magic,’ and it provides a firm outline of the essentials, magical, ceremonial and practical, of the Kula.

Table of Kula Magic and of the Corresponding Activities

I—First Stage of Canoe-Building (Chapter V, Division II)

All the magic of this stage is canoe magic. It is performed only when a new canoe is built and not when an old one is renovated. The spells are uttered by the builder and not by the owner, except the first one. Work at this stage is done by one man mainly, the builder and carver, with the help of a few men; except for the pulling of the log, in which many men assist.

II—The Second Stage of Canoe Building (Chapter V, Division III)

III—The Ceremonial Launching of a Canoe (Chapter VI, Division I)

After this, there comes the interval, filled out by the Kabigidoya (ceremonial visiting,) by the preliminary trade and other preparations for the expedition overseas.

IV—The Magic During, and Preparations before the Departure (Chapter VII)

Time: some three to seven days before setting sail.

All this magic belongs to the mwasila, and it has to be performed by the toliwaga, with the exception of the last spell.

V—Canoe Magic, Performed at the Final Start on Overseas Voyage (Chapter VIII, Division III)

The series of rites starts at the moment when the canoes are ready to set sail on the long voyage on Pilolu. They are not associated with a progressive series of acts; they all refer to one aim: canoe speed and reliability. They are all performed by the toliwaga.

VI—The Mwasila, Performed on Arrival at the Final Destination

(A) Beauty Magic (Chapter XIII, Division I)

(B) Magic of the Final Approach (Chapter XIII, Division II)

(C) Magic of Safety (Chapter XIII, Division III)

(D) Magic of Persuasion (Chapter XIV, Division III)

VII—A Canoe Spell, Uttered on the Departure Home (Chapter XIV, Division III)

Within each department of systematic magic, there are again various systems of magic. Thus we saw that, although the type of rite and formula is the same in all villages, the actual details, let us say, of the wayugo magic, are not identical, but vary according to the system with which a given reciter is acquainted. The differences are, as a rule, less pronounced in the rites, which are generally very simple in the Trobriand magic, and are identical in all the systems, but the formulæ differ completely in their wording. Thus, in the wayugo magic (Chapter V, Division III) we found only a slight difference in the rite, but one or two wayugo spells, which I have also recorded, differ essentially from the one given in the text.

Each system of magic has a more or less developed mythological pedigree, and in connection with it a local character, a point which has been elaborated in the previous Division. The wayugo spell given in Chapter V, and all the spells of canoe-building quoted in this book belong to the Kaykudayuri system of canoe magic. This system is believed to have been known and recited by the mythical builder of the flying canoe, and to have been handed down to his descendants, that is, as we know, in an incomplete form. As has been said in the previous Division, the knowledge and the use of this magic and of other systems does not abide strictly within the original clan, but it spreads outside of it, and it becomes known to many people who are connected with the original owner by a sort of magical filiation.

According to native belief, all these people know identical formulæ. In fact, in the course of years and of repeated transmission, considerable differences have been introduced, and nowadays many of the ‘real Kudayuri’ spells differ from one another completely.

A system of magic is therefore a number of magical formulæ, forming one consecutive series. The main system of canoe magic is that of the Kaykudayuri, which is associated with the place of the same name in Kitava. This system comprises the whole series of canoe-building spells, from the expelling of the tokway to the final exorcisms. Another comprehensive system is called Kaykapayouko, and is localised in the island of Kayleula. An important system called Ilumte’ulo is nowadays claimed by Sinaketa, but probably hails from Dobu. The mythological data of some of these systems are not known to me, and some of them seem to be exceedingly rudimentary, not going beyond the assertion that such and such a system originated at such and such a place, and was originally the property of such and such a clan. Of the systems of mwasila, the best known in South Boyowa is that called Monikiniki, to which belong the majority of the formulæ here quoted. This system is sometimes loosely associated with the myth of Tokosikuna, who is sometimes said to have been the original owner of the system. According to another version, Monikiniki is the name of the original owner. The Dobuan mwasila is called Kasabwaybwayreta, and is ascribed to that hero. From Muyuwa, hails the Momroveta system of Kula magic, while in Kiriwina the system of Monikiniki is usually recited, and only a few formulæ are inserted into it, belonging to a local magic, called Kwoygapani (a name not to be confused with the name in a formula quoted in Chapter XIV). In the light of these remarks, the many references to ‘magical systems’ given in the text, will become clear, so there is no need to add more here.

We saw before in the chapter on mythology that magic bridges over the cleavage between the super-normal world of myth and the normal, ordinary happenings of to-day. But then, this bridge itself must necessarily touch the super-normal, it must lead into that domain. Magic surely, therefore, must partake of the supernatural character? There is no doubt that it is so. The effects of magic, although constantly witnessed, and although considered as a fundamental fact, are regarded as something distinctly different from the effects of other human activities. The natives realise quite well that the speed and buoyancy of a canoe are due to the knowledge and work of the constructor; they are well acquainted with the properties of good material and of good craftsmanship. Yet the magic of swiftness adds something more to even the best constructed canoe. This superadded quality is regarded very much like the properties of the mythical canoe which made it fly through the air, though in the present day canoes these properties have dwindled down to mere surpassing speed.

The language of spells expresses this belief through the constant allusions to myth, similes in which the present canoe is invited to imitate the mythical one. In the explicit comments on the Kudayuri myth, the natives also state definitely that the prodigious speed which well-charmed canoes develop is the legacy and counterpart of the old flying speed. Thus the effects of magic are something superadded to all the other effects produced by human effort and by natural qualities. The same is to be found in love magic. The importance of a fine face and figure, of ornaments, decorations and nice scents, is well recognised as being of attractive value, yet almost every man ascribes his success to the perfection of his love magic. The force of magic is considered as something independent of, and surpassing even, the power of all other personal charms. A statement very often met with expresses this quite well:

“Look, I am not good looking, yet so many girls want me. The reason of that is that I have good magic.”

In garden magic, soil, rain, proper work, are given their full due. None the less, no one would dream of making a garden without the full magical performance being done over it. Garden magic is thought to make just this difference, which a man hopes for from ‘chance,’ or ‘good luck,’ when he sees everybody round him working as hard as he can, and in all other respects under similar conditions to himself. So we see that, in all these cases, magical influence runs parallel to and independently of the effects of human work and natural conditions. It produces these differences and those unexpected results, which cannot be explained by any of the other factors.

So far, we see that magic represents, so to speak, a different sort of reality. When I call this different sort ‘super-natural’ or ‘super-normal,’ one of the criteria which I use here lies in the emotional reaction of the natives. This, of course, is most pronounced in the case of evil magic. The sorcerer is not only feared because of his bad intentions. He is also feared as ghosts are feared by us, as an uncanny manifestation. One is afraid of meeting him in the dark, not so much because he might do any harm, but because his appearance is dreadful and because he has at his bidding all sorts of powers and faculties which are denied to those not versed in black magic. His sweat glows, night birds run with him to give him warning; he can become invisible at will and produce paralysing fear in those he meets. In short, the same hysterical dread, associated amongst ourselves with the idea of haunted places, is produced by the sorcerers in the minds of the natives. And it must be added that the natives have no such emotion of dread at all with regard to the spirits of the departed. The horror which they have of the bwaga’u is even stronger in the case of the mulukwausi, to whom all sorts of most uncanny properties are attributed. Their ghoulish feasting on corpses, their capacity of flying, of making themselves invisible, of changing into night birds, all this inspires the natives with extreme terror.

The other magicians and their art do not inspire such strong emotions in the natives, and of course in any case the emotion would not be that of dread. There is a very great value and attachment to systems of local magic, and their effects are distinctly considered as an asset for a community.

Each form of magic also has its associated magical portent, kariyala. When a magic formula is spoken, a violent natural upheaval will take place. For example, when garden magic is performed, there will be thunder and lightning; with certain forms of Kula magic, a rainbow will appear in the skies. Others will produce shower clouds. The portent of a mild storm, accompanying the opening of the magical bundle (lilava) has already been quoted. The kayga’u may produce a tidal wave, whereas an earthquake will be the result of other forms of magic. War magic, in an unexpectedly bucolic way, affects only some plants and birds. In certain forms of magic, a portent would take place whenever the formula is uttered, in others, this will not be so regular, but a kariyala will invariably occur when a magician dies. When asked, what is the real cause of any of these natural phenomena enumerated, they will say:

“Magic is the real cause (u’ula); they are a kariyala of magic.”

Another point, where magic touches the super-normal or supernatural, is in the association of spirits with certain magical performances. A special type of magical payment, the ula’ula, is at the same time an offering to the baloma (spirits). The magician will detach a small bit of the large quantity of food brought to him, and put it down on some special place, with the words:

“Partake, O spirits, of your ula’ula, and make my magic thrive.”

At certain ceremonies, the spirits are supposed to be present (see Plate LIX). When something goes wrong with magic, or it is badly performed, ‘the spirits will become angry,’ as it is often expressed by the natives. In some cases the baloma will appear in dreams and advise the magician what to do. As this is the most active interference of the spirits in human affairs, as far as magic is concerned, I shall quote in free translation some statements obtained on the matter.

“The owners of fish magic will often dream that there is plentiful fish. The cause of it is the magician’s ancestor spirit. Such a magician would then say: ‘The ancestral spirit has instructed me in the night, that we should go to catch fish! And indeed, when we get there, we find plenty of fish, and we cast the nets.’ ”

“Mokudeya, the maternal uncle of Narugo,” who is, the main fishing magician of Oburaku “comes to his nephew in a dream and instructs him: ‘Tomorrow, cast the nets for fish in Kwabwawa!’ Narugo then says: ‘Let us come, the old man instructed me last night.’ ”

“The kaloma (spondylus shell) magician of Sinaketa dreams about a plentiful patch of kaloma shell. Next morning, he would dive and knock it off on the reef. Or he dreams of a canoe, and he then paddles and casts the anchor at that place. To’udawada, Luvayam, Sinakadi dream that they knock it off in plenty. When next morning we go there, it is plentiful.”

In all these examples (except the last) we see that the spirits act as advisors and helpers. They fill the rôle of guardian of the traditions when they get angry because of a bad performance, or as associates and sympathisers when they share the magician’s ula’ula. But they are not agencies which get to work directly. In the Trobriand demonology, the magician does not command the spirits to go and set to work. The work is done by the agency of the spell, assisted by the accompanying ritual, and performed by the proper magician. The spirits stand in the same relation, as the performer does, to the magical force, which alone is active. They can help him to wield it properly, but they can never become his instruments.

To summarise the results of what we have learned about the super-normal nature of magic, it may be said that it has a definite character of its own, which differentiates it from the non-magical actions of man. The manner in which the magical force is conceived to act, parallel to the ordinary efforts but independent of them; the emotional reaction to certain types of magic and magician; the kariyala; the intercourse with spirits during the performances, all these properties differentiate magic from the ordinary activities of man.

In native terminology, the realm of the magical is called by the word megwa, which describes the ‘magical performance,’ the ‘spell,’ the ‘force’ or ‘virtue’ of magic, and can be used as adjective to describe in general everything which presents a magical character. Used as a verb, the words megwa, miga-megwa, miga, all of which are variations of the same root, mean: ‘to perform magic,’ ‘to utter a spell,’ ‘to carry out a rite.’ If the natives want to express that certain actions are done in connection with magic, and not with work, and that certain effects are due to magical forces, and not to other efforts, they used the word megwa as a substantive or adjective. It is never used to describe any virtue residing in a man or a thing, nor for any action which is independent of a spell.

The associated concept of taboo is covered by the Kiriwinian word bomala (with suffixed possessive pronouns). It means a ‘prohibition,’ something which a man is not allowed to do under any circumstances. It is used for magical taboos, for prohibitions associated with rank, for restrictions in regard to food generally considered as unclean, as, for example, the flesh of lizards, snakes, dogs and man. There is hardly any trace of the meaning of ‘sacred’ attached to the word bomala. If anywhere, it can be found in the use of the word boma, for a tabooed grove where men usually are not allowed to enter, and where traditional spots, often original holes where men came out and whence magic issued, are to be found. The expression toboma (to-, prefix denoting personal noun) means a man of high rank, but hardly a sacred man.

Finally, a few words must be said about the sociological or ceremonial setting of magic. Reference has often been made to the simplicity of rites, and to their matter-of-fact character. This has been mentioned with reference to canoe-building, and in garden magic we would have found equally simple and purely businesslike performances. In calling a magical action ‘ceremonial’ we imply that it was done with a big public attendance; under the observance of definite rules of behaviour by the spectators as well as by the performer, such as general silence, reverent attention to what is being done, with at least a show of some interest. Now if, in the middle of some work, a man quickly performs an action whilst others talk and laugh and leave him entirely on one side, this gives a definite sociological stamp to the magical actions, and does not allow us to use the term ‘ceremonial,’ as the distinguishing mark of the magical acts. Some of them, it is true, do have this character. For instance, the initial rite with which the kaloma fishing begins, requires the assistance of the whole fleet, and a definite type of behaviour on the part of the crews, while the magician officiates for all of them, but with their assistance, in the complex evolutions of the fleet. Similar rites are to be found in two or three systems of fishing magic, and in several rites of the garden magic of certain villages. In fact, the initial rite of garden magic is everywhere connected with a ceremonial performance. The garden rite, associated with the ceremonial offering of food to spirits, and attended by a body of villagers, a scene of which is shown on Plate LIX, has been elsewhere described.3 One or two rites in war magic imply the active assistance of large numbers of men, and take the form of big ceremonies. Thus we see that magical rites may or may not be ceremonial, but that the ceremonial is by no means an outstanding or universal feature of Trobriand magic.

We found that taboos are associated with magic, in so far as it is the magician who has to observe them. There are, however, certain forms of restrictions or prohibitions, set up for special purposes, and associated with magic in a somewhat different form. Thus, in an institution called kaytubutabu we find a ban made on the consumption of coco-nuts and betel-nuts, associated with a specific magic to make them grow. There is also a protective taboo, used to prevent the theft of ripening fruits or nuts, too far away from the village to be watched. In these cases a small parcel of medicated substance is placed on the tree or near it, on a small stick. The magic spoken over such a substance is a ‘conditional curse,’ to use the excellent term introduced by Professor Westermarck. The conditional curse would fall upon anyone who would touch the fruits of that tree, and would bring upon him one form of disease or another. This is the only form of magic, in which the personal agency is invoked, for in some of these spells, the tokway (wood-sprite) is invited to take up his abode on the kaytapaku, that is the stick, with the substance on it, and to guard the fruit. Some such small divergencies from the general trend of native belief are always to be found. Sometimes they contain important clues, and a deeper insight into the facts, sometimes they mean nothing, and only emphasise the fact, that it is not possible to find absolute consistency in human belief. Only a deeper analysis, and a comparative study of similar phenomena can decide which is the case.

In order to complete the survey of all the characteristics of magic, I shall rapidly mention here the economic aspect of the position of magician, although the data referring to it have already been given, scattered through the previous chapters. I have spoken of the matrilineal inheritance of magic, and of the deviations from it which consist in inheritance from father to son, and in the transmission of magic by purchase (Chapter II, Division VI, and Chapter VI, Division VI under (5)). This latter transaction may take place under two names, which really cover two essentially different operations; the pokala or payment to a maternal kinsman from whom one is going to obtain the magic, and the laga, which is the purchase of magic from a stranger. Only certain forms of magic can freely pass from one clan or sub-clan to another, and are purchasable by the laga system. The majority of magical systems are local, and can descend only in the same sub-clan with an occasional deviation to the son of a member, from whom, however, the magic must return to the sub-clan again. A further economic feature of magic is the payment, which the magician receives for his services. There are many types of payment; some given occasionally by an individual for a definite act of magic, as in the case of sorcery or healing magic; others, paid at regular intervals by the whole community, as in the case of garden and fishing magic. In some cases the payments are considerable, as in sorcery, in rain and fine weather magic, and in garden magic. In others, they amount to little more than a mere formal offering.

In all this, we have been dealing with general characteristics of Boyowan (Trobriand) magic. This has been done mainly on the basis of the material presented in this volume, with only a few examples from other branches of magic. The result so far can be set down thus: magic to the natives represents a special department; it is a specific power, essentially human, autonomous and independent in its action. This power is an inherent property of certain words, uttered with the performance of certain actions by the man entitled to do it through his social traditions and through certain observances which he has to keep. The words and acts have this power in their own right, and their action is direct and not mediated by any other agency. Their power is not derived from the authority of spirits or demons or supernatural beings. It is not conceived as having been wrested from nature. The belief in the power of words and rites as a fundamental and irreducible force is the ultimate, basic dogma of their magical creed. Hence we find established the ideas that one never can tamper with, change or improve spells; that tradition is the only source from which they can be derived; that it has brought them down from times lying beyond the speculation of man, that there can be no spontaneous generation of magic.

We are naturally led now to inquire one stage further into the manner in which the magical words and rites act. Obviously the only way to obtain correct information on this point is to analyse and compare a great number of well authenticated formulæ, and minutely recorded rites. Even the collection of Kula magic here partially given in free translation, would allow us to arrive at certain interesting conclusions. But we can go deeper still with the help of linguistic analysis, and we shall proceed to this inquiry in the next chapter.

The aim of this Chapter is to show by a linguistic analysis of two magical texts, and by a general survey of a greater number, what sort of words are believed to exercise magical power. This, of course, does not mean that we are under the delusion that the composers or inventors of magic had a theory about the efficiency of words, and carried this theory into practice by inventing the formula. But, as the moral ideas and rules prevalent in society, though not codified, can be found out by analysing human behaviour; as we reach the underlying principles of law and social propriety by examining customs and manners; as in the study of rites, we see some definite tenets of belief and dogmas—so, in analysing the direct verbal expressions of certain modes of thinking in the magical formulæ, we are justified in assuming that these modes of thinking must have somehow guided those who shaped them. The exact manner in which we must imagine the relation between a typical way of thinking in a society on the one hand, and the fixed, crystallised results of this thinking on the other, is a problem of Social Psychology. For this branch of science we are, in ethnography, under the obligation of gathering material, but we need not encroach upon its field of study.

Thus much may, however, be put down, that, in whatever manner we might imagine a spell to have come into existence, it cannot be considered as the creation of one man; for as has been said before, if we examine any one of them, not with the eyes of the natives, but as outside critics, each spell shows unmistakable signs of being a collection of linguistic additions from different epochs. There is in practically every one of them a good deal of archaic material, but not a single one bears the stamp of having come down to us in the same form in which it must have presented itself a few generations ago. So that it may be said that a spell is constantly being remoulded as it passes through the chain of magicians, each probably leaving his mark, however small, upon it. It is the general attitude in matters of magical belief common to all of the successive holders which will be at the bottom of all the regularities, all the typical features found in the spells.

I shall adduce a formula of canoe magic and one of the spells belonging to the mwasila, choosing two texts of which a translation and a commentary of average quality have been obtained, and which show clearly the several characteristic features of verbal magic. Those who are not interested in linguistic technicalities and details of method, may omit the following division, and take up the trend of our argument at division XII.

The following text is the wayugo spell, obtained from Layseta, the headman of Kopila, one of the sub-villages of Sinaketa. The commentary was obtained from himself, and from another informant, Motago’i, a man of exceptional intelligence, and a very straightforward and a reliable informant. This spell has been given in free translation before in Chapter V, and, as has been said there, the rite consists simply in chanting the words over five coils of the wayugo creeper put on a wooden platter between two mats.