The Uncivilized Races of Men In All Countries of the World Vol. II

CHAPTER LXXVII. AUSTRALIA— Concluded . ARCHITECTURE AND BOAT-BUILDING.

PARALLEL BETWEEN THE BOSJESMAN AND THE AUSTRALIAN — MODES OF BUILDING HUTS — A SUMMER ENCAMPMENT — RUDE NATURE OF THE HUTS — RETREATS OF THE WOMEN — BONE HUTS OF ENCOUNTER BAY — WINTER HOUSES — HUTS NEAR THE COORUNG — FIRE-MAKING — BIRD-SNARING — A SELF-ACTING SNARE — BOAT-BUILDING — USES OF THE STRINGY BARK — A FRAIL VESSEL — CANOE FOR GENERAL USE — THE REED CANOE — GRADUAL EXTINCTION OF NATIVE TRIBES.

In many points the Australian savage bears a curious resemblance to the Bosjesman of Southern Africa, of whom a full account has already been given at 242-268 page.

So similar, indeed, are they, that the colonists use the word Bushman to designate the native savage, just as they call the spotted dasyure by the name of cat, and the wombat by that of badger. Much confusion has consequently arisen; and there is now before me a book descriptive of savage life, in which the author has mixed up the Bosjesman of Africa and the Bushman of Australia in the most amusing manner, actually transplanting a quotation from a book of African travels into the account of Australia.

Like the Bosjesman, the Australian depends upon his weapons for the greater part of his food, living almost entirely upon the game which he kills, and being skilled in the art of destroying the wariest and most active of animals with the simplest of weapons. He lives in a state of perpetual feud, his quarrels not being worthy of the name of warfare; and his beau idéal of a warrior is a man who steals upon his enemy by craft, and kills his foe without danger to himself.

He cultivates no land, neither has he the least notion of improving his social condition. He cares nothing for clothes, except, perhaps, as a partial shelter from the elements, and utterly ridicules the notion that there is any connexion between clothing and modesty.

Indeed, on one occasion, when a girl had been presented with a petticoat by a white lady, and returned to her people, displaying with pride her newly acquired property, her companions instead of displaying envy at her finery, only jeered at her, inquiring whether she thought herself so much better than her forefathers, that she should want to wear clothes like the white strangers. The consequence was, that in a day or two the solitary garment was thrown aside, and she walked about as before, in the primitive accoutrements of her tribe.

Like the African Bosjesman, the Australian native has no settled home, although he considers himself as having a right to the district in which his tribe have taken up their abode. Contrary to the usage of civilized life, he is sensitive on the general question, and careless in detail. With civilized beings the hearth and home take the first place in the affections, the love of country being merely an extension of the love of home. With the Australian, however, as well as the Bosjesman, the case is just reversed. He has no home, and cares not for any one spot more than another, except that some spots are sheltered and others exposed. He passes a semi-nomad existence, not unlike that of the Arab, save that instead of pitching his tent on a convenient spot, and taking it away when he leaves it, he does not trouble himself even to carry the simple materials of a tent, but builds a rude hut in any spot which he may happen to fancy, and leaves it to decay when he forsakes the spot.

The chief object of the ordinary hut made by an Australian savage is to defend the inmates from the cold south-west breezes. Consequently, the entrances of the huts may be found, as a rule, turned toward the north-east, whence come the warm winds that have passed over the equator.

The summer encampment (see page 787) of an Australian family is very simple. A number of leafy boughs are stuck in the ground in a semicircular form, the size of the enclosed space varying with the number of the family. These boughs are seldom more than four feet in height, and often scarcely exceed a yard, their only object being to keep off the wind from the fire, and from the bodies of the natives as they squat round the flame or lie asleep. That any one should expect a shelter while he is standing never seems to enter the imagination of an Australian savage, who, like other savages, never dreams of standing when he can sit, or, indeed, of taking any trouble that is not absolutely necessary.

All the stories that are told of the industry of savage life are pure inventions, and if labor be, as we are often told, the truest nobility, we ought to hear no more of the “noble savage.” Consistently with this idea, the native Australian’s only idea of the hut is a place where he can sit and gorge himself with food, and lie down to sleep after his enormous meal. A fence a yard in height is therefore quite good enough for him, and, as long as no rain falls, he thinks a roof to be a needless expenditure of labor.

In the illustration referred to we have an example of an encampment on which the natives have bestowed rather more care than usual, and have actually taken the pains to form the branches into rude huts. The spears, shields, and other weapons of the natives are seen scattered about, while round the fire sit or lie the men who have satisfied their hunger. The reader will perceive that from a little distance such an encampment would be almost invisible; and, indeed, except by the thin smoke of the fire, the most practised eye can scarcely detect the spot where natives are encamping. Even the spears which project above the bush huts look at a little distance merely like dried sticks; and, if the inhabitants be very anxious to escape observation, they establish their encampment in a retired spot, where the surrounding objects harmonize as closely as possible with the rude shelter which answers all their needs.

In many places the natives construct a habitation similar in principle, but differing in structure. Should the locality abound in the eucalypytus, or stringy-bark tree, the natives make a hut altogether different in appearance. With wonderful dexterity, they strip off the bark of the tree in large flakes, six or seven feet in length. A few large branches of trees are then laid on the ground, so that they form a rough sort of framework, and upon these branches the flakes of bark are laid. An hour’s labor will make one of these huts, so that the natives have really no inducement to take any care of them. Even the very best hut which a native Australian ever made would be inferior to the handiwork of an English boy of ten years old. For my own part, I remember building far better huts than those of the Australians, though I was at the time much below ten years of age, and had gained all my knowledge of practical architecture from “Sandford and Merton.”

There is, however, one great advantage in these bark huts—namely, the rapidity with which they can be made, and the shelter which they really do give from the traveller’s great enemy, the night wind. Even European travellers have been glad to avail themselves of these simple structures, and have appreciated the invaluable aid of a few sheets of bark propped against a fallen branch. Those who have been forced to travel without tents through a houseless country have learned by experience that the very best shelter from the night winds is not height, but width. A tree, for example, forms but a very poor shelter, while a low wall barely eighteen inches high and six feet in length keeps off the wind, and enables the wearied traveller to rest in comparative comfort. Such a shelter is easily made from the sheets of stringy bark, one or two of which will form a shelter for several sleepers.

Perhaps the simplest huts that human beings ever dignified by the name of habitation are those which are made by the women of a tribe when the men are away. It sometimes happens that the whole of the adult males go off on an expedition which will last for a considerable time—such, for example, as a raid upon a neighboring tribe—leaving the women and children to take care of themselves. These, knowing that they might be pounced upon by enemies who would take advantage of the absence of their defenders, retire into the recesses of the woods, where they build the oddest houses imaginable, half burrows scraped among the roots of trees, and half huts made of bark and decayed wood. These habitations are so inconspicuous that even the practised eye of the native can scarcely discover them.

On the shores of Encounter Bay may be seen some very curious habitations. Every now and then a whale is thrown ashore by a tempest; and in such a case the tribes of the neighborhood flock round it with great rejoicings, seeing in it an unlimited supply of food. Huge as the animal may be, it is ere long consumed, and nothing left but the skeleton. Of the bones the natives make the framework of their huts, the ends of the ribs being fixed in the ground, so that the bones form the supports of the arched roof, which is nothing more than boughs, grass, and matting thrown almost at random upon the bony framework.

During the winter time the native huts are of better construction, although the best hut that an Australian ever made is but a very rude and primitive specimen of architecture. These winter huts are made on the same principle as those employed in summer, but the materials are more closely put together. The framework of these huts is made by sticking a number of saplings in the ground, and tying them together. Smaller branches and twigs are then passed in and out of the uprights, and pressed down to make a tolerably firm wall. Over the wall comes a layer of large leaves, and an outer covering of tea-tree bark is placed over the trees, and held in its place by a lashing of rattan. These houses are about five feet in height, and have an arched opening just large enough for a man to enter on his hands and knees.

Such huts as these, however, are but seldom seen, the ordinary winter dwellings being made of bushes, as seen in an illustration on the next page. Near the entrance, but not within it, the fire is kindled, and at night the natives crowd into the hut, filling it so completely that a view of the interior displays nothing but a confused mass of human limbs. The reader will perceive that the luxury of a door has not been contemplated by the native architects—an omission which is perhaps rather fortunate, considering the crowded state of the interior.

Along the shores of the Coorung a rather peculiar kind of habitation is used. It must first be mentioned that the Coorung is a back-water inlet of the sea, running parallel to it for some ninety miles or so, never more than a mile and a half from the sea, and divided from it only by a range of enormous sandhills. It is a wild and desolate place, but is inhabited by the Milmendura tribe, who made themselves so notorious for the massacre of the passengers and men of the ship Maria. The natives probably like the spot, because in the Coorung, which is protected from the ocean waves by the sandhills, they can take fish without danger, and because the sandhills furnish a fruit called the monterry, or native apple, as, although a berry growing upon a creeping plant, it looks and tastes like a miniature apple.

The situation is much exposed in the winter time to the cold south-west blasts, and the natives accordingly make comparatively strong huts. Their dwellings are formed of a framework of sticks, over which is plastered a thick layer of turf and mud. In addition to this they heap over the hut a great quantity of the sand and shells of which the ground is chiefly composed, so that the houses of the Milmendura look like mere mounds or hillocks rising from the sandy soil.

The fire which is found in every Australian encampment is generally procured by friction from two pieces of wood, one being twirled rapidly between the hands and the other held firmly by the feet. Indeed, the Australian savage produces fire exactly as does the South African (see page 100). This accomplishment, however, is not universal, some tribes being unable to produce fire, and being dependent on the “fire-sticks” which the women carry with them. It has occasionally happened that the women have been careless enough to allow all their fire-sticks to expire, and in such a case they are obliged to go to the nearest friendly tribe, and beg a light from them, in order to procure fire wherewith to cook the game that their husbands have brought home.

Before leaving this part of the subject, it will be as well to mention briefly a few of the devices used by the Australian natives in taking their game.

One of these devices is remarkably ingenious, and is principally employed in duck catching. The natives find out a spot where the ducks resort in order to feed, and arrange their nets so that they may intercept birds that fly down upon them. When the ducks are all busy feeding, the native hunter, who has concealed himself near the place, alarms the birds by suddenly imitating the cry of the fish-hawk, one of their deadliest foes. The terrified ducks rise in a body; but, just as they ascend, the wily native flings into the air a triangular piece of bark, imitating again the cry of the hawk. The birds, fancying that the hawk is sweeping down upon them, try to escape by darting into the reeds, and are caught in the nets.

Another ingenious plan is used for capturing birds singly. The native makes a sort of screen of branches, and conceals himself within it. In his hand he carries a long and slender rod, at the end of which there is a noose, and within the noose a bait. Under cover of the screen he comes close to the bird, and gently places the treacherous noose near it. By degrees the bird comes closer and closer to the bait, and, as soon as its head is fairly within the noose, it is secured by a dexterous twist of the hand. Sometimes the native does not employ a bait. He builds his simple shelter by some spot where birds are accustomed to drink, and calls them by imitating their note. They come to the spot, and, not seeing their companions, perch upon the sticks under which the hunter is concealed, a large bunch of grass being generally used to prevent the birds from seeing him. As soon as the bird perches, he slips the noose over its head, draws it inside the shelter, kills it, and waits for another.

In some parts of the country the natives make a self-acting snare, very much on the principle of the nets used in snaring rabbits. It consists of a sort of bag, and has its opening encircled by a running string, the other end of which is fastened to some fixed object, such as a tree-stump. The bag is made of split rattans, so that it remains open, and, as the meshes are very wide, the bait which is placed within it can easily be seen.

(1.) WINTER HUTS.
(See page 786.)

(2.) A SUMMER ENCAMPMENT.
(See page 784.)

If a bird or animal should come to the bait, which is fixed at the very extremity of the bag, it naturally forces its way toward the tempting object, and in so doing pulls upon the string and closes the mouth of the bag behind it. The more it struggles, the firmer is it held; and so it remains until it is taken out, and the trap set again. This very ingenious snare is used mostly for bandicoots and similar animals, though birds are sometimes caught in it.

The natives have another self-acting trap, which is identical in principle with the eel baskets and lobster pots of our own country. A number of these traps were found by Mr. Carron in some huts near Princess Charlotte’s Bay. They were made of strips of cane, and were about five feet in length by eight or nine inches in diameter at the mouth. From the opening they gradually tapered for some four feet, and then suddenly enlarged into a large round basket or pocket, the lower ends of the neck projecting into the basket so as to hinder any animal from returning through the passage by which it entered. This trap was used indifferently for catching fish and small animals. For the latter purpose it was laid in their track, and for the former it was placed in a narrow channel, through which the fish were forced to pass by being driven by a party of natives in the water.

The reader will remember that on page 785 there is a reference to the “stringy-bark,” and its use in architecture. The same bark is used for a great number of purposes, among which that of boat-building is perhaps the most conspicuous. Should a native come to the side of a river which he does not wish to swim, he supplies himself with a boat in a very expeditious manner. Going to the nearest stringy-bark trees, and choosing one which has the lines of the bark straight and not gnarled, he chops a circle round the tree so as to sever the bark, and about seven or eight feet higher he chops a second circle. His next proceeding is to make a longitudinal cut down one side of the tree, and a corresponding one on the other side. He then inserts the handle of his tomahawk, his digging-stick, or any such implement, between the bark and the wood, and, by judicious handling, strips off the bark in two semi-cylindrical, trough-like pieces each of which is capable of being made into a boat.

Should he be alone, he seldom troubles himself to do more than tie the bark together at each end of the trough, and in this frail vessel he will commit himself to the river. But if his wife, or any second person, should be with him, he makes the simple boat more trustworthy by digging a quantity of clay out of the river bank, kneading it into each end of the trough, and tying the bark over the clay. As soon as he reaches the opposite shore, he lands, pushes the canoe back into the river and abandons it, knowing that to make a second canoe will not be nearly so troublesome as to take care of the first.

If, however, he wants a canoe in which he goes fishing, and which, in consequence, must be of a stronger make, he still adheres to the stringy bark as his material, though he takes more care in the manufacture. The bark is bent, like the birch bark of the North American Indians, by moisture and heat; and even with this better kind of boat clay is required at each end, and is also used for stopping up any leakage.

He also exhibits a still better use of the stringy-bark. The bark is not only formed into a boat-like shape, but it is kept in its form by cross-pieces of wood. The edges are also strengthened: and altogether this canoe shows a wonderful advance in boat-building. The vessel is propelled with a regular paddle instead of the fish spear: and altogether the boat and the accompanying implements remind the observer of the birch-bark canoes and vessels of America.

Another simple form of boat is made on a totally different principle from those which have already been described, and, instead of being a hollow trough of bark, is a solid bundle of reeds and sticks tied together in a very ingenious manner, and giving support to one or more persons, according to its size.

Such is the history of the aboriginal tribes of Australia, whose remarkable manners and customs are fast disappearing, together with the natives themselves. The poor creatures are aware of the fact, and seem to have lost all pleasure in the games and dances that formerly enlivened their existence. Many of the tribes are altogether extinct, and others are disappearing so fast that the people have lost all heart and spirit, and succumb almost without complaint to the fate which awaits them. In one tribe, for example, the Barrabool, which numbered upward of three hundred, the births during seventeen years were only twenty-four, being scarcely two births in three years; while the deaths had been between eighteen and nineteen per annum.

Mr. Lloyd gives a touching account of the survivors of this once flourishing tribe:—

“When I first landed in Geelong, in 1837, the Barrabool tribe numbered upward of three hundred sleek and healthy-looking blacks. A few months previous to my leaving that town, in May 1853, on casually strolling up to a couple of miam-miams, or native huts, that were erected upon the banks of the Burwan River, I observed seated there nine loobras (women) and one sickly child.

“Seeing so few natives, I was induced to ask after numbers of my old dark friends of early days—Ballyyang, the chief of the Barrabool tribe, the great Jaga-jaga, Panigerong, and many others, when I received the following pathetic reply: ‘Aha, Mitter Looyed, Ballyyang dedac (dead), Jaga-jaga dedac; Panigerong dedac,’ &c., naming many others; and, continuing their sorrowful tale, they chanted, in minor and funereal tones, in their own soft language, to the following effect:

“‘The stranger white man came in his great swimming corong (vessel), and landed at Corayio with his dedabul boulganas (large animals), and his anaki boulganas (little animals). He came with his boom-booms (double guns), his white miam-miams (tents), blankets, and tomahawks; and the dedabul ummageet (great white stranger) took away the long-inherited hunting-grounds of the poor Barrabool coolies and their children,’ &c., &c.

“Having worked themselves into a fit of passionate and excited grief, weeping, shaking their heads, and holding up their hands in bitter sorrow, they exclaimed, in wild and frenzied tones: ‘Coolie! coolie! coolie! where are our coolies now! Where are our fathers—mothers—brothers—sisters? Dead!—all gone! dead!’ Then, in broken English, they said, ‘Nebber mind, Mitter Looyed, tir; by ’m by all dem black fella come back white fella like it you.’ Such is the belief of the poor aborigines of Victoria; hence we may firmly infer that they possess a latent spark of hope in their minds as to another and better world.

“Then, with outstretched finger, they showed me the unhappy state of the aboriginal population. From their statement it appeared that there existed of the tribe at that moment only nine women, seven men, and one child. Their rapid diminution in numbers may be traced to a variety of causes. First, the chances of obtaining their natural food were considerably lessened by the entire occupation of the best grassed parts of the country, which originally abounded in kangaroo and other animals upon which they subsisted. The greater number of these valuable creatures, as an irresistible consequence, retired into the wild uninhabitable countries, far from the haunts of the white man and his destructive dogs.

“Having refused the aid of the Government and the Missionary Societies’ establishments at the River Burwan and Mount Rouse, the natives were to a serious extent deprived of animal food, so essential to a people who were ever exposed to the inclemencies of winter and the exhausting heats of summer. Influenza was one of the greatest scourges under which they suffered. Then, among other evils attending their association with the colonists, the brandy, rum, and tobacco told fearfully upon their already weakened constitutions.”

This one tribe is but an example of the others, all of whom are surely, and some not slowly, approaching the end of their existence. For many reasons we cannot but regret that entire races of men, possessing many fine qualities, should be thus passing away; but it is impossible not to perceive that they are but following the order of the world, the lower race preparing a home for the higher.

In the present instance, for example, the aborigines performed barely half of their duties as men. They partially exercised their dominion over the beasts and the birds—killing, but not otherwise utilizing them. But, although they inherited the earth, they did not subdue it, nor replenish it. They cleared away no useless bush or forest, to replace them with fruits; and they tilled no land, leaving the earth exactly in the same condition that they found it. Living almost entirely by the chase, it required a very large hunting-ground to support each man, and a single tribe gained a scanty and precarious living on a tract of land sufficient, when cultivated, to feed a thousand times their number. In fact, they occupied precisely the same relative position toward the human race as do the lion, tiger, and leopard toward the lower animals, and suffered in consequence from the same law of extinction.

In process of time white men came to introduce new arts into their country, clearing away useless forest, and covering the rescued earth with luxuriant wheat crops, sufficient to feed the whole of the aborigines of the country; bringing also with them herds of sheep and horned cattle to feed upon the vast plains which formerly nourished but a few kangaroo, and to multiply in such numbers that they not only supplied the whole of their adopted land with food, but their flesh was exported to the mother country.

The superior knowledge of the white man thus gave to the aborigines the means of securing their supplies of food; and therefore his advent was not a curse, but a benefit to them. But they could not take advantage of the opportunities thus offered to them, and, instead of seizing upon these new means of procuring the three great necessaries of human life, food, clothing, and lodging, they not only refused to employ them, but did their best to drive them out of the country, murdering the colonists, killing their cattle, destroying their crops, and burning their houses.

The means were offered to them of infinitely bettering their social condition, and the opportunity given them, by substituting peaceful labor for perpetual feuds, and of turning professional murderers into food-producers, of replenishing the land which their everlasting quarrels, irregular mode of existence, and carelessness of human life had well-nigh depopulated. These means they could not appreciate, and, as a natural consequence, had to make way for those who could. The inferior must always make way for the superior, and such has ever been the case with the savage. I am persuaded that the coming of the white man is not the sole, nor even the chief, cause of the decadence of savage tribes. I have already shown that we can introduce no vice in which the savage is not profoundly versed, and feel sure that the cause of extinction lies within the savage himself, and ought not to be attributed to the white man, who comes to take the place which the savage has practically vacated.

CHAPTER LXXVIII. NEW ZEALAND. GENERAL REMARKS.

LOCALITY OF NEW ZEALAND — GENERAL APPEARANCE OF THE PEOPLE — THE TWO CASTES, AND THEIR SUPPOSED ORIGIN — CONTRAST BETWEEN THE SEXES — LAXNESS OF MORALS — NUMBER OF THE POPULATION, AND THE DIFFERENT TRIBES — MODE OF GOVERNMENT — DISTINCTION BETWEEN RANKS — FORMATION OF THE CLANS, OR SUB-TRIBES — THE SLAVES, THEIR VALUE AND TREATMENT — THE TENURE OF LAND — A COMPLEX ARRANGEMENT AND CONSEQUENT DIFFICULTIES — ESTABLISHING A CLAIM — NATIVE LAW — THE “LEX TALIONIS” — SENSITIVENESS TO DISGRACE — THE PREVALENCE OF SUICIDE — STRANGE CONDUCT OF A MAORI CHIEF — THE SISTER’S VENGEANCE.

Southward and eastward of Australia we come to the group of islands known collectively as New Zealand. Like Australia, New Zealand possesses many peculiarities of climate and natural production, and is inhabited by a number of tribes which are generally hostile to each other, but which are almost identical in appearance and habits. We shall therefore be enabled to treat of this important portion of the globe with much more brevity than could be the case if, as in Africa, the tribes differed from each other in hue, dress, and customs.

Taken as a whole, the New Zealanders are a singularly fine race of people—tall, powerful, and well made. Though varying somewhat in shade, the color is always a brown of some kind, the complexion being sometimes as light as that of a Spaniard, and sometimes of a dark umber. It is, however, always of a clear tint and never approaches to the deep black of the Australian. The nose is straight and well formed, in many cases being boldly aquiline; and the mouth is rather large, and the lips moderately full, though not resembling those of the negro. The cheekbones are rather high, but not much more prominent than those of a genuine Scotchman; and the eyes are large, dark, and vivacious.

The teeth are remarkably white and even, and the feet and hands small and well proportioned. The foot is very well developed, the native never having spoiled its beautiful mechanism with shoes or boots, and being accustomed to use the toes in many tasks wherein a civilized European requires his fingers. The toes are, for example, continually employed in holding one end of a rope, while the fingers are engaged in twisting or plaiting it; and the consequence is that the natives are able to ridicule with justice the misshapen feet and toes of the European.

The men have naturally a full beard; but they always remove every vestige of hair on the face, in order to show the patterns which are tattooed upon it. Now and then a very old and powerful chief will dare to allow his beard to grow; but, as a rule, the face is divested of all covering: so that the absence of the beard, together with the profuse tattoo, destroys all evidences of age, and makes the countenance of a young man of twenty look nearly as old as that of his grandfather aged sixty.

The hair is plentiful, and mostly straight, being twisted and curled by art into the various fashionable forms. In some cases it is light, or even reddish, in color; and in such instances accompanies a complexion of peculiar fairness. Albinism exists among the New Zealanders, but is not agreeable in appearance, the eyes being always weak, and the skin looking as if it had been artificially whitened. In fact, such an albino looks among his dark fellows like a plant that has been bleached by growing in the dark.

There seems to be two castes of men among the New Zealanders. The upper caste is distinguished by the above characteristics; but the lower is shorter in stature, and has coarse and curly, though not woolly hair, more prominent cheekbones, and a much blacker skin. This second race, according to Dr. Dieffenbach, “is mixed in insensible gradations with the former, and is far less numerous; it does not predominate in any one part of the island, nor does it occupy any particular station in a tribe; and there is no difference made between the two races among themselves.

NEW ZEALANDER FROM CHILDHOOD TO AGE.
(See page 795.)

“But I must observe that I never met any man of consequence belonging to this tribe, and that, although freemen, they occupied the lower grades: from this we may, perhaps, infer the relation in which they stood to the earliest immigrants into the country, although their traditions and legends are silent on the subject.

“From the existence of two races in New Zealand the conclusion might be drawn that the darker were the original proprietors of the soil, anterior to the arrival of a stock of true Polynesian origin; that they were conquered by the latter, and nearly exterminated. This opinion has been entertained regarding all Polynesian islands; but I must observe that it is very doubtful whether those differences which we observe among the natives of New Zealand are really due to such a source. We find similar varieties in all Polynesian islands, and it is probable that they are a consequence of the difference of castes so extensively spread among the inhabitants of the tribes of the great ocean.

“If one part of the population of New Zealand are a distinct race—a fact which cannot be denied as regards other islands—it is very curious that there should be no traces of such a blending in the language, where they would have been most durable, or in the traditions, which certainly would have mentioned the conquest of one race by the other, if it had happened. Captain Crozet, a Frenchman, who early visited New Zealand, says that he found a tribe at the North Cape darker than the rest. I could observe nothing of the kind there, though I visited all the natives. Nor are those darker-colored individuals more common in the interior; I should say, even less so.

“There is undoubtedly a greater variety of color and countenance among the natives of New Zealand than one would expect—a circumstance which might prove either an early blending of different races, or a difference of social conditions, which latter supposition would go far to explain the fact. All the New Zealanders speak of the Mango-Mango, or Blacks of New South Wales, as unconnected with and inferior to themselves; but they never make such a distinction regarding their own tribes.”

As is often the case with uncivilized people, the women are decidedly inferior to the men, being much shorter, and not nearly so well made. They are not treated with the harshness which is the usual characteristic of married life among savages, and are even taken into their husbands’ counsels, and have great influence in political affairs. Still, the heavy work of the household falls upon their shoulders, and the lot of an ordinary New Zealand wife is rather a severe one. She has to cultivate the ground, to carry the produce of the distant fields to the house, and, when the family is travelling, the women have to carry all the heavy loads. It is no wonder, therefore, that a life of such drudgery should tell upon the women, both in preventing the proper development of their frame and in causing their beauty to decay. Those who preserve their beauty longest are the daughters of wealthy chiefs, who can afford slaves by whom all the hard work is done, and who therefore free their mistresses from one of the causes of deterioration.

There is, however, another cause, which is perhaps equally effective, but not so palpable. This is the very lax code of morality which prevails among them, a young girl being permitted the utmost freedom until she is married, although afterward she is a model of constancy. This license is exercised at a very early age, and the natural consequence is that the due development of the frame is checked. This vicious system is so much a matter of course, that it carries no reproach with it, and the young girls are remarkable for their modest and childlike demeanor.

Of course they become aged much earlier than those whose development takes place at a later period of life; but they compensate for their deteriorated appearance by their peculiar kindliness of demeanor. The engraving No. 1, illustrates the countenance and dress of a New Zealand woman and her boy.

Unlike the men, the women do not disfigure their faces by the tattoo, which gives to them the stern and fixed expression so characteristic of a New Zealand warrior; and they thus allow the really flexible and intelligent features to have full play. The only portions of the face that are marked with the tattoo are the lips, which are rendered blue by the process, as it is considered disgraceful for a woman to have red lips. The tattooing is always performed when the child is allowed to take her place among women; and, as may be imagined, it gives a livid and altogether unpleasant appearance to the mouth.

The children are very pleasing and interesting little creatures. They are full of intelligence, and unusually free and open in their manner. Unlike the children of most savage nations, they live as much with the men as with the women, and partake even in the councils of their parents, thus having their faculties sharpened at a very early age. The illustration opposite gives typical examples of the New Zealander from childhood to age, and the reader will notice the contrast between the soft and rounded outlines of the youth, and the harsh, rigid countenances of the old man and his consort.

In proportion to the dimensions of New Zealand, the population is very small; and, even in the earliest days of our acquaintance with it, the land seems to have been but thinly inhabited. That such should be the case is very remarkable, as a very thin population is generally found in those countries where, as in Australia, the inhabitants live principally by the chase, and therefore require a very large tract of land to support them. The New Zealanders, however, do not live by the chase, for the simple reason that there are no animals which are worth the trouble of hunting; so that a family of twenty or so, even if they had the entire country as a hunting-ground, would find themselves in very great straits were they obliged to procure their food by the chase. The reasons for this thin population will be presently seen.

According to Dieffenbach’s calculation, the native population of the entire country may be reckoned rather below one hundred and fifteen thousand. These are divided into twelve great tribes, which are again subdivided into sub-tribes, or clans, each of which has its separate name, and is supposed to belong to a certain district. The fighting men, or warriors, form about one-fourth of the whole population; the remaining three-fourths being made up of old men, women, and children. Since this calculation the numbers of the aborigines have considerably lessened. The most important of the tribes seems to be the Waikato, which is divided into eighteen clans, and which occupies a very large proportion of the country. This tribe alone can bring into the field six thousand fighting men; so that the entire number of the tribe may be calculated at twenty-four thousand or so.

The Waikato clans have managed to preserve their individuality better than the others, and, though brought much in contact with civilization, and having adopted some of the habits of their white visitors, they have still retained many of their ancient customs, and, as Dieffenbach remarks, have preserved much of their ancient vigor and original virtues.

The tribe that is strongest in mere numbers is the Nga-te-kahuhuna, which inhabits the east coast, and may be reckoned at thirty-six thousand strong. In fact, these two tribes alone outnumber the whole of the others taken collectively. One tribe, the Rangitani, is interesting from the fact that it was described by Captain Cook. In his days it was evidently a large and flourishing tribe, but some few years ago it could scarcely muster three hundred warriors, representing a total number of twelve hundred. The decadence of this tribe is probably owing to the destructive wars in which the New Zealanders engage, and which are often so fierce as to erase a tribe entirely.

The government of the New Zealanders is a curious mixture of simplicity and complication. Monarchy is unknown, each tribe having its own great chief, while an inferior chief presides over each clan, or sub-tribe. The whole of the population may be roughly divided into three ranks. First come the nobility, then the free men, and lastly the slaves. The nobility go by the general name of Rangatira—a title which is always given to officers, missionaries, and other white men who are placed in command over others.

In each tribe one of the Rangatira is the Ariki, or principal chief; but, as he is necessarily a Rangatira, he is always addressed by that title, and, in consequence, a stranger finds some difficulty, even after a prolonged visit, in ascertaining who is the Ariki. Among the New Zealanders there is no Salic law, so that the Ariki need not be a warrior, and may be a woman. The office is hereditary, and the existing Ariki is always held in the highest veneration in virtue of his descent. Even the hostile tribes respect an Ariki, and in most cases, if he should be captured in battle, the victors will spare his life. One or two of the most powerful chiefs living have been captured and afterward released, whereas, had they been common men, or even ordinary Rangatiras, they would have been killed, their bodies eaten, and their heads dried and fixed as trophies on the houses of their conquerors.

A sort of tax, or tribute, is paid by the different families, though the tax is entirely a voluntary one, and may be great or small, or withheld altogether, at pleasure. Mostly the Ariki is a man of considerable mental powers, and, in such a case, he exercises great authority over the tribe, either as a priest or a warrior. There is nothing to prevent the Ariki from assuming the office of priest, and in many instances he has been able to exercise a far greater influence by spiritual than by physical means.

The Rangatira are the great men, or nobles, of the land, and with them, as with the Ariki, the rank is hereditary. The law of succession is very remarkable, the eldest son being the heir to his father’s rank; but if the child dies, the youngest, and not the next eldest, becomes the lawful successor. These two heirs, the eldest and the youngest sons, are called by a name which signifies the fat of the earth.

Each Rangatira is independent of his fellows, though they collectively form a sort of body which we may compare with the House of Peers in England. Any Rangatira who has sufficient influence may gather together the members of his clan, build a fortified village, or pah, and become a petty sovereign in his own dominions. It is in this way that the various clans, or sub-tribes, are formed, each gathering round a noble of more than usual ability, and adopting a name by which the members will ever afterward be known.

The free men form the great body of the warriors; some of them being the sons of Rangatira, and others merely having the privilege of free birth; which carries with it the right of tattooing the face. Sometimes a free man who is remarkable for his generalship and courage will take the command of an expedition, even though men of higher rank than himself should be engaged in it.

Last come the slaves. These are always procured from two sources: they are either captives taken in battle, or are the children of such captives. The value of such slaves is very great. All savages are idle, but the New Zealander is one of the laziest of mortals in time of peace. In war he is all fire and spirit; but in peace he lounges listlessly about, and will not do a stroke of work that can possibly be avoided.

He may, perhaps, condescend to carve the posts of his house into some fantastical semblance of the human form, or he may, perchance, employ himself in slowly rubbing a stone club into shape, or in polishing or adorning his weapons. Whatever real work is to be done is left to the women or the slaves, and a man who values his wife or daughter will endeavor to procure slaves who will relieve her of the drudgery.

There are slaves of both sexes, to whom the appropriate work is allotted. They are considered the absolute property of their owner, who may treat them as he pleases, and, if he prefers to kill them, may do so without attracting any attention. Of course he would not do so except for very good reasons, as he would deprive himself of a valuable article of property. There have been cases, as we shall presently see, when the owner of slaves has deliberately murdered them for the sake of selling their heads.

Once a slave, always a slave. Should one of these unfortunates manage to escape and get back to his own tribe, his owner would apply for him, and he would be given up, the right of the master to his slave being universally recognized. Still, as a rule, the slaves are treated well, and some of them, who have attained excellence in certain arts, often become richer men than their owners. So great is the value of slaves, that many a war has been undertaken for the mere purpose of slave hunting, and some of the most disastrous and obstinate feuds have originated in the slave hunt.

Connected with the government of the New Zealanders is the land question. This is a strangely complicated business, as every inch of ground has an actual owner, while there are usually several claimants who allow their rights, real or imagined, to lie in abeyance as long as the land is owned by one who can hold his own, while they will all prefer their claims at his death, or even during a lengthened absence.

So it has often happened that the white men, while desiring to act according to law and honor, have involved themselves in a very net of difficulties. A chief, for example, may agree to sell a portion of territory, will receive the price, and will sign a deed, which will be witnessed by natives as well as by Europeans. No sooner has he done so, than a claimant comes forward, declaring that the chief in question had no real right to the land, and therefore had no right to sell it.

His claim will be inquired into, and, if it seems to be tolerably consistent with likelihood, the man will be paid an additional sum for his consent to the sale. The matter, however, is not at an end, for such is the jealousy with which the natives regard land, that, as long as a foreigner holds an inch of ground, so long will there be a native who prefers a claim to it. Strange as it may seem, the white man would incur less odium by taking the land by force, and seizing it by right of conquest, than by trying to act according to justice and equity.

War is a fertile source of misunderstanding about land. A tribe may be driven out of a district, and their land given to others, who hold it as long as they can keep it, the original possessors being sure to reconquer it if possible. It has sometimes happened that a chief to whom such lands have been presented has transferred them to another chief, and he, in his turn, has sold them to European settlers, the bargain being ratified by his own followers, who are considered as having a share in such property.

The colonists take the land, clear it, cultivate it, and when the crops are fairly in the ground, the dispossessed tribe will come forward and prefer their claim to it. Those to whom it was sold have already received their price, and do not trouble themselves to oppose the claim; and the consequence is, that the colonists are obliged either to make a second payment or to run the risk of war.

As to the claims themselves, they are of the most curious and unexpected character, such as no European would be likely to anticipate. According to Dieffenbach, “There exists a very distinct notion of the rights of landed property among the natives, and every inch of land in New Zealand has its proprietor. Sometimes land is given to a strange tribe, either as pay, or from other considerations, but the proprietor reserves certain rights, some of which are what we should term manorial.

“It was formerly very common that the fat of the native rats (Kiore) killed on such lands should be given to the principal proprietor, and in many cases a title to land seems to have been derived from the fact of having killed rats on it. Thus a chief will say, ‘This or that piece of land is mine; I have killed rats on it.’ Generally, however, land descends, as with us, by inheritance.”

Such being the complicated tenure on which land is held—a tenure which is often puzzling to the natives themselves—it is no matter of wonder that English settlers should have found themselves in difficulties. It is said that the colonists tried to make themselves masters of the land by unfair means, i. e. either by forcibly taking possession of it, or by inveigling the ignorant natives into signing documents which they did not understand, and thus selling their paternal estates for rum, tobacco, and a few blankets.

This may to some extent have been the case when the colonists first came to settle in the country. But the natives are far too intelligent to remain long ignorant of the power of pen, ink, and paper, and there is no doubt that in many cases they intentionally outwitted the purchaser, either by putting forward a sham owner of the ground, who had no right to sell it, and who vanished with his share of the prize as soon as the bargain was concluded, or by asserting ignorance of the meaning of the document which had been signed, and refusing to carry out its conditions. That the white men succeeded too often in cheating the natives is unfortunately true, but it is no less true that the natives as often cheated the colonists.

Law among the New Zealanders seems to be of the simplest kind, and, as far as we know, is not so well developed as among some of the tribes of Southern Africa. The three offences of which the law takes cognizance are murder, theft, and adultery. For the first of these offences a sort of lex talionis holds good, the relatives of the slain man being sure, sooner or later, to kill the murderer, unless he manages to compromise with them. Even theft is punished in a similar fashion, the thief being robbed in his turn.

As to the third offence, it is punishable in various ways; but both the offending parties are supposed to have forfeited their lives to the husband. If, therefore, the fact be discovered, and the culprit be a person of low rank, he seeks safety in flight, while, if he be a man of rank, he expects that the offended husband will make war upon him. Sometimes, if a wife discovers that her husband has been unfaithful to her, she will kill his paramour, or, at all events, disgrace her after the native custom, by stripping off all her clothes, and exposing her in public. Even the husband is sometimes subjected to this punishment by the wife’s relations; and so much dreaded is this disgrace that men have been known to commit suicide when their offence has been discovered.

Suicide, by the way, is not at all uncommon among the New Zealanders, who always think that death is better than disgrace, and sometimes destroy themselves under the most trivial provocation. One such case is mentioned by Mr. Angas. “On arriving at the village or kainga of Ko Nghahokowitu, we found all the natives in a state of extraordinary excitement. We had observed numbers of people running in that direction, along the margin of the river, from the different plantations, and, on inquiry, we learned that an hour previously to our arrival the son of an influential chief had committed suicide by shooting himself with a musket.

“Our fellow-travellers, with Wisihona their chief, were all assembled, and we followed them to the shed where the act had been perpetrated, and where the body still lay as it fell, but covered with a blanket. The mourners were gathered round, and the women commenced crying most dolefully, wringing their hands, and bending their bodies to the earth. We approached the body, and were permitted to remove the blanket from the face and breast. The countenance was perfectly placid, and the yellow tint of the skin, combined with the tattooing, gave the corpse almost the appearance of a wax model. The deceased was a fine and well-made young man. He had placed the musket to his breast, and deliberately pushed the trigger with his toes, the bullet passing right through his lungs. Blood was still oozing from the orifice made by the bullet, and also from the mouth, and the body was still warm.”

The cause of this suicide was that which has already been mentioned. The young man had been detected in an illicit correspondence with the wife of another man in the same village. The woman had been sent away to a distant settlement, a proceeding which had already made her lover sullen and gloomy; and, on the day when Mr. Angas visited the place, he had become so angry at the reproaches which were levelled at him by some of his relations, that he stepped aside and shot himself.

The determined manner in which the New Zealanders will sometimes commit suicide was exemplified by the conduct of another man, who deliberately wrapped himself up in his blanket, and strangled himself with his own hands. The crime was perpetrated in the common sleeping-house, and was achieved with so much boldness that it was not discovered until the man had been dead for some time.

A remarkable instance of this phase of New Zealand law took place when Mr. Dieffenbach visited the Waipa district. He was accompanied by a chief, who called a girl to him, and handed her over to the police magistrate as a murderess. The fact was, that her brother, a married man, had formed an intimacy with a slave girl, and, fearing the vengeance of his wife’s relatives, had killed himself. His sister, in order to avenge the death of her brother, found out the slave girl in the bush, and killed her. The strangest part of the business was, that the accused girl was the daughter of the chief who denounced her.

The girl pleaded her own cause well, saying, what was perfectly true, that she had acted according to the law of the land in avenging the death of her brother, and was not amenable to the laws of the white man, which had not yet been introduced into her country. As might be imagined, her plea was received, and the girl was set at liberty; but her father was so earnest in his wish to check the system of retaliatory murder, that he actually offered himself in the place of his daughter, as being her nearest relation.

CHAPTER LXXIX. NEW ZEALAND— Continued . DRESS.

DRESS AND ORNAMENTS OF THE NEW ZEALANDER — THE TATTOO OR THE MOKO — ITS FORMIDABLE CHARACTER — THE TATTOO A MARK OF FREEDOM — THE TATTOO OF THE FACE, AND ITS DIFFERENT PORTIONS — COST OF THE OPERATION — THE IMPLEMENTS, AND MODE OF USING THEM — TIME OCCUPIED IN COMPLETING IT — PAYMENT OF THE OPERATOR, AND THE TATTOO SONG — SOURCE WHENCE THE PIGMENT IS OBTAINED — SCARLET PAINT, AND MODE OF MAKING IT — THE NEW ZEALAND BELT — SYMBOLISM OF THE TATTOO — PRESERVING THE HEADS OF WARRIORS — THE TRAFFIC IN HEADS — A COOL BARGAINER.

We will now proceed to the appearance and dress of the natives of New Zealand, or Maories, as they term themselves. As the most conspicuous part of the New Zealander’s adornment is the tattooing with which the face and some other portions of the body are decorated, we will begin our account with a description of the moko, as it is called by the natives.

There are many parts of the world where the tattoo is employed, but in none is it of so formidable a description as among the New Zealanders. As the reader is probably aware, the tattoo consists of patterns made by introducing certain coloring matters under the skin; charcoal, variously prepared, being the usual material for the purpose. We have already seen among the Kaffirs examples of ornamenting the skin by cutting it deeply so as to form scars, and in Australia a similar but more cruel custom prevails. In neither of these countries, however, is there any attempt at producing an artistic effect, while in New Zealand beauty of design is the very object of the tattoo.

There is a distinction between the tattoo of the New Zealanders and the Polynesians; that of the latter people being formed by rows of little dots, and that of the former by lines cut completely through the skin. On account of this distinction, though a New Zealander and a Polynesian be covered from head to foot with tattoo marks, there is no possibility of mistaking the one for the other.

The moko of the New Zealander is a mark of rank, none but slaves being without a more or less complete tattooing of the face. In the present day, even the chiefs have begun to discontinue the ancient custom, chiefly owing to the exertions of the missionaries, who objected to the practice as a mark of heathendom. Consequently, several of the most powerful convert chiefs present a very curious, not to say ludicrous, aspect, which can hardly have a good effect in recommending Christianity to the people. Having been converted before the moko was completed, and being unwilling to continue the process and unable to obliterate those portions which were already drawn, they appear with one half of their faces tattooed and the other half plain, or perhaps with a solitary ring round one eye, and a couple of curves round one side of the mouth.

As, however, the present work treats only of the native customs, and not of modern civilization, the New Zealanders will be described as they were before they had learned to abandon the once-prized tattoo, to exchange the native mat for the English blanket, the picturesque war canoe for the commonplace whaling boat, and the spear and club for the rifle and bayonet.

The principal tattoo is that of the face and upper part of the head, which, when completed, leaves scarcely an untouched spot on which the finger can be placed. When finished, the whole face is covered with spiral scrolls, circles, and curved lines; and it is remarkable, that though a certain order is observed, and the position of the principal marks is the same in every case, no two persons are tattooed in precisely the same manner, the artists being able to produce an infinite variety with the few materials at his command.

For example, the first portion of the tattoo is always a series of curved lines, reaching from the corners of the nose to the chin, and passing round the mouth. This portion of the tattoo goes by the name of rerepi. Next comes a spiral scroll on the cheekbone; and below it is another spiral, reaching as low as the jaw-bone. These are called respectively kakoti and korohaha. Next come four lines on the middle of the forehead, called titi; and besides these there are several lines which run up the centre of the nose and cover its sides, some which spread over the forehead, others which occupy the chin; and even the lips, eyelids, and ears are adorned with this singular ornament.

Besides possessing these marks, a great chief is seldom content unless he can cover his hips with similar lines, each of which has, like those of the face, its proper name.

Although the moko was considered as a mark of rank, there were no sumptuary laws which forbade its use. Any one, provided he were not a slave, might be tattooed as much as he pleased; but the expense of the operation was so great, that none but men of position could afford a complete suit of moko. No man could tattoo himself, and the delicacy of touch and certainty of line was so difficult of attainment, that tattooing became an art or science, which was left in the hands of a few practitioners, who derived a good income from their business. Some of those who had attained much reputation for their skill used to command very high fees when called in to decorate a client, and their services could therefore only be secured by the men of high position. It is rather remarkable that some of the most celebrated operators were slaves, men who were forbidden to wear the tattoo on their own persons.

The mode of operation is as follows. The patient lies on his back, and places his head between the knees of the operator, who squats on the ground after the usual native fashion. The latter then takes a little of the black pigment, and draws on the face the line of the pattern which he intends to follow; and in some cases he slightly scratches them with a sharp instrument, so as to make a sketch or outline drawing. The object of this scratching is to prevent the pattern from being obliterated by the flowing blood and the black pigment which is rubbed into the wounds.

Next, he takes his instrument or chisel, which is usually made of teeth, or the bone of a bird, and with it follows the pattern, cutting completely through the skin. Sometimes, when engaged in tattooing the face, a careless operator has been known to cut completely through the cheek, so as to put a temporary check to smoking, the sufferer experiencing some difficulty in getting the smoke into his mouth at all, and then finding it escape through the holes in his cheek. On page 722 the reader may find an illustration which gives a good idea of the different forms of the tattooing chisel. As the operator proceeds, he continually dips the edge of his chisel in the black pigment, and, when he has cut a line of a few inches in length, he rubs more of the pigment into the wound, using a little bunch of fibre by way of a brush or sponge.

The cutting is not done as with a knife, but by placing the edge of the chisel on the skin, and driving it along the lines of the pattern by repeated blows with a small mallet. As may be imagined, the pain caused by this operation is excruciating. It is painful enough to have the skin cut at all, even with the keenest blade, as any one can testify who has been unfortunate enough to come under the surgeon’s knife. But when the instrument employed is a shark’s tooth, or a piece of bone, when it is driven slowly through the skin by repeated blows, and when the wound is at once filled with an irritating pigment, it may be imagined that the torture must be dreadful. It is, however, reckoned a point of honor to endure it without giving any signs of suffering.

Owing to the character of the tattoo, the destruction of the skin, and the consequent derangement of its functions, only a small portion can be executed at a time, a complete moko taking from two to three years, according to the constitution of the individual. Dreadful swellings are always caused by it, especially of the glands in the neighborhood of the wounds, and the effects are so severe that men have died when too large a portion has been executed at one time.

Every stroke of the chisel or uki leaving an indelible mark, it is of the greatest consequence that the operator should be a man of skill, and devote all his energies to tracing a clear, though elaborate pattern, in which the lines are set closely together, sweep in regular curves, and never interfere with each other.

While a man is being tattooed, his friends and those of the operator sing songs to him, in which he is encouraged to endure the pain bravely, and to bear in mind the lasting beauty which will be conferred upon him when the pattern is completed. The songs of the operator’s friends contain some very broad hints as to the scale of payment which is expected. Although, as has been stated, the best of tattooers are paid very highly, there is no definite fee, neither is any bargain made, the operator trusting to the liberality of his client. But, as a man would be contemned as a skulking fellow if he were to ask the services of a good operator and then pay him badly, the practical result is that a good tattooer always secures good pay.

Moreover, he has always the opportunity of avenging himself. As only a small portion of the moko can be executed at a time—say, for example, the spiral curve on one cheek—if the operator be badly paid for the first portion of his work, he will take care to let the chisel slip out of its course when he proceeds to the second part, or will cut his lines coarsely and irregularly, thus disfiguring the stingy man for life.

Mr. Taylor gives a translation of one of these tattooing songs:

The reader will see that the song is a very ingenious one, magnifying the skill of the operator, promising a handsome moko to the liberal man, and threatening to disfigure him if he be niggardly in his payments.

While the operation of tattooing is going on, all persons in the pah, or enclosure, are under the tabu, or tapu, lest any harm should happen to them; the work of tattooing being looked upon with a kind of superstitious reverence. The meaning of the word ‘tapu’ will be explained when we come to treat of the religious system of the New Zealander.

The effect of the moko on the face is well shown in illustration No. 2, on the next page, which represents a chief and his wife. The reader will probably observe that on the face of the woman there are marks which resemble the tattoo. They are, however, the scars left by mourning over the body of some relative, a ceremony in which the women cut themselves unmercifully. The dress worn by both persons will be presently described.

The pigment used in tattooing is made from the resin of the kauri pine, and the greater part of it is made at one spot, where the tree grows plentifully. There is a rocky precipice, and a little distance from its edge a deep and narrow pit is sunk. A channel is cut through the face of the cliff into the pit, and the apparatus is complete. When a native wishes to make a supply of tattooing pigment, he cuts a quantity of kauri wood, places it in the pit, and sets fire to it, thus causing the burnt resin to fall to the bottom of the pit, whence it is scraped out through the channel.

Scarlet paint is much employed by the natives, especially when they decorate themselves for battle. It is obtained from an ochreous substance which is deposited in many places where water has been allowed to become stagnant. Some spots are celebrated for the excellence of the ochre, and the natives come from great distances to procure it. When they wish to make their scarlet paint, they first carefully dry and then burn the ochre; the result of which operation is, that a really fine vermilion is obtained.

This paint is used for many purposes, and before being used it is mixed with oil obtained from the shark. The natives are fond of decorating their houses with it, and by means of the scarlet lines increase, according to their own ideas, the beauty of the carved work with which every available point is adorned. Even their household goods are painted after a similar manner, the fashionable mode being to paint all the hollows scarlet, and the projecting portions black. Their canoes and wooden ornaments are profusely adorned with red paint. But the most valued use of this pigment is the part which it plays in the decoration of a warrior when he goes to battle.

In such cases paint constitutes the whole of his costume, the mats in which he takes so great a pride in time of peace being laid aside, many warriors being perfectly naked, and with the others the only covering of any kind being a belt made of plaited leaves.

One of these belts in my collection is seven feet in length, and only three and a half inches wide in the broadest part; while at either end it diminishes to a mere plaited thong. It is folded fourfold, and on opening it the mode of construction is plainly seen; all the loose ends being tucked inside.

The material is phormium leaf cut into strips an inch in width, each alternate strip being dyed black. Each strip is then divided into eight little strips or thongs, and they are so plaited as to produce an artistic checkered pattern of black and white. The ingenuity in forming so elaborate a pattern with so simple a material is extreme; and, as if to add to the difficulty of his task, the dusky artist has entirely changed the pattern at either end of the belt, making it run at right angles to the rest of the fabric. The belt is also used in lieu of clothing when the men are engaged in paddling a canoe.

The paint, therefore, becomes the characteristic portion of the New Zealander’s war dress, and is applied for the purpose of making himself look as terrible as possible, and of striking terror into his enemies. It is, however, used in peace as well as in war, being regarded as a good preservative against the bites and stings of insects, especially the sandflies and mosquitoes. It is also used in mourning, being rubbed on the body as a sign of grief, precisely as ashes are used among some of the Oriental nations. Some travellers have thought that the continual use of this pigment gives to the New Zealanders the peculiar softness and sleekness of skin for which they are remarkable, and which distinguishes them from the Fijians, whose skin feels as if it had been roughened with a file. This theory, however, is scarcely tenable, the soft texture of the skin being evidently due to physical and not to external causes.

(1.) NEW ZEALAND WOMAN AND HER BOY.
(See page 795.)

(2.) TATTOOED CHIEF AND HIS WIFE.
(See page 802.)

A warrior adorned in all the pride of the tattoo and scarlet paint is certainly a terrific object, and is well calculated to strike terror into those who have been accustomed to regard the Maori warriors with awe. When, however, the natives found that all the painting in the world had no effect upon the disciplined soldiers of the foreigner, they abandoned it, and contented themselves with the weapons that none are more able to wield than themselves.

Moreover, the paint and tattoo, however well it might look on a warrior armed after the primitive fashion, has rather a ludicrous effect when contrasted with the weapons of civilization. There is now before me a portrait of a Maori chief in full battle array. Except a bunch of feathers in his hair, and a checked handkerchief tied round his loins, evidently at the request of the photographer, he has no dress whatever. He is tall, splendidly made, stern, and soldierlike of aspect. But instead of the club, his proper weapon, he bears in his hand a Belgian rifle, with fixed bayonet, and has a cartouche-box fastened by a belt round his naked body.

His face is tattooed, and so are his hips, which are covered with a most elaborate pattern, that contrasts boldly with his really fair skin. Had he his club and chief’s staff in his hands, he would look magnificent; having a rifle and a cartouche-box, he looks absurd. Even a sword would become him better than a rifle, for we are so accustomed to associate a rifle with a private soldier, that it is difficult to understand that a powerful chief would carry such a weapon.

The curious mixture of native and European dress which the Maories are fond of wearing is well described by Mr. Angas. “Raupahara’s wife is an exceedingly stout woman, and wears her hair, which is very stiff and wiry, combed up into an erect mass upon her head about a foot in height, somewhat after the fashion of the Tonga islanders, which, when combined with her size, gives her a remarkable appearance.

“She was well dressed in a flax mat of native manufacture, thickly ornamented with tufts of cotton wool; and one of her nieces wore silk stockings and slippers of patent leather. This gay damsel was, moreover, a very pretty girl, and knew how to set off her charms to advantage; for over an European dress she had retained her native ornaments, and had wrapped herself coquettishly in a beautiful, ‘kaitaka,’ displaying her large hazel eyes above its silky folds.”

It has often been thought that the warrior regarded his moko, or tattoo, as his name, permanently inscribed on his face; and this notion was strengthened by two facts: the one, that in the earlier times of the colonists the natives signed documents by appending a copy of their moko; and the other, that each man knows every line of his tattoo, and sometimes carves a wooden bust on which he copies with admirable fidelity every line which appears on his own head or face. Such a work of art is greatly valued by the Maories, and a man who has carved one of them can scarcely be induced by any bribe to part with it.

Moreover, the moko of a warrior is often accepted as the conventional representation of himself. For example, on the pillars of a very celebrated house, which we shall presently describe, are numerous human figures which represent certain great chiefs, while men of lesser mark are indicated by their moko carved on the posts. Thus it will be seen that the moko of a chief is as well known to others as to himself, and that the practised eye of the native discerns among the various curves and spirals, which are common to all free men, the characteristic lines which denote a man’s individuality, and in producing which the tattooers’ skill is often sorely tried.

It has already been mentioned, that when a warrior falls in battle, and his body can be carried off by the enemy, the head is preserved, and fixed on the dwelling of the conqueror. No dishonor attaches itself to such an end; and, indeed, a Maori warrior would feel himself direfully insulted if he were told that in case of his death in the field his body would be allowed to remain untouched.

In fact, he regards his moko precisely in the same light that an American Indian looks upon his scalp-lock; and, indeed, there are many traits in the character of the Maori warrior in which he strangely resembles the best examples of North American savages.

In order to preserve the head of a slain warrior, some process of embalming must evidently be pursued, and that which is commonly followed is simple enough.

The head being cut off, the hair is removed, and so are the eyes; the places of which are filled up with pledgets of tow, over which the eyelids are sewed. Pieces of stick are then placed in the nostrils in order to keep them properly distended, and the head is hung in the smoke of the wood fire until it is thoroughly saturated with the pyroligneous acid. The result of this mode of preparation is, that the flesh shrinks up, and the features become much distorted; though, as the Maori warrior always distorts his countenance as much as possible before battle, this effect is rather realistic than otherwise.

It is often said that heads prepared in this fashion are proof against the attacks of insects. This is certainly not the case, as I have seen several specimens completely riddled by the ptilinus and similar creatures, and have been obliged to destroy the little pests by injecting a solution of corrosive sublimate. In spite of the shrivelling to which the flesh and skin are subject, the tattooing retains its form; and it is most curious to observe how the finest lines completely retain their relative position to each other.

Not only are the heads of enemies treated in this fashion, but those of friends are also preserved. The difference is easily perceptible by looking at the mouth, which, if the head be that of a friend, is closed, and if of an enemy, is widely opened.

Some years ago, a considerable number of these preserved heads were brought into Europe, having been purchased from the natives. Of late years, however, the trade in them has been strictly forbidden, and on very good grounds. In the first place, no man who was well tattooed was safe for an hour, unless he were a great chief, for he might at any time be watched until he was off his guard, and then knocked down, killed, and his head sold to the traders. Then, when the natives became too cautious to render head hunting a profitable trade, a new expedient was discovered.

It was found that a newly tattooed head looked as well when preserved as one which had been tattooed for years. The chiefs were not slow in taking advantage of this discovery, and immediately set to work at killing the least valuable of their slaves, tattooing their heads as though they had belonged to men of high rank, drying, and then selling them.

One of my friends lately gave me a curious illustration of the trade in heads. His father wanted to purchase one of the dried heads, but did not approve of any that were brought for sale, on the ground that the tattoo was poor, and was not a good example of the skill of the native artists. The chief allowed the force of the argument, and, pointing to a number of his people who had come on board, he turned to the intending purchaser, saying, “Choose which of these heads you like best, and when you come back I will take care to have it dried and ready for your acceptance.” As may be imagined, this speech put an abrupt end to all head purchasing, and gave an unexpected insight into the mysteries of trading as conducted by savage nations.

CHAPTER LXXX. NEW ZEALAND— Continued . DRESS AND ORNAMENTS.

THE “MATS” OF THE NEW ZEALANDERS — THE MATERIAL OF WHICH THEY ARE MADE — THE NEW ZEALAND FLAX, OR PHORMIUM — MODE OF MAKING THE MATS — VARIOUS KINDS OF MATS — THE RAIN MAT AND ITS USES — THE OPEN-WORKED MAT — THE DIFFERENT ORNAMENTS OF THE MAT: STRINGS AND TAGS, SCARLET TUFTS AND BORDERS — WAR CLOAKS OF THE CHIEFS — THE DOGS’-HAIR MAT — THE CHIEF PARÁTENE IN HIS CLOAK — MODE OF MAKING THE WAR CLOAKS — BRIEF ACCOUNT OF THE CHIEF — AMUSING INSTANCE OF VANITY IN A CHIEF — SUBSTITUTION OF THE BLANKET AND ITS ATTENDANT EVILS — ORNAMENTS OF THE NEW ZEALANDER’S HEAD — FEATHERS, AND FEATHER BOXES — VARIOUS DECORATIONS OF GREEN JADE — TIKIS AND EAR-RINGS — A REMARKABLE AMULET — THE SHARK’S TOOTH — MODES OF DRESSING THE HAIR — HAIR-CUTTING AND SHAVING — A PRIMITIVE RAZOR.

We now come to the costume of the New Zealanders. This is of a rather remarkable character, and may be characterized by the generic title of mat, with the exception of the belt which has just been described. The costume of the New Zealander consists of a square or oblong mat, varying considerably in size, though always made on the same principle. In this mat the natives envelop themselves after a very curious fashion, generally muffling themselves up to the neck, and often throwing the folds round them after the fashion of a conventional stage villain.

These mats are of various textures, and differ as much in excellence and value as do the fabrics of more civilized lands. The material is, however, the same in all cases, and even the mode of wearing the garment, the value being estimated by the fineness of the material, the amount of labor bestowed upon it, and the ornaments introduced into it.

The material of which the mats are made is the so-called New Zealand “flax,” scientifically known by the name of Phormium tenax. It belongs to the natural family of the Liliaceæ and the tribe Asparagaceæ. The plant has a number of showy yellow flowers arranged on a tall branch-panicle, and a number of straightish leaves, all starting from the root, and being five or six feet long, and not more than two inches wide at the broadest part.

The fibres which run along these leaves are very strong and fine, and, when properly dressed and combed, have a beautiful silky look about them. At one time great quantities of New Zealand flax, as it was called, were imported into Europe, and the plant was cultivated in some of the southern parts of the Continent. Strong, however, as it may be, it has the curious fault of snapping easily when tied in a knot, and on this account is not valued so much in Europe as in its own country. I have before me a large roll of string made by natives from the phormium. It is very strong in proportion to its thickness, and much of it has been used in suspending various curiosities in my collection; but it cannot endure being made into a knot. It is useful enough in hitches, especially the “clove-hitch;” but as soon as it is tied into a knot, it will hardly bear the least strain.

The principle on which the mats are made is very simple. A weaving frame is erected on sticks a foot or so from the ground, and upon it is arranged the weft, made of strings or yarns, placed as closely together as possible, and drawn quite tight. The weft is double, and is passed under and over each yarn, and the upper one is always passed between the ends of the under weft before it is drawn tight. The mat is therefore nothing more than a number of parallel strings laid side by side, and connected, at intervals of an inch or so, by others that pass across them. More care is taken of the edges, which are turned over, and the yarns are so interwoven as to make a thick and strong border.

When the wefts are hauled tight, they are beaten into their place by means of a bone instrument, very much like a paper knife in shape; and in every respect the weaving of a New Zealander most strongly reminds the spectator of the process of making the Gobelin tapestries. In both cases there is a fixed warp on which the weft is laboriously woven by hand, and is kept straight and regular by being struck with an instrument that passes between the threads of the warp. Although at the present day the warp of the Gobelin tapestry is stretched perpendicularly, in former times it was stretched longitudinally in a low frame, exactly similar in principle to that which is employed by the New Zealander.

The reader will perceive that the process of weaving one of these mats must be a work of considerable time, and an industrious woman can scarcely complete even a common mat under eighteen months, while one of the more elaborate robes will occupy twice that time.

The illustration No. 1 on the next page, is drawn from a sketch of a house belonging to one of the great chiefs, and in it are seen some women busily employed in making mats. One of them is scraping the leaves with a shell or stone, while another is engaged at the primitive loom. The mat is represented as nearly completed, and the woman is seen with the four ends of the double weft in her hand, passing them across each other before she draws them tight. A heap of dressed leaves of the phormium is seen in the background, and a bundle of the long swordlike leaves is strewn on the floor. Various baskets and other implements, made of the same material, are hung from the rafters; and in front is one of the curiously carved poles which support the roof.

It has been mentioned that there is but one principle on which all the mats are made, but that there is a very great variety in making them. There is, for example, the rain mat, which is used in wet weather. As the structure proceeds, the manufacturer inserts into each knot of the weft an undressed blade of the phormium upon which the epidermis has been allowed to remain. When wrapped round the body, the leaves all fall over each other, so as to make a sort of penthouse, and to allow the rain to run over their smooth and polished surfaces until it falls to the ground.

When rain comes on, and a number of natives are seen squatting on the ground, each wearing his rain mat, they have a most absurd appearance, and look like a number of human beings who had hidden themselves in haycocks. On page 803 may be seen the figure of a chief wearing one of these dresses. The name of the mat is E mangaika.

I have seen another kind of mat, which is made in a kind of open-work pattern, produced by crossing every fifth strand of the warp. This mat is of the very best quality, and, considering the nature of the material of which it is made, is wonderfully light, soft, and pliant.

Another kind is the woman’s mat, of which there are several varieties. It is of larger size than that employed by the men, and is capable of enveloping the entire figure from head to foot. It is of rather lighter material than the rain mat, and is decorated on the exterior with a number of strings, varying in length from a few inches to three feet or so. A variety of this mat is distinguished by having the strings white instead of black. Specimens of both these mats are in my collection, and the general effect of them can be seen by reference to any of the illustrations which represent the native women.

Strings or tags are undoubtedly the most characteristic portion of the dress, and there is scarcely a mat of any description that is not ornamented with them. One variety of mat, which is called E wakaiwa, is covered with long cylindrical ornaments that look very much as if they were made of porcupine quills, being hard, and colored alternately black and yellow. The ornaments are, however, made of the phormium leaf in a very ingenious manner. The epidermis is carefully scraped off the under side of the leaf with a sharp-edged shell, and the leaf is then turned over. On the upper side the epidermis is removed at regular intervals, so as to expose the fibres.

The next process is to put the scraped leaf into a dye made of a decoction of kinan bark, and to let it remain for a definite time. When it is taken out, the dye has stained the exposed fibres a deep glossy black, while it has not been able to touch the polished yellow epidermis that is allowed to remain. The dyed leaves are next rolled up until they form cylinders as large as goose quills, and are then woven in regular rows into the material of a mat. As the wearer moves about, the cylinders rustle and clatter against each other, producing a sound which seems to be peculiarly grateful to the ears of the natives. Such a mat or cloak is highly prized. Several of these mats are in my collection, and very curious examples of native art they are.

One of these has cost the weaver an infinity of trouble. It is nearly five feet wide and three in depth. The warp has been dyed black, while the weft is white; and the effect of the weft passing in reverse lines across the warp is very good. Every other line of weft is decorated with the cylindrical tassels each of which is nine inches in length, and is divided into four parts by the removal of the epidermis. These tassels begin at the fourth line of warp, and are regularly continued to the lower edge, whence they hang so as to form a fringe. On account of their number, they would qualify the garment as a rain mat on an emergency; and the rattling they make as the mat is moved is very much like that which is produced by a peacock when it rustles its train.

(1.) WOMEN MAKING MATS.
(See page 808.)

(2.) THE TANGI.
(See page 824.)

Along the upper edge, which passes over the shoulders, the strings have been rolled together into ropes as thick as the finger, and then plaited so as to form a thick and soft border which will not hurt the neck. The portion of the mat which comes between the edge and the first row of tassels is ornamented with scraps of scarlet wool plaited into the weft. This wool is a favorite though costly ornament to the natives, being procured from seamen’s woollen caps, which they unpick, and the yarns used to ornament the dress.

One of these mantles brought from New Zealand by Stiverd Vores, Esq., is adorned very largely with scarlet wool. It is completely bordered with the precious material, a narrow line of scarlet running under the upper edge, a broader under the lower, while the two sides are decorated with a band nearly four inches in width. In this case the wool has been arranged in a series of loops; but in another specimen the loops are cut so as to form a fringe.

In this latter mantle the tags, instead of being cylindrical and alternately black and yellow, are entirely black, each rolled leaf being wholly divested of its epidermis, and the fibres radiating from each other in tassel fashion. I rather think that the object of this mode of treatment is to prevent the eye from being distracted by the jangling yellow tags, and so to permit the scarlet border to exhibit its beauties to the best advantage.

Scarlet worsted is, of course, a comparatively late invention, and has only been introduced since the visits of Europeans. In former days the natives were equally fond of ornamenting their cloaks, and were obliged to use the plumage of birds for the purpose. The feathers taken from the breast of the kaka (a species of nestor) were mostly used for this purpose. Although the colored ornaments are generally disposed in lines, they are sometimes arranged in tufts, which are disposed in regular intervals over the whole of the dress. Examples of this kind of decoration may be seen in several of the costumes which are drawn in this work.

The yarns or strings of which the warp is made are not twisted or plaited, but consist merely of the phormium fibres as they lie in the leaf. The leaves are prepared for this purpose by scraping off the epidermis on both sides, and then beating them on a flat stone with a pestle made of the hard volcanic stone employed in the manufacture of adzes and other tools.

The most valuable of all the dresses are the war cloaks of the great chiefs. They are very large, being sometimes nearly six feet in depth, and wide enough to be wrapped over the entire body and limbs. Their native name is Parawai.

Before making one of these great war mats, the weaver collects a large quantity of dog’s hair, which she assorts into parcels of different colors. She then sets up her simple loom, and fixes the warp as usual. But with every knot or mesh which she makes with the weft she introduces a tuft of hair, taking care to make each tuft long enough to overlap and conceal the insertion of the tufts in the next row. She is also careful about the regular arrangement of the hues, so that when a complete mat is made by a skilful weaver, it looks exactly as if it was composed of the skin of some large animal, the vegetable fibres which form the fabric itself being entirely concealed by the tufts of hair.

One of these mats is the result of some four years’ constant labor, and causes some surprise that a people so naturally indolent as the Maories should prove themselves capable of such long and steady industry. But the fact is, the mat maker is a woman and not a man, and in consequence is obliged to work, whether she likes it or not.

In the next place, mat weaving scarcely comes under the denomination of labor. The woman is not tied to time, nor even bound to produce a given number of mats within a given period. Her living, too, does not depend upon the rate of her work, and whether she takes eighteen months or two years to produce a garment is a matter of total indifference to all parties. Besides, she never works alone, but is always accompanied by friends, one of whom, perhaps, may be occupied in a similar manner, another may be employed in scraping the phormium leaves, and another is engaged in pounding and softening the fibres, or drying those that have just been dyed black.

But, whatever their hands may be doing, the weavers’ tongues are never still. A continual stream of talk flows round the looms, and the duty of mat making is thus changed into an agreeable mode of enjoying the pleasures of conversation while the hands are employed in a light and easy labor.

Very great ingenuity is displayed by the woman to whom is entrusted the onerous task of making a war mat. No two are alike, the weaver exercising her discretion respecting the colors and their arrangement. Some of them are made on the same principle as the Bechuana kaross,—namely, darkest in the centre, and fading into the lightest hues round the edges. Others are white or pale in the middle, and edged with a broad band of black or dark brown hair. Sometimes the colors are arranged in a zigzag pattern, and several mats are striped like tiger skins. They always have a sort of collar, composed of strips of fur, which hang about six inches over the shoulders.

In New Zealand there are one or two dresses which are made almost entirely of fur, the skins being dressed with the hair adhering to them, and then sewed together. A very remarkable mat is possessed by a powerful chief named Parátene Maioha. It is made of strips of dogs’ fur sewed over a large flaxen mat. Of this garment he is very proud, and reserves it to be worn on grand occasions. A portrait of this celebrated chief is given in the illustration No. 1, on the 820th page, partly to show the aspect of a Maori chief in time of peace, and partly to give the reader an idea of the peculiar look of the war cloak.

There is also before me a photographic portrait of Parátene, authenticated by his autograph, in which he is represented as clad in a different manner. He wears two mats or cloaks, the lower being of the finest flax, and called by the natives kaitaka. A description of this kind of cloak will be presently given. Over the kaitaka he wears a very remarkable war cloak, which is made of dogs’ fur sewed upon a flax mat. It reaches a little below the knees, and is made in perpendicular stripes alternately dark and pale, and is furnished with a thick collar or cape of the same material. This cape, by the way, bears a curious resemblance to the ornament which is worn by the Abyssinian chiefs.

Unfortunately for the general effect of the picture, Parátene has combed, divided, and brushed his hair in European fashion; and muffled up as he is to the chin, it is too evident that he is wearing a complete European suit under his mats. The cape has fallen off a little on the right side, and we have the absurd anomaly of a face profusely tattooed surmounted with hair that has just been brushed and combed, a dog-skin war mat, from which protrudes a bare right arm, a jade earring six inches long, and a black cravat and turn-down collar. In his right hand he grasps his cherished merai; his staff of office, or E’hani, rests against his shoulder; and by his side is his long battle-axe, adorned with a tuft of feathers and dog-skin. This same Parátene is a man of great mark among the Maories.

As is the case with natives of rank who have associated with Europeans, he is known by several names. The following account of him is given by Mr. G. F. Angas:

“Parátene (Broughton), whose native name was Te Maihoa, is a cousin of Te Whero-whero, and one of the leading men of the Ngatimahuta branch of the Waikato tribes. He generally resides in a village (or kainga) on the northern bank of the picturesque little harbor of Waingaroa, on the west coast of the Northern Island; and the correctness of his general conduct, and the gravity of his demeanor, have obtained for him a marked ascendancy over many of his equals in rank.

“Eccentricity is the principal feature in the character of this chief; and the scrupulous attention which he invariably pays to those trifling circumstances which constitute his notions of etiquette often renders his conduct highly curious. He has gained, by unwearied application, a smattering of arithmetic, and one of his most self-satisfactory exploits is the correct solution of some such important problem as the value of a pig of a certain weight, at a given price per pound, making the usual deduction for the offal. His erudite quality and the dignified gravity of his carriage have commanded the deferential respect of his people, and encouraged them to consider him quite an oracle.

“One little incident will place the harmless foible of this chief’s character in a striking light. When the author was about to employ his pencil in the delineation of his figure, Parátene desired to be excused for a few moments. Having gained his point, he sought an interview with Mrs. Wells, the missionary’s wife (under whose hospitable roof his portrait was taken), and, preferring his request with some solemn intimations of its paramount importance, begged ‘Mother’ to lend him a looking-glass, that he might compose his features in a manner suitable to his own idea of propriety ere he took his stand before the easel of the artist.”

It may be observed, by the way, that “Mother” is the term always employed by the natives when addressing the wife of a missionary. The autograph of Parátene, to which allusion has already been made, is written with pencil, and is perfectly intelligible, though the characters are shaky, large, and sprawling, and look as if they had been made by fingers more accustomed to handle the club than the pencil.

The last kind of mat which will be mentioned is the kaitaka. This garment is made of a peculiar kind of flax, cultivated for the express purpose, and furnishing a fibre which is soft and fine as silk. The whole of the mat is plain, except the border, which is in some cases two feet in depth, and which is most elaborately woven into a vandyked pattern of black, red, and white. At the present day a good kaitaka is scarcely anywhere to be seen, the skill required in making them being so great that only a few weavers can produce them, and European blankets being so easily procured that the natives will not take the trouble of weaving garments that take so much time and trouble.

Handsome as are these native garments, they are not very pleasant to wear. As the threads are only laid parallel to each other, and are not crossed, as in fabrics woven in the loom, they form scarcely any protection against the wind, although they may serve to keep out the rain. The mats are very heavy, my own small specimen of the waikawa cloak weighing five pounds and a half, and so stiff that they cannot be conveniently rolled up and packed away when out of use. An English blanket, on the contrary, is close-textured, resists the wind, is very light, and can be rolled up into a small compass; so that it is no wonder that the natives prefer it.

Unfortunately for them, it is not nearly so healthy a garment as that which is made by themselves, as it is worn for a long time without being washed, and so becomes saturated with the grease and paint with which the natives are fond of adorning their bodies. In consequence, it fosters several diseases of the skin to which the Maories are subject, and it has been found that those who wear blankets are much more subject to such ailments than those who adhere to the native raiment.

In some parts of the country, where the ground is hard and stony, the natives plait for themselves sandals or slippers, which very much resemble those which are used by the Japanese. They consist of the ever-useful phormium fibres, which are twisted into cords, and then plaited firmly into the shape of a shoe sole.

We now proceed from the dress to the ornaments worn by the New Zealanders.

In some respects they resemble those which are in use among other dark tribes. Feathers are much valued by them, and among the commonest of these adornments is a bunch of white feathers taken from the pelican, and fastened to the ears so as to fall on the shoulder. An example of this may be seen in the portrait of the old warrior on page 794. Sometimes the skin of a small bird is rudely stuffed, and then suspended as an earring, and sometimes one wing will be placed at each side of the head, the tips nearly meeting above.

The most prized of these adornments are the tail feathers of the bird called by the natives E Elia, or E Huia (Neomorpha Gouldii). It is allied to the hoopoos, and is remarkable for the fact that the beak of the male is straight and stout, while that of the female is long, slender, and sickle-shaped. The color of the bird is a dark glossy green of so deep a hue that in some lights it seems to be black. The tail feathers, however, are tipped with snowy white, so that when the bird spreads its plumage for flight, the tail looks at a little distance as if it were black, edged with white.

The bird is only found in the hills near Port Nicholson, and, as it is very wary, can scarcely be obtained except by the help of a native, who imitates its cry with wonderful perfection. The name E Elia is said to be merely an imitation of the long shrill whistle of the bird. The birds are so valued by the Maories that in all probability the species would have been extinct by this time, but for the introduction of European customs, which to a certain degree have driven out the ancient customs.

The feathers of the tail are the parts of the bird that are most valued by the chiefs, who place them in their hair on great occasions. So much do they prize these feathers, that they take the trouble to make boxes in which they are kept with the greatest care. These boxes are made by the chiefs themselves, and are covered with the most elaborate carvings, some of them being the finest specimens of art that can be found in New Zealand. They are of various shapes, but a very good idea of their usual form may be obtained from the illustration No. 3, on page 775. The usual forms are similar to that of the illustration, but in some cases the boxes are oblong. There is now before me a drawing of one of these boxes, which is covered with an equally elaborate pattern, in which the lines are mostly straight instead of curved, the pattern being of a vandyked character, similar to that upon the kaitaka cloak. There is a projecting handle upon the lid, and an almost similar handle upon each end.

The natives do not, however, confine themselves to wearing the tail feathers, but, when they can obtain so valuable a bird, are sure to use every portion of it. The head seems to be thought of next importance to the tail, and is suspended to the ear by a thong.

Perhaps the most characteristic ornaments that are worn by the New Zealanders are those which are made of green jade. This mineral, called by the natives Poonamu, is mostly found near the lakes in the Middle Island, and is valued by them with almost a superstitious reverence. If a very large piece be found, it is taken by some chief, who sets to work to make a club from it. This club, called a merai, will be described when we come to treat of war as conducted by the Maories.

In the illustration No. 1, on page 841, are represented some of the most characteristic jade ornaments.

Fig. 1 is a flat image bearing the rude semblance of a human being, and made of various sizes. That which is here given is rather smaller than the usual dimensions. It is called by the natives Tiki, and is at the same time one of the commonest and the highest prized articles among the New Zealanders. A new one can be purchased for a sum which, though it would be considered absurdly high in England for such an object, is in New Zealand really a low price, and scarcely repays the trouble of carving it.

Jade is an extremely hard mineral, ranking next to the ruby in that respect, and, in consequence of its extreme hardness, taking a peculiar glossy polish that is seen on no other substance. The time which is occupied in carving one of these ornaments is necessarily very great, as the native does not possess the mechanical means which render its manipulation a comparatively easy task to the European engraver, and can only shape his ornaments by laboriously rubbing one piece of stone upon another.

That ornaments made of such a material should be highly prized is not a matter of surprise, and it is found that a wealthy chief will give an extraordinarily high price for a handsome jade ornament. There is in my collection a very ancient Buddhist amulet, made of the purest green jade, and beautifully carved, the remarkable portion of it being a revolving wheel with spiral spokes, the wheel being cut out of the solid jade. The amulet was found in the apartments of the Queen of Oude, and had evidently been imported from China, where it was engraved, the whole character of the work belonging to a very ancient epoch of Chinese art. It was shown to a Maori chief, who was then visiting England, and who was intensely pleased with it, saying that, if it were sent to New Zealand and offered for sale to one of the great chiefs, it would be purchased for £20 or £25 of English money.

It has been just mentioned that, in spite of the labor bestowed on the ornament, a new tiki can be purchased for a moderate sum. Such, however, would not be the case were the tiki an old one. These ornaments are handed down from father to son, and in process of time are looked upon with the greatest reverence, and treated as heirlooms which no money can buy.

One of these tikis was seen by Mr. Angas lying on the tomb of a child, where it had been placed as an offering by the parents. It had lain there for a long time; but, in spite of the value of the ornament, no one had ventured to touch it. It was a very small one, even less in size than the drawing in the illustration, and had in all probability been worn by the child on whose tomb it lay.

Most of these tikis are plain, but some of them have their beauty increased by two patches of scarlet cement with which the sockets of the eyes are filled.

The tikis are worn on the breast, suspended by a cord round the neck; and almost every person of rank, whether man or woman, possesses one. They are popularly supposed to be idols, and are labelled as such in many museums; but there is not the least reason for believing them to fulfil any office except that of personal decoration. The Maories are fond of carving the human figure upon everything that can be carved. Their houses are covered with human figures, their canoes are decorated with grotesque human faces, and there is not an implement or utensil which will not have upon it some conventional representation of the human form. It is therefore not remarkable that when a New Zealander finds a piece of jade which is too small to be converted into a weapon, and too flat to be carved into one of the cylindrical earrings which are so much valued, he should trace upon it the same figure as that which surrounds him on every side.

The most common forms of earring are those which are shown at figs. 4 and 5, the latter being most usually seen. It is so strangely shaped that no one who did not know its use would be likely to imagine that it was ever intended to be worn in the ear. Two rather remarkable earrings are worn in New Zealand as marks of rank; one being a natural object, and the other an imitation of it. This earring is called mako tamina, and is nothing but a tooth of the tiger shark. Simple though it be, it is greatly prized, as being a mark of high rank, and is valued as much as a plain red button by a Chinese mandarin, or, to come nearer home, the privilege of wearing a piece of blue ribbon among ourselves.

Still more prized than the tooth itself is an imitation of it in pellucid jade. The native carver contrives to imitate his model wonderfully well, giving the peculiar curves of a shark’s tooth with singular exactness. Such an ornament as this is exceedingly scarce, and is only to be seen in the ears of the very greatest chiefs. Anything seems to serve as an earring, and it is not uncommon to see natives of either sex wearing in their ears a brass button, a key, a button-hook, or even a pipe.

There is very little variety in the mode of dressing the hair, especially among women. Men generally keep it rather short, having it cut at regular intervals, while some of the elders adhere to the ancient custom of wearing it long, turning it up in a bunch on the top of the head, and fastening it with combs.

These are formed after a fashion common to all Polynesia, and extending even to Western Africa. The teeth are not cut out of a single piece of wood, but each is made separately, and fastened to its neighbor by a strong cross-lashing. The teeth, although slight, are strong and elastic, and are well capable of enduring the rather rough handling to which they are subjected.

Children of both sexes always wear the hair short like the men; but as the girls grow up, they allow the hair to grow, and permit it to flow over their shoulders on either side of the face. They do not part it, but bring it down over the forehead, and cut it in a straight line just above the eyebrows. When they marry, they allow the whole of the hair to grow, and part it in the middle. They do not plait or otherwise dress it, but merely allow it to hang loosely in its natural curls.

Hair-cutting is with the New Zealanders a long and tedious operation, and is conducted after the fashion which prevails in so many parts of the world. Not knowing the use of scissors, and being incapable of producing any cutting instrument with an edge keen enough to shave, they use a couple of shells for the operation, placing the edge of one under the hair that is to be cut, and scraping it with the edge of the other.

Although this plan is necessarily a very slow one, it is much more efficacious than might be imagined, and is able not only to cut the hair of the head, but to shave the stiff beards of the men. In performing the latter operation, the barber lays the edge of the lower shell upon the skin, and presses it well downward, so as to enable the upper shell to scrape off the hair close to the skin. Beard-shaving is necessarily a longer process than hair-cutting, because it is not possible to cut more than one or two hairs at a time, and each of them takes some little time in being rubbed asunder between the edges of the shells.

CHAPTER LXXXI. NEW ZEALAND— Continued . DOMESTIC LIFE.

CEREMONIES ATTENDANT ON BIRTH — PREVALENCE AND CAUSES OF INFANTICIDE — A CURIOUS INSTANCE OF SUPERSTITION — NAMES AND THEIR SIGNIFICATION — THE CEREMONY OF SPRINKLING — THE RECITATIONS — CHANGES OF NAME — MARRIAGE — COURTSHIP AND WIFE-SNATCHING — AMUSEMENTS OF THE NEW ZEALANDERS — THE SWING, OR GIANT STRIDE — DRAUGHTS AND OTHER SEDENTARY GAMES — CHILDREN’S SPORTS — TOP-SPINNING, KITE-FLYING — AND CAT’S-CRADLE — SWIMMING AND DIVING — CURIOUS PETS: DOGS, PIGS, AND PARROTS — BALL-PLAYING — MUSIC AND SINGING — CHARACTER OF THE SONGS — MUSICAL INSTRUMENTS — THE FIFE, THE WAR TRUMPET, AND THE WAR BELL — CURIOUS MODE OF SALUTATION — THE “TANGI,” AND ITS LUDICROUS APPEARANCE — ITS WEARISOME EFFECT ON A FOREIGNER — UNCERTAIN TEMPER OF THE MAORIES — STRENGTH OF MEMORY, AND CURIOSITY.

We will now examine the domestic life of the New Zealander, and begin at the beginning, i. e. with his birth.

As is mostly the case in those nations which do not lead the artificial life of civilization, there is very little trouble or ceremony about the introduction of a new member of society. The mother does not trouble herself about medical attendants or nurses, but simply goes off into some retired place near a stream, and seldom takes with her even a companion of her own sex. When the baby is born, the mother bathes her child and then herself in the stream, ties the infant on her back, and in a short time resumes the business in which she was engaged. Until the child is named the mother is sacred, or “tapu,” and may not be touched by any one.

The New Zealand women are too often guilty of the crime of infanticide, as indeed might be imagined to be the case in a land where human life is held at so cheap a rate. Various causes combine to produce this result. If, for example, the child is deformed or seems sickly, it is sacrificed as an act of mercy toward itself, the Maories thinking that it is better for the scarcely conscious child to be destroyed at once than to die slowly under disease, or to live a despised life as a cripple.

Revenge, the leading characteristic of the Maori mind, has caused the death of many an infant, the mother being jealous of her husband, or being separated from him longer than she thinks to be necessary. Even a sudden quarrel will sometimes cause the woman, maddened by anger, to destroy her child in the hope of avenging herself upon her husband. Slave women often systematically destroy their children, from a desire to save them from the life of servitude to which they are born. In many cases the life of the child is sacrificed through superstitious terror.

A very curious example of such a case is given by Dr. Dieffenbach. A recently married wife of a young chief was sitting near a pah or village, on the fence of which an old priestess had hung her blanket. As is generally the case with New Zealand garments, the blanket was infested with vermin. The young woman saw one of these loathsome insects crawling on the blanket, caught it, and, according to the custom of the country, ate it. The old woman to whom the garment belonged flew into a violent passion, poured a volley of curses on the girl for meddling with the sacred garment of a priestess, and finished by prophesying that the delinquent would kill and eat the child which she was expecting.

The spirit of revenge was strong in the old hag, who renewed her imprecations whenever she met the young woman, and succeeded in terrifying her to such a degree that she was almost driven mad. Immediately after the child was born the old woman found out her victim, and renewed her threats, until the young mother’s mind was so completely unhinged, that she hastily dug a hole, threw her child into it, and buried it alive. She was, however, filled with remorse for the crime that she had committed; and before very long both she and her husband had emancipated themselves from their superstitious thraldom, and had become converts to Christianity.

It is seldom, however, that a mother kills her child after it has lived a day; and, as a general rule, if an infant survives its birth but for a few hours, its life may be considered as safe from violence. Both parents seem equally fond of infants, the father nursing them quite as tenderly as the mother, lulling it to sleep by simple songs, and wrapping its little naked body in the folds of his mat.

Soon after its birth the child is named, either by its parents or other relatives, the name always having some definite signification, and mostly alluding to some supposed quality, or to some accidental circumstance which may have happened at the time of birth. Much ingenuity is shown in the invention of these names, and it is very seldom found that the son is named after his father or other relative. All the names are harmonious in sound, and end with a vowel; and even in the European names that are given by the missionaries at baptism the terminal syllable is always changed into a vowel, in order to suit the native ideas of euphony.

When the child is about two or three months old, a ceremony is performed which is remarkable for its resemblance to Christian baptism. The origin of the ceremony is not known, and even the signification of the words which are employed is very obscure. Very few persons are present at the ceremony, which is carried on with much mystery, and is performed by the priest.

The three principal parts of the rite are that the child should be laid on a mat, that it should be sprinkled with water by the priest, and that certain words should be used. As far as has been ascertained, the mode of conducting the ceremony is as follows: The women and girls bring the child and lay it on a mat, while the priest stands by with a green branch dipped in a calabash of water. A sort of incantation is then said, after which the priest sprinkles the child with water. The incantation differs according to the sex of the child, but the sense of it is very obscure. Indeed, even the natives cannot explain the meaning of the greater part of the incantation: so that in all probability it consists of obsolete words, the sounds of which have been retained, while their sense has been lost.

As far as can be ascertained, the incantation consists of a sort of dialogue between the priest and the women who lay the child on the mat. The following lines are given by Dieffenbach, as the translation of the beginning of the incantation said over female children. He does not, however, guarantee its entire accuracy, and remarks that the true sense of several of the words is very doubtful. The translation runs as follows:

Girls. “We wish this child to be immersed.”—Priest. “Let it be sprinkled.”

Girls. “We wish the child to live to womanhood.”—Priest. “Dance for Atua.”

Girls. “Me ta nganahau.” (These words are unintelligible.)—Priest. “It is sprinkled in the waters of Atua.”

Girls. “The mat is spread.”—Priest. “Dance in a circle.”

“Thread the dance.”

The reader must here be told that the word “Atua” signifies a god, and that the word which is translated as “womanhood” is a term that signifies the tattooing of the lips, which is performed when girls are admitted into the ranks of women. The above sentences form only the commencement of the incantation, the remainder of which is wholly unintelligible.

When the child is old enough to undertake a journey to the priest’s house, another ceremony takes place, in which the baby name that the parents have given to the infant is exchanged for another. According to Mr. Taylor’s interesting account, when the child has arrived at the house of the priest, the latter plants a sapling as a sign of vigorous life, and holds a wooden idol to the ear of the child, while he enumerates a long string of names which had belonged to its ancestors. As soon as the child sneezes, the priest stops, the name which he last uttered being that which is assumed by the child. We are left to infer that some artificial means must be used to produce sneezing, as otherwise the task of the priest would be rather a tedious one.

After the requisite sign has been given, and the child has signified its assent to the name, the priest delivers a metrical address, differing according to the sex. Boys are told to clear the land and be strong to work; to be bold and courageous in battle, and comport themselves like men. Girls are enjoined to “seek food for themselves with panting of breath,” to weave garments, and to perform the other duties which belong to their sex.

Even this second name is not retained through life, but may be changed in after life in consequence of any feat in war, or of any important circumstance. Such names, like the titles of the peerage among ourselves, supersede the original name in such a manner that the same person may be known by several totally distinct names at different periods of his life.

There seems to be no definite ceremony by which the young New Zealand lad is admitted into the ranks of men. The tattoo is certainly a sign that his manhood is acknowledged; but this is a long process, extending over several years, and cannot be considered as an initiatory rite like those which are performed by the Australians.

When a young man finds himself able to maintain a wife, he thinks about getting married, and sets about it very deliberately. Usually there is a long courtship, and, as a general fact, when a young man fixes his affections on a girl, he is sure to marry her in the end, however much she or her friends may object to the match. He thinks his honor involved in success, and it is but seldom that he fails.

Sometimes a girl is sought by two men of tolerably equal pretensions; and when this is the case, they are told by the father to settle the matter by a pulling match. This is a very simple process, each suitor taking one of the girl’s arms, and trying to drag her away to his own house. This is a very exciting business for the rivals as well as for the friends and spectators, and indeed to every one except the girl herself, who is always much injured by the contest, her arms being sometimes dislocated, and always so much strained as to be useless for some time.

In former times the struggle for a wife assumed a more formidable aspect, and several modern travellers have related instances where the result has been a tragic one. If a young man has asked for a girl and been refused, his only plan is to take her by force. For this purpose he assembles his male friends, and makes up his mind to carry the lady off forcibly if he cannot obtain her peacefully. Her friends in the meantime know well what to expect, and in their turn assemble to protect her. A fierce fight then ensues, clubs, and even more dangerous weapons being freely used; and in more than one case the intended bride has been killed by one of the losing side. Sometimes, though not very often, a girl is betrothed when she is quite a child. In that case she is as strictly sacred as if she were actually a married woman, and the extreme laxity of morals which has been mentioned cannot be imputed to such betrothed maidens. Should one of them err, she is liable to the same penalties as if she were actually married.

The New Zealanders seldom have more than one wife. Examples are known where a chief has possessed two and even more wives; but, as a general rule, a man has but one wife. Among the Maories the wife has very much more acknowledged influence than is usually the case among uncivilized people, and the wife always expects to be consulted by her husband in every important undertaking. Marriage usually takes place about the age of seventeen or eighteen, sometimes at an earlier age in the case of the woman and a later in the case of the man.

As to the amusements of the New Zealanders, they are tolerably varied, and are far superior to the mere succession of singing and dancing, in which are summed up the amusements of many uncivilized races. Songs and dances form part of the amusements of this people, but only a part, and they are supplemented by many others.

One of the most curious was seen by Mr. Angas in the interior of the country, but never on the coasts. A tall and stout pole, generally the trunk of a pine, is firmly set in the ground on the top of a steep bank, and from the upper part of the pole are suspended a number of ropes made of phormium fibre. The game consists in seizing one of the ropes, running down the bank, and swinging as far as possible into the air. Sometimes they even run round and round the pole as if they were exercising on the giant stride; but as they have not learned to make a revolving top to the pole or swivels for the ropes, they cannot keep up this amusement for any long time.

They have a game which is very similar to our draughts, and is played on a checkered board with pebbles or similar objects as men. Indeed, the game bears so close a resemblance to draughts, that it may probably be a mere variation of that game, which some New Zealander has learned from an European, and imported into his country.

There is also a game which much resembles the almost universal “morro,” and which consists in opening and closing the hand and bending the elbow, performing both actions very sharply, and accompanying them with a sort of doggrel recitation, which has to be said in one breath.

The children have many games which are very similar to those in use among ourselves. They spin tops, for example, and fly kites, the latter toy being cleverly made of the flat leaves of a kind of sedge. It is triangular in form, and the cord is made of the universal flax fibre. Kite-flying is always accompanied by a song; and when the kites are seen flying near a village, they are a sign that the village is at peace, and may be approached with safety.

Perhaps the chief amusement of the children is the game called Maui, which is in fact a sort of “cat’s-cradle.” The Maori children, however, are wonderful proficients at the game, and would look with contempt on the few and simple forms which English children produce. Instead of limiting themselves to the “cradle,” the “pound of candles,” the “net,” and the “purse,” the New Zealander produces figures of houses, canoes, men and women, and various other patterns. They say that this game was left to them as an inheritance by Maui, the Adam of New Zealand, and it appears to be intimately connected with their early traditions.

The elder children amuse themselves with spear-throwing, making their mimic weapons of fern-stems bound at the end. These they throw with great dexterity, and emulate each other in aiming at a small target.

(1.) PARÁTENE MAIOHA IN HIS STATE WAR CLOAK.
(See page 812.)

(2.) THE CHIEF’S DAUGHTER.
(See page 821.)

(3.) HONGI-HONGI, CHIEF OF WAIPA.
(See page 850.)

Swimming is one of the favorite amusements of the New Zealanders, who can swim almost as soon as they can walk, and never have an idea that the water is an unfriendly element. Both sexes swim alike well, and in the same manner, i. e. after the fashion which we call “swimming like a dog,” paddling the water with each arm alternately. Being constantly in the water, they can keep up the exertion for a long time, and in their bathing parties sport about as if they were amphibious beings. They dive as well as they swim, and the women spend much of their time in diving for crayfish.

In those parts of the country where hot springs are found the natives are fond of bathing in the heated water. Mr. Angas makes the following observations on this custom:—“Upon the beach of the lake, near Te Rapa, there is a charming natural hot bath, in which the natives, especially the young folks, luxuriate daily. Sunset is the favorite time for bathing, and I have frequently seen of an evening at least twenty persons squatting together in the water, with only their heads above the surface.

“Boiling springs burst out of the ground, close to a large circular basin in the volcanic rock, which, by the assistance of a little art, had been rendered a capacious bath. The boiling stream is conducted into this reservoir gradually, and the temperature of the water is kept up or decreased by stopping out the boiling stream with stones, through which it trickles slowly, whilst the main body runs steaming into the lake.

“The medicinal properties of these hot mineral springs preserve the natives in a healthy state, and render their skins beautifully smooth and clear. Indeed, some of the finest people in the island are to be observed about Taupo, and the beauty and symmetry of the limbs of many of the youth would render them admirable studies for the sculptor.”

Perhaps the oddest amusement with which the New Zealanders have ever recreated themselves is one that only occurred some sixty years ago, and is not likely to be reproduced. About that date Captain King took away two New Zealanders to Norfolk Island for the purpose of teaching the settlers the art of flax-dressing. When he came back to restore them to their homes, he planted a quantity of maize, which was then new in the country, and presented the natives with three pigs. Most of them had never seen any animal larger than a cat, and the others, who had a vague recollection of seeing horses on board Captain Cook’s vessel, naturally mistook them for those animals. Thinking them to be horses, they treated them as horses, and speedily rode two of them to death. The third did not come to a better end, for it strayed into a burial-ground, and was killed by the indignant natives.

Nowadays the Maories understand pigs far too well to ride them. Pigs have become quite an institution in New Zealand. Every village is plentifully populated with pigs, and, as may be seen in the illustration of a village which will be given on a future page, one of the commonest objects is a sow with a litter of pigs.

Little pigs may be seen tottering about the houses, and the natives, especially the women, pet pigs exactly as European women pet dogs and cats. They carry them in their arms, fondle and pet them; and nothing is more common than to see a young girl unfold her mantle and discover a pig nestling under its folds. Such a girl, for example, as the one who is represented in the illustration No. 2, on the preceding page, would be very likely indeed to have a pig in her arms under the shelter of her mantle.

The figure in question is the portrait of the daughter of a chief. Her name is Tienga, and she is the daughter of a very powerful and celebrated chief. Her costume is, like her character, an odd mixture of civilization and nature. Her mantle is the native flax mat, under which she may probably wear a muslin, or even silken, garment, articles of dress of which the young lady in question was, when her portrait was taken, exceedingly proud. On her head she wears a common straw hat, purchased from the trader at some five hundred per cent. or so above its value, and round it she has twisted a bunch of a species of clematis, which grows with great luxuriance in the forests.

It is a curious study to note the different characteristics of the human mind. An Oriental would turn with unspeakable disgust from the very touch of a pig, and is scarcely less fastidious concerning the dog. Yet the inhabitants of that wonderful group of islands which stretches from Asia to America have a wonderful affinity for both these animals, and especially for pigs, displaying, as we shall find on a future page, their affection in a manner that seems to our minds extremely ludicrous.

Pigs are now fast becoming acclimatized to the country, just like the mustang horses of America. When a tribe has suffered extinction, as too often happens in the sanguinary and ferocious wars in which the people engage, the pigs escape as well as they can; and those that evade the enemy have to shift for themselves, and soon resume all the habits of the wild swine from which they were originally descended. Those which now inhabit the country are easily to be distinguished from their immediate ancestors, having short heads and legs and round compact bodies.

The native name for the pig is “poaka,” a word which some have thought to be derived from the English word “pork.” Dr. Dieffenbach, however, differs from this theory, and thinks that the native word, although of European origin, is derived from a source common both to England and New Zealand. He thinks that the New Zealanders had some knowledge of the pig previous to its introduction by England, and that they derived their knowledge from Spanish voyagers. He is strengthened in this opinion by the fact that the name for dog, “perro,” is likewise Spanish.

Pigs and dogs are not the only pets, the natives being in the habit of catching the kaka parrot, which has already been mentioned, and keeping it tame about their houses. They make a very effective and picturesque perch for the bird, covering it with a sloping roof as a protection against the sun, and securing it to the perch by a string round its leg. Mr. Angas mentions that he has brought these birds to England, but that the climate did not agree with them, and they all died.

Many of the New Zealanders, especially the women, are dexterous ball-players, throwing four balls in various ways so as always to keep them in the air. Some few of them are so skilful that they surpass our best jugglers, playing with five balls at a time, and throwing them over the head, round the neck, and in various other ingenious modes of increasing the difficulty of the performance.

Most of their sports are accompanied with songs, which, indeed, seem to be suited to all phases of a New Zealander’s life. In paddling canoes, for example, the best songster takes his stand in the head of a vessel and begins a song, the chorus of which is taken up by the crew, who paddle in exact time to the melody.

Respecting the general character of these songs Dieffenbach writes as follows: “Some songs are lyric, and are sung to a low, plaintive, uniform, but not at all disagreeable tune.... E’ Waiata is a song of a joyful nature; E’ Haka one accompanied by gestures of mimicry; E’ Karakia is a prayer or an incantation used on certain occasions. In saying this prayer there is generally no modulation of the voice, but syllables are lengthened and shortened, and it produces the same effect as reading the Talmud in synagogues. Most of these songs live in the memory of all, but with numerous variations. Certain Karakia, or invocations, however, are less generally known, and a stranger obtains them with difficulty, as they are only handed down among the tohunga, or priests, from father to son.

“To adapt words to a certain tune, and thus to commemorate a passing event, is common in New Zealand, and has been the beginning of all national poetry. Many of these children of the moment have a long existence, and are transmitted through several generations; but their allusions become unintelligible, and foreign names, having undergone a thorough change, cannot be recognized.”

All these songs are accompanied by gesticulations more or less violent and in that which is known as E’ Haka the bodily exertion is extreme. The singers sit down in a circle, throw off their upper mats, and sing in concert, accompanying the song with the wildest imaginable gestures, squinting and turning up their eyes so as to show nothing but the whites.

Of musical instruments they have but very vague and faint ideas. Even the drum, which is perhaps the instrument that has the widest range through the world, is unknown to the native New Zealander. Drums resound in all the islands of the Pacific, but the New Zealander never indulges himself in a drumming. The sole really musical instrument which he possesses is a sort of fife made out of human bone. Generally, the flute is formed from the thigh-bone of a slain enemy; and when this is the case, the Maori warrior prizes the instrument inordinately, and carries it suspended to the tiki which he wears slung on his breast.

There are certainly two noise-producing instruments, which have no right to be honored with the title of musical instruments. These are the war bell and the war trumpet.

The former is called the war bell in default of a better word. It consists of a block of hard wood about six feet long and two thick, with a deep groove in the centre. This “bell” is suspended horizontally by cords, and struck by a man who squats on a scaffold under it. With a stick made of heavy wood he delivers slow and regular strokes in the groove, the effect being to produce a most melancholy sound, dully booming in the stillness of the night. The war bell is never sounded by day, the object being to tell the people inside the pah, or village, that the sentinel is awake, and to tell any approaching enemy that it would be useless for him to attempt an attack by surprise. Its native name is Pahu.

The war trumpet is called Putara-putara. It is a most unwieldly instrument, at least seven feet in length. It is hollowed out of a suitably-shaped piece of hard wood, and an expanding mouth is given to it by means of several pieces of wood lashed together with flaxen fibre, and fitted to each other like the staves of a cask. Toward the mouth-piece it is covered with the grotesque carvings of which the New Zealanders are so fond. It is only used on occasions of alarm, when it is laid over the fence of the pah, and sounded by a strong-lunged native. The note which the trumpet produces is a loud roaring sound, which, as the natives aver, can be heard, on a calm night, the distance of several miles. In fact, the sound appears to be very much the same as that which is produced by the celebrated Blowing Stone of Wiltshire.

In some places a smaller trumpet is used in time of war. The body of this trumpet is always made of a large shell, generally that of a triton, and the mode of blowing it differs according to the locality. The simplest kind of shell-trumpet is that which is in use throughout the whole of the Pacific Islands. It is made by taking a large empty shell, and boring a round hole on one side near the point. The shell is blown like a flute, being placed horizontally to the lips, and the air directed across the aperture. In fact, it exactly resembles in principle the horn and ivory trumpets of Africa, which are shown on a preceding page.

There is, however, in the British Museum a much more elaborate form of trumpet, which is blown with a mouth-piece. In this case the point of the shell has been removed and a wooden mouth-piece substituted for it, so that it is blown at the end, like trumpets in our own country.

The dances of the New Zealander are almost entirely connected with war and will therefore be mentioned when we come to treat of that subject.

The mode of salutation at parting and meeting is very curious, and to an European sufficiently ludicrous. When two persons meet who have not seen each other for some time, it is considered a necessary point of etiquette to go through the ceremony called tangi. The “g,” by the way, is pronounced hard, as in the word “begin.” They envelope themselves in their mats, covering even their faces, except one eye, squat on the ground opposite each other, and begin to weep copiously. They seem to have tears at command, and they never fail to go through the whole of the ceremony as often as etiquette demands it. Having finished their cry, they approach each other, press their noses together for some time, uttering the while, a series of short grunts! Etiquette is now satisfied and both parties become very cheerful and lively, chatting and laughing as if there had never been such a thing as a tear in existence.

Mr. Angas tells a ludicrous story of a tangi which he once witnessed. A woman was paddling a very small canoe, and fell in with the exploring party, who were in two large canoes. Seeing some friends on board of the large canoes, she ran her little vessel between them, and began a vigorous tangi.

Time being pressing, she could not stop to wrap herself up in the orthodox style, but burst into a flood of tears in the most approved fashion, and paddled and howled with equal vigor. Still crying, she put on board a basket of potatoes as a present, and received in return a fig of tobacco. The tangi being by this time complete, the old woman burst into a loud laugh, had a lively talk with her friends, turned her little canoe round, and paddled briskly out of sight.

In one instance this force of habit was rather ludicrously exemplified. The writer shall tell his own story.

“At Hopeton we met with a sister of Karake, or Clark, the chief of Waikato Heads, whose portrait I had painted when at Auckland. This portrait I showed to the old woman, who had not seen her brother for some time, when, to my surprise and amusement, she at once commenced a most affectionate tangi before the sketch; waving her hands in the usual manner, and uttering successively low whining sounds expressive of her joy.

“After she had, as I imagined, satisfied herself with seeing the representation of her brother, I was about to replace the sketch in my portfolio, when she begged of Forsaith that she might be permitted to tangi over it in good earnest, saying, ‘It was her brother—her brother; and she must TANGI till the tears come.’ And sure enough, presently the tears did come, and the old woman wept and moaned, and waved her hands before the picture, with as much apparent feeling as if her brother himself had thus suddenly appeared to her. I could not prevail upon the old creature to desist, and was at length compelled to leave the portrait in Forsaith’s care, whilst I was employed in sketching elsewhere. In future I shall be more cautious how I show my sketches to the old women, finding that they are liable to produce such melancholy results.”

Mr. A. Christie, to whom I am indebted for much information about the country, told me an anecdote of a tangi performed in England by a party of Maories who had visited this country. They were about to bid farewell to one of their friends, and visited his house for that purpose, desiring to be allowed to perform the tangi.

Knowing their customs, their host took them into an empty room, previously cautioning his family not to be surprised at the ceremony. The whole party then sat down on the floor, and raised a most dismal howl, wailing, waving their hands, shedding floods of tears, and, in fact, enjoying themselves in their own queer way. The tangi being over, they all became lively and chatty, and finally took leave after the undemonstrative English fashion.

To a stranger the performance of the tangi is very amusing for the first few times of witnessing it; but he soon becomes tired of it, and at last looks upon it as an unmitigated nuisance, wasting time, and subjecting him to a series of doleful howls from which he has no mode of escape. Mr. Angas describes a tangi to which he was subjected.

“At sunset we reached a small fortified port, on the summit of a hill overlooking the lake. There were but few natives residing in it, to whom the sight of a pakeha (white man) was indeed astonishing; and, after the salutation of welcome, they commenced a tangi at my guides and myself.

“The man who introduced us uttered a faint sound in his throat, like that of a person crying at a distance, and continued to look mournfully on the ground. The welcome of the men was voluble and loud: they howled dismally, and their tears fell fast for some time.

“Another female soon arrived, who, squatting on the ground, commenced a tangi with her friends, so loud and doleful—now muttering and anon howling like a hyena—that it made me feel quite dismal. There she sat, yelling horribly, to my great annoyance, but Maori etiquette compelled me to look grave and not to disturb her. There seemed to be no end to this woman’s wailings of welcome. The night was cold, and she still continued to sit by the fire prolonging her lugubrious and discordant strains. Sometimes she would pitch a higher key, going upward with a scream, shaking her voice, and muttering between every howl; then it would be a squall with variations, like ‘housetop cats on moonlight nights.’

“Then blowing her nose with her fingers, she made some remarks to the woman next her, and recommenced howling in the most systematic way. Once again she became furious; then, during an interval, she spoke about the pakeha, joined in a hearty laugh with all the rest, and at last, after one long continued howl, all was silent, to my great relief.”

The manner in which the natives can produce such torrents of tears is really marvellous; and they exhibit such apparent agony of grief, acting the part to such perfection, that for some time a stranger can hardly believe that the profusely weeping natives are simply acting a conventional part.

In the illustration No. 2, on the 809th page, is shown the sort of scene which takes place at a pah when some of the inhabitants return after a long absence—a scene which would be very pathetic did it not trench upon the ludicrous.

When a party of strangers arrive at a pah, the preliminary part of the tangi, i. e. the sitting down and weeping, is omitted, another ceremony being substituted for it. The visitors are introduced into the interior of the pah, where a large space has been kept clear. The principal chief of the village then advances, clad as if for war, i. e. wearing nothing but his moko and plenty of scarlet paint, and bearing a spear in his hand. He brandishes and aims the spear as if he meant to pierce the chief of the opposite party, and then throws it toward, but not at, the stranger. The visitors then squat silently on the ground, according to Maori etiquette, and presently each stranger is faced by one of the receiving tribe, who goes through the ceremony of ongi, or pressing noses, which is the last part of the tangi. This lasts for some time, and, when it is completed, the provisions are brought out and a great feasting ensues.

As to the general character of the natives, it presents a curious mixture of wildness and ferocity, affection and fickleness, benevolence and vengefulness, hospitality and covetousness. The leading characteristic of the Maori mind is self-esteem, which sometimes takes the form of a lofty and even chivalrous pride, and at other times degenerates into childish vanity. It is this feeling which leads a New Zealander to kill himself rather than live to suffer disgrace, and which causes him to behave with the politeness for which the well-bred New Zealander is so conspicuous. Degenerating into vanity, it is easily wounded; and hence the accidentally hurt feelings of a Maori, added to the vengefulness which forms so large a portion of his nature, have occasioned long and desolating wars, in which whole tribes have been extinguished.

The temper of the Maories is, as is often the case with uncultivated natures, quick, tetchy, and, though pleasing enough as a general rule, is apt to change suddenly without the least provocation; a lively, agreeable person becoming suddenly dull, sullen, and ill-tempered. This fickleness of demeanor is very troublesome to Europeans, and, indeed, is sometimes assumed by the natives, for the purpose of seeing how much their white companion will endure. When they find that he meets them with firmness, they lay aside their unpleasant manner, and become quite gay and sociable.

Often, however, an European hurts their feelings quite unintentionally, through sheer ignorance of the minute code of etiquette which they observe. If, for example two Europeans meet and wish to discuss a subject, they stand still and have their talk, or perhaps they walk backward and forward. Two New Zealanders, on the contrary, would always sit down, as it is thought a mark of inattention to stand while addressed by another. Again, when a New Zealander enters a house, he makes his salutation and then squats down in silence for some time, the omission of this ceremony being looked upon as great a mark of ill-breeding as to go into a drawing-room with the hat on is considered among ourselves.

One curious trait of the Maori character is the inability to keep a secret. This curious disposition sometimes subjects the natives to very unpleasant consequences. Those, for example, who have adopted the laws of the white man, have discovered that there are many delinquencies which can be done with impunity, provided that they are committed in secret. But according to Dieffenbach, “with the art of keeping a secret the New Zealander is little acquainted. Although he possesses in many other respects great self-control, the secret must come out, even if his death should be the immediate consequence.”

They have a strong and tenacious memory, easily acquiring knowledge, and retaining it with wonderful accuracy. The strength of their memory is well exemplified by the native converts to Christianity, who will repeat long passages of the Bible and many hymns with absolute exactness.

One of the most remarkable examples of this characteristic is afforded by an old chief named Horomana Marahau, who is popularly known as Blind Solomon. He has led a most exciting and varied life, hawing been engaged in war ever since he was a boy, and once actually taken prisoner by the ferocious chief E’ Hongi, or Shongi, as he is generally called. He has captured many a pah, and assisted in eating many a slain enemy, and had he not escaped when he himself was made prisoner, he would have shared the same fate.

His last exploit was an attack on Poverty Bay where he and his followers took the pah, and killed and afterward ate six hundred of the enemy. Shortly after this feat he became blind, at Otawaho, where he first met with the missionary. In process of time he became a convert, and afterward labored as a teacher, displaying the same earnest energy which distinguished his military career, and, though an old man, undertaking long and toilsome journeys for the purpose of instructing his fellow-countrymen. Mr. Angas once heard him deliver a funeral oration over the body of a child, which he describes as one of the finest and most impassioned bursts of eloquence he ever heard.

Horomana was peculiarly suited for the office of instructor in consequence of his exceptionally retentive memory. He knows the whole of the Church Service by heart, together with many hymns and long passages of the Bible, and when he was examined in the Catechism, it was found that he knew every word correctly. This strength of memory, by the way, useful as it is when rightly employed, is sometimes abused by becoming an instrument of revenge, a Maori never forgetting an insult, whether real or imaginary, nor the face of the person by whom he was insulted.

The curiosity of the people is insatiable, and they always want to hear all about everything they see. This spirit of curiosity has naturally led them to take the greatest interest in the various arts and sciences possessed by the white man, and in order to gratify it they will often hire themselves as sailors in European ships. Accustomed to the water all their lives, and being admirable canoe men, they make excellent sailors, and soon learn to manage boats after the European fashion, which differs essentially from their own. Some of them penetrate into the higher mysteries of navigation, and in 1813 a New Zealander was captain of a whaler.

They take quite as much interest in the familiar objects of their own country as in those which are brought to them by foreigners. They have names for all their animal, vegetable, and even mineral productions, pointing out and remarking upon any peculiarities which may be found in them.

CHAPTER LXXXII. NEW ZEALAND— Continued . FOOD AND COOKERY.

HOSPITALITY OF THE NEW ZEALANDERS — EFFECTS OF CIVILIZATION — THE CHURLISH HOSTS AND THEIR REWARD — A NEW ZEALAND FEAST — THE WALL OF PROVISIONS — FOOD-BASKETS — THE KUMARA OR SWEET POTATO — WASHING AND COOKING VEGETABLES — THE CABBAGE PALM AND FERN ROOT — A NATIVE LEGEND — THE PAWA SHELL — THE MUSSEL AND OYSTER — FISHING — THE NET, THE TRAP, THE HOOK, AND THE SPEAR — BIRD-CATCHING — CAPTURING THE KIWI-KIWI AND PARROT — PIG-CATCHING AND COOKING — CANNIBALISM, ITS SIGNIFICATION AND EXTENT — EATING HUMAN FLESH A SUPERSTITIOUS CUSTOM — ANECDOTES OF CANNIBALISM.

The New Zealanders are the most hospitable and generous of people; a stranger, whether native or European, is welcomed into the villages, is furnished with shelter, and provided at once with food. Should the visitor be a relative, or even an intimate friend, they hold all their property in common, and will divide with him everything that they possess. Even if a Maori has earned by long labor some article of property which he was very anxious to possess, he will give it to a relation or friend who meets him after a long separation.

This generosity of disposition has unfortunately been much checked by contact with the white man, and those natives who have much to do with the white settlers have lost much of their politeness as well as their hospitality. Instead of welcoming the traveller, housing him in their best hut, providing him with their choicest food, and tending him as if he were a near relation, they have become covetous and suspicious, and instead of offering aid gratuitously will sometimes refuse it altogether, and at the best demand a high rate of payment for their assistance.

The native converts to Christianity have deteriorated greatly in this respect through the misjudged zeal of the missionaries, who have taught their pupils to refuse food and shelter to, or to perform any kind of work for, a traveller who happens to arrive at their houses on a Sunday—a circumstance which must continually occur in a country where the travellers are entirely dependent on the natives. Dr. Dieffenbach, who always speaks in the highest terms of the zeal and self-denial of the missionaries, writes as follows on this subject: “Highly as I appreciate the merits of the missionaries, I must say that they have omitted to teach their converts some most important social, and therefore moral, duties, which they will only acquire by a more intimate intercourse with civilized Europeans.

“In their native state they are as laborious as their wants require; but, easily satisfying those, and incapable even by their utmost exertions to compete with the lowest of Europeans, they get lazy and indolent, prefer begging to working, and pass a great part of their time in showing their acquired fineries and in contemplating the restless doings of the colonist. As servants they are very independent, and Europeans will do well, if they want any native helpers, to treat them with attention, and rather as belonging to the family than as servants. They have this feeling of independence very strongly, and it is very creditable to them.

“There is every reason to believe that in a short time the character of the New Zealanders will be entirely changed, and any one who wishes to see what they were formerly must study them in the interior, where they are still little influenced by intercourse with us, which I must repeat, has been little advantageous to them.”

The same writer relates an amusing anecdote respecting the ancient custom of hospitality. He had been travelling for some distance with scarcely any provisions, and came upon a tribe which churlishly refused hospitality to the party, and would not even furnish a guide to show them their way. One of them condescended to sell a small basket of potatoes in exchange for some needles, but nothing more could be obtained, and, after spending a day in vain, the party had to pack up and resume their march.

After they had left the pah, they came suddenly across a family of pigs. One of the native attendants immediately killed a large sow, and in a few minutes the animal was cut up and the pieces distributed. Not liking to take food without paying for it, Dr. Dieffenbach hung the offal of the pig on a bush, together with an old pair of trousers and an iron kettle. His attendants, however, went back and took them away, saying that it was the custom of the country that a stranger should be supplied with food, and that, if it were not given to him, he had a right to take it when, where, and how he could. They were very much amused at the whole proceeding, and made many jokes on the disappointment of the churlish people who refused to sell a pig at a good price, and then found that it had been taken for nothing.

Hospitality being such a universal and imperative characteristic of the aboriginal Maori, it may be imagined that when a chief gives a feast he does so with a liberal hand. Indeed, some of these banquets are on so enormous a scale, that a whole district is ransacked to furnish sufficient provisions, and the inhabitants have in consequence to live in a state of semi-starvation for many months. Mr. Angas mentions that, when he visited the celebrated chief Te Whero-Whero, he saw more than a thousand men planting sweet potatoes in order to furnish provisions for a feast that the chief intended to give to all the Waikato tribes in the following spring.

These feasts are continued as long as any food is left, and a very liberal chief will sometimes get together so enormous a supply of provisions that the banquet lasts for several weeks. Songs and dances, especially the war dance, are performed at intervals throughout the time of feasting.

The first illustration on the 831st page gives a good idea of the preliminaries which are observed before the celebration of an ordinary feast, such as would be given by a well-to-do Rangatira. A sort of scaffold is erected, on the bars of which are hung large supplies of fish, mostly dried shark, together with pieces of pork, and similar luxuries. The upper part of the scaffold is formed into a flat stage, on which are placed large baskets full of sweet potatoes and common potatoes. The guests range themselves in a circle round the scaffold, and the chief who gives the feast makes a speech to them, brandishing his staff of office, running up and down the open space, leaping in the air, and working himself up by gestures to an extraordinary pitch of excitement.

One of my friends was distinguished by having a feast given in his honor, and described the ceremony in a very amusing manner. The generous founder of the feast had built a sort of wall, the contents of which were potatoes, sweet potatoes, pigs, and fish. By way of ornament, he had fixed a number of sticks into the wall, like so many flagstaffs, and to the top of each he had fastened a living eel by way of a flag or streamer, its contortions giving, according to his ideas, a spirit to the whole proceedings.

He then marched quickly backward and forward between the wall of provisions and his guests, who were all seated on the ground, and as he marched uttered a few broken sentences. By degrees his walk became quicker and quicker, and changed into a run, diversified with much leaping into the air, brandishing of imaginary weapons, and utterance of loud yells. At last he worked himself up into a pitch of almost savage fury, and then suddenly squatted down silently, and made way for another orator.

The waste which takes place at such a feast, which is called in the native language hui, is necessarily very great. In one such party mentioned by Mr. Angas, the donor arranged the provisions and presents for his guests in the form of a wall, which was five feet high, as many wide, more than a mile in length, and supplied for many days thousands of natives who came to the feast from very great distances. The great chiefs take great pleasure in rivalling each other in their expenditure, and it was for the purpose of building a still larger food wall that Te Whero-Whero was so busily setting his men to work in planting the kumeras, or sweet potatoes.

Considerable variety is shown in the manner of presenting the food to the guests. Generally it is intended to be eaten on the spot, but sometimes it is meant to be given away to the people, to be consumed when and where they like. In such a case either the scaffold or the wall is used. The scaffold is sometimes fifty or sixty feet high, and divided into a number of stories, each of which is loaded with food. If the wall be employed, it is separated into a number of divisions. In either case, when the guests are seated, a chief who acts as the master of the ceremonies marches about and makes a speech, after the fashion of his country; and, after having delivered his oration, he points out to each tribe the portion which is intended for it. The chief man of each tribe takes possession of the gift, and afterward subdivides it among his followers.

It is rather remarkable that the baskets in which the provisions are served are made for the express purpose, and, having fulfilled their office, are thrown aside and never used again. Should a chief take one of these baskets and begin to eat from it, not only the basket but any food which he may leave in it is thrown away, no chief ever eating after any one, or allowing any one to eat after him.

So when a chief takes his basket of food, he withdraws himself from the rest of the company and consumes his food, so that no one shall be incommoded by his rank. Ordinary people, even the Rangatiras, are not nearly so fastidious, one basket of food sufficing several of them, three or four being the usual number for a basket. Each of these baskets contains a complete meal, and is usually supplied with plenty of potatoes and kumeras, some fish, and a piece of pork. The meat is passed from one to another, each taking a bite, or tearing off a portion; and when they have finished, they wipe their hands on the backs of the dogs which are sure to thrust themselves among the revellers.

These feasts naturally lead us to the various kinds of food used by the New Zealanders, and their modes of procuring and preparing them.

We will begin with the plant which is the very staff of life to the New Zealander, namely, the kumera, or sweet potato, as it is popularly though erroneously called. This plant is largely cultivated by the Maories, who are very careful in selecting a proper soil for it. The best ground for the kumera is that which has been thickly wooded, and is cleared for the purpose. The natives take but little trouble about preparing the land, merely cutting down the trees and burning the brushwood, but never attempting to root up the stumps.

The ground is torn up rather than dug by a simple instrument, which is nothing more than a sharpened pole with a cross-piece fastened to it, on which the foot can rest. As the New Zealanders do not wear shoes, they cannot use an iron spade as we do; and it may easily be imagined that the unprotected foot of the Maori would suffer terribly in performing a task which, even among our stoutly-shod laborers, forces them to wear a plate of iron on the sole of the boot.

The kaheru, as this tool is called, is more effective than an iron spade could be, in consequence of the peculiar character of the soil, which is thickly interlaced with the roots of ferns, brushwood, and shrubs. A few of these curious spades are tipped with a piece of green jade, and are then highly valued by the natives. Such a tool is called E Toki. The Maories have also a kind of hoe which is very useful in some soils.

The kumeras are planted in regular rows, and the greatest care is taken to keep the field clear of weeds. The dark agriculturists even remove every caterpillar that is seen upon the plants; and altogether such elaborate care is taken that the best managed field in Europe cannot surpass, and very few even equal, a piece of land cultivated by the New Zealander.

Each family has its own peculiar field, the produce of which is presumed to belong to the family. But a great portion of the labor performed in it may be done by poor men who have no land of their own. In such a case, they acquire, in virtue of their labor, a legal right over the fruits of the land which they have helped to till. Sometimes the head or chief of a tribe, considering himself as the father of the family, institutes a general sale, and distributes the proceeds according to the amount of material or labor which each has contributed.

Before the potatoes are cooked, they are carefully washed in a simple and very effective manner. A woman puts them into a basket with two handles, popularly called a “kit,” wades into a running stream, puts one foot into the basket, takes hold of the handles, and rocks the basket violently backward and forward, while with her foot she continually stirs up and rubs the potatoes. In this manner the earth is washed away from the vegetables, and is carried off by the stream through the interstices of the basket.

At the present day, the kumera, although very highly valued, and used at every important feast, has been rivalled, if not superseded, by the common potato which can be raised with less trouble and cooked more easily. Both the kumera and potato are cooked in a sort of oven, made by heating stones, and much resembling the cooking-place of the Australians. No cooking is allowed to take place in the house, the act of preparing food being looked upon as a desecration of any building. Through ignorance of this curious superstition, Europeans have frequently brought upon themselves the anger of the natives by eating, and even cooking, food within a house which is looked upon as sacred.

In consequence of this notion, the oven is either constructed in the open air, or at best in a special house called Te-kauta, which is made of logs piled loosely upon each other, so as to permit the smoke to escape.

The bud, or “cabbage,” of the nikau-palm, a species of Areca, is highly prized by the Maories, who fell every tree which they think likely to produce a young and tender bud. This vegetable is sometimes eaten raw, and sometimes cooked in the same mode as the potato. Fortunately, the tree is not wasted by being cut down, as its leaves are used for many purposes, such as making temporary sheds when travellers are benighted in the forest, thatching houses, and similar uses. Still, the destruction of this useful and graceful palm is very great, and there is reason to fear that the improvident natives will wholly extirpate it, unless means be taken to preserve it by force of law.

The Maories have one curious plan of preparing food, which seems to have been invented for the purpose of making it as disgusting as possible. They take the kumera, the potato, or the maize, and steep it in fresh water for several weeks, until it is quite putrid. It is then made into cakes, and eaten with the greatest zest. To an European nothing can be more offensive, and the very smell of it, not to mention the flavor, is so utterly disgusting that even a starving man can hardly manage to eat it. The odor is so powerful, so rancid, and so penetrating, that when Europeans have been sitting inside a house and a man has been sitting in the open air eating this putrid bread, they have been forced to send him away from the vicinity of the door. By degrees travellers become more accustomed to it, but at first the effect is inexpressibly disgusting; and when it is cooked, the odor is enough to drive every European out of the village.

In former days the fern-root (Pteris esculenta) was largely eaten by the natives, but the potatoes and maize have so completely superseded it that fern root is very seldom eaten, except on occasions when nothing else can be obtained. When the fern root is cooked, it is cut into pieces about a foot long, and then roasted. After it is sufficiently cooked, it is scraped clean with a shell. The flavor of this root is not prepossessing, having an unpleasant mixture of the earthy and the medicinal about it.

About December another kind of food comes into season. This is the pulpous stem of one of the tree-ferns which are so plentiful in New Zealand (Cyathea medullaris). It requires long cooking, and is generally placed in the oven in the evening, and eaten in the morning.

With regard to the vegetables used in New Zealand, Dr. Dieffenbach has the following remarks. After mentioning the native idea that they were conquerors of New Zealand, and brought with them the dog and the taro plant (Arum esculentum), he proceeds as follows:—“A change took place in their food by the introduction of the sweet potato or kumera (Convolvulus batata)—an introduction which is gratefully remembered and recorded in many of their songs, and has given rise to certain religious observances.

“It may be asked, What was the period when the poor natives received the gift of this wholesome food, and who was their benefactor? On the first point they know nothing; their recollection attaches itself to events, but not to time. The name, however, of the donor lives in their memory. It is E’ Paui, or Ko Paui, the wife of E’ Tiki, who brought the first seeds from the island of Tawai. E’ Tiki was a native of the island of Tawai, which is not that whence, according to tradition, the ancestors of the New Zealanders had come. He came to New Zealand with his wife, whether in less frail vessels than they possess at present, and whether purposely or driven there by accident, tradition is silent.

“He was well received, but soon perceived that food was more scanty here than in the happy isle whence he came. He wished to confer a benefit upon his hosts, but knew not how to do it, until his wife, E’ Paui, offered to go back and fetch kumera, that the people who had received them kindly might not suffer want any longer. This she accomplished, and returned in safety to the shores of New Zealand.

“What a tale of heroism may lie hidden under this simple tradition! Is it a tale connected with the Polynesian race itself? or does it not rather refer to the arrival in New Zealand of the early Spanish navigators, who may have brought this valuable product from the island of Tawai, one of the Sandwich Islands, where the plant is still most extensively cultivated? There can be scarcely any doubt but that New Zealand was visited by some people antecedent to Tasman. Kaipuke is the name of a ship in New Zealand—buque is a Spanish word—Kai means to eat, or live. No other Polynesian nation has this word to designate a ship. Pero (dog) and poaca (pig) are also Spanish. Tawai, whence E’ Paui brought the kumera, is situated to the east of New Zealand according to tradition, and the first discoverers in the great ocean, Alvaro Mendana (1595), Quiros (1608), Lemaire, and others, arrived from the eastward, as they did at Tahiti, according to the tradition of the inhabitants. Tasman did not come to New Zealand until 1642.”

However this may be, the fields of kumera are strictly “tapu,” and any theft from them is severely punished. The women who are engaged in their cultivation are also tapu. They must pray together with the priests for the increase of the harvest. These women are never allowed to join in the cannibal feasts, and it is only after the kumera is dug up that they are released from the strict observance of the tapu. They believe that kumera is the food consumed in the “reinga,” the dwelling-place of the departed spirits; and it is certainly the food most esteemed among the living.

They have several ways of preparing the sweet potato. It is either simply boiled, or dried slowly in a “hangi,” when it has the taste of dates, or ground into powder and baked into cakes. The kumera, like most importations, is rather a delicate vegetable, and while it is young it is sheltered by fences made of brushwood, which are set up on the windward side of the plantation when bad weather is apprehended. Great stacks of dried brushwood are seen in all well-managed kumera gardens, ready to be used when wanted. So great is the veneration of the natives for the kumera, that the storehouses wherein it is kept are usually decorated in a superior style to the dwelling of the person who owns them.

In illustration No. 2, on the next page, several of these elaborate storehouses are shown. They are always supported on posts in such a way that the rats cannot get among the contents, and in some instances they are set at the top of poles fifteen or twenty feet high, which are climbed by means of notches in them. These, however, are almost without ornamentation, whereas those which belong specially to the chief are comparatively low, and in some cases every inch of them is covered with graceful or grotesque patterns, in which the human face always predominates.

Some of these curious storehouses are not rectangular, but cylindrical, the cylinder lying horizontally, with the door at the end, and being covered with a pointed roof. Even the very posts on which the storehouses stand are carved into the rude semblance of the human form.

The Maories also say that the calabash, or hue, is of comparatively late introduction, the seeds having been obtained from a calabash which was carried by a whale and thrown on their shores.

A very curious article of vegetable food is the cowdie gum, which issues from a species of pine. This gum exudes in great quantities from the trees, and is found in large masses adhering to the trunk, and also in detached pieces on the ground. It is a clear, yellowish resin; and it is imported into England, where it is converted into varnish. The flavor of the cowdie gum is powerfully aromatic, and the natives of the northern island chew it just as sailors chew tobacco. They think so much of this gum, that when a stranger comes to visit them, the highest compliment that can be paid to him is for the host to take a partially chewed piece of gum from his mouth, and offer it to the visitor.

The New Zealanders eat great quantities of the pawa, a species of Haliotis, from which they procure the pearly shell with which they are so fond of inlaying their carvings, especially the eyes of the human figures. Shells belonging to this group are well known in the Channel Islands under the name of Ormer shells, and the molluscs are favorite articles of diet. Those which are found in New Zealand are very much larger than the species of the Channel Islands, and the inhabitants are tough and, to European taste, very unpalatable. Great quantities are, however, gathered for food. The putrid potato cakes are generally eaten with the pawa; and the two together form a banquet which an Englishman could hardly prevail on himself to taste, even though he were dying of hunger.

Mussels, too, are largely used for food: and the natives have a way of opening and taking out the inmate which I have often practised. If the bases of two mussels be placed together so that the projections interlock, and a sharp twist be given in opposite directions, the weaker of the two gives way, and the shell is opened. Either shell makes an admirable knife, and scrapes the mollusc out of its home even better than a regular oyster-knife.

Oysters, especially the Cockscomb oyster (Ostræa cristata), are very plentiful in many parts of the coast, and afford an unfailing supply of food to the natives. They are mostly gathered by women, who are in some places able to obtain them by waiting until low water, and at other places are forced to dive at all states of the tide.

Fish form a large portion of New Zealand diet; and one of their favorite dishes is shark’s flesh dried and nearly putrescent. In this state it exhales an odor which is only less horrible than that of the putrid cakes. Mr. Angas mentions one instance where he was greatly inconvenienced by the fondness of the natives for these offensive articles of diet. He was travelling through the country with some native guides, and on arriving at a pah had procured for breakfast some remarkably fine kumeras. The natives immediately set to work at cooking the kumeras, among which they introduced a quantity of semi-putrid shark’s flesh. This was not the worst of the business, for they next wove some of the phormium baskets which have already been described, filled them with the newly-cooked provisions, and carried them until the evening repast, giving the traveller the benefit of the horrible odor for the rest of the day.

Fish are either taken with the net, the weir, or the hook. The net presents nothing remarkable, and is used as are nets all over the world, the natives weighting them at the bottom, floating them at the top, shooting them in moderately shallow water, and then beating the water with poles in order to frighten the fish into the meshes.

Traps, called pukoro-tuna, are made of funnel-shaped baskets, just like the eel-traps of our own country; but the most ingenious device is the weir, which is built quite across the river, and supported by poles for many yards along its side. Often, when the net or the weir is used, the fish taken are considered as belonging to the community in general, and are divided equally by the chief.

(1.) PREPARING FOR A FEAST.
(See page 827.)

(2.) CHIEFS’ STOREHOUSES.
(See page 830.)

Sometimes a singularly ingenious net is used, which has neither float nor sinkers. This net is about four feet wide, thirty or forty feet in length, and is tied at each end to a stout stick. Ropes are lashed to the stick, and the net is then taken out to sea in a canoe. When they have arrived at a convenient spot, the natives throw the net over the side of the canoe, holding the ropes at either end of the boat, so that the net forms a large semicircle in the water as the boat drifts along. In fact it is managed much as an English fisherman manages his dredge.

In the middle of the canoe is posted a man, who bears in his hand a very long and light pole, having a tuft of feathers tied to one end of it. With the tufted end he beats and stirs the water, thus driving into the meshes of the net all the small fishes within the curve of the net. Those who hold the ropes can tell by the strain upon the cords whether there are enough fish in the net to make a haul advisable, and when that is the case, the net is brought to the side of the canoe, emptied, and again shot.

Spearing fish is sometimes, but not very largely, employed. The hooks employed by the New Zealanders present a curious mixture of simplicity and ingenuity. It really seems strange that any fish should be stupid enough to take such an object in its mouth. There is, however, one which is a singularly admirable contrivance. The body of the hook is made of wood, curved, and rather hollowed on the inside. The hook itself is bone, and is always made from the bone of a slain enemy, so that it is valued as a trophy, as well as a means of catching fish. This bone is fastened to the rest of the hook by a very ingenious lashing; and, in some instances, even the bone is in two pieces, which are firmly lashed together. In consonance with the warlike character of the natives, who seem to be as ready to offer an insult to other tribes as to take offence themselves, the use of the enemy’s bone is intended as an insult and a defiance to a hostile tribe.

The body of the hook is lined with the pawa shell, and to the bottom of it is attached a tuft of fibres. This hook is remarkable for requiring no bait. It is towed astern of the canoe, and when pulled swiftly through the water it revolves rapidly, the pearly lining flashing in the light like the white belly of fish, and the tuft of fibres representing the tail. Consequently, the predatorial fish take it for the creature which it represents, dash at it as it flashes by them, and are hooked before they discover their mistake. If any of my readers should happen to be anglers, they will see that this hook of the New Zealander is exactly similar in principle with the “spoon-bait” which is so efficacious in practised hands. One of these hooks in my collection is quite a model of form, the curves being peculiarly graceful, and the effect being as artistic as if the maker had been a professor in the school of design. The length of my hook is rather more than four inches: and this is about the average size of these implements. The string by which it is held is fastened to the hook in a very ingenious manner; and indeed it scarcely seems possible that so apparently slight a lashing could hold firmly enough to baffle the struggles of a fish large enough to swallow a hook more than four inches in length, and three-quarters of an inch in width. Some of these hooks are furnished with a feather of the apteryx, which serves the purpose of an artificial fly.

Both salt and fresh water crayfish are taken in large quantities. The latter, which are very large, are almost invariably captured by the women, who have to dive for them, and the former are taken in traps baited with flesh, much like our own lobster-pots. Birds are almost always caught by calling them with the voice, or by using a decoy bird. The apteryx, or kiwi-kiwi, is taken by the first of these methods. It is of nocturnal habits, and is seldom seen, never venturing out of its haunts by day. It is very thinly scattered, living in pairs, and each pair inhabiting a tolerably large district. At night it creeps out of its dark resting-place among the ferns, where it has been sleeping throughout the day, and sets off in search of worms, grubs, and other creatures, which it scratches out of the ground with its powerful feet. During the night it occasionally utters its shrill cry; that of the male being somewhat like the words “hoire, hoire, hoire,” and that of the female like “ho, ho, ho.”

When the natives wish to catch the apteryx, they go to the district where the bird lives, and imitate its cry. As soon as it shows itself, it is seized by a dog which the hunter has with him, and which is trained for the purpose. As the bird is a very strong one, there is generally a fight between itself and the dog, in which the powerful legs and sharp claws of the bird are used with great effect. Sometimes the hunter has ready a torch made of the cowdie resin, and by lighting it as soon as the kiwi-kiwi comes in sight he blinds the bird so effectually by the unwonted light that it is quite bewildered, does not know in what direction to run, and allows itself to be taken alive.

At some seasons of the year the bird is very fat, and its flesh is said to be well flavored. In former days, when it was plentiful, it was much used for food, but at the present time it is too scarce to hold any real place among the food-producing animals of New Zealand, its wingless state rendering it an easy prey to those who know its habits. The skin is very tough, and, when dressed, was used in the manufacture of mantles.

The parrots are caught by means of a decoy bird. The fowler takes with him a parrot which he has taught to call its companions, and conceals himself under a shelter made of branches. From the shelter a long rod reaches to the branches of a neighboring tree, and when the bird calls, its companions are attracted by its cries, fly to the tree, and then walk down the rod in parrot fashion, and are captured by the man in the cover.

Formerly the native dog used to be much eaten; but as the species has almost entirely been transformed by admixture with the various breeds of English dogs, its use, as an article of food, has been abandoned. Pigs are almost the only mammalia that are now eaten; but they are not considered as forming an article of ordinary diet, being reserved for festive occasions. The pork of New Zealand pigs is said to surpass that of their European congeners, and to bear some resemblance to veal. This superiority of flavor is caused by their constantly feeding on the fern roots. In color they are mostly black, and, although tame and quiet enough with their owners, are terribly frightened when they see a white man, erect their bristles and dash off into the bush.

We now come to the question of cannibalism, a custom which seems to have resisted civilization longer in New Zealand than in any other part of the world. In some places cannibalism is an exception; here, as among the Neam-Nam of Africa, it is a rule. An illustration on the next page represents a cannibal cooking-house, that was erected by a celebrated Maori chief, in the Waitahanui Pah. This was once a celebrated fort, and was originally erected in order to defend the inhabitants of Te Rapa from the attacks of the Waikato tribes. Both these and their enemies having, as a rule, embraced Christianity, and laid aside their feuds, the pah has long been deserted, and will probably fall into decay before many years have passed. Mr. Angas’ description of this pah is an exceedingly interesting one.

“Waitahanui Pah stands on a neck of low swampy land jutting into the lake, and a broad, deep river, forming a delta called the Tongariro, and by some the Waikato (as that river runs out again at the other end of Tampo Lake), empties itself near the pah. The long façade of the pah presents an imposing appearance when viewed from the lake; a line of fortifications, composed of upright poles and stakes, extending for at least half a mile in a direction parallel to the water. On the top of many of the posts are carved figures, much larger than life, of men in the act of defiance, and in the most savage posture, having enormous protruding tongues; and, like all the Maori carvings, these images, or waikapokos, are colored with kokowai, or red ochre.

“The entire pah is now in ruins, and has been made tapu by Te Heuheu since its desertion. Here, then, all was forbidden ground; but I eluded the suspicions of our natives, and rambled about all day amongst the decaying memorials of the past, making drawings of the most striking and peculiar objects within the pah. The cook houses, where the father of Te Heuheu had his original establishment, remained in a perfect state; the only entrance to these buildings was a series of circular apertures, in and out of which the slaves engaged in preparing the food were obliged to crawl.

“Near to the cook houses there stood a carved patuka, which was the receptacle of the sacred food of the chief; and nothing could exceed the richness of the elaborate carving that adorned this storehouse. I made a careful drawing of it, as the frail material was falling to decay. Ruined houses—many of them once beautifully ornamented and richly carved—numerous waki-tapu, and other heathen remains with images and carved posts, occur in various portions of this extensive pah; but in other places the hand of Time has so effectually destroyed the buildings as to leave them but an unintelligible mass of ruins. The situation of this pah is admirably adapted for the security of its inmates: it commands the lake on the one side, and the other fronts the extensive marshes of Tukanu, where a strong palisade and a deep moat afford protection against any sudden attack. Water is conveyed into the pah through a sluice or canal for the supply of the besieged in times of war.

“There was an air of solitude and gloomy desolation about the whole pah, that was heightened by the screams of the plover and the tern, as they uttered their mournful cry through the deserted courts. I rambled over the scenes of many savage deeds. Ovens, where human flesh had been cooked in heaps, still remained, with the stones used for heating them lying scattered around, blackened by fire; and here and there a dry skull lay bleaching in the sun and wind, a grim memorial of the past.”

The chief reason for the persistent survival of cannibalism is to be found in the light in which the natives regard the act. As far as can be ascertained, the Maories do not eat their fellow-men simply because they have any especial liking for human flesh, although, as might be expected, there are still to be found some men who have contracted a strong taste for the flesh of man. The real reason for the custom is based on the superstitious notion that any one who eats the flesh of another becomes endowed with all the best qualities of the slain person. For this reason, a chief will often content himself with the left eye of an adversary, that portion of the body being considered as the seat of the soul. A similar idea prevails regarding the blood.

(1.) CANNIBAL COOK HOUSE.
(See page 834.)

(2.) MAORI PAH.
(See page 846.)

When the dead bodies of enemies are brought into the villages, much ceremony attends the cooking and eating of them. They are considered as tapu, or prohibited, until the tohunga, or priest, has done his part. This consists in cutting off part of the flesh, and hanging it up on a tree or a tall stick, as an offering to the deities, accompanying his proceedings with certain mystic prayers and invocations.

Most women are forbidden to eat human flesh, and so are some men and all young children. When the latter reach a certain age, they are permitted to become eaters of human flesh, and are inducted into their new privileges by the singing of chants and songs, the meaning of which none of the initiates understand, and which, it is probable, are equally a mystery to the priest himself who chants them.

The palms of the hands and the breast are supposed to be the best parts; and some of the elder warriors, when they have overcome their reluctance to talk on a subject which they know will shock their interlocutors, speak in quite enthusiastic terms of human flesh as an article of food.

That cannibalism is a custom which depends on warfare is evident from many sources. In war, as we shall presently see, the New Zealander can hardly be recognized as the same being in a state of peace. His whole soul is filled with but one idea—that of vengeance; and it is the spirit of revenge, and not the mere vulgar instinct of gluttony, that induces him to eat the bodies of his fellow-men. A New Zealander would not dream of eating the body of a man who had died a natural death, and nothing could be further from his thoughts than the deliberate and systematic cannibalism which disgraces several of the African tribes.

How completely this spirit of vengeance enters into the very soul of the Maories can be inferred from a short anecdote of a battle. There is a small island in the Bay of Plenty called Tuhua, or Mayor’s Island, the inhabitants of which, about two hundred in number, had erected a strong pah, or fort, in order to defend themselves from the attacks of tribes who lived on the mainland, and wanted to capture this very convenient little island. The fort was built on a very steep part of the island, craggy, precipitous, and chiefly made up of lava.

After making several unsuccessful attacks, the enemy at last made an onslaught in the night, hoping to take the people off their guard. The inmates were, however, awake and prepared for resistance; and as soon as the enemy attacked the pah, the defenders retaliated on them by allowing them to come partly up the hill on which the pah stands, and then rolling great stones upon them. Very many of the assailants were killed, and the rest retreated.

Next morning the successful defenders related this tale to a missionary, and showed the spot where so sanguinary an encounter had taken place. The missionary, finding that all the stones and rocks were perfectly clean, and betrayed no traces of the bloody struggle which had taken place only a few hours previously, asked to be shown the marks of the blood. His guide at once answered that the women had licked it off. It has sometimes been stated that the Maories will kill their slaves in order to furnish a banquet for themselves; but such statements are altogether false.

Cannibalism is at the present day nearly, though not quite, extinct. Chiefly by the efforts of the missionaries, it has been greatly reduced; and even in cases where it does take place the natives are chary of speaking about it. In wars that took place some forty years ago, we learn that several hundred warriors were slain, and their bodies eaten by their victors. In comparatively recent times twenty or thirty bodies have been brought into the pah and eaten, while at the present day many a native has never seen an act of cannibalism. This strange and ghastly custom is, however, so dear to the Maori mind that one of the chief obstacles to the conversion of the natives to Christianity is to be found in the fact that the Christian natives are obliged to abjure the use of human flesh. Still, the national instinct of vengeance is rather repressed than extirpated, and there are many well-known occasions when it has burst through all its bonds, and the savage nature of the Maori has for a time gained ascendency over him.

CHAPTER LXXXIII. NEW ZEALAND— Continued . WAR.

THE MODE OF WARFARE DEPENDENT ON WEAPONS — THE SPEAR, NOW EXTINCT — THE MERAI, AND THE MATERIALS OF WHICH IT IS MADE — THE GREEN JADE MERAI, AND ESTIMATION IN WHICH IT IS HELD BY THE CHIEFS — THE STONE MERAI — THE BONE MERAI, AND ITS VARIED SHAPES — MODE OF USING THE WEAPON — CAPTURE OF SHIPS — AN EXCITING SCENE AND TIMELY RELIEF — THE BATTLE-AXE, OR PATU — ITS FORM, AND MODE OF USING IT — THE CHIEF’S SPEAR, OR HANI — ITS RESEMBLANCE TO THE ANCIENT SCEPTRE — THE TONGUE OF DEFIANCE — THE WAR DANCE — ITS EFFECT ON BOARD SHIP — THE FORT, OR PAH, AND ITS CONSTRUCTION — NATIVE ENGINEERING — THE REPULSE AT THE GATE PAH — CONCEALING AN AMBUSH — FATE OF CAPTIVES — THE CHIEF E’HONGI AND HIS BATTLES — SLAVE-DRIVING WITH A MERAI — ETIQUETTE OF WAR — A TRUCE AND A BARTER — RETALIATION FOR BLOODSHED — CEREMONIES BEFORE AND AFTER A BATTLE.

We now come to the one great object of a Maori’s life, namely, war. Before we treat of actual warfare, it will be necessary to describe the weapons which are used, as much of the character of warfare materially depends on them.

In those parts of the world, for instance, where missiles, such as bows and arrows or spears, are the principal weapons, war becomes a series of skirmishes, each individual trying to conceal himself as much as possible from the enemy, and to deal his own blows without exposing himself to retaliation. But when the weapons are of a nature that necessitates hand-to-hand combat, warfare naturally assumes a different aspect, and, if the forces be at all disciplined, more resembles the regulated war of civilized nations than the independent single combats which represent war in most savage countries.

To this latter category belong the weapons of the New Zealander. In former days the Maori warriors used to employ the spear, but that weapon has long been laid aside. A few specimens are still retained, but they are intended, not to be used against an enemy, but in welcoming a friend, the chief who receives his guests pointing the spear at them, and throwing it toward them, as has already been described. When Mr. Angas visited the islands, he found only a very few of these spears, and they were used entirely for peaceful purposes. They were of the same character as those of the great Polynesian group, i. e. made entirely of wood, long, sharply pointed, and armed with a series of barbs.

One of these spears is shown at figure 1, of “Maori weapons,” on page 841. The reader will understand that only the head of the spear is shown, the entire length of the weapon being about twelve feet. The barbs are seen to be arranged in double order, a number of them pointing backward, and then, after a blank space, several rows pointing forward. The object of this device was ingenious enough. The spear was supposed to be pushed through the body of a man until it was stopped by the second row of barbs. It will be seen that his body would then rest in the blank space, and the barbs on either side of him would prevent it from being drawn out or pushed through, so that a wound from the weapon was necessarily mortal. A spear made on the same principle, and employed by the Bechuanas, is shown on page 281.

The weapons used by the Maories are very few in number, and of the simplest possible construction. It is extraordinary, by the way, what misconceptions exist on this subject. With the generality of persons almost every club, axe, or spear is set down as belonging to New Zealand, especially if it has any carving about it. Even the best public collections are not free from these errors, and in one of the most celebrated collections of arms I discovered within five minutes ten or twelve wrong labels.

There is now before me an illustrated work on savage manners and customs, in which is a group of “New Zealand arms,” containing thirteen objects. Of these only one is a genuine weapon of New Zealand, and two others are doubtful. There are two Fiji clubs (one of them with a hollow tubular handle!), one stone knife of New Caledonia, two clubs of the Tonga Islands, one Maori chief’s staff of office, one New Zealander’s carpenter’s adze, one “poi” mallet and one “gnatoo” mallet from Tonga, and two articles which the draughtsman may have intended for clubs, but which have been transformed by the engraver’s art into bottle-gourds. Besides, there is one nondescript article which may be a drum (and therefore cannot belong to New Zealand), or it may be a pail, or it may be a jar, and another nondescript article.

We need not, however, wonder at these trifling errors when, in the same work, a scene in a North American wigwam is described as a “New Zealand christening,” and the “Interior of a Caffre hut” is fitted with Abyssinian arms and implements: the men are represented as wearing long two-forked beards like those of the Fans, headdresses like those of Tonga, and capes like those of Abyssinia; while a smooth-haired woman, instead of being dressed in Kaffir fashion, is naked with the exception of a white cloth tied round her hips. The hut itself is a singularly ingenious example of perversity on the part of the draughtsman, who has selected precisely those very characteristics which do not belong to the Kaffir hut. In the first place, the hut is three times too large, and the walls are apparently of clay—certainly not of the basket-work employed by Kaffirs in house-building. The floor, which in a Kaffir hut is laid down with clay, as smooth as a table and hard as concrete, is irregular and covered with grass; while, by way of climax, the door is high enough to allow a man to pass without stooping, and is finished with a beautiful arched porch covered with creepers.

With the exception of one man, who may, by some stretch of imagination, be taken for a Hottentot, neither the hut, its furniture, its inhabitants, nor their weapons, bear the slightest similitude to those of any part of Southern Africa. Such being the case with museums and books, we need not be surprised that the popular ideas respecting the weapons and warfare of New Zealand are very indefinite.

Of course, at the present day, the Maories have practically discarded their ancient weapons in favor of the rifle, which they know well how to use, retaining the aboriginal weapons more as marks of rank than for active service. We have, however, nothing to do with these modern innovations, and will restrict ourselves to the weapons that belong to the country.

The first and most important of these is the merai, or short club. This weapon is exactly analogous to the short sword used by the ancient Romans, and in some cases resembles it so closely that if the cross-guard were removed from the sword and the blade rendered convex instead of flat, the shapes of the two weapons would be almost exactly identical.

The material of which these weapons are made is sometimes wood and sometimes stone, but mostly bone, the latter material being furnished by the spermaceti whale. The stone merai is the most valued, on account of the difficulty of finding a suitable piece for the purpose, and of the enormous time which is consumed in cutting it to the desired shape with the very imperfect instrument which the Maori possesses. In fact, a stone merai is lowly and laboriously ground into shape by rubbing it with a piece of stone and a sort of emery powder.

Every merai has a hole drilled through the end of the handle. Through this hole is passed a loop of plaited cord, by means of which the weapon is slung to the wrist, to prevent the wearer from being disarmed in battle. Drilling the hole is a very slow process, and is done by means of a wetted stick dipped in emery powder.

The finest merai of this description that I have seen belongs to H. Christie, Esq., and is remarkable not merely for its size, but for the regularity and beauty of its curves. The material is the dark, dull green volcanic stone of which the New Zealanders make so many of their implements. It is nearly eighteen inches in length, and rather more than four inches wide at the broadest part. There is a similar weapon, nearly as large, in the collection of the United Service Institution; but the curves are not so regular, nor is the article so handsome.

One of these weapons is in my collection. It is of equal beauty in shape with that which has been described, but is not so long. It is rather more than fourteen inches in length, and not quite four inches wide. It weighs two pounds six ounces, and is a most formidable weapon, a blow from its sharp edge being sufficient to crash through the skull of an ox, not to mention that of a human being.

Every chief, however low in rank, is sure to have one of these merais, of which he is very proud, and from which he can scarcely be induced to part. The great chiefs have their merais made of green jade, such as has already been described when treating of Maori ornaments. These weapons are handed down from father to son, and are so highly valued by the natives that it is hardly possible to procure one, unless it be captured in battle. If a chief should die without a son to whom his merai can descend, the weapon is generally buried with him.

At fig. 6, in the “weapons,” on page 841, is seen one of these green jade merais. The shape is not nearly so elegant as that of my weapon which has just been described. Indeed, with so valuable and rare a mineral as this green jade, it is not easy to find a piece large enough to be cut into an ordinarily shaped weapon and the manufacturer is obliged to do his best with the material at his command.

At fig. 7 is an example of the commonest kind of merai, that which is made of wood. As the material of such a weapon is comparatively valueless, the Maories seem to indemnify themselves by adding ornament to the weapon. For example, they very seldom make the merai of the same simple shape as that at fig. 6, but give it a distinct edge and back as at fig. 7. In some cases they make it into a most elaborate piece of native art, the whole being so beautifully carved that it looks more like a number of carved pieces of wood fitted together than a weapon cut out of one solid block.

A singularly beautiful example of such a weapon is to be seen in fig. 1 of the illustration “Merais,” on page 841. As the reader may see it is one mass of carving, the design being cut completely through the wood, and therefore being alike on both sides. The back of the merai is carved into a pattern of singular beauty and boldness, and the edge is armed with a row of shark’s teeth, which make its blows very formidable when directed against the naked bodies of the Maori warriors. The specimen from which the drawing was taken may be seen in the collection of the British Museum.

The second fig. of the illustrations shows a merai made of bone. The material is mostly obtained from the blade bone of the spermaceti whale, and in consequence the weapon is said in books of travel to be made of whalebone, thus misleading the ordinary reader, who is sure to understand “whalebone” to be the black elastic substance obtained from the Greenland whale.

These merais are extremely variable in shape. Some of them are made like the stone weapons, except that they are much flatter, and have in consequence both edges alike. Sometimes they are studded with knobs and cut into hollows; sometimes carved into patterns, much resembling that of the wooden merai, but not so elaborate. The specimen which I have selected for the illustration shows examples of the ornaments and studs.

I possess a very good merai which has been made from the lower jaw of the spermaceti whale. This weapon is shown in fig. 4 of the same illustration, opposite, and close by it is a section of the jaw of the whale, in order to show the manner in which it is cut. This weapon measures seventeen inches in length by three and a half inches in width, and weighs one pound nine ounces. In consequence of this comparative lightness, it is a much more efficient weapon than the stone merai; for the latter is so heavy that, if a blow misses its aim, the striker is unable to recover the weapon in time to guard himself, or to repeat the blow, and so lays himself open to the enemy.

If the reader will look at the section of bone, he will see that it is porous in the centre and hard and solid at the edges. It is from the solid part that the merai has been cut, and in consequence the weapon is very flat. The numerous channels through which pass the blood vessels that nourish the bone are seen in the section, and in the drawing of the merai one of them is shown traversing the weapon longitudinally. The name of the merai is “patu-patu,” the u having the same sound as in flute.

Many of the natives have found out that the English bill-hook answers admirably as a merai, and can be obtained with very little trouble. Great quantities of them were at one time imported from Birmingham; but the rifle and bayonet have in latter days so completely superseded all other weapons that the Maories trouble themselves little about the bill-hook.

When a Maori fights with the merai, he does not merely strike, his usual movement being to thrust sharply at the chin of the enemy; and if he succeeds in striking him with the point, he cuts him down with the edge before he can recover himself.

At fig. 5 of the “Maori weapons,” on the next page, is seen an axe, or tomahawk. This is a curious mixture of European and Maori work, the blade being obtained from England, and the handle made and carved in New Zealand with the usual grotesque patterns which a Maori likes to introduce into all objects connected with warfare. The thigh bone of a slain enemy is a favorite handle for such a tomahawk.

Before the fierce and warlike character of the New Zealanders was known, they took several vessels by the use of the merai. It was easy to suspend the short club over the shoulder, where it was hidden by the mat, so that when a party of natives came on board, apparently unarmed, having ostentatiously left their patus and other weapons in their canoes, each man was in fact armed with the weapon that he most trusted. The plan pursued was, that the Maories should mingle freely with the crew, until each man was close to one of the sailors. At a signal from the chief, the concealed merai was snatched from beneath the mat, and in a moment it had crashed through the head of the selected victim.

Even after this ruse was discovered, the ingenious Maories contrived to get hold of more than one vessel under pretence of exhibiting their war dance, which in a moment was changed from the mimicry of battle into reality, the warriors leaping among the spectators and dealing their blows right and left among them. Ship-taking seems, indeed, to be a proceeding so dear to the New Zealander, that he can scarcely resist the temptation when it is offered him. In Messrs. Tyerman and Rennet’s “Missionary Voyage” there is an anecdote of an adventure that befell them, which, but for the timely aid of a friendly chief, would undoubtedly have had a tragic issue.

(1.) GREEN JADE ORNAMENTS.
(See page 813.)

(2.) WOODEN AND BONE MERAIS.
(See page 840.)

(3.) MAORI WEAPONS.
(See pages 838, 840, 844.)

The ship had arrived off New Zealand, and while at anchor the following events occurred:—“This morning our little vessel was surrounded with canoes, containing several hundreds of the natives, of both sexes, who presently climbed up, and crowded it so much that we were obliged to put a bar across the quarter-deck, and tabu it from intrusion. The commerce in various articles, on both sides, went on pretty well for some time, till one provoking circumstance after another occurred, which had nearly led to the seizure of the ship and the loss of our lives.

“In the confusion occasioned by the great throng in so narrow a space, the natives began to exercise their pilfering tricks, opportunities for which are seldom permitted to slip away unimproved. Suddenly the cook cried out, ‘They have stolen this thing;’ but scarcely had he named the thing (some kitchen article), when he called out again, ‘They have stolen the beef out of the pot!’ and then a third time, ‘They have stolen my cooking pan!’ Presently another voice bawled out from the forecastle, ‘Captain! they have broken open your trunk, and carried away your clothes!’

“Up to this time we had been in friendly intercourse with the chiefs, rubbing noses, and purchasing their personal ornaments and other curiosities, suspecting no mischief. But now, in the course of a few moments, without our perceiving the immediate reason, the whole scene was changed. We found afterward that the captain (Dibbs), on hearing of the audacious thefts above mentioned, had become angry, and while he was endeavoring, rather boisterously, to clear the deck of some of the intruders, one of them, a chief, on being jostled by him, fell over the ship’s side into the sea, between his own canoe and the vessel. This was seized instantaneously as the pretext for commencing hostilities. The women and children in the course of a few minutes had all disappeared, leaping overboard into their canoes, and taking with them the kakaous, or mantles, of the warriors. The latter, thus stripped for action, remained on deck; of which, before we were aware, they had taken complete possession; and forthwith made us their prisoners.

“Tremendous were the bawlings and screechings of the barbarians, while they stamped, and brandished their weapons, consisting principally of clubs and spears. One chief with his cookies (his slaves) had surrounded the captain, holding their spears at his breast and his sides, on the larboard quarter of the vessel. Mr. Tyerman, under guard of another band, stood on the starboard; and Mr. Bennet on the same side, but aft, toward the stern. Mr. Threlkeld and his little boy, not seven years old, were near Mr. Bennet not under direct manual grasp of the savages. The chief who, with his gang, had been trafficking with Mr. Bennet, now brought his huge tattooed visage near to Mr. B.’s, screaming, in tones the most odious and horrifying: ‘Tongata, New Zealandi, tongata kakino?—Tongata, New Zealandi, tongata kakino?’

“This he repeated as rapidly as lips, tongue, and throat could utter the words, which mean, ‘Man of New Zealand, is he bad man?—Man of New Zealand, a bad man?’ Happily Mr. Bennet understood the question (the New Zealand dialect much resembling the Tahitian): whereupon, though convinced that inevitable death was at hand, he answered, with as much composure as could be assumed, ‘Kaore kakino tongata New Zealandi, tongata kapai’ (‘Not bad; the New Zealander is a good man’); and so often as the other, with indescribable ferocity of aspect and sharpness of accent, asked the same question (which might be a hundred times), the same answer was returned.

“‘But,’ inquired Mr. Bennet, ‘why is all this uproar? Why cannot we still rub noses, and buy and sell, and barter, as before?’ At this moment a stout slave, belonging to the chief, stepped behind Mr. Bennet, and pinioned both his arms close to his sides. No effort was made to resist or elude the gigantic grasp, Mr. B. knowing that such would only accelerate the threatened destruction. Still, therefore, he maintained his calmness, and asked the chief the price of a neck ornament which the latter wore. Immediately another slave raised a large tree-felling axe (which, with others, had been brought to be sharpened by the ship’s company) over the head of the prisoner. This ruffian looked with demon-like eagerness and impatience toward his master for the signal to strike.

“And here it may be observed that our good countrymen can have no idea of the almost preternatural fury which savages can throw into their distorted countenances, and infuse into their deafening and appalling voices, when they are possessed by the legion-fiend of rage, cupidity, and revenge. Mr. Bennet persevered in keeping up conversation with the chief, saying, ‘We want to buy bruaa, kumera, ika, &c. (hogs, potatoes, fish), of you.’

“Just then he perceived a youth stepping on deck with a large fish in his hand. ‘What shall I give you for that fish?’—‘Why, so many fish-hooks.’—‘Well, then, put your hand into my pocket and take them.’ The fellow did so. ‘Now put the fish down there, on the binnacle, and bring some more, if you have any,’ said Mr. Bennet. At once the fish that he had just bought was brought round from behind and presented to him again for sale. He took no notice of the knavery, but demanded, ‘What shall I give you for that fish?’—‘So many hooks.’—‘Take them. Have you no other fish to sell?’ A third time the same fish was offered, and the same price in hooks required and given, or rather taken, by the vendor, out of his jacket pockets, which happened to be well stored with this currency for traffic. A fourth time Mr. Bennet asked, ‘Have you never another fish?’ At this the rogues could contain their scorn no longer, but burst into laughter, and cried, ‘We are cheating the foreigner!’ (‘Tangata ke!’) supposing that their customer was not aware how often they had caught him with the same bait.”

By this ingenious plan of pretending to be the dupe of the Maories, Mr. Bennet contrived to gain time, of which he knew that every minute was of the greatest importance, and at last he was rewarded for his courageous diplomacy by the arrival of a boat, in which was a friendly chief, who at once cleared the ship.

The reader will observe that at this time the New Zealanders had not abandoned the use of the spear as a weapon of war, though only twenty years afterward scarcely a spear could be found that was not intended as an emblem of hospitality instead of strife.

At fig. 3 of “Weapons” is shown a very curious club, called Patu by the natives, and popularly, but wrongly, called by sailors a battle-axe. It is about five feet in length, and has at one end a flat, axe-like head, and at the other a sharp point. One of these weapons in my possession, presented to me, together with many similar articles, by E. Randell, Esq., is five feet one inch in length, and weighs two pounds six ounces, being exactly the same weight as the stone merai already described. The rounded edge of the axe-like head is very sharp, and certainly looks as if it was intended for the purpose of inflicting wounds. Such, however, is not the case, the Maori using the pointed butt as a spear or pike, and striking with the back of the head and not with the edge.

Through the lower portion of the head is bored a hole, to which is suspended a bunch of feathers and streamers. Sometimes this tuft is only a foot in length, but is often longer. In a specimen taken by Sir J. E. Alexander it is half as long as the patu itself. At first sight this appendage seems, like the multitudinous feathers which decorate a North American spear or club, to be merely an ornament, and to detract from, rather than add to, the efficiency of the weapon. But the Maori warrior is far too keen a soldier to sacrifice use to ornament, and, if he employs the latter, he is sure to take care that the former is not endangered by it.

In the present case, this apparently useless appendage adds materially to the effectiveness of the weapon. When the warrior, armed with the patu, meets an adversary, he does not rush at him heedlessly, but fences, as it were, with his weapon, holding it in both hands, twirling it about, and flourishing the bunch of feathers in the face of his foe so as to distract his attention. Neither does he stand in the same spot, but leaps here and there, endeavoring to take the foe off his guard, and making all kinds of feints in order to test the adversary’s powers. Should he see the least opening, the sharp point of the butt is driven into his adversary’s body, or a severe blow delivered with the head, the stroke being generally made upward and not downward, as might be imagined.

In fact, the whole management of the patu is almost identical with that of the old quarterstaff of England, a weapon whose use is unfortunately forgotten at the present day. The bunch of feathers is not an invariable appendage. In my own specimen, for example, it has never been used, and I have seen many others in which the hole has not been bored for the insertion of the string that ties the feathers together.

The last weapon drawn in this illustration is hardly worthy of the name. It is a dagger, and is shown at fig. 4. At fig. 2 of the same illustration is seen an implement which is generally mistaken for a spear, and is labelled as such in many a collection. It is, however, no spear at all, but a sceptre, or staff of office belonging to a chief. The Maori name is E’Hani. It is shaped at the butt like an exceedingly elongated merai, and indeed the entire implement looks as if the hani and the merai were but different modifications of the same weapon.

Be this as it may, the hani is no spear, but a staff of office, almost identical in form with that which was borne by the ancient kings and heralds in the times of Troy. At the upper end is seen the head, which bears some resemblance to the point of a spear, and has given ground to the notion that the implement in question is really a spear. This portion, however, does not serve the purpose of offence, but is simply a conventional representation of the human tongue, which, when thrust forth to its utmost, conveys, according to Maori ideas, the most bitter insult and defiance. When the chief wishes to make war against any tribe, he calls his own people together, makes a fiery oration, and repeatedly thrusts his hani in the direction of the enemy, each such thrust being accepted as a putting forth of the tongue in defiance.

In order to show that the point of the hani is really intended to represent the human tongue, the remainder of it is carved into a grotesque and far-fetched resemblance of the human face, the chief features of which are two enormous circular eyes made of haliotis shell.

Generally, the hani is ornamented with feathers like the patu; but many of the staves are without this decoration, which is looked upon as a mere non-essential. These staves vary greatly in length. My own specimen is between five and six feet in length, and is without the feather ornaments, whereas others are not more than a yard in length, and are decorated with a bunch of feathers as long as themselves. The chiefs are nearly as tenacious of the hard as the merai, and do not seem to be easy if it be put out of their reach. Some years ago several Maori chiefs came to visit England, and were taken to see the various sights of London. But whether they went to the theatre, or to the Zoological Gardens, or to make calls, they invariably took their hanis with them, sometimes carrying a short one for convenience’ sake, but appearing to attach the greatest value to its possession.

One of these curious implements in my collection is six feet in length, and is made of the same wood as the patu. If held upright the resemblance of the point to the outstretched tongue is not very plain; but if it be held horizontally, the effect is quite altered, and the whole of the tip is seen to represent a human head with the tongue thrust out as far as possible between the lips. As the tongue is only a conventional representation, it is covered with a pattern, a ridge running along the centre, and each side being marked with precisely similar curves and semi-spirals.

In spite of its length, it really makes a very convenient walking-staff, and, on an emergency, might do duty as a weapon, the tongue-like tip being sharp enough to act as a spear head, and the flattened butt being heavy enough to stun a man with a well-directed blow. My specimen does not possess the tuft of feathers and dog’s-hair which decorates the hani shown in the “weapons” (fig. 2, p. 841); but this adornment is not considered as forming a necessary part of the implement.

Before a party engage in war, they think themselves bound to join in the war dance. There are war dances in almost all savage tribes, but that of the New Zealander surpasses them all. In other cases, each warrior gives himself up to the excitement of the moment, and shouts, yells, dances, and brandishes his weapons as he seems to think fit; but the Maori warrior’s dance is of a far different character, being guided by a discipline and precision of drill to which that of the Russians themselves is loose and irregular.

They begin by smearing the whole of their clothing and by painting their faces with scarlet ochre, so as to make themselves as hideous as possible. When they assemble for the dance, they arrange themselves in lines, mostly three deep, and excite their naturally passionate disposition to the highest pitch by contorting their faces and thrusting out their tongues as an act of defiance, interspersing these gestures with shouts, yells, and challenges to the enemy. The dance itself begins with stamping the feet in perfect time with each other, the vigor of the stamp increasing continually, and the excitement increasing in similar proportion.

Suddenly, with a yell, the whole body of men leap side-ways into the air, as if actuated by one spirit, and, as they touch the ground, come down on it with a mighty stamp that makes the earth tremble. The war song is raised, and in accordance with its rhythm the men leap from side to side, each time coming down with a thud as of some huge engine. The effect of the dance upon the performers is extraordinary. It seems to make them for the time absolute maniacs, their whole nature being given up to the furious excitement of the moment. Their faces are frightfully contorted, and thus assume an absolutely demoniacal expression.

Even when war is not impending, the magic influence of the dance affects the performers as strongly as if they were close to a pah or fort of the enemy, ready for battle; and when, as is sometimes the case, the Maories give a dance in honor of a visitor, they become so furiously excited that they are quite dangerous until they have had time to cool.

On one such occasion a party of Maories who had visited a ship were requested to exhibit their war dance, and very good-naturedly did so. But in a short time their measured leaps became so vehement, and their stamps so powerful, as they shouted the martial rhymes of the war song, that they shook the whole ship as if by blows of a battering-ram; and the commanding officer, fearful that they would absolutely smash the deck, begged them to desist. His entreaties were in vain, even if they were heard, though it is very likely that, in their furious excitement, the dancers were deaf to every sound except the war song which they were yelling at the top of their voices; and the dance proceeded to its end, and did not cease until the performers were quite exhausted by the furious exertions they had made.

The most ludicrous part of the dance was the conduct of the chief. He had been treated with much attention, and presented with a full suit of naval uniform, of which he was mightily proud, and in which he stalked about the deck to the great admiration of his subjects. When he was asked whether the war dance could be given, he at once ordered his followers to accede to the request, and at first stood quietly by while they went through the performance.

The influence of the dance was, however, too contagious to be resisted, and rapidly extended itself to him. First he merely swayed his body in rhythm with the steps of the dancers, then he joined sotto voce in the song, then he began to stamp in time with them, and at last threw off all restraint, sprang into line, and leaped, yelled, and stamped as enthusiastically as any of them, splitting his new garments to pieces, and presenting a very sorry sight when his excitement had died away.

The illustration opposite represents a portion of a party of warriors as they appear when performing their war dance. Only the first three ranks of them are seen; but the reader must picture for himself the long lines of warriors stretching into the distance, numbering often from one to two hundred. The leading chief is seen in front, with his green jade merai in his hand; and another but inferior chief is stationed behind him. In the background is shown a portion of the pah in which the dance is taking place; a chief’s storehouse for food is seen on the right, and under the shelter of the houses are seated the women who are watching the dance.

I have already said that war is always in the thoughts of a genuine Maori. Unlike the vaporing Fiji warrior, who is always ready to boast, and seldom ready to fight, preferring to knock his enemy on the head when asleep, the Maori is a brave soldier, accustomed from his earliest childhood to deeds of war. A mimic war forms one of the favorite games of the Maori children, though it is necessarily restricted to boys. Just as boys of our country build snow castles, and attack and defend them with snow-balls, so do the young New Zealanders build miniature forts, and enact on a small scale the deeds of actual war, using light sticks instead of the merai and patu. They make their forts by erecting mounds of earth, and building the fortresses of stakes, in exact imitation of the more substantial architecture of the veritable pah.

These ingenious pahs well exemplify the whole system of Maori warfare. The two opposing parties seldom meet each other in the open ground, as is the case with European warfare; neither do they employ an irregular skirmishing fight among trees or under cover, as is the case with many savage tribes. The attacking party is sure to be very superior in numbers to their foes, and the latter, knowing that this will be the case, resort to the system of fortification, and entrench themselves in forts, or pahs.

These pahs are marvellous examples of uncivilized engineering, and are admirably adapted to the purpose which they are intended to fulfil. They are always placed in some strong situation, sometimes on the seashore, sometimes on heights, and one or two of the strongest are built on the very edge of a perpendicular precipice, so that they cannot be attacked on three sides, while the fourth can only be approached by a narrow and awkward path, along which only a few men can pass, and which can be defended by a comparatively limited number of the besieged. (See p. 830.)

Taking one of these pahs is really a great enterprise for the natives, and before they knew the use of firearms it is wonderful that they ever took a pah at all. Many of them are indeed impregnable, and, until firearms were introduced into the colony, could bid defiance to all enemies. They were so situated that by merely rolling stones down the approach the path could be cleared of every foe. They are surrounded with trenches, and have ingenious sally-ports so constructed that the defenders can issue from unexpected parts of the fort, make a sudden attack on the assailants, and retreat through the same aperture when they have attained their purpose.

They are fenced round with very strong posts, lashed together so firmly that they are able to resist any ordinary attack. Since firearms were introduced, the Maories have modified the structure of the pahs to suit their new weapons, throwing out angles to secure a flanking fire, and filling the interior with trenches in which the defenders can lie secure from the fire of the enemy. Since they learned the terrible power of shells, the natives have learned to construct “traverses,” i. e. cross-walls in the trenches, which not only guard the inmates from the fragments of the shells, but prevent an enfilading fire from doing much damage. Rifle-pits are also constructed with singular ingenuity. One pah was remarkable for being built over a number of boiling springs, which were used as traps for the enemy when the fort was besieged.

The reader may remember the unfortunate business at the Gate Pah, at Tauranga. When taken by storm, the pah appeared to be empty and deserted, the natives having apparently escaped, according to their custom, when they found the place no longer tenable. They had, however, laid a trap, into which the assailants fell. When the latter had scattered themselves over the interior, and were quite off their guard, picking up arms, utensils, and other objects lying carelessly about, a terrific musketry fire was opened from under their very feet, the natives having constructed pits in which they hid themselves until the enemy were attracted within their range by the weapons and implements which they had laid on purpose to act as a bait. The men, who were entirely off their guard, and many of whom besides were but raw recruits, were struck with a sudden panic, and, with a few honorable exceptions, rushed out of the pah, followed and cut up by the fire of the wily foe.

THE MAORI WAR DANCE.
(See page 846.)

Of course the repulse was but temporary; but such a stratagem as this is sufficient to show the military genius of the Maori, who, if he becomes an enemy, is one that cannot be despised with impunity. This system of taking the enemy by surprise is the usual mode of fighting among the Maories, who display wonderful ingenuity in contriving ambushes, and enticing the enemy into them. When we were first driven into war with the natives of New Zealand, we were frequently entrapped in an ambuscade; and in one case the hidden enemy were so close to our men, their dusky forms being hidden in the shadows of the bush, that many of the soldiers who escaped with life had their faces completely tattooed with grains of unburnt powder from the muskets of the enemy.

If the assailants succeed in taking the pah, a terrible massacre always ensues. Every man is killed who is capable of wielding a weapon, while the women and children are carried off to become the slaves of the conquerors—a doom from which, as I have already stated, there is no escape; the unfortunate women, their children, and any future offspring, being slaves without the possibility of release, not even their own tribe being able, according to Maori law, to interfere with the right of the captors.

The bodies of the warriors are of course reserved to be baked and eaten. Sometimes even the prisoners fall victims to the thirst for blood which characterizes these islanders; and in this respect the women are as bad as the men, if not worse. For example, the principal wife of a very great chief, named E’Hongi, was accustomed, even though blind, to murder some of the captives, when they were brought home by her formidable husband. Her own end was, however, more tragic than that of any of her victims. E’Hongi was in the habit of making long excursions to different parts of the country, in which he took his wife with him. On one of these excursions she fell sick, and had to be left behind. In consequence of her blindness, added to her debility, she was unable to act in her own defence, and a number of dogs, discovering her weakness, tore her to pieces and devoured her.

She seems, however, to have been a woman of unexceptionally strong feelings of vengeance. “She had,” writes Mr. Angas, “a little slave-girl to attend upon her, toward whom she evinced a strong attachment. The little creature was interesting and good-tempered, and her mistress was apparently so fond of her that she was spared the experience of the misery of slavery; she was only a favorite.

“Hongi returned from one of his successful expeditions of war, but had left a son upon the field of battle, and the lamentation was great. The petted slave-child laid her head upon the lap of her mistress, and poured out her share of the general sorrow. But the spirit of vengeance or of insane retribution came over the heart of the bereaved mother; and she carried the child to the water, and cruelly suffocated her in satisfaction of her selfish sorrow.”

It was not long after this incident that she met with her death. When she was left behind, a small shed was erected on poles, according to native custom, and a supply of food was placed near her. When the party returned the shed was lying prostrate, and among its ruins were the whitened bones of the inmate. It is supposed that the wind blew down the shed, and so enabled the dogs to reach her.

This same E’Hongi was a really remarkable man, and earned a great name for wisdom and courage. Having made a voyage to England, he threw all his energies into strengthening his military power, and took back with him a quantity of muskets and ammunition.

He came back to his own country exactly at the proper time. A long and somewhat desultory war had been going on between the Waikatos and other tribes, in which the former had, after many vicissitudes, been victorious, and, after finally conquering their enemies, had returned to their country in triumph.

Just then E’Hongi came back to his own tribe, the Nga Puis, distributed his firearms among the best warriors, and when he had instructed them in the use of the new and terrible weapons, entered the Waikato country, and attacked their great pah called Matuketuke. The Waikatos, having only their clubs, and not having sunk the trenches which in these days are dug in every pah that is intended to resist an assault, could not contend against firearms, and in a few minutes the fort was taken. It was in this engagement that Horomona and Te Whero-Whero were captured.

The slaughter on this occasion was terrible, two thousand warriors being killed, and their bodies eaten by the victorious tribe, who built vast numbers of ovens for the special purpose of cooking the bodies of the slain. For many years afterward the remains of the ovens, and the whitened bones of the two thousand warriors, might be seen as tokens of the terrible scene, where feasts were kept up until all the bodies had been consumed, and every evil passion of unrestrained human nature was allowed to have its full sway.

One of the very muskets which were used on this occasion, and which was given by George IV. to E’Hongi when he visited England, is now in the collection of Colonel Sir. J. E. Alexander. It is one of the regular “Brown Bess” weapons, once so dear to soldiers, and now irreverently termed a gaspipe.

Prisoners without number were captured on this occasion; and indeed the supply of slaves thus obtained so far exceeded the demand for them, that the Nga Puis killed many of them on their journey home, merely to rid themselves of them. E’ Hongi, though known to be a man of the most determined courage, not to say ferocity, when engaged in war, and rather disposed to behave in an overbearing manner toward those whom he considered as his inferiors, was at the same time peculiarly mild and courteous in his demeanor to his equals, and toward strangers was remarkable for his gentle courtesy.

There was another very celebrated chief of a somewhat similar name, Hongi-Hongi, who has sometimes been confounded with his great predecessor. One feat of this warrior is so characteristic that it deserves mention. He was leading an attack on a pah near Mount Egmont, captured it, and, according to custom, killed the warriors, and took the rest of the inmates as his slaves. Sixty of these unfortunate beings fell to the share of Hongi, who drove them like a flock of sheep, with his green jade merai, all the way to his home, a distance of one hundred and eighty miles.

This chief was proof against the missionaries of all kinds. Mr. Angas once asked him whether he was a mihanari, i. e. a Protestant convert, or a pikopo, i. e. a Roman Catholic. Hongi denied that he was either one or the other, and confessed with glee that he was a revera, or devil, i. e. that he still remained a heathen.

It is very unfortunate that intolerance in religious matters has been fostered by those who ought to have made it their business to repress any such feeling. The consequence is, that the Protestant converts regard their Roman Catholic brethren as reveras, or devils, while the latter have allied themselves with their acknowledged heathen countrymen; and thus, under the pretence of religion, the customary feuds are kept up with perhaps even additional bitterness.

I have the pleasure of presenting to the reader, on the 820th page, a portrait of Hongi-Hongi, as he appeared in the year 1844, dressed in his full panoply of war costume. This, of course, would be doffed before he went into actual fight. In his ear is one of the green jade ornaments which have already been described, and in his right hand he bears his merai, the celebrated weapon with which he drove the slaves before him. He is represented as standing just inside the wall of his pah, a position which he insisted on taking up, and having his portrait drawn to send to the Queen of England. In fact, he was so decided on this point, that he refused to let Mr. Angas leave the pah until the portrait was completed. The portion of the pah which is shown in the illustration gives a good idea of this kind of fortification, the enormous posts with their circular tops being sunk deeply into the ground, and smaller posts placed between them; a horizontal pole is laid across them; and the whole is firmly lashed together, either with the ordinary phormium rope, or with the stem of the wild vine.

Warfare among the Maories, fierce and relentless as it may be in some particulars, is not devoid of a sort of chivalry which somewhat relieves it from its more ferocious aspect. There is, for example, a well-known code of military etiquette which is sometimes exhibited in a mode that to us seems rather ludicrous.

For example, the Waikatos and Taranaki tribes were at war as usual, and the Waikato were besieging a pah belonging to their enemies. The pah, however, was too strong for them; and moreover the defenders had contrived to get hold of several guns belonging to a vessel that had been wrecked on the shore, and had induced some Europeans to mount and work them, which they did with such success that the Waikatos were forced at last to abandon the siege.

But, in the very midst of the contest, a vessel appeared in the offing, and a truce was immediately concluded in order to allow both parties to trade. Accordingly, both the besiegers and besieged set off amicably to the vessel, and, having completed their bargains, returned to resume their hostilities. A very amusing scene then occurred. The Taranakis, who were the besieged party, had much the best of the trading, as they possessed a large quantity of dressed flax, or phormium, and exchanged it for a quantity of tobacco.

Now tobacco is one of the greatest luxuries that a New Zealander can possess; and unfortunately for the besieging Waikatos, they had no tobacco. They had, however, a plentiful supply of muskets, which they had taken in an attack upon another pah, while the besieged were very short of arms. So they struck up a trade, the Waikatos being so inordinately desirous of obtaining tobacco, that they gave in return fire-arms which were to be turned against themselves.

“The scene,” writes Mr. Angas, “as described by an eye-witness, must have been most ludicrous. The Waikato thrust his musket half-way through the palisades of the pah, retaining, however, a firm hold of his property until the intending purchaser from within thrust out in a similar manner the quantity of tobacco he was willing to give; neither party relinquishing his hold of the property about to change hands until he had secured a firm grasp of that offered by his adversary.”

The chief who led the Waikatos on this occasion was the celebrated Wiremu Nera, or William Taylor; the former name being the nearest approach that the Maories can make to the proper pronunciation. His Maori name was Te Awaitaia, and he was widely celebrated for his dauntless courage and his generalship in conducting or resisting an attack. Being closely allied with the famous chief Te Whero-Whero (or Potatau), he was engaged in nearly all the combats between the Waikatos and the Taranakis. On one of his warlike expeditions he took a pah containing nearly eighteen hundred inhabitants, and, of course, killed nearly all of them, and carried the survivors as slaves into the Waikato district.

Latterly, he embraced Christianity, and became as zealous in the cause of peace as he had been in that of war. When he became a Christian, Te Whero-Whero was so well aware of his value as a warrior, that he exclaimed to those who brought him the news, “I have lost my right arm!”

Although repulsed on this occasion by the three guns taken from the wrecked ship, the Waikatos were not discouraged, and made a second attack. The Taranakis, however, had seen too much of Waikato courage to risk a second siege, and so quietly made off, some two thousand in number, accompanied by the Europeans who had served the guns for them. The latter very rightly spiked the guns when they left the pah, so that when the Waikatos came again and took the pah, they found it deserted, and the guns useless to the captors.

The Taranakis lived in deadly fear of the powerful and warlike Waikatos, and, but for the love which they felt toward their native country, would have fled, and left the conquerors to take quiet possession. They were even obliged to have their plantations in the bush, where none but the owner could find them; for they feared, and with reason, that if their dreaded enemies could discover the sources whence their provisions were obtained, they would destroy the whole plantation, and leave their victims to starve. They were in such a state of nervous alarm about a suspected invasion by their powerful neighbors, that on one occasion, when a fire was seen in the distance, every one took it for granted to be a fire lighted by the Waikatos, and in consequence every one kept awake all night, ready to give the alarm at the first unwonted sight or sound.

Among the New Zealanders is a custom of retaliation which is found with but little variation in many parts of the world. If blood has been shed, the friends of the dead man issue from the pah, with the determination of killing the first person whom they may happen to meet. Should he belong to an inimical tribe, so much the better; should he belong to the same tribe, so much the worse; for in either case he is killed. On such an occasion one of the avengers would be bound to kill his own brother, should he happen to be the first man who came in the way of the party.

Such an exercise of vengeance is rather an inconvenient one to those who are engaged in it; for they are forbidden the use of their ordinary comforts, they may not eat any food except that which is indigenous to New Zealand, and, above all, they are not allowed to smoke. When, therefore they have been unable to find any human being whom they can sacrifice, the aid of the priest, or tohunga, is called in. He pulls up a tuft of grass, and, after repeating one of the many incantations which abound in New Zealand lore, and of which neither the hearers nor the reciter understand one word in ten, he throws the grass into the nearest stream, in token that the avengers are released from their vow. Blood, however, must still be shed; but after this ceremony has been performed, the blood of any living thing, even though it be a bird, is held sufficient to satisfy the traditional custom of the Maori race.

Elaborate rites closely allied with this ceremony are employed both before and after battle; but, as they belong rather to the subject of religion than of war, we will postpone them for the present.

As the New Zealanders know that it is a point of military honor combined with personal gratification to eat the bodies of slain enemies, they are equally desirous of securing the bodies of their foes and of carrying off those who have fallen on their own side; and in many instances the anxiety to save those who have fallen has caused others to share the same fate while attempting to carry off their dead or wounded comrades.

CHAPTER LXXXIV. NEW ZEALAND— Continued . CANOES.

THE CANOE, AND ITS USES IN PEACE AND WAR — THE COMMON TRADING CANOE — SKILL OF THE BOATMEN — THE LARGE WAR CANOES, AND MODE OF BUILDING THEM — DECORATIONS OF THE CANOES — SKILFUL CARVINGS — THE THEORY OF THE VARIOUS PATTERNS — NAMES OF CANOES — MANAGEMENT OF THE SAIL — CANOE SONGS — A COMPLETE BOAT-LOAD — MODE OF LANDING — SHAPE OF THE PADDLES, AND MODE OF USING THEM — CARVING TOOLS — SUPPOSED COMPASSES.

War is carried on quite as much by water as by land, and a chief who knows the principles of good generalship always uses the sea as well as the land to serve as a basis for his attack. For this reason the Maories take care to build their pahs in spots where they are well defended from attack both on the seaward and the landward side. Some of them are on the very verge of high-water mark, while others are perched on the tops of cliffs, the base of which is washed by the waves.

One of the most picturesque of these is a pah situate near Mount Egmont, and known by the name of the Waimate Pah. There is a cliff that rises perpendicularly some four or five hundred feet above the level of the water which laves its foot, and on the very summit of this cliff is situated the pah in question. It is of considerable size, containing many houses and is fortified with the usual wooden fence. In order to render it as nearly as possible impregnable, the only approach is by a very narrow and very steep path, that cannot be ascended except by people who have strong heads, the path being so narrow, so steep, and so dangerous that two men could defend it against fifty.

In his warlike expeditions E’Hongi made great use of his canoes, taking them inland as far as they would go, and then having them dragged over land to the next river.

These canoes play so important a part in the life of a New Zealander, whether in war or peace, that they require a detailed description. The canoes are of several kinds, according to the work which they have to perform. The simplest form of the New Zealander’s canoe is little more than a trunk of a tree hollowed into a sort of trough. Being incapable of withstanding rough weather, this canoe is only used upon rivers. Some of these canoes, which are called by the name of kaupapas, are from forty to fifty feet in length, and in the widest part not exceeding a yard in “beam.” A plentiful supply of fern leaves is laid at the bottom of the canoe, and upon these the passengers recline. Canoes of a similar character, called tiwai, are used in the inland lakes, and sit so low in the water that they appear to have no gunwale.

Owing to their want of beam, these canoes are as easily upset as the slight skiffs in which races are rowed on English rivers. The agile Maori, accustomed from childhood to balance himself in these crank vessels, traverses them with ease and security, but an European generally upsets four or five canoes before he learns how to enter or leave them properly. The natives manage these canoes with wonderful skill, and, apparently regardless of the risk of capsizing the canoe, dash their paddles into the water with furious energy, driving up spray on all sides, and making the canoe and its rowers look at a distance like some gigantic centipede dashing through the water.

The vessels, however, of which the Maories are most fond, and on which they expend the most labor, are the large canoes in which the warriors embark when on a campaign. Those canoes are made from the cowrie pine (the same tree which furnishes the aromatic gum already mentioned); and the tree being a very large one, the natives are able to make their canoes of considerable size. Some of these canoes are upward of eighty feet in length and in consequence are able to carry a great number of warriors.

They are built in rather an elaborate manner. First the trough-like vessel is formed from the tree trunk; and if it were left in that state, it would be simply a very large kaupapa. As, however, it is intended for sea voyages, and may have to endure rough weather; it is much wider in proportion than the boat which is only used on rivers, and is, moreover, rendered more seaworthy by gunwales. These are made separately, and are lashed firmly to the sides of the boat by the ordinary flax ropes.

Both the head and stern of the canoe are decorated with carving, exactly similar in character to the specimens of native art which have already been described. They are pierced with the most elaborate patterns, which have as their basis the contour of the human countenance and the semi-spiral curve. Perhaps a single canoe head will have fifty or sixty human faces on it, each with the tongue protruded, with the cheeks and forehead covered with tattooed lines, and with a pair of goggle eyes made of the haliotis shell. The mode which a native adopts when carving these elaborate patterns is as follows:

After shaping out the general form of the article to be carved, he fixes on some part which he thinks will be suitable for the purpose, and carves a human head upon it. When this is completed, he pitches upon a second spot at some distance from the first, and carves another head, proceeding in this way until he has carved as many heads as he thinks the pattern will require.

He next furnishes the heads with bodies and limbs, which are always represented in a very squat and ungainly manner, and fills in the vacant spaces with the beautiful curved lines which he loves so well to draw and carve. The minute elaboration of some of these war canoes is so intricate that it baffles all power of description, and nothing but a well executed photograph could give a correct idea of the beauty of the workmanship. It is a marvellous example of the development of art under difficulties. It is quite unique in its character, so that no one who is acquainted with the subject can for a moment mistake a piece of New Zealand carving for that of any other country.

Besides carving the canoes, the Maori paints them with vermilion in token of their warlike object, and decorates them profusely with bunches of feathers and dog’s hair, just like the tufts which are attached to the patu. When the canoes are not wanted, they are drawn up on shore, and are thatched in order to save them from the weather.

Like more civilized nations, the New Zealanders give names to their canoes, and seem to delight in selecting the most sonorous titles that they can invent. For example, one canoe is called Maratuhai, i. e. Devouring Fire; and others have names that coincide almost exactly with our Invincibles, Terribles, Thunderers, and the like.

These boats are furnished with a very remarkable sail made of the raupo rush. It is small in proportion to the size of the vessel, is triangular in shape, and is so arranged that it can be raised or lowered almost in a moment. They are better sailors than would be imagined from their appearance, and run wonderfully close to the wind.

Sometimes from fifty to sixty men paddle in one of these war canoes, singing songs in time to the stroke, and guided both in song and stroke by a conductor who stands in the middle of the canoe, prompting the words of the song, and beating time for the paddlers with a staff which he holds in his hand. Owing to the power of the water in reflecting sound, the measured chant of the paddle-song can be heard on a river long before the canoe comes in sight.

Mr. Angas gives an interesting account of a journey in a Maori canoe. After mentioning that the vessel was so deeply laden that its sides were not more than two inches above the water, he proceeds as follows: “The paddles were plied with great spirit; the exertions of the natives being stimulated by the animated shouting song kept up incessantly by the one or other of the party. At length the splashing was so violent that we became nearly drenched, and on requesting the Maori before us to throw less water in our faces, he replied with a proverb common among them, that ‘No one is dry who travels with the Waikatos,’ meaning that the people of this tribe excel all others in the speed and dexterity with which they manage their canoes.

“Our natives were in excellent spirits. They had been on a long journey to Auckland, where they had seen the pakeha (white man, or stranger) in his settlement, and had witnessed many sights of civilization to which they were previously strangers. They had also purchased articles of European manufacture, and longing to return home to the peaceful banks of the Waipa, to present them to their friends as tokens of their regard. Their wild, deafening songs, with their heads all undulating at every stroke, the contortions of their eyes, and their bare, tawny shoulders, finely developing their muscles as they all dashed their paddles simultaneously into the water, rendered the scene at once novel and animating.

“The canoe songs are generally improvised, and frequently have reference to passing objects. Such ejaculations as the following were uttered by our companions at the highest pitch of their voices, ‘Pull away! Pull away! Pull away!’ ‘Dig into the water!’ ‘Break your backs,’ &c. From the prow of one of the canoes a native flute sounded plaintively. This is a very rude and imperfect instrument, and they do not play it with any degree of skill, it having only two or three notes.” The flute in question is that which is made of human bone, and has been described on a previous page. It is played by placing the orifice against one nostril, and stopping the other with the finger.

When the natives proceed on a journey in their canoes, they are so sure of their own skill and management that they overload them to a degree which would cause an immediate capsize in most countries. One chief, named Wirihona, who was travelling with his family, afforded a curious example of overloading a boat with impunity. The canoe was delicate and frail, and in the bow sat a little boy with a small fire kept between two pieces of bark. In the fore part of the canoe, where it was narrow, sat the younger children, the adult members of the family being placed in the middle, where the boat was widest. Toward the stern came another batch of young children, and on the stern, which projects over the water, sat Wirihona himself, steering the vessel with his paddle.

The canoe in which were Mr. Angas and his companions was, as the reader may recollect, so laden that her gunwale barely rose two inches above the surface. As long as they were paddling along the narrower and more sheltered parts of the river, all went smoothly enough, though the deeply-laden state of the crank boat gave cause for uneasiness. At last, however, they came to some wide and open reaches exposed to the wind, and had, moreover, to cross the current diagonally.

“The wind blew violently, and meeting the current, caused an unpleasant sea in the middle channel of the river. Our heavily-laden canoe was not fitted to encounter anything beyond still water; and, as our natives related to each other where this and that canoe were upset, they dashed their paddles into the water with all their energy, and our bark was soon in the midst of the terrible current. We were every moment in imminent danger of being swamped; the water rushed in on both sides; and nothing but the extreme swiftness with which we glided through the current prevented us from filling.

“As the canoe dashed against the opposite shore, our natives gave a loud shout and commenced bailing out the water, which we had shipped in great quantities, with a tatau or scoop. We now looked anxiously toward the second canoe, and watched them literally pulling for their lives, splashing and dashing with the utmost vehemence. The frail bark appeared almost swallowed up by the angry stream, but she glided securely through it, and the drenched chief and his family repeated the sound of welcome to the opposite shore, as their canoe also dashed in safety against its banks.”

The paddles with which the Maories propel their canoes are curious-looking implements, and are so formed that they will answer almost equally well as paddles or weapons. Indeed, it is not unlikely that their peculiar shape was given to them for this very reason. In the illustration No. 1, on page 881, are seen two examples of the New Zealand paddle, both being drawn from specimens in my collection, and being useful as showing the typical form of the implement.

They are rather more than five feet in length, and have very long blades which are leaf-shaped and sharply pointed at the tips, so that a thrust from one of these paddles would be quite as dangerous as if it were made with the butt of the patu. The blade, too, is sharp at the edges, and, being made of rather heavy wood, is capable of splitting a man’s skull as effectually as if it had been the short merai.

In one of these paddles the handle is curved in a peculiar manner, while in the other it is straight, and forms a continuation of the blade. The former of these implements is quite plain, and even at the end of the handle there is no carving, while the latter is liberally adorned with patterns both on the blade and handle, and at their junction there is the inevitable human figure with the protruding tongue, the goggle eyes, and the generally aggressive expression that characterizes all such figures. None of the New Zealand paddles are adorned with the minute and elaborate carving which is found upon the paddles of several of the Polynesian islands. The carving of the New Zealanders is of a far different and much bolder character; and, instead of covering his paddle with small patterns repeated some hundreds of times, the Maori carves nothing but bold, sweeping curves and imitations of the human face.

As far as is known, the Maori carver makes no use of measuring tools, doing all his work by the eye alone. He does not even use compasses in describing his circles; and in consequence, whenever he carves, as is often the case, a number of concentric circles on a rafter or beam, the circles are quite undeserving of the name, and always tend rather to an irregular oval form.

There is in my collection a remarkable instrument, presented to me by C. Heaton, Esq. It bears a label with the following inscription, “A New Zealand Compass, by which the natives turn the volute in their carving.” In shape it resembles one half of a parenthesis , and is armed at each point with a shark’s tooth, which is inserted into a groove, and then lashed firmly with a cord passing through holes bored in the tooth and through the semicircular handle. It is made of the same wood as the paddle. Having, as I have already stated, abundant reason to distrust the accuracy of labels, and thinking that the curves of New Zealand carving did not possess the regularity which would accompany them had they been sketched out by an instrument, I showed the tool to several observant travellers who have spent much time in New Zealand, and asked them if they recognized it. None of them had seen the implement. Mr. Christie, who gave much attention to the manufactures of New Zealand, knew nothing about it, and Mr. Angas, who visited the island for the express purpose of collecting information respecting the Maories, and to whose pen I am indebted for nearly all the illustrations of the life and manners of the New Zealanders, had never seen or heard of such a tool. I possess many specimens of New Zealand carving, and have seen many others, together with a great number of photographs, and in no case have I noticed a single circle or portion of a circle that was regular enough to have been drawn by the aid of compasses.

I even doubt whether this article was made in New Zealand at all, and am inclined to think that it belongs to the Tonga or the Kingsmill Islands. As to its use, I have no opinion.

In propelling these canoes, the New Zealander holds his paddle in both hands, and always keeps it on the same side of the vessel, being balanced by a companion on the other side. He employs no rowlock, but uses one hand as a fulcrum near the blade, while the other holds the handle nearer the tip. The boat is steered by means of a large paddle in the stern.

CHAPTER LXXXV. NEW ZEALAND— Continued . RELIGION.

THE GOOD AND EVIL INFLUENCES — THE LIZARD ATUAS — ALARM OF THE CHIEF — MAORI PRAYERS — DIFFICULTY IN TRANSLATING THEM — THE SACRED LANGUAGE — THE TOHUNGAS, OR PRIESTS — BELIEF IN THE FUTURE STATE — THE SACRED BRANCH — THE MALEVOLENT SPIRITS — HAUNTED MOUNTAINS — THE TIKIS, OR SUPPOSED IDOLS OF THE MAORIES — SOME GIGANTIC WOODEN TIKIS — BELIEF IN WITCHCRAFT — FATE OF A WITCH — COUNTRY OF THE WIZARDS — INCANTATION OVER THE SICK — MAORI ANATOMISTS.

We now come to the religion of the Maories. This is a curious mixture of simplicity and elaboration, having the usual superstitions common to all savage tribes, and being complicated with the remarkable system of “tapu,” or “taboo,” as the word is sometimes spelt.

Of real religion they have no idea, and, so far as is known, even their superstitions lack that infusion of sublimity which distinguishes the religious system of many savage nations. They have a sort of indefinite belief in a good and evil influence; the former going by the generic name of Atua, and the latter of Wairua. Now, Atua is a word that has a peculiar significance of its own. It may signify the Divine Essence, or it may be applied to any object which is considered as a visible representative of that essence.

Thus, if a Maori wishes to speak of God, he would use the word Atua. But he would equally apply it to a lizard, a bird, a sun-ray, or a cloud. There is one species of lizard, of a lovely green color, called by the natives kakariki, which is held in the greatest veneration as a living representative of divinity, and is in consequence always dreaded as an atua. The belief which the natives hold on this subject is well shown by an anecdote told by Mr. Angas.

“The following incident will show how deeply the belief in witchcraft and the supposed influence of the atuas obtains among those who are still heathens. The missionary was shown some small green lizards preserved in a phial of spirits, Muriwenua and another man being in the room. We forgot at the moment that the little creatures in the phial were atuas, or gods, according to the superstitious belief of Maori polytheism, and inadvertently showed them to the man at the table.

“No sooner did he perceive the atuas than his Herculean frame shrank back as from a mortal wound, and his face displayed signs of extreme horror. The old chief, on discovering the cause, cried out, ‘I shall die! I shall die!’ and crawled away on his hands and knees; while the other man stood as a defence between the chief and the atuas, changing his position so as to form a kind of shield, till Muriwenua was out of the influence of their supposed power. It was a dangerous mistake to exhibit these atuas, for the chief is very old, and in the course of nature cannot live long, and, if he dies shortly, his death will certainly be ascribed to the baneful sight of the lizard gods, and I shall be accused of makutu or witchcraft.” In connection with this superstition about the lizard, the same traveller mentions a curious notion which prevails regarding a spider.

“On the beach of the west coast is found a small, black, and very venomous spider, called katipo by the natives. Its bite is exceedingly painful, and even dangerous, and the natives think that if the katipo bites a man and escapes, the man will die. But if he contrives to catch the spider, and makes a circle of fire round it so that it perishes in the flames, then the man recovers as the spider dies.”

The extent to which the imagination of the natives is excited by their fear of witchcraft is scarcely credible. There was one woman named Eko, who was the most celebrated witch of the Waikato district. She exercised extraordinary influence over the minds of the people, who looked upon her as a superior being. On one occasion, when angry with a man, she told him that she had taken out his heart. The man entirely believed her, and died from sheer terror.

Objects which they cannot understand are often considered by the Maories as atuas. Thus a compass is an atua, because it points in one direction, and directs the traveller by its invisible power. A barometer is an atua, because it foretells the weather. A watch is an atua, on account of the perpetual ticking and moving of the hands. Fire-arms used to be atuas until they came into common use, and lost the mystery which was at first attached to them.

Yet the Maori never addresses his prayers to any of these visible objects, but always to the invisible Atua of whom these are but the representatives. The prayers are almost entirely made by the priests or tohungas, and are a set form of words known only to the priests and those whom they instruct. The meaning of the prayers is often uncertain, owing to the obsolete words which are profusely employed in them, and of which, indeed, the prayer almost entirely consists. Prayers, or incantations, as they may perhaps be called with more precision, are made on almost every occasion of life, however trivial, and whether the Maori desires safety in a battle, a favorable wind when on the water, success in a campaign, or good luck in fishing, the tohunga is called upon to repeat the appropriate prayer. Many of these prayers or incantations have been preserved by Dr. Dieffenbach and others. One of these prayers, which can be more correctly translated than many of them, is uttered at the offering of a pigeon. It is designated as “A prayer that the pigeon may be pure, that it may be very fat: when the fire burns, the prayer is said.”

“When it is lighted, when it is lighted, the sacred fire, O Tiki! When it burns on the sacred morning, O give, O give, O Tiki, the fat. It burns for thee the fat of the pigeon; for thee the fat of the owl; for thee the fat of the parrot; for thee the fat of the flycatcher; for thee the fat of the thrush. A water of eels; where is its spring? Its spring is in heaven; sprinkle, give, be it poured out.”

Offerings of food are common rites of Maori native worship, and offerings are made of both vegetable and animal food. It is much to be regretted that very many of the ancient religious rites of the New Zealanders have perished, and that they have been entirely forgotten by the present generation. Such a loss as this can never be replaced, and the fact that it has occurred ought to make us the more careful in rescuing from speedy oblivion the expiring religious customs of other uncivilized nations.

Prayers, such as have been mentioned, are handed down by the tohungas or priests from father to son, and the youths undergo a long course of instruction before they can take rank among the priests. Dr. Dieffenbach was once fortunate enough to witness a portion of this instruction. “I was present at one of the lessons. An old priest was sitting under a tree, and at his feet was a boy, his relative, who listened attentively to the repetition of certain words, which seemed to have no meaning, but which it must have required a good memory to retain in their due order. At the old tohunga’s side was part of a man’s skull filled with water. Into this from time to time he dipped a green branch, which he moved over the boy’s head. At my approach the old man smiled, as if to say. ‘See how clever I am,’ and continued his abracadabra.

“I have been assured by the missionaries that many of these prayers have no meaning; but this I am greatly inclined to doubt. The words of the prayers are perhaps the remains of a language now forgotten; or, what is more probable, we find here what has existed among most of the nations of antiquity, even the most civilized, viz: that religious mysteries were confined to a certain class of men, who kept them concealed from the profanum vulgus, or communicated only such portions of them as they thought fit.

“They often had a sacred symbolic language, the knowledge of which was confined to the priesthood, as, for instance, the Egyptian hieroglyphics and the Sanscrit; or, if we look nearer home, we find the religion of Thor, Odin, and Freya enveloped in a poetical mythos, which has for its foundation deep and grand philosophical conceptions of morals and ethics.”

It is a rather curious fact that, contrary to the usual custom of heathen priests, the tohungas did not oppose the Christian missionaries, but were among the first to receive the new religion. Some of them seem to have received it too hastily and without sufficient knowledge of its principles, as we see from the miserable travesty of Christianity which has sprung up of late years among the Maories, and which is in New Zealand what the system of Taeping is in China.

The priests are, as a rule, the most expert artists and woodcarvers in the country; so that the word “tohunga” is often applied by the natives to a man who is skilful in any art, no matter whether he be a priest or not.

The illustration No. 1, on the 860th page, is a portrait of a very celebrated tohunga, taken by Mr. Angas in 1844. His name was Te Ohu. The portrait was obtained during a great meeting of chiefs at Aluahu. Te Ohu distinguished himself greatly on this occasion, running about after the fashion of Maori orators, shaking his long and grizzled locks from side to side, stamping furiously on the ground, and uttering his speech in a singularly deep and sonorous voice.

In the background of the sketch may be seen two remarkable articles. The one, which is the half of a canoe, stuck upright in the ground, marks the grave of a deceased chief; and the other is a pole, on which are hung a calabash of water and a basket of food, with which the spirit of the dead can refresh himself when he returns to visit the scene of his lifetime. Sometimes a dish of cooked pigeons is added; and in one case a model of a canoe, with its sail and paddles, was placed on the tomb, as a conveyance for the soul of the departed when he wished to cross the waters which lead to the eternal abodes of the spirit.

Concerning the state of the spirit after the death of the body the Maories seem to have very vague ideas. The sum of their notions on this subject is as follows:—They believe that the spirit of man is immortal, and that when it leaves the body it goes to the Reinga, or place of departed spirits. Shooting and falling stars are thought to be the souls of men going to this place. The entrance to the Reinga is down the face of a rocky cliff at Cape Maria Van Diemen. Lest the spirit should hurt itself by falling down this precipice, there is a very old tree which grows there, on which the spirits break their fall. One particular branch was pointed out as being the portion of the tree on which the spirits alighted.

One of the missionaries cut off this branch, and in consequence the natives do not regard it with quite so much awe as they did in former days. Still Dr. Dieffenbach remarks that, when he visited the islands, they held the spot in great veneration, and not even the Christian natives would go near it.

All spirits do not enter the Reinga in the same manner, those of chiefs ascending first the upper heavens, where they leave the left eye, which becomes a new star. For this reason, if a chief is killed in war, his left eye is eaten by the chief of the victorious party, who thinks that he has thus incorporated into his own being the courage, skill, and wisdom of the dead man.

Spirits are not considered as imprisoned in the Reinga, but are able to leave it when they please, and to return to the scene of their former life. They can also hold converse with their friends and relatives, but only through the tohungas. Sometimes, but very rarely, the tohunga sees the spirit; and even then it is only visible as a sunbeam or a shadow. The voice of the spirit is a sort of low whistling sound, like a slight breeze, and is sometimes heard by others beside the tohunga. He, however, is the only one who can understand the mysterious voice and can interpret the wishes of the dead to the living.

As to the life led by departed spirits, the Maories seem to have no idea; neither do they seem to care. They have a notion that in Reinga the kumeras, or sweet potatoes, abound; but beyond that tradition they appear to know nothing.

As to the malevolent spirits, or wairuas, the same cloudy indefiniteness of ideas seems to prevail. The word wairua signifies either the soul or a dream, and is mostly used to signify the spirit of some deceased person who desires to act malevolently toward the living. Such spirits are supposed to haunt certain spots, which are in consequence avoided by the New Zealander. Mountains are especial objects of his veneration, and those which are lofty enough to have their tops covered with perpetual snow are specially feared. He fancies that they are inhabited by strange and monstrous animals, that fierce birds of huge size sit continually on their whitened tops, and that every breeze which blows from them is the voice of the spirit which haunts it.

In consequence of these superstitions, the natives can no more be induced to ascend one of these mountains than to approach a burial ground. They have a curious legend about the Tongariro and Mount Egmont, saying that they were originally brother and sister, and lived together, but that they afterward quarrelled and separated. There is another strange legend of a spot near Mount Egmont. Owing to the nature of the ground, a strong chemical action is constantly taking place, which gives out great quantities of sulphuretted hydrogen gas. The natives say that in former days an Atua was drowned near the spot, and that ever since that time his body has been decomposing.

As to the idols of the New Zealanders, it is very doubtful whether they ever existed. There are, it is true, many representations of the human form, which are popularly supposed to be idols. It was formerly supposed that the green jade ornaments, called “tikis,” which are worn suspended from the neck, were idols; but it is now known that they are merely ornaments, deriving their sole value from being handed down from one generation to another.

Three examples of the so-called idols are here given. One of them is remarkable for its gigantic proportions and curious shape. It is about sixteen feet in height, and instead of consisting of a single human figure, as is usually the case, the enormous block of wood is carved into the semblance of two figures, one above the other. This arrangement is not uncommon in New Zealand, and is found also in Western Africa. I possess a walking staff of both countries, which are composed of several human figures, each upon the other’s head. The New Zealand staff will be presently described and figured.

(1.) TE OHU, A NATIVE PRIEST.
(See page 857.)

(2.) A TIKI AT RAOERA PAH.
(See page 861.)

(3.) TIKI FROM WHAKAPOKOKO.
(See page 861.)

This gigantic tiki stands, together with several others, near the tomb of the daughter of Te Whero-Whero, and, like the monument which it seems as it were to guard, is one of the finest examples of native carving to be found in New Zealand. The precise object of the tiki is uncertain; but the protruding tongue of the upper figure seems to show that it is one of the numerous defiant statues which abound in the islands. The natives say that the lower figure represents Maui, the Atua who, according to Maori tradition, fished up the islands from the bottom of the sea.

As may be seen in the illustration No. 2, on the preceding page, nearly the whole of both figures is carved with most elaborate curved patterns, which descend over the arms, and adorn those parts of the statue which do duty for hips. A portion of the paling of Raroera Pah is seen in the background, and around the tiki grow many plants of the phormium, or New Zealand flax.

Near this wonderful and mysterious piece of carving stand several others, all of the ordinary type. Two such tikis are shown in the illustration No. 3, opposite, drawn from sketches taken at Whakapokoko. Although not quite so large as the double tiki of Raroera, they are of very great size, as may be seen by contrasting them with the figure of the woman who is standing by one of them.

The firmest belief in witchcraft prevails in New Zealand, though not to such an extent as in many parts of Africa. In cases of illness for which no ordinary cause can be discovered, especially if the patient be of high rank, “makuta,” or witchcraft, is always suspected. If a chief, for example, fancies that he has been bewitched, he thinks over the names of those who are likely to have a spite against him, and pitches upon some unfortunate individual, who is thereby doomed to death. One curious example of such a murder is related by Mr. Angas.

He met a party of natives, who told him that a woman, a relation of the chief Ngawaka, had been shot by another chief, who suspected that she had bewitched his son. The young man had been taken ill, and, though the woman in question did her best to cure him, he died. His father took it into his head that she had killed him by her incantations, and, after loading his musket with a stick, shot her through the body. As, however, she was the relation of Ngawaka, it was expected that the chief would demand compensation for her death, and that the murderer would have to pay a very heavy sum. This sort of compensation is called “taua.”

There are several modes of witchcraft; but that which is most practised is performed by digging a hole in the ground and invoking the spirit of the person who is to be bewitched. After the incantations are said, the invoked spirit appears above the hole like a flickering light, and is then solemnly cursed by the witch. Sometimes, instead of digging a hole, the witch goes by night to the river bank, and there invokes the spirit, who appears as a flame of fire on the opposite bank.

Dr. Dieffenbach gives rather a curious account of a district named Urewera, which is supposed to be the special abode of witches. It is situated in the northern island, between Taupo and Hawkes’ Bay, and consists of steep and barren hills. The inhabitants of this district are few and scattered, and have the reputation of being the greatest witches in the country.

“They are much feared, and have little connection with the neighboring tribes, who avoid them, if possible. If they come to the coast, the natives there scarcely venture to refuse them anything, for fear of incurring their displeasure. They are said to use the saliva of the people whom they intend to bewitch, and visitors carefully conceal it, to give them no opportunity of working them evil. Like our witches and sorcerers of old, they appear to be a very harmless people, and but little mixed up with the quarrels of their neighbors.

“It is a curious fact that many of the old settlers in the country have become complete converts to the belief in these supernatural powers. Witchcraft has been the cause of many murders: a few days before I arrived at Aotea, on the western coast, three had been committed, in consequence of people declaring on their deathbeds that they had been bewitched....

“It is another curious fact, which has been noticed in Tahiti, Hawaii, and the islands inhabited by the great Polynesian race, that their first intercourse with Europeans produces civil wars and social degradation, but that a change of ideas is quickly introduced, and that the most ancient and deeply-rooted prejudices soon become a subject of ridicule to the natives, and are abolished at once. The grey priest, or tohunga, deeply versed in all the mysteries of witchcraft and native medical treatment, gives way in his attendance on the sick to every European who pretends to a knowledge of the science of surgery or medicine, and derides the former credulity of his patient.

“If a chief or his wife fall sick, the most influential tohunga, or a woman who has the odor of sanctity, attends, and continues day and night with the patient, sometimes repeating incantations over him, and sometimes sitting before the house and praying. The following is an incantation which is said by the priest as a cure for headache. He pulls out two stalks of the Pteris esculenta, from which the fibres of the root must be removed, and, beating them together over the head of the patient, says this chant.”—The chant in question is as unintelligible as those which have already been mentioned. Its title is “A prayer for the dead (i. e. the sick man) when his head aches: to Atua this prayer is prayed, that he, the sick man, may become well.”

When a chief is ill, his relations assemble near the house and all weep bitterly, the patient taking his part in the general sorrowing; and when all the weeping and mourning has been got out of one village, the patient is often carried to another, where the whole business is gone over again. Should the sick person be of an inferior class, he goes off to the bush, and remains there until he is well again, choosing the neighborhood of a hot spring if he can find one, or, if no such spring is at hand, infusing certain herbs in boiling water and inhaling the steam.

As may be imagined from the practice which they have in cutting up the dead for their cannibal feasts, the Maories are good practical anatomists, and know well the position of all the principal organs and vessels of the body. Consequently, they can operate in cases of danger, using sharp-edged shells if they have no knives. They can also set broken limbs well, bringing the broken surfaces together, binding the limb with splints, laying it on a soft pillow, and surrounding it with a wickerwork contrivance in order to guard it against injury.

CHAPTER LXXXVI. NEW ZEALAND— Continued . THE TAPU.

THE TAPU, OR LAW OF PROHIBITION — TAPU A SUBSTITUTE FOR GOVERNMENT — PROTECTION TO PROPERTY AND MORALS — ABUSE OF THE TAPU — THE CHIEF AND THE SAILOR — THE CHIEF AND HIS MAT — A VALUABLE SPLINTER — THE HEAD OF THE CHIEF — AN UNLUCKY MISTAKE — HOW TAONUI GOT HIS ARMOR — HAIR CUTTING — TROUBLES OF AN ARTIST — THE CARVED HEAD — TE-WHERO-WHERO AND HIS PORTRAIT — THE TAPU MOUNTAIN — BANEFUL EFFECTS OF THE TAPU ON NATIVE ART — DESTRUCTION OF THE PAHS AND HOUSES — THE TERMINABLE TAPU — THE BATTLE-TAPU — TAKING OFF THE TAPU — DUTY OF THE TOHUNGA — THE TAPU THE STRENGTH OF THE CHIEFS.

We now come naturally to the custom of Tapu or Taboo, that extraordinary system which extends throughout the whole of Polynesia, modified slightly according to the locality in which it exists.

The general bearings of the law of tapu may be inferred from the sense of the word, which signifies prohibition. The system of tapu is therefore a law of prohibition, and, when stripped of the extravagances into which it often deteriorates, it is seen to be a very excellent system, and one that answers the purpose of a more elaborate code of laws. In countries where an organized government is employed the tapu is needless, and we find that even in those parts of the earth where it was once the only restrictive law it has fallen into disuse since regular government has been introduced.

Were it not for the law of tapu, an absolute anarchy would prevail in most parts of Polynesia, the tapu being the only guardian of property and morality. In order that it may be enforced on the people, the terrors of superstition are called into play, and, in the absence of secular law, the spiritual powers are evoked.

Unprotected by the tapu, property could not exist: protected by it, the most valued and coveted articles are safer than they would be in England or America despite the elaborate legal system that secures to every man that which is his own. In New Zealand, when a man has cultivated a field of kumeras, or sweet potatoes, he needs no fence and no watchman. He simply sends for the tohunga, who lays the tapu on the field; and from that moment no one save the owner will venture within its boundaries.

Sometimes a canoe is hauled up on the beach, and must be left there for some time unwatched. The owner need not trouble himself about securing his vessel. He has the tapu mark placed upon it, and the boat is accordingly held sacred to all except its possessor. Similarly, if a native boat-builder fixes on a tree which he thinks can be made into a canoe, he places the tapu on it, and knows that no one but himself will dare to cut it down. The mark of tapu in this case is almost invariably the removal of a strip of bark round the trunk of the tree.

Then the system of tapu is the only guardian of morals. It has been already mentioned that an extreme laxity in this respect prevails among the unmarried girls. But as soon as a girl is married she becomes tapu to all but her husband, and any one who induces her to become unfaithful must pay the penalty of the tapu if the delinquents be discovered. Nor is the tapu restricted to married women. It is also extended to young girls when they are betrothed; and any girl on whom the tapu has thus been laid is reckoned as a married woman.

It will be seen, therefore, that the principle of the tapu is a good one, and that it serves as protection both to property and morals. There are, of course, many instances where this system has run into extravagances, and where, instead of a protection, it has developed into a tyranny.

Take, for example, the very praiseworthy idea that the life of a chief is most important to his people, and that his person is therefore considered as tapu. This is a proper and wholesome idea, and is conducive to the interests of law and justice. But the development of the system becomes a tyranny. The chief himself being tapu, everything that he touched, even with the skirt of his garment, became tapu, and thenceforth belonged to him. So ingrained is this idea that on one occasion, when a great chief was wearing a large and handsome mantle and found it too heavy for a hot day, he threw it down a precipice. His companion remonstrated with him, saying that it would have been better to have hung the mat on a bough, so that the next comer might make use of it. The chief was horror-struck at such an idea. It was hardly possible that a superior to himself should find the mat, and not likely that an equal should do so, and if an inferior were to wear it, he would at once die.

As the very contact of a chiefs garment renders an object tapu, à fortiori does his blood, and one drop of the blood of a chief falling upon even such objects as are free from the ordinary laws of tapu renders them his property. A curious example of the operation of this law occurred when a meeting of chiefs was called at the Taupo lake. As the principal man of the tribes, the celebrated chief Te Heu-heu was invited, and a new and beautifully carved canoe sent to fetch him. As he stepped into it, a splinter ran into his foot, inflicting a very slight wound. Every man leaped out of the canoe, which was at once drawn up on the beach and considered as the property of Te Heu-heu. Another canoe was procured, and in it the party proceeded on their journey.

Another kind of tapu takes place with regard to any object which is connected with the death of a native. If, for example, a Maori has fallen overboard from a canoe and been drowned, the vessel can never be used again, but is tapu. Or if a man commits suicide by shooting himself, as has already been mentioned, the musket is tapu. But in these cases the articles are tapu to the atuas, and not to men. Sometimes they are left to decay on the spot, no man daring to touch them, or they are broken to pieces, and the fragments stuck upright in the earth to mark the spot where the event occurred.

Sometimes this personal tapu becomes exceedingly inconvenient. The wife of an old and venerable tohunga had been ill, and was made tapu for a certain length of time, during which everything that she touched became tapu. Even the very ground on which she sat was subject to this law, and accordingly, whenever she rose from the ground, the spot on which she had sat was surrounded with a fence of small boughs stuck archwise into the earth, in order to prevent profane feet from polluting the sacred spot.

The most sacred object that a New Zealander can imagine is the head of the chief. It is so sacred that even to mention it is considered as an affront. Europeans have often given deadly offence through ignorance of this superstition, or even through inadvertence. Mr. Angas narrates a curious instance of such an adventure. A friend of his was talking to a Maori chief over his fence, and the conversation turned upon the crops of the year. Quite inadvertently he said to the chief, “Oh, I have in my garden some apples as large as that little boy’s head”—pointing at the same time to the chief’s son, who was standing near his father.

He saw in a moment the insult that he had offered, and apologized, but the chief was so deeply hurt that it was with the greatest difficulty that a reconciliation was brought about. The simile was a peculiarly unfortunate one. To use the head of a chiefs son as a comparison at all was bad enough, but to compare it to an article of food was about the most deadly insult that could be offered to a Maori. All food and the various processes of preparation are looked down upon with utter contempt by the free Maori, who leaves all culinary operations to the slaves or “cookies.”

One of the very great chiefs of New Zealand was remarkable for his snowy white hair and beard, which gave him a most venerable aspect. He was held in the highest respect, and was so extremely sacred a man that his head might only be mentioned in comparison with the snow-clad top of the sacred mountain.

The same traveller to whom we are indebted for the previous anecdote relates a curious story illustrative of this etiquette. There was a certain old chief named Taonui, who was in possession of the original suit of armor which was given by George IV. to E’ Hongi when he visited England. “The subsequent history of this armor is somewhat curious. It passed from the Nga Puis to Tetori and from Tetori to Te Whero-Whero at the Waikato feast, and came into Taonui’s hands under the following circumstances.

“On the death of a favorite daughter Te Whero-Whero made a song, the substance of which was, that he would take off the scalps of all the chiefs except Ngawaka, and fling them into his daughter’s grave to avenge her untimely death. The words of this song highly insulted the various individuals against whom it was directed, more especially as it was a great curse for the hair of a chief, which is sacred, to be thus treated with contempt. But the only chief who dared to resent this insult from so great a man as Te Whero-Whero was Taonui, who demanded a ‘taua,’ or gift, as recompense for the affront, and received the armor of E’ Hongi in compensation.

“I made a drawing of the armor, which was old and rusty. It was of steel, inlaid with brass, and, though never worn by the possessors in battle—for it would sadly impede their movements—it is regarded with a sort of superstitious veneration by the natives, who look upon it as something extraordinary.”

A chief’s head is so exceedingly sacred that, if he should touch it with his own fingers, he may not touch anything else without having applied the hand to his nostrils and smelt it so as to restore to the head the virtue which was taken out of it by the touch. The hair of a chief is necessarily sacred, as growing upon his head. When it is cut, the operation is generally confided to one of his wives, who receives every particle of the cut hair in a cloth, and buries it in the ground. In consequence of touching the chief’s head, she becomes tapu for a week, during which time her hands are so sacred that she is not allowed to use them. Above all things, she may not feed herself, because she would then be obliged to pollute her hands by touching food, and such a deed would be equivalent to putting food on the chief’s head—a crime of such enormity that the mind of a Maori could scarcely comprehend its possibility.

When engaged in his explorations in New Zealand, and employed in sketching every object of interest which came in his way, Mr. Angas found this notion about the chief’s head to be a very troublesome one. He was not allowed to portray anything connected with food with the same pencil with which he sketched the head of a chief, and to put a drawing of a potato, a dish for food, or any such object, into the same portfolio which contained the portrait of a chief, was thought to be a most fearful sacrilege.

The artist had a narrow escape of losing the whole of his sketches, which a chief named Ko Tarui wanted to burn, as mixing sacred with profane things. They were only rescued by the intervention of Te Heu-heu, a superstitious old savage, but capable of seeing that the white man had meant no harm. Warned by this escape, Mr. Angas always made his drawings of tapu objects by stealth, and often had very great difficulty in eluding the suspicious natives.

Even the carved image of a chief’s head is considered as sacred as the object which it represents. Dr. Dieffenbach relates a curious instance of this superstition.

“In one of the houses of Te Puai, the head chief of all the Waikato, I saw a bust, made by himself, with all the serpentine lines of the moko, or tattooing. I asked him to give it to me, but it was only after much pressing that he parted with it. I had to go to his house to fetch it myself, as none of his tribe could legally touch it, and he licked it all over before he gave it to me; whether to take the tapu off, or whether to make it more strictly sacred, I do not know. He particularly engaged me not to put it into the provision bag, nor to let it see the natives at Rotu-nua, whither I was going, or he would certainly die in consequence.

“Payment for the bust he would not take; but he had no objection to my making him a present of my own free will: which I accordingly did, presenting him and his wife with a shirt each.”

Once the natives were very angry because Mr. Angas went under a cooking shed, having with him the portfolio containing the head of Te Heu-heu. Even his hands were tapu because they had painted the portrait of so great a chief, and he was subjected to many annoyances in consequence. Finding that the tapu was likely to become exceedingly inconvenient, he put a stop to further encroachments by saying that, if the people made any more complaints, he would put Te Heu-heu’s head into the fire. This threat shocked them greatly, but had the desired effect.

Sometimes this sanctity of the chief is exceedingly inconvenient to himself. On one occasion, when Mr. Angas was visiting the chief Te Whero-Whero, he found the great man superintending the plantation of a kumera ground and the erection of a house for himself. Rain was falling fast, but the old chief sat on the damp ground, wrapped up in his blanket, and appearing to be entirely unconcerned at the weather, a piece of sail-cloth over the blanket being his only defence.

He did not rise, according to the custom of the old heathen chiefs, who will sometimes sit for several days together, in a sort of semi-apathetic state. To the request that his portrait might be taken Te Whero-Whero graciously acceded, and talked freely on the all important subject of land while the painter was at work. Finding the rain exceedingly unpleasant, the artist suggested that they had better move into a house. The old chief, however, knowing that he could not enter a house without making it his property by reason of contact with his sacred person, declined to move, but ordered a shelter to be erected for the white man. This was done at once, by fastening a blanket to some upright poles: and so the portrait was completed, the painter under cover and the sitter out in the rain.

Localities can be rendered tapu, even those which have not been touched by the person who lays the tapu upon them. The chief Te Heu-heu, for example, was pleased to declare the volcano Tongariro under the tapu, by calling it his backbone, so that not a native would dare approach it, nor even look at it, if such an act could be avoided. Mr. Angas was naturally desirous of visiting this mountain, but found that such a scheme could not be carried out. He offered blankets and other articles which a New Zealander prizes; but all to no purpose, for the tapu could not be broken. The chief even tried to prevent his white visitors from travelling in the direction of the mountain, and only gave his consent after ordering that the sacred Tongariro should not even be looked at. So deeply is this superstition engraven in the heart of the New Zealander, that even the Christian natives are afraid of such a tapu, and will not dare to approach a spot that has thus been made sacred by a tohunga. Reasoning is useless with them; they will agree to all the propositions, admit the inference to be drawn from them, and then decline to run so terrible a risk.

One of the finest examples of native architecture was made tapu by this same chief, who seems to have had a singular pleasure in exercising his powers. It was a pah called Waitahanui, and was originally the stronghold of Te Heu-heu. It is on the borders of the lake, and the side which fronts the water is a full half-mile in length. It is made, as usual, of upright posts and stakes, and most of the larger posts are carved into the human form, with visages hideously distorted, and tongues protruded seaward, as if in defiance of expected enemies.

Within this curious pah were the cannibal cook-houses which have already been figured, together with several of the beautifully carved patukas or receptacles for the sacred food of the chief. Specimens of these may be seen figured on page 831. In this pah Mr. Angas found the most elaborate specimen of the patuka that he ever saw. It was fortunate that he arrived when he did, as a very few years more would evidently complete the destruction of the place. Many of the most beautiful implements of native art were already so decayed that they were but a shapeless heap of ruins, and the others, were rapidly following in the same path. Of these specimens of Maori carving and architecture nothing is now left but the sketches from which have been made the illustrations that appear in this work.

Here I may be allowed to controvert a popular and plausible fallacy, which has often been brought before the public. Travellers are blamed for bringing to England specimens of architecture and other arts from distant countries. It is said, and truly too, that such articles are out of place in England. So they are: but it must be remembered that if they had not been in England they would not have been in existence. The marvellous sarcophagus, for example, brought to London by Belzoni, and now in the Soane Museum, would have been broken to pieces and hopelessly destroyed if it had been allowed to remain in the spot where it was found.

Again, had not the Assyrian sculptures found a home in the British Museum, they would have been knocked to pieces by the ignorant tribes who now roam over the ruins of Nineveh the Great. Even had the vast statues defied entire destruction, the inscriptions would long ago have been defaced, and we should have irreparably lost some of the most valuable additions to our scanty knowledge of chronology.

So again with the Elgin Marbles. Undoubtedly they were more in their place in Greece than they are in England; but, if they had not been brought to England, the iconoclastic hand of the Mussulman would have utterly destroyed them, and the loss to art would have been indeed terrible.

Thus is it with regard to the specimens of savage art, no matter in what way it is developed. Taking New Zealand as an example, there is not in England a single specimen of a Maori house. It could be easily taken to pieces and put together again; it is peculiarly valuable to ethnologists on account of the extraordinary mixture which it displays of ancient Egyptian architecture and ancient Mexican art; and in a very few years there will not be a single specimen of aboriginal architecture in the whole of New Zealand. The Maories, who have abandoned the club for the rifle, the mat for the blanket, and even the blanket for the coat and trousers, have begun to modify their ancient architecture, and to build houses after the European models.

Unless, therefore, means be taken to rescue specimens of Maori architecture from destruction, it is much to be doubted whether in twenty years’ time from the present date a single specimen will exist as a type of native art. So it is with the canoes. Graceful, picturesque, and adorned with the finest specimens of Maori art, the canoes were unique among vessels. At the present day the more useful but more commonplace whaleboat has superseded the canoe, and in a few years the elaborately decorated vessels of the Maories will have utterly passed away.

We may be sure that the tide of civilization is sweeping so rapidly over the world, that a very few years will see the end of savage life in all lands to which the white man can gain access. The relics of the ancient mode of life are left by the natives to perish, and, unless they are rescued, and brought to a country where they can be preserved, they will necessarily vanish from the face of the earth. Having this idea in my own mind, I set myself some years ago to collect articles of daily use from all parts of the world. The light which they throw upon anthropology is really astonishing, and, among some eight or nine hundred specimens, there is not one that does not tell its own story.

Take, for example, the stone merai that lies before me. What a tale does it not tell of the country where it was found, and of the workman who made it! The stone shows that it was obtained from a volcanic country; the short, weighty form of the weapon shows that it was made for a courageous race who fought hand to hand; and the graceful curves and perfect balance of the weapon show that the maker was a true artist. More than that. The merai has been made by rubbing it with another stone, and must have occupied years of labor. See, then, what a tale this weapon tells us—the volcanic region, the courageous warrior, and the worthlessness of time. Year after year the man must have worked at that merai, bending his tattooed face over it, balancing it in his hand, and watching its soft curves grow into perfection. Then, after it was made, he has evidently carried it about with him, fought with his foes, and dashed out their brains with its once sharp and now notched edge. Afterward, when he, or may be his grandson, came to fight against the white men, their fire-arms were too terrible to be opposed, and the merai was taken from the hand of the dead warrior as he lay on the field of battle, its plaited cord still round his wrist. Nevermore will a stone merai be made, and before very long the best examples of Maori weapons will be found in English museums.

We will now return to the subject of the tapu. Useful as it may be as a guardian of property, it often exaggerates that duty, and produces very inconvenient results. For example, some travellers were passing through the country, and were hungry and wearied, and without food. Very opportunely there came in sight a fine pig; but the animal contrived to run across a piece of ground which was tapu, and in consequence became tapu itself for a certain number of days, and could not be eaten.

There are thousands of such tapu spots in the country. If, for example, a great chief has been travelling, every place where he sits to rest is tapu, and is marked by a slight fence of sticks. In many cases, each of these sacred spots has its own name. The same is the case when the body of a chief is carried to his own pah for burial, every resting place of the bearers becoming tapu. Therefore nothing was more likely than to come across one of these tapu spots, or more easy than for the pig to break through its slight fence.

A curious modification of the tapu took place before and after a battle. The tohunga assembled the warriors of his own party, and went with them to the lake or river, which had been made tapu for the purpose. The men then threw off all their clothing, and went into the water, which they scooped up with their hands and threw over their heads and bodies. The priest then recited the appropriate incantation.

Thus the battle tapu was laid upon the warriors, who were thereby prohibited from undertaking any other business except that of fighting, and were supposed, moreover, to be under the protection of the gods. This tapu was most strictly regarded, and the warriors had to learn quite a long list of occupations which were forbidden to them, such as carrying a load, cutting their own hair, touching the head of a woman, and so forth.

After the fighting is over, it is necessary that the tapu should be taken off from the survivors, so that they should be enabled to return to their usual mode of life. This ceremony is rather a complicated one, and varies slightly in different parts of the country. The chief features, however, are as follows:—

Each man who had killed an enemy, or taken a slave, pulled off a lock of hair from the victim, and retained it as a trophy. They then went in a body to the tohunga, and gave him a portion of the hair. This he tied on a couple of little twigs, raised them high above his head, and recited the incantation; after which the whole body joined in the war song and dance. This being over, the warriors clapped their hands together and struck their legs, that act being supposed to take off the tapu which had been contracted by imbruing them in the blood of the enemy.

The war party then goes home, and a similar ceremony is undergone in the presence of the principal tohunga of their pah, the hands being clapped and the war dance performed. The remainder of the hair is given to the tohunga, who, after reciting his incantation, flings the tuft of hair away, and ends by another incantation, which declares that the tapu is taken away.

As a general rule, the tapu can only be taken off by the person who imposed it; but if a man imposed a tapu on anything, another who was very much his superior would not have much scruple in breaking through it. By courtesy the tapu was mostly respected by great and small alike, and, by courtesy also, the very great men often put themselves to great inconvenience by refraining from actions that would lay the tapu on the property of inferiors. Thus we have seen how a chief refused to enter a house, lest he should render it his property, and preferred to sit in the pouring rain, rather than run the risk of depriving an inferior of his property.

Should an object become tapu by accident, the tohunga can take off the tapu and restore the object to use. A curious instance of the exercise of this power is related by a traveller. A white man, who had borrowed an iron pot for cooking, wanted some soft water, and so he placed the pot under the eaves of a house from which the rain was running. Now, the house happened to be tapu, and in consequence the water running from it made the pot tapu. It so happened that a woman, who was ignorant of the circumstance, used the pot for cooking, and when she was told that the vessel was tapu she was greatly frightened, declaring that she would die before night. In this difficulty a tohunga came to her relief, repeated an incantation over the vessel, and made it “noa,” or common, again.

Sometimes the tapu only lasts for a period, and, after that time has elapsed, expires without the need of any ceremony. Thus, if a person who is tapu by sickness is touched by another, the latter is tapu for a definite time, usually three days. If a sick person dies inside a house, that house is ipso facto, tapu and may never again be used. It is painted with red ochre, as a sign of its sanctity, and is left to decay. In consequence of this superstition, when the patient seems likely to die, he is removed from the house, and taken to a spot outside the pah, where a shed is built for his reception.

It will be seen from the foregoing account how great is the power of the tapu, and how much it adds to the power of the chiefs. Indeed, without the power of tapu, a chief would be but a common man among his people—he would be liable to the tapu of others, and could not impose his own. The tapu is one of the chief obstacles against the spread of Christianity. Knowing that the missionaries treat the tapu as a mere superstition, the great chiefs do not choose to embrace a religion which will cause them to lose their highest privilege, and would deprive them of the one great power by which they exercise their authority.

Mr. Williams, the well-known missionary, sums up the subject of the tapu in very bold and graphic language:—“It is the secret of power, and the strength of despotic rule. It affects things both great and small. Here it is seen tending a brood of chickens, and there it directs the energies of a kingdom. Its influence is variously diffused. Coasts, islands, rivers, and seas; animals, fruit, fish, and vegetables; houses, beds, pots, cups, and dishes; canoes, with all that belong to them, with their management; dress, ornaments, and arms; things to eat and things to drink; the members of the body; the manners and customs; language, names, temper; and even the gods also; all come under the influence of the tapu.

“It is put into operation by religious, political, or selfish motives; and idleness lounges for months beneath its sanction. Many are thus forbidden to raise their hands or extend their arms in any useful employment for a long time. In this district it is tapu to build canoes; on that island it is tapu to erect good houses. The custom is much in favor among chiefs, who adjust it so that it sits easily on themselves, while they use it to gain influence over those who are nearly their equals; by it they supply many of their wants, and command at will all who are beneath them. In imposing a tapu, a chief need only be checked by a care that he is countenanced by ancient precedents.”

CHAPTER LXXXVII. NEW ZEALAND— Concluded . FUNERAL CEREMONIES AND ARCHITECTURE.

THE MOURNING OVER THE DEAD CHIEF — THE TANGI, AND THE SCARS WHICH IT LEAVES — FIRST BURIAL OF THE CHIEF — THE WAHI TAPU — THE SECOND BURIAL, OR “HAHUNGA” — REMOVAL OF THE TAPU, AND INSTALLATION OF THE SUCCESSOR — E’ HONGI’S DEATHBED — A DECAYING PAH — CANOE TOMBS — MONUMENT TO E’ TOKI — TOMB OF TE WHERO-WHERO’S DAUGHTER — SAVAGE SENTIMENT — MAORI ARCHITECTURE — MATERIAL, SHAPE, AND SIZE OF THE HOUSES — A CROWDED SLEEPING PLACE — THE EAT MAN HOUSE — RANGIHAEATA’S REVENGE — PUATIA’S WAR-HOUSE AND ITS SCULPTURES — INTERIOR VIEW OF A PAH — TOOLS USED IN HOUSE-BUILDING — THE AXE AND THE CHISEL — THE TOKO-TOKO, OR WALKING STICK.

We now come to the ceremonies that belong to funerals.

When a chief, or indeed any Rangatira, dies, his friends and relations deck the body in the finest clothes which the deceased had possessed in his lifetime, lay it out, and assemble round it for the customary mourning. The women are the chief mourners, and indulge in the most demonstrative, not to say ostentatious, ebullitions of grief. Sometimes they squat upon the ground, their bodies and faces wrapped in their mantles, as if utterly overpowered by grief. Sometimes they wave their arms in the air, shaking their hands with expressive gestures of sorrow; and all the while they utter loud wailing cries, while the tears stream down their cheeks.

Much of this extravagant sorrow is necessarily feigned, according to the custom of New Zealand life, which demands tears on so many occasions; but there is no doubt that much is real and truly felt. The women cut themselves severely with shells, making incisions in the skin several inches in length. These incisions are filled with charcoal, as if they had been part of the regular moko or tattoo, and become indelible, being, in fact, perpetual records of sorrow. Some of these women cut themselves with such severity, that in their old age they are covered with the thin blue lines of the “tangi,” their faces, limbs, and bodies being traversed by them in rather a ludicrous manner. The tangi lines might be mistaken for regular tattooing, except for one point. They have no pattern, and instead of being curved, as is always the case with the moko, they are straight, about two inches in length, and run parallel to each other.

They address long speeches to the dead man, enumerating his many virtues, his courage, his liberality, the strength of his tapu, and so forth, mixed with reproaches to him for dying and going away from them when they stood in such need of him. Indeed, the whole of the proceedings, with the exception of cutting the skin, are very like those of an Irish wake.

In the illustration No. 1, on the 872nd page, are shown these various ceremonies. The dead body of the chief is lying under the shed, wrapped in the best mantle, and with a coronal of feathers in the hair. In the front sits a chief, whose rank is denoted by his hani, or staff of office, that lies by him, and by the elaborate mantle in which he has wrapped himself. Standing near the corpse is one of the mourners, with arms upraised and hands quivering, while others are seen sitting in various attitudes of woe. The fence of the pah is shown in the background, with its grotesque images and curious architecture.

When the old people attend a funeral, they usually paint themselves freely with red ochre, and wear wreaths of green leaves upon their heads. The house in which the death took place is rendered tapu until the body is finally disposed of—an event which does not take place for some time.

After the mourning ceremonies have been completed, the body is placed in a sort of coffin and allowed to decay, the green jade merai, the tiki, the hani, and other emblems of rank being placed with the corpse. In some parts of the country this coffin is canoe-shaped, and suspended to the branches of a tree, certain places being kept sacred for this purpose. There existed, for example, several graves belonging to the Nga-pui tribe, which had been preserved on account of the sacred character which belonged to them. The natives had long abandoned the custom of hanging the coffins of the dead on the trees, but the sacred character still clung to them, and, though the woods in that part of the country had been felled, the sacred groves were allowed to flourish unharmed.

Sometimes the body of a very great chief was placed in a wooden receptacle in the midst of the pah, called the waki-tapu, and there allowed to decay. As might be expected, a most horrible odor is disseminated through the pah during the process of decomposition; but the inhabitants do not seem to trouble themselves, their nostrils not being easily offended. For example, when a whale is thrown ashore, the stench of the huge mass of decomposition is so overpowering that an European cannot endure it. The natives, however, say that they are used to it, and do not notice it. Indeed, people who can eat the horrible messes of putrid maize of which they are so fond must be so obtuse of scent as to be indifferent to any ill odor.

Be it as it may, in time the process of decay is supposed to be complete,—seven or eight months being the usual time. A curious ceremony, called the “hahunga,” then takes place. The friends and relatives of the deceased chief are again assembled, and the bones are solemnly taken from their receptacle and cleaned. The person who cleans them is necessarily tapu, but is rendered “noa,” or common again, by the eldest son and daughter of the deceased chief eating of the sacred food offered to the dead. Should the eldest girl happen to be dead, the food is placed in a calabash, and laid in the now empty coffin, the spirit of the girl being called by name, and the food offered to her. The spirit is supposed to partake of the food; and the tapu is thus removed as effectually as if she were alive, and had visibly eaten the provisions. Should the chief have had no daughter, the nearest female relative takes the office. The usual orations are made in honor of the deceased and the merai, tiki, and other ornaments of the dead chief are then handed over to his eldest son, who thus takes possession of the post which his father had vacated, the ceremony being analogous to a coronation among Europeans.

When the celebrated chief E’ Hongi, the “Scourge of New Zealand,” as he has been called, died, his children were so afraid that they would be attacked by those whom the terror of his name had kept quiet, that they wanted to omit the preliminary orations and “tangi,” and to lay his body in the “waki-tapu,” or sacred place, on the day after his death. This intention was, however, overruled, chiefly in consequence of the foresight of the dying chief.

Feeling that his end was close at hand, he rallied his sons round him, sent for all his warlike stores, the merais, patus, muskets, ammunition, and, above all, the armor which he had received from George IV., and bequeathed them to his children. He was asked what “utu,” or satisfaction, should be exacted for his death, but replied that the only utu which his spirit would desire was, that his tribe should be valiant, and repel any attack that might be made upon them. But for this really noble sentiment, there would have been great slaughter at his death, in order to furnish attendants for him.

That his tribe should for the future be valiant, and repel the attacks of their enemies, was the ruling idea in E’ Hongi’s mind; and on March 6, 1828, he died, continually repeating the words, “Kia toa! kia toa!”—i. e. “Be valiant! be valiant!”

After the ceremony of cleaning the bones is over, they are taken by the principal tohunga, or priest, who generally disposes of them in some secret spot sacred to the remains of dead chiefs, and known only to himself. Sometimes, however, they are laid in beautifully carved boxes, which are supported on posts in the middle of the pah.

Sometimes the waki-tapu, or sacred place in which the body of a chief is placed while it undergoes decomposition, is marked in a very curious manner, and the entire village deserted for a time. For example, at the pah of Huriwenua, the chief had died about six weeks before Mr. Angas arrived at the place, which he found deserted. “Not far from this island pah stood the village of Huriwenua, the gaily-ornamented tomb of the late chief forming a conspicuous object in the centre. Here, although everything was in a state of perfect preservation, not a living soul was to be seen; the village, with its neat houses made of raupo, and its courtyards and provision boxes, was entirely deserted. From the moment the chief was laid beneath the upright canoe, on which were inscribed his name and rank, the whole village became strictly tapu, or sacred, and not a native, on pain of death, was permitted to trespass near the spot. The houses were all fastened up, and on most of the doors were inscriptions denoting that the property of such an one remained there.

“An utter silence pervaded the place. After ascertaining that no natives were in the vicinity of the forbidden spot, I landed, and trod the sacred ground; and my footsteps were probably the first, since the desertion of the village, that had echoed along its palisaded passages.

(1.) MOURNING OVER A DEAD CHIEF.
(See page 869.)

(2.) TOMB OF E’ TOKI.
(See page 873.)

“On arriving at the tomb, I was struck with the contrast between the monument of the savage and that of the civilized European. In the erection of the latter, marble and stone and the most durable of metals are employed, while rapidly decaying wood, red ochre, and feathers form the decorations of the Maori tomb. Huriwenua having been buried only six weeks, the ornaments of the waki-tapu, or sacred place, as those erections are called, were fresh and uninjured. The central upright canoe was richly painted with black and red, and at the top was written the name of the chief; above which there hung in clusters, bunches of kaka feathers, forming a large mass at the summit of the canoe. A double fence of high palings, also painted red, and ornamented with devices in arabesque work, extended round the grave, and at every fastening of flax, where the horizontal rails were attached to the upright fencing, were stuck two feathers of the albatross, the sunny whiteness of which contrasted beautifully with the sombre black and red of the remainder of the monument.”

One of these tombs may be seen in the background of illustration No. 1, on p. 860, containing the portrait of an old priest, and another is shown in the view of a village which will be given on a future page.

Within the pah is often erected a monument or mausoleum of the dead. A very beautiful example of this kind of tomb was erected in the pah of Rangihaeta to the memory of E’ Toki, the mother of Raupahara.

It was nearly semi-circular in shape, and the body was placed in it in an upright position. It was covered with a roof, squared at the corners, and projecting like a verandah all round, and sloping toward the back. The central tomb, the roof, and the posts which supported it, were all covered with the most elaborate arabesque pattern, mostly of a spiral character. Paint was liberally used on it, that on the central tomb or coffin being red and white, while that which decorated the roof and posts was red and black. In front of the projecting roof was hung the beautifully woven kaitaka mat of the deceased woman, and tufts of the white feathers of the albatross were arranged at regular intervals upon it.

Even when Mr. Angas saw this beautiful example of Maori art, it was beginning to decay, the climate being damp, and the natives never repairing a decaying tomb. It was, of course, strictly tapu. No native liked to go close to it, and for a slave, or even a free man of inferior rank, to go within a certain distance of it would have been a crime punishable with instant death.

I have much pleasure in presenting on the preceding page an illustration of this beautiful monument of Maori art, taken from a drawing made by Mr. Angas in 1844, while the perishable materials of which the tomb was made were yet in tolerable preservation. Under the carved and decorated roof may be seen the semicircular coffin in which the body had been placed, distinguished from the outer portion of the tomb by the red and white colors with which it was painted, in contrast to the red and black of the outer portions. The reader will notice that red is the prevalent color in all tombs, because red is the hue of mourning as well as of war among the Maories. Immediately under the eaves of the front may be seen the highly ornamented border of the kaitaka mat once worn by the deceased, and now left to decay upon her tomb.

Round the tomb itself runs a slight and low fence. This palisade, small as it might appear, afforded ample protection to the tomb, inasmuch as the whole space within it was rendered sacred by a tapu laid upon it by Raupahara, so that not even the highest chief would venture to enter the forbidden enclosure.

One of the finest specimens of carving in New Zealand—perhaps the finest in the whole country—is, or rather was, a mausoleum erected by Te Whero-Whero to his favorite daughter. It was upon the death of this daughter that Te Whero-Whero gave such dire offence to the other chiefs by threatening to throw their scalps into his daughter’s grave, for which offence he had to give up the celebrated armor of E’Hongi by way of fine.

The monument was erected in Raroera, formerly one of the largest and finest pahs in New Zealand, but rendered desolate by the act of the headstrong and determined chief. He had this wonderful tomb built for his daughter, and, as soon as her body was placed within it, he pronounced the whole pah to be tapu. It was at once deserted: old and young quitted the place, leaving everything behind them, the provisions to moulder and the weapons to decay. Solid houses that had occupied many years in building and carving were allowed to fall into mere shapeless heaps of ruins; and even in 1844 the rank vegetation had so completely overrun the place that many of the best pieces of native work were covered by the foliage.

The tomb is about twelve feet high, and consists of the usual box for the reception of the body, covered by a projecting roof, which is supported by pillars. Were it as graceful in form as the monument to E’ Toki, this would be by far the finest specimen of native art; but unfortunately it does not possess the bold outline and contrast of the curve and the straight line which are so characteristic of E’ Toki’s tomb.

The elaboration of the carving on this monument is so great that it almost baffles the skill of the draughtsman. Mr. Angas succeeded in copying it, and when the drawing was shown to the artist who had executed the work he was astounded, and pronounced the white man to be a great tohunga. The roof is supported by pillars, each pillar consisting of two human figures, the upper standing on the head of the lower. The upper figure is about seven feet in height, and has a gigantic head, with an enormous protruding tongue that reaches to the breast.

The whole of the tomb is covered with human heads. Exclusive of those upon the posts, the front alone of the tomb contains fourteen faces, each differing from the other in expression and pattern of the moko, but all wearing the same defiant air. Their enormous eyes are made peculiarly conspicuous by being carved out of haliotis shell, carrying out on a large scale the plan adopted in the chiefs’ hanis and other sculptures. The whole of the space between the figures is covered with the most elaborate arabesques, intertwining with each other in a bewildering manner, but each running its own boldly curved course. Between the various pieces that compose this tomb are set bunches and tufts of white and green feathers, which serve to adorn as well as disguise the necessary seams of the woodwork.

This wonderful monument was entirely carved by one man, named Paranui. He was lame, and in consequence had expended his energies in art, in which he had so greatly distinguished himself that he took rank as a tohunga. He was equally celebrated as a tattooer; and it may well be imagined that a man who could design so extraordinary a piece of workmanship must be skilful in inventing the endless variety of patterns needful in the decoration of chief’s faces. In performing this work, Paranui had but one tool, the head of an old bayonet.

The loss of such specimens of native art as those which have been described carries out my former remarks on the necessity for removing to our own country every memorial of savage life that we can secure. We inflict no real injury upon the savages, and we secure an invaluable relic of vanishing customs. These monuments, for example, were simply carved and then left to decay. Had they been removed to this country, where they would have been guarded from the power of the elements and the encroachments of vegetation, we should have seen them in complete preservation at the present day, and likely to last as long as the building which contained them.

Of course the sentimental argument may be pleaded against this view of the case; but in matters which are of vital importance in the grand study of anthropology mere sentiment ought to have no place. Neither has it such place as some often imagine. The savage, finding that the white man yields to him on this point, is only too glad to find any vantage ground, and always presses on as fast as the other yields—just as has been done in India with the question of caste. We cannot measure their mental sensibilities any more than their physical by our own. A savage endures with stoicism tortures which would kill an European, simply because he does not feel them as much. And the mental and physical sensibilities are very much on a par.

The Maori is perhaps the finest savage race on the face of the earth, and yet we cannot think that he is exactly an estimable being, whose ambition is murder, and whose reward is to eat the body of his victim, who never does a stroke of work that he can avoid, and who leads a life of dissipation as far as his capabilities go. Of all savage nations, the New Zealander displays most sorrow for the loss of a friend or relation. Tears flow profusely from his eyes, and every tone of his voice and every gesture of his body convey the impression that he is borne down by unendurable woe. Yet we have seen that this effusion of sorrow is mostly premeditated, and merely a conventional mode of acting required by the etiquette of the country.

When two people can be bathed in tears, speak only in sobbing accents, utter heart-rending cries, and sink to the ground as overwhelmed by grief, we cannot but compassionate their sorrow and admire their sensibility. But if, in the middle of all these touching demonstrations of grief, we see them suddenly cease from their sobs and cries, enter into a little lively conversation, enjoy a hearty laugh, and then betake themselves afresh to their tears and sobs, we may take the liberty of doubting their sincerity.

So with those beautiful houses and monuments that are left to perish by neglect. The builder did in all probability feel very keenly at the time, though the feeling of grief seems sometimes to take a curious turn, and be metamorphosed into vengeance and an excuse for war; but it is very much to be doubted whether grief for the departed is a feeling that is really permanent in the savage mind. The Maori chief may lay his tapu on an entire village when a relative dies, and if, after the lapse of years, any one be rash enough to invade the forbidden precincts, he will visit the offence with instant punishment. But it must be remembered that the infringement of the tapu in question is not an insult to the dead but to the living, and that when the chief punishes the offender, he does not avenge an affront offered to his dead relative, but a direct insult to himself.

In spite of his sentiment, I think that the Maori might have been induced to sell such specimens of art, and even if he refused to yield to such a proposition, he would have respected us none the less if, when we had captured a pah, we exercised the right of conquest, and took that which we could not buy. Or even supposing that the first idea had proved impracticable, and the second unadvisable, it would not have been very difficult to have induced a native artist to execute a duplicate which he could sell for a price which would enrich him for life.

Such sentiments are, I know, unpopular with the mass of those who only see the savage at a distance, which certainly, in the case of savage life, lends the only enchantment to the view that it can possess. But I believe them to be just and true, and know that the closer is our acquaintance with savage life, the more reason we have to be thankful for civilization. The savage knows this himself, and bitterly feels his inferiority. He hates and fears the white man, but always ends by trying to imitate him.

To return to these monuments. In former times they existed in great numbers, and even in more recent days those which survive are so characteristic of a style of art that may have taken its rise from ancient Mexico, that I should have been glad to transfer to these pages several more of Mr. Angas’ sketches.

It will be seen from several of the previous illustrations that the New Zealanders must possess much skill in architecture. The observant reader must have remarked that the art of house-building is practically wanting in Australia; and that such should be the case is most extraordinary, seeing that architectural skill is singularly developed among the great Polynesian families. The New Zealander, whose country has much in common with Australia, is remarkable for the skill and taste which he displays in architecture; and a short space will therefore be devoted to this subject.

As is the case throughout Polynesia in general, the material used in house-building is wood, and the various pieces of which a house is composed are fastened together not by nails, but by ropes and strings, which in many cases are applied in a most elaborate and artistic manner, beauty being studied not only in the forms of the houses and in the carved patterns with which they are adorned, but in the complicated lashings with which they are bound together. As, however, this branch of ornamental architecture is carried to a greater extent in Fiji than in New Zealand, I shall reserve the details for the description of the Fiji Islands.

The size of some of these edifices is very great. For example, in 1843 the Maori converts built for themselves a place of worship large enough to contain a thousand persons, and measuring eighty-six feet in length by forty-two in width. The size of this edifice was evidently determined by the length of the ridge-pole. This was cut from a single tree, and was dragged by the natives a distance of three miles. The cross-lashings of the building were all ornamental, giving to it a peculiar richness of finish.

We are, however, chiefly concerned with the domestic architecture of the Maories. Within each pah or enclosed village are a number of houses, each representing a family, and separated from each other by fences, several houses generally standing near each other in one enclosure. A full-sized house is about forty feet long by twenty wide, and is built on precisely the same principle as the tombs which have been just described, the actual house taking the position of the coffin, and being sheltered from the weather by a gable roof, which extends far beyond the walls, so as to form a sort of verandah. The roof is supported on separate posts, and does not, as with ourselves, rest upon the walls of the house. The roof always projects greatly at the principal end of the house, in which the door is situated, so that it forms a sort of shed, under which the members of the family can shelter themselves from the sun or rain without going into the house. A genuine New Zealander has a great love for fresh air, and, as we have seen, will composedly sit for a whole day on the wet ground in a pouring rain, although a house may be within easy reach. Yet at night, when he retires to rest, he is equally fond of shutting himself up, and of excluding every breath of fresh air.

Indeed, the native does not look upon a house as a place wherein to live, but merely as a convenient shelter from the elements by day and a comfortable sleeping-place by night. As soon as evening is near, a fire is lighted in the middle of the house, which fills it with smoke, as there is no chimney. The New Zealander, however, seems to be smoke-proof, and sits composedly in a place which would drive an European half mad with smarting eyes. Indeed, before the natives become inured to the acrid vapor, their eyes have much to endure, and it is to the habit of sitting in the smoke that the bleared look so prevalent in old people is chiefly due.

Not only do the natives thus surround themselves with a smoky atmosphere, but they limit its quantity as well as its quality. The number of men and women that will pack themselves into one house at night is almost incredible, each person lying down on a simple mat, and retaining the same clothes that have been worn during the day. As, however, the heat becomes excessive, the inmates generally contrive to throw off their clothing during the night. By daybreak the heat and closeness are almost stifling to an European, and it is rather an amusing sight to see a hut give up its inmates on the morning of a cold day, the whole party being enveloped in steam as they come into the cold air.

At the principal end of the house, under the verandah, is the entrance. This strangely resembles the gate of an Egyptian temple, being made of three large beams, the two side posts slightly inclining to each other, and the third laid upon them. The aperture is closed by a sliding door, and at the side of the door is generally a square window, which can be closed in the same manner. In some large houses there were two of these windows, one on either side of the door.

As the roof is made with a considerable slant, the walls are seldom more than two or three feet high where the roof touches them, though in the middle the house is lofty enough. The roof is supported on the inside by one or two posts, which are always carved elaborately, and almost invariably have the human figure as one of the ornaments upon them. The ridge-pole is flattened and boardlike, and in good houses is carved and painted in patterns, usually of the spiral character. This board, as well as those which are used in different parts of the building, is made by hacking the trunk of a tree on both sides, until it is reduced to the required thickness, the native Maories having no tool which can answer the purpose of a saw.

At the end of the ridge-pole, over the door, is carved a distorted human figure, intended to represent the owner of the house, and recognized as such by the lines of the moko or tattoo on its face, and generally having the tongue thrust out to an inordinate extent.

An illustration on page 877 represents the most celebrated of all Maori houses, namely, the war house of the ruthless chief Rangihaeta, an edifice which fully expresses the ferocious character of the builder. These houses are designed by chiefs in honor of some great victory, and are surrounded with wooden figures, which either represent in derision the leading warriors of the enemy who have been killed, or the victorious chief and his own warriors in the act of defying and insulting the enemy by thrusting out their tongues at them. This house bears the ominous name of Kai-tangata, or Eat-man.

The illustration is taken from a sketch made by Mr. Angas, who describes the building as follows: “Kai-tangata, or Eat-man House, is a wooden edifice in the primitive Maori style, of large dimensions, with the door-posts and the boards forming the portico curiously and elaborately carved in grotesque shapes, representing human figures, frequently in the most indecent attitudes. The eyes are inlaid with pawa shell, and the tattooing of the faces is carefully cut. The tongues of all these figures are monstrously large, and protrude out of the mouth, as a mark of defiance toward their enemies who may approach the house. The whole of the carved work, as well as the wooden parts of the building, are colored red with kokowai, an ochre found principally on the side of the volcano of Taranaki.

“The portico or verandah of Rangihaeta’s house is about twelve feet deep, and the ridge-pole and frame boards of the roof are richly painted in spiral arabesques of black and red; the margin of each spiral being dotted with white spots, which add richness to the effect. The spaces between the woodwork are filled up with variegated reeds, beautifully arranged with great skill, and fastened together with strips of flax dyed red, and tied crosswise, so as to present the appearance of ornamental basketwork.

“Above the centre of the gable-roofed portico is fixed a large wooden head, elaborately tattooed, with hair and a beard fastened on, composed of dogs’ tails. Within the house is a carved image of most hideous aspect, that supports the ridge-pole of the roof. This is intended to represent the proprietor, and is said by the natives to be entirely the work of Rangihaeta’s own hand.”

This figure, together with the pole that issues from the head, may be seen in illustration No. 1, on page 809, which represents the interior of the house. On account of the circumstance recorded in the beginning of this description, the artist has been unable to draw a vast number of carvings which decorated this house, so that much of the extraordinary elaboration is necessarily omitted.

Rangihaeta displayed his merciless disposition in one of the unfortunate skirmishes which often took place between the Maories and the English, and which have afterward been equally regretted by both parties, the white men having generally offered an unintentional insult to the natives, and the latter having resented it in the heat of passion. On this occasion, a number of the white men had been captured by the Maories under the two chiefs Rangihaeta and Raupahara, who were related to each other by marriage, the former having married a daughter of the latter. Some time previously, this woman had been accidentally killed by a chance shot, which, as a matter of course, her relations insisted on considering as intentional.

(1.) RANGIHAETA’S WAR HOUSE.
(See page 876.)

(2.) INTERIOR OF A PAH OR VILLAGE.
(See page 879.)

While the prisoners and their capturers were standing together, another chief named Puatia tried to make peace, saying that the slain on both sides were about equal. His proposition was accepted, the lately opposing parties shook hands, and all would have gone well had they not been joined by Rangihaeta, who had been employing himself in the congenial task of killing all the wounded. He immediately demanded the lives of the prisoners, and when Raupahara refused to accede to his demand, Rangihaeta told him to remember his daughter. The bereaved chief was silent at this implied reproach, and, before he had time to collect his thoughts, Rangihaeta glided round the party, getting behind each of the captives as they stood among the Maories, and killed them successively with his merai. The ubiquitous land question was at the bottom of this sad business.

Houses like the Kai-tangata were formerly common, answering the purpose of the ancient trophies. A war house nearly as celebrated as that which has just been described was erected by Puatia, the chief of Otawhao Pah, in order to commemorate the capture of Maketu on the east coast. Since Puatia died, the whole of this splendid pah was rendered tapu, and, in consequence, the buildings within it were given up to decay. Mr. Angas was fortunate enough to secure a sketch of the war house before, like the rest of the buildings in the pah, it had entirely decayed.

The house itself is perhaps scarcely so neatly made as the Kai-tangata, but it derives great interest from the number of figures with which the beams, rafters, and posts are decorated. On either side of the verandah stand two huge wooden figures, which are intended to represent two chiefs who fell in battle, but who, as belonging to the victorious side, are represented with their tongues defiantly menacing the beaten enemy.

The figure that supports the central pole represents a chief who was one of the principal warriors at the capture of Maketu. At the height of six and ten feet respectively, on the same pole, are carvings which represent two other warriors, their moko, or tattoo, doing duty for the whole of the person. Still higher are a couple of figures representing warriors, the upper figure appearing to stand on the roof itself. Just within the upper part of the gable is the figure of Pokana, a warrior who was living at the time when the house was built, and who is represented with a pipe in his mouth. Around the house are numbers of similar figures, each representing some well-known individual, and having a signification which is perfectly well understood by the natives.

It was in this ruined pah of Otawhao that the disused wooden war-bell was found. The former owner, Puatia, was converted to Christianity before his death, and, while he lay sick within his pah, he had a school established for the purpose of disseminating Christianity, and used to call his people round him for the morning and evening prayers.

It has been mentioned that, owing to the contempt with which the Maories regard everything that pertains to the preparation of food, cooking is never carried on in the dwelling-houses. If possible, it is conducted in the open air; but when the weather is too wet or too windy, a shed is employed. These cooking sheds are built expressly for the purpose, and no one with any claims to rank ever enters within them. Were no shelter but a cooking shed to be found within miles, the Maori chief would not enter it, no matter how severe the weather might be.

The cooking sheds are built very simply, the sides or walls being purposely made with considerable interstices, so that the wind may pass freely between them. They are roofed with beams, over which is placed a thatch of the raupo rush. As, among other articles of diet, the putrid maize is prepared in these sheds, the European traveller is often glad to find that the abominable mess will be cooked at a distance from him.

Some of the larger pahs contain a great number of houses, and several of them are inhabited by at least two thousand people. Civilization has at the present day exercised great influence upon the pahs, and reduced them, as a rule, to fortresses rather than villages. In many districts the use of the pah has been practically abandoned, those natives who wish to be at peace devoting themselves to the cultivation of the ground and living in scattered houses, without caring for the protection of the fence.

The illustration No. 2, on page 877, is taken from a sketch by Mr. Angas, representing the interior of a pah as seen by him in 1844. One or two of the houses are seen scattered about, adorned with the grotesque figures of which the Maori is so fond, and having several of the inmates sitting under the shelter of the deep verandah. Rather in the background are one or two of the ingenious and beautifully carved storehouses, in which food is protected from the rats, and on one side is a great wooden tiki projecting from the ground. Just behind the large storehouse is seen the curious monument that marks the waki-tapu, or sacred burial-place of a chief, a half canoe being planted in the ground and painted with elaborate patterns in red, the color for mourning and war among the New Zealanders.

Groups of the natives may be seen scattered about, conspicuous among whom is the council that is sitting in the foreground, under the presidency of the seated chief, whose hani, or staff of office, marks his dignity. A slave woman is seen working at her task of beating the flax leaves; and wandering promiscuously about the pah, or lying comfortably asleep, are the pigs, with which every village swarms.

We now come to the tools with which the Maori performs all this wonderful amount of carpentering and carving.

Looking at the results, we might naturally fancy that the dusky architect possessed a goodly array of tools; but, in fact, his tools are as few and simple as his weapons, and may be practically considered as two, the adze and the chisel. On the next page an example of each is drawn, the artist having taken care to select the best and most valuable specimens; the blades being formed from the precious green jade, and the handles carved elaborately, so as to be worthy of the valuable material from which the blades are shaped.

As may be imagined, these tools cannot have very sharp edges given to them, as the brittleness of the stone would cause it to chip into an edge like that of a bad saw, and in consequence the worst iron axe is a far better tool than the best specimen of green stonework that a Maori ever made.

At No. 3 may be seen one of the common “tokis,” or stone axes, that were formerly so much used in building canoes. The specimen from which it is drawn is in my collection, and I have selected it for illustration because it gives so excellent an idea of the structure of the tool, and the mode of fastening the blade to the handle. This is achieved in a very ingenious manner, and although it scarcely seems possible to secure the requisite firmness by a mere lashing of string, the Maori workman has contrived to attach the blade as firmly as if it had been socketed.

This mode of fastening the blade to the handle prevails over the greater part of the Polynesian group, and, although the elaboration of the lashings varies considerably, the principle is exactly the same throughout. The same plan prevails even in Borneo, and there is in my collection a boat-builder’s adze, the iron blade of which is lashed to the socket in precisely the same manner, the only difference being that split rattan is employed instead of string. The reader will notice the peculiar shape of the adze-edge, which is exactly that of the incisor tooth of any rodent animal. Whether the maker intentionally copied the tooth is doubtful, but that he has done so is evident.

Tools such as these are necessarily imperfect; yet with these the Maories patiently executed the elaborate and really artistic designs which they once lavished on their dwellings, their canoes, their weapons, and their tools. They could not even make a walking stick but they must needs cover it with carvings. There is in my collection, and illustrated at fig. 4, a remarkably fine example of such a walking stick, called in the Maori tongue “toko-toko,” which was presented to me by Stiverd Vores, Esq. As the reader may see from the illustration it is ornamented with six complete human figures, and a human face on the knob of the handle. The portions of the stick that come between the figures are completely covered with carving, and the only plain surface is that which is intended to be grasped by the hand.

The six figures are in three pairs, set back to back, and those of each pair exactly resemble one another. A distinct gradation is observed in them, the uppermost pair having their faces most elaborately tattooed, the middle pair being less ornamented, and the lowermost pair having a comparatively simple tattoo. In the position of the heads there is also a distinction, which I believe to have some signification known to the carver. The upper pair have the left hand laid on the breast, and the right hand pressed to the lips; the middle pair have the left hand still on the breast, and the right fingers touching the throat; while the lower figures have both hands clasped on the breast.

All the figures are separated, except at the backs of the heads, the hips, and the heels, where they touch each other; so that the labor expended on this stick has been very great.

We now take farewell of this interesting race—a race which is fast waning away, and will soon perish altogether. No New Zealander will ever sit on the broken arches of London Bridge, and contemplate the ruins of St. Paul’s. The Maori is fast disappearing, and in a comparatively few years it is certain that not a Maori of pure blood will be found in the islands; and before a century has elapsed, even the characteristic tattoo will be a remembrance of the past, of which the only memorials will be the dried heads that have been preserved in European museums. It is pitiful that such a race should be passing away; but its decadence cannot be arrested, and in a short time the Maories will be as completely extinct as the people of the stone age, leaving nothing but their manufactures as memorials of their existence. Such memorials, therefore, ought to be sedulously preserved. Every piece of genuine native carving that can be found in New Zealand ought to be secured and brought to England, where it can be preserved for future ages, and, with the isolated specimens that are scattered in private houses throughout the country, ought to be gathered together in some central museum, where they can be accessible to all who interest themselves in the grand science of anthropology.

(1.) MAORI PADDLES.
(See page 854.)

(2.) GREEN JADE ADZE AND CHISEL.
(See page 880.)

(3.) COMMON STONE ADZE.
(See page 880.)

(4.) TOKO-TOKO.
(See page 880.)

CHAPTER LXXXVIII. NEW CALEDONIA. — THE ISLE OF PINES.

POSITION AND DIMENSIONS OF NEW CALEDONIA — APPEARANCE AND DRESS OF THE NATIVES — THE DANCING MASK — NATIVE ARCHITECTURE — SMOKE AND MOSQUITOES — WARFARE — CURIOUS WEAPONS — THE SLING AND THE SPEAR — MODE OF THROWING THE SPEAR — THE OUNEP, OR “AMENTUM” OF THE ANCIENTS — SHAPE OF THE CLUB — OBJECTS OF WAR — CANNIBALISM — THE KNIFE AND FORK — DIET AND COOKERY IN GENERAL — THE NOUGUI SPIDER — MODE OF DRINKING — CHARACTER OF THE NEW CALEDONIANS — AN INGENIOUS THEFT — THE KATA — THE ISLE OF PINES, AND ITS INHABITANTS.

East of Australia is a tolerably large island known by the name of New Caledonia. It is of no very great extent, but is inhabited by a people who deserve a short notice in these pages.

The New Caledonians are nearly black in color, and in general form and appearance bear some resemblance to the aborigines of Tasmania. They are, however, better looking, and wear altogether a less savage aspect, probably on account of the comparatively regular supplies of food which they can obtain. They are of ordinary stature, but one man was seen who measured rather more than six feet in height. His form, however, was ill proportioned. They wear scarcely any dress, the men having generally a single leaf hanging from their girdles, or at the most a strip of soft bark answering the purpose of drawers, while the adult women wear a narrow fringed girdle, which passes several times round the waist.

Their hair is woolly and short, but at a distance many of them would be taken for long-haired people, in consequence of a habit of making artificial tresses some two feet in length, out of grass and the hair of a bat. Some of these appendages are so long that they fall to the middle of the back. Round the head is sometimes tied a small net with wide meshes, and the chiefs wear an odd sort of a hat. These hats are cylindrical, and decorated with a large circular ornament at each side, a plume of feathers at the top, and a long drooping tuft of grass and hair that hangs down the back. The hat forms no protection to the head, having no crown to it, and is only used as a mark of rank.

The natives also make a sort of mask, very ingeniously cut out of wood, having the mouth open and the eyes closed. The wearer looks, not through the eyes, but through some apertures which are made in the upper part of the mask. It is supposed that these masks are employed in war, when the combatants desire to disguise themselves from their opponents. This, however, is only a conjecture. I have little doubt that the wooden mask described and figured by D’Entrecasteaux is nothing more than an ornament used in the native dances. It is, in fact, the “momo,” which is described by more recent travellers. When complete, the “momo” is decorated with plumes of feathers, long tufts of hair, and a thick, coarse network, which does duty for a beard, and descends as far as the knees of the wearer.

A mask made in a precisely similar manner is used by the natives of Vancouver’s Island, but is employed by them in their dances. One of these masks is in my collection, and will be described in the course of the work.

Ear ornaments of various kinds are in favor among the New Caledonians, and some, of the natives enlarge the hole in the lobe to such an extent that it forms a long loop, the end of which falls on the shoulders. Occasionally, they try the elasticity of the ear too much, and tear it completely through. Anything seems to be worn in the ears, and when a New Caledonian cannot find a suitable ornament, he fills up the ear with a leaf or a roll of bark. They do not tattoo themselves, but draw black lines across the breast with charcoal, the lines being broad, and traced diagonally across the breast. Necklaces of various kinds are worn, and these ornaments bear a certain resemblance to those of New Guinea, consisting principally of a twisted string, to which is suspended a shell or piece of bone, carved in a manner which the natives are pleased to consider as ornamental.

Although by nature the men possess thick and stiff beards, these hirsute ornaments are generally removed, the hair being pulled up by the roots by means of a pair of shells used in lieu of tweezers.

Architecture among the New Caledonians is infinitely superior to that of Australia, and in some respects almost equals that of New Zealand. The houses are conical in shape, and often reach from ten to eleven feet in height in the middle.

The principle on which the huts are built is perfectly simple. The native architect begins by digging a hole in the ground, and planting in it a stout pole, some fifteen feet in length, and nine or ten inches in circumference. A number of smaller poles or rafters are set in the ground around the standard or central pole, their bases being planted in the earth and their tips leaning against the standard. Smaller branches are interwoven among the rafters, and the whole is rendered weather-tight by dried herbage lashed to the walls.

These simple walls are often several inches in thickness; and as the natives spread thick mats on the floor, they are well sheltered from the weather.

The entrance is very small, never above three feet in height, and on occasions can be closed with a rude door made of palm branches. Some of the latter kind of huts have regular door-posts, on which are carved rude imitations of the human face. A fire is almost always kept burning inside the hut, not so much for the sake of warmth or for culinary purposes, as to form a defence against mosquitoes. Smoke, therefore, is encouraged; and, though it may be the lesser of two evils, it forms a great drawback to the comfort of Europeans, who can defy the mosquitoes by their clothes, and can protect themselves at night by means of curtains. The central post of the house is mostly decorated with shells, and carved at the top into the shape of a human being.

Each house is usually surrounded with a fence some four or five feet in height, and within the hut there is a curious piece of furniture which gives to the rude habitation quite a civilized look. This is a wooden shelf, suspended by cords exactly like our hanging bookshelves. It is hung about four feet from the ground, but as the cords are very slight, it can support only a trifling weight. The native name for this shelf is “paite.”

We will now proceed from domestic to military life, and devote a small space to warfare among the New Caledonians.

It is very remarkable that among these naked and peculiarly savage cannibals we should find two of the weapons of war which were in greatest favor among the civilized Romans of the classic times. These are the sling and the javelin, the latter being cast by a peculiar arrangement of a thong, so that, in point of fact, the New Caledonian warrior does not only sling the stone, but the spear also.

We will take these weapons in order, the sling coming first, as being the simpler of the two weapons.

The construction of the sling or “wendat,” as the natives call it, is very simple, the weapon being merely a doubled thong with a pouch in the middle, in which the stone is placed. This pouch is made of two small cords laid side by side, and as the smooth stone might slip out of it, the slinger always wets the missile in his mouth before placing it in the pouch. The stones are cut out of a hard kind of steatite, which can take a good polish. They are oval in shape, and are carefully ground down by friction, the surface becoming very smooth in the process.

Thirty or forty of these stones are kept in a small net, which is fastened to the left side of the slinger. In illustration No. 1, on page 893, one of the warriors is seen with his sling in his hand, and the net filled with stones fastened to his side. When the slinger wishes to hurl a stone, he does not waste time and strength by whirling the sling round and round, but merely gives it one half turn in the air, and discharges the missile with exceeding force and wonderful accuracy of aim. In consequence of only giving one half turn to the sling, the stones can be hurled nearly as fast as they can be thrown by the hand, and the weapon is therefore an exceedingly formidable one in the open field when fire-arms are not opposed to it.

We now come to the spear, or rather javelin.

This weapon is of very great length, some specimens measuring fourteen or fifteen feet from butt to point; and unless the warrior were able to supplement the natural strength of his arm by artificial means, he would not be able to throw the spear more than a few yards. He has therefore invented an instrument by which he can hurl this long and unwieldly weapon to a considerable distance. The principle on which this instrument is formed is identical with that of the Australian throw-stick, but there is a difference in the application. The Australian throw-stick is straight, rigid, and is applied to the butt of the spear, whereas the implement used by the New Caledonian is flexible, elastic, and applied to a spot a little behind the middle of the spear.

This instrument is ingeniously simple. It is nothing more than a plaited cord or thong made of a mixture of cocoa-nut fibre and fish-skin. It is a foot or more in length, and is furnished at one end with a knob, while the other is worked into a loop. This elastic cord is called by the natives “ounep.” When the warrior desires to throw a spear, he slips the loop over the forefinger of his right hand, and allows it to hang in readiness for the spear. As soon as the time comes for the spear to be thrown, the man balances the weapon for a moment so as to find the middle, and then casts the end of the thong round it in a sailor’s half-hitch, drawing it tight with his forefinger.

As long as pressure is thus kept upon the thong, it retains its hold of the spear; and as soon as it is released, “the half-hitch” gives way and allows the spear to free itself. The mode of throwing is therefore evident. The warrior holds the loop of the thong on his forefinger, the rest of the hand grasping the spear. As he throws the weapon, he loosens the hold of his hand, and so hurls the spear by means of the thong.

The classical reader will doubtless remember that this thong or “ounep” is precisely the “amentum” of the ancients, but is actually superior in its construction and manipulation. The amentum was simply a loop of cord or leather fastened to the shaft of the javelin just behind the balance. When the warrior wished to throw a spear, he grasped the shaft in his hand, inserted his fingers in the loop, and by means of the additional leverage was able to throw a heavy weapon to a considerable distance. See, for example, Ovid’s Metamorphoses, xii. 321:

in English, “He inserted his fingers into the amentum, and, without saying more, whirled the dart at the youth.” Commentators have been extremely perplexed about this passage. In the first place they were rather uncertain as to the meaning of the word “amentum,” and in the second place, they could not see the force of the word “torsit,” i. e. whirled. The reader will, however, see how perfectly appropriate is the term, the spear being flung with a whirling movement as a stone from a sling. The same word is used by Virgil: “Intendunt acres arcus, amentaque torquent.” Another writer also alludes to this instrument:

i. e. “Stretch the amentum with your first fingers, and aim the javelin with your full strength.”

Ingenious as was the amentum of the ancients, the ounep is far superior to it. With the ancients a separate amentum had to be fixed to each spear, while among the New Caledonians only one ounep is required.

Besides these weapons, the club is much used, and great ingenuity is shown in its manufacture. The shape and size of the clubs are extremely variable, and in some of them the natives have exhibited a surprising amount of artistic skill, the curves being singularly bold and flowing. One of these clubs, which is indeed a typical form, is in my collection. The form of the head is evidently taken from the beak of a bird, and the curves are exceedingly bold and sweeping. It is rather more than three feet in length, and it weighs almost exactly two pounds and a half.

War is in New Caledonia, as in New Zealand, the chief occupation of the men. The first lesson that a child receives is fighting, and the idea is prevalent with him as long as he lives. As soon as he is born, the boy is consecrated to the god of war, and a hard black stone is laid on his breast, as a symbol that his heart must be as hard as a stone in battle. Even the women take a share in the fighting, and, though they are not actual combatants, they follow their relatives to the battle, in order to seize the bodies of slain enemies, and drag them away to the cooking oven. Strife is always fomented by the priests from interested motives, inasmuch as the hands of the slain are their perquisites, and among the connoisseurs in cannibalism the palms of the hands are the most delicate portions of the human body.

Primarily the New Caledonians are cannibals because they are warriors, the body of a dead enemy being always supposed to be eaten by the victors. There is mostly a fight over the body of a fallen warrior, the one party trying to drag it away to the cooking oven, and the other endeavoring to save it for burial by themselves.

As a rule, however, the body is carried off by the women, who have the task of cooking it. The preparation of the body is quite a ceremonial, each part of it belonging by right to certain individuals, and even the carving being regulated by strict rules. A peculiar kind of knife is made of flat serpentine stone, oval in form, and about seven inches in length. Two holes are bored on one side of it, by means of which it is fastened to a wooden handle. This knife is called “nbouet.”

With the nbouet the body is opened, and the whole of the intestines are torn out by means of a fork made expressly for the purpose. This fork is composed of two human armbones placed side by side, about an inch apart, and fastened tightly together. They are sharply pointed, and are very effectual instruments for the purpose. Sometimes the bodies are cut up for cooking, but in many cases they are baked entire, the women priding themselves in serving them up in a sitting posture, furnished and dressed in full war costume.

Thus, then, we see that cannibalism is connected with warfare; but unfortunately it is not restricted to war. When Captain D’Entrecasteaux went in search of La Pérouse, one of the natives was eating a newly-roasted piece of meat. The naturalist to the expedition immediately recognized it as being part of the body of a child. The man who was eating it did not attempt to deny the fact, but even pointed out on the body of a little boy the part of the body which he was eating, and gave his hearers to understand that the flesh of children was very good.

This cannibalism of New Caledonia explained some curious gestures which the natives were fond of making. They used to be very familiar with their white visitors, feeling their arms and legs, looking at each other with admiration, and then whistling and smacking their lips loudly. In point of fact, they were admiring the well-fed limbs of the white men, and anticipating to each other the delights of a feast upon the plump Europeans.

As, however, flesh is but a luxury among the New Caledonians, and cannot be considered as an ordinary article of diet, the natives depend chiefly for their existence on vegetable food. Roots of various kinds are eaten by them, as well as cocoa-nut and other fruit; all the cooking, as well as the work in general, being performed by the women. Shell-fish are also much eaten, and are procured by the women. The large clam-shell is found on the shores of the island, and supplies abundance of food; while the smaller molluscs are mostly dug out of the sand by women, who frequently spend half a day up to their waists in water.

Two very strange articles of diet are in use among the New Caledonians. The first is a sort of spider, which spins large and thick nets in the woods, often incommoding travellers by the number and strength of the silken cords. They are not eaten raw, but cooked by being placed in a covered earthen jar, which is set on a brisk fire. The natives call the spider by the name of “nougui.” It is gray above, the back being covered with a fine silvery down, and below it is black.

The second article of diet is clay, of which the natives will consume a great amount. The earth in question is a soft greenish steatite, which crumbles very easily, and has the property of distending the stomach, and so allays the cravings of hunger, even though it does not nourish the body. A well-distended stomach is one of the great luxuries of a savage, and, in accordance with this idea, a man was seen to eat a piece of steatite twice as large as his fist, even though he had just taken a full meal. Some of the natives have been known to eat as much as two pounds of this substance. A similar propensity is found both in Africa and America.

When they drink at a pool or river, they have an odd fashion of dipping the water with their hands, and flinging it into their mouths, so that much more water is splashed over their heads than enters their mouths.

With regard to the bodies of those who fall in war, and are rescued from the enemy, many ceremonies are employed. According to Captain Head, in his “Voyage of the Fawn” they are “brought home with loud lamentations, and buried with great wailing and shrieking from the appointed mourners, who remain unclean often for several years after burying a great chief, and are subject to many strict observances. For weeks they continue nightly to waken the forest echoes with their cries. After ten days have elapsed, the grave is opened, and the head twisted off; and, again in this custom resembling the Andaman islanders, the teeth are distributed as relics among the relatives, and the skull preserved as a memorial by the nearest kin, who daily goes through the form of offering it food.

“The only exceptions are in the case of the remains of old women, whose teeth are sown in the yam patches as a charm to produce good crops; their skulls set up upon poles being deemed equally potent in this respect.”

The general character of the New Caledonians seems to be tolerably good, and, in spite of their evident longing after the flesh of their visitors, they are not on the whole inhospitable. They are clever thieves, and are ingenious in robbery by means of an accomplice. On one occasion, when a native was offering for sale a basket full of sling-stones, and was chaffering about the price, an accomplice came quietly behind the white man and uttered a loud yell in his ears. Naturally startled, he looked behind him, and in a moment the man with whom he was trading snatched away the basket and the goods offered in exchange, and ran away with them.

One of the officers was robbed of his cap and sword in an equally ingenious manner. He had seated himself on the ground, and for better security had placed his sword under him. Suddenly one of the natives snatched off his cap, and as he instinctively rose to rescue it, another man picked up his sword and escaped with it. They even tried to steal a ship’s boat, together with the property in it, and would not leave it until they were attacked by a strong body of armed sailors.

They make very good canoes—as, indeed, is generally the case with islanders. The largest canoes are mostly double, two boats being placed alongside of each other, and connected by a platform. They have a single mast, which is stepped toward one end of the compound vessel, and can sail with considerable swiftness, though they are not so manageable as those of New Guinea, some of which are marvels of boat-building. They can accommodate a considerable number of passengers, and have generally a fire burning on the platform, which is protected from the heat by a thick layer of earth.

A rather remarkable custom prevails among them, which derives its chief interest from the fact that it is practised in Northern Asia. This is the Kata, or scarf of felicity. It is a little scarf, of white or red material; and when two persons meet they exchange their katas—a ceremony which is analogous to shaking hands among ourselves.

Whether these savages are the aborigines of the island is doubtful. If they be so, they seem to have declined from the comparative civilization of their ancestors. This, indeed, is their own opinion; and, in support of this theory, they point to the ruins which are still to be seen, and which tell of architecture far beyond the power of the present natives. There are even the remains of an aqueduct eight miles in length, a piece of engineering which would never have entered the head of the New Caledonian of the present day. Perhaps these works of art may have been constructed by immigrants, who have since left them to perish; but, in any case, their presence in such a spot is most remarkable.

Some thirty miles to the south-east of New Caledonia, and in fact forming part of the same group, there is a small island, called by Captain Cook the Isle of Pines, in consequence of the number of araucarias with which its hills are covered. The strait between the Isle of Pines and New Caledonia proper is nearly all shoal water, caused by the numerous coral reefs.

In many respects the inhabitants of this island resemble those of New Caledonia. They are not, however, so dark, and their features are tolerably good. They are cannibals from choice, wrapping up the bodies of the dead in banana leaves, and then cooking them in ovens. Some years ago, they contrived to indulge their taste for human flesh at the expense of their neighbors.

About 1840, it was found that sandal wood grew on the island, and several vessels proceeded thither for the sake of procuring this valuable product. At first they did so with great risk, and lost many of their men from the onslaughts of the natives. Afterward, however, a Sydney merchant set up an establishment for the collecting and storing of sandal wood and bêches-de-mer, and since that time the natives have become quite peaceable.

In course of this transitional time between utter barbarism and commerce, they learned by painful experience the power of fire-arms. As soon as they became accustomed to trade, the first thing that they did was to procure a large stock of fire-arms and to go off with them to New Caledonia, where they landed, shot as many of the natives as they could, and brought their bodies home for consumption. It is true that a constant feud raged between the two islands, but the sudden acquisition of fire-arms gave the people of the Isle of Pines a terrible advantage over their hereditary foes, and enabled them almost to depopulate the south-eastern part of the island.

They care no more for dress than the New Caledonians, but are very fond of ornament, the men appropriating all the best decorations, and leaving the women to take what they can get. The men friz their hair out as much as possible, and wrap a thin scarf round it, or sometimes cut it short, leaving only a tuft on one side of the head. The women shave off the whole of the hair, thus depriving themselves of their natural ornament, and rendering themselves very unprepossessing to European eyes. The rough work is done by them, the men reserving to themselves the noble occupations of war, fishing, house building, and canoe making, the only real work which they do being yam planting, after the ground has been prepared by the women.

CHAPTER LXXXIX. THE ANDAMAN AND NICOBAR ISLANDS. — THE NICOBAR ISLANDS.

POSITION OF THE ANDAMAN ISLANDS — ORIGIN OF THE NATIVES — THEIR ROVING HABITS AND LACK OF CLOTHING — THEIR HATRED OF STRANGERS — THE NATIVES AND THE STEAMER — APPEARANCE OF THE WOMEN — THE ENORMOUS BOW AND SKILL OF THE MINCOPIE ARCHERS — VARIOUS MODES OF FISHING — EXCELLENCE OF THEIR CANOES, AND MODE OF MAKING THEM — THE LONG PADDLES — THE SHIP’S CREW BEATEN BY THE MINCOPIE CANOE MEN — CANNIBALISM NOT PRACTISED IN THE ANDAMAN ISLANDS — INGENIOUS FIREPLACES AND METHOD OF COOKING — WANT OF ARCHITECTURAL SKILL — EDUCATION OF THE CHILDREN, AND THEIR GAMES — POWERS OF SWIMMING — MATRIMONIAL ARRANGEMENTS — DEATH AND BURIAL — THE NICOBAR ISLANDS — APPEARANCE AND COSTUME OF THE INHABITANTS — THE CROSS-BOW AND ITS ARROW — A PRIMITIVE HAMMOCK — TOMBS IN THE NICOBAR ISLANDS.

We will now pass to the westward, and travel gradually through the wonderful group of islands which extends almost from Asia to America, and which is known by the general title of Polynesia. One or two of them will have to be omitted for the present, so as not to break the continuity of races, but will be described before we pass upward through America, from Tierra del Fuego to the Esquimaux.

In the Bay of Bengal, and not much to the eastward of India, is seen a group of islands, named the Andamans. They are of considerable length, but very narrow, seldom exceeding twenty miles in breadth, and are arranged very much after the fashion of the New Zealand islands, though on a smaller scale. These islands exhibit a phenomenon almost unparalleled in the history of the human race.

They lie close to India, a country in which a high state of civilization has been reached many centuries ago. They are almost in the middle of the track which is traversed by multitudes of ships, and yet their inhabitants are sunk in the deepest depths of savage degradation. Even the regular visits made by the Chinese vessels to the Andaman coasts, for the purpose of procuring the trepang, have had not the least effect upon them; and they afford perhaps the most perfect example of savage life which the surface of the earth can show.

The origin of the Andamaners is a problem to anthropologists. They are small in stature, the men being on an average but little above five feet in height, and the women being still smaller. They are very dark, but have scarcely anything except their color in common with the negro. They have neither the huge projecting jaws and cavernous mouth of the true negro, nor his curiously elongated heel; and though they are so small as almost to merit the name of pigmies, they are perfectly well formed. The hair, when it is allowed to grow, is seen to be thick and bushy, and resembles that of the Papuans; and it is the opinion of many competent judges that the Andamaners are the aborigines of the Papuan race, who have never permitted contact with strangers, and have preserved their own individuality intact.

In habits they are absolutely savage, their arts being limited to the manufacture of canoes and weapons, architecture and agriculture being equally unknown. They possess one of the chief characteristics of savage life in their roving disposition, never remaining long in one spot, a stay of three or four days being considered a long visit to any place. They have no laws, no religion, and no tribal distinctions. Marriage, as we understand the word, is unknown to them; and there seems to be few restrictions of consanguinity, a mother and her daughter being sometimes the wives of the same husband.

Clothing is entirely unknown to them; and when captives have been taken, they have always found clothes to be an incumbrance to them, though they were pleased with gaudy handkerchiefs tied round their heads. The only covering which they care for is one which they share in common with many of the pachydermatous animals, and employ for the same purpose. It is nothing more than a layer of mud, with which the natives plaster themselves in the morning and evening, in order to defend themselves from the attacks of the mosquitoes, sandflies, and other insect plagues.

Until the last few years our knowledge of the Andamaners has been almost nil, in consequence of their hatred of strangers, and the determined opposition which they offer to any foreigners landing on their shores. The very presence of a boat or a ship seems to excite them to frenzy. In Captain Mouatt’s valuable account of these islands is an animated description of a scene which occurred off the coast.

The steamer, on rounding a point, came suddenly upon two groups of savages, who were at first paralyzed by fear at the sudden apparition of the unknown object, with its columns of white steam roaring from the escape-pipe, its smoke, and its plashing paddles. In a few moments they recovered from their surprise, and raised a simultaneous shout of defiance. Two boats’ crews were sent ashore, to the extreme anger of the Mincopies.

“A peculiar natural phenomenon rendered the scene still more striking and impressive as the interval between the two parties, the savage and the civilized, was gradually diminished by the onward motion of the boats. The spray as it rose in clouds from the breakers dashing on the shore, reflecting the rays of the declining sun, magnified considerably the slight figures of the natives, making massive and formidable giants of men who were in reality little more than sable dwarfs. As the cutters neared that part of the shore where they had stationed themselves, and they clearly perceived that we were making preparations to land, their excitement was such that they appeared as if they had suddenly become frantic.

“They seemed to lose that restraint and control which it is the pride of the savage to exhibit in time of danger, and jumped and yelled like so many demons let loose from the bottomless pit, or as if there had been a Bedlam in that locality, and they the most unmanageable of its frantic inmates. Their manner was that of men determined and formidable in the midst of all their excitement. They brandished their bows in our direction; they menaced us with their arrows, said by common report—so often a liar—to be poisoned; exhibiting by every possible contortion of savage pantomime their hostile determination. To use a common vulgar expression of some of the seamen, they seemed to have made up their minds to ‘chaw us all up.’...

“The spear which he flourished incessantly was terminated by a bright, flat, pointed head, which gleamed with flashes of light, as, circling rapidly in the air, it reflected the rays of the sun. Sometimes he would hold it aloft, poising it in his uplifted hand, as if with the intention of hurling it with unerring and deadly aim at the first who dared to approach the shore of his native island. At length, in a paroxysm of well-acted fury, he dashed boldly into the water, boiling and seething round him as it broke in great billows on the beach, and on the rocks by which it was defended, and, fixing an arrow in his bow, he shot it off in the direction of the steamer, as if that were the arch enemy that had provoked his bellicose fury.”

The second party of natives, who turned out to be females, were as frightened as their male friends were angry. After several failures in launching a canoe, they rushed in a body to the jungle and hid themselves from the strangers. They exhibited the usual characteristics of the people, a basket for fish doing duty for clothes, and a patch of red ochre on their heads taking the place of hair. So repulsive were they in their appearance, that the sailors declined to leave mirrors on the shore as presents for them, saying that such hideous creatures ought not to be allowed to look at their own features.

The weapons with which the Mincopie men threatened the strangers are really formidable, and before very long the exploring party learned to hold them in great respect. The bows are sometimes six feet long and enormously powerful,—so powerful in fact that the strongest sailors tried in vain to bend the weapons which the pigmy Mincopies handled with such skilful ease.

The shape of the bow is very peculiar. Instead of being nearly cylindrical, largest in the middle and tapering regularly to each end, it is nearly flat except at the handle, on either side of which it becomes very broad. In fact, a good idea of it may be taken from a flattened hour-glass, the channel in the middle being the handle.

The force and accuracy with which these tiny men can shoot are really wonderful. They very seldom fail to hit their mark at any reasonable distance, and can make tolerably sure of a man at sixty or seventy yards, so that the Mincopie bow is really a far better weapon than the old “Brown Bess” musket ever was. One arrow that was shot at a boat’s crew at a distance of sixty yards struck a hickory oar, and knocked off a piece of wood as large as a man’s hand.

These arrows are very neatly made. They are about three feet in length, and are made of a reed by way of shaft, to the end of which is fastened a piece of hard wood in order to give weight. Upon this tip is fixed the head, which is usually the barbed tail bone of the sting-ray, and sometimes, though not always, poisoned. Should this terrible weapon enter the body, it cannot be removed without a severe operation, the sharp brittle barbs being apt to snap off and remain in the wound if any force be used in extracting the arrow.

Their consummate skill in the use of the bow is obtained by constant practice from earliest infancy. As is the assagai to the Kaffir, the boomerang to the Australian, and the lasso to the Gaucho, so is the bow to the Andamaner. The first plaything that a Mincopie boy sees is a miniature bow made for him by his father, and, as he advances in age, bows of progressive strength are placed in his hands. Consequently, he is so familiarized with the weapon that, by the time he is of full age, the pigmy Andamaner draws with graceful ease a bow which seems made for a giant.

Numbers of the toy bows and arrows may be seen scattered about an encampment if the natives are forced to leave it in a hurry, and their various sizes show the ages of the children to whom they belonged. The education of the Mincopie archer is in fact almost precisely like that of the old English bowmen, who, from constant practice in the art, and being trained from childhood in the use of the bow, obtained such a mastery of the weapon as made them the terror of Europe.

Being such skilful archers, they trust almost entirely to the bow and arrow, caring little for any other weapon. Even the harpoon, with which they catch the larger fish, is shot from the powerful bow. It is, in fact, a very large arrow, with a moveable head. This head fits loosely into a hole at the end of the arrow, and is secured to the shaft by a thong. It is a very remarkable fact that the bow and harpoon arrow of the Mincopies are almost exactly like those which are used by the inhabitants of Vancouver’s Island. They are twice as large, but in shape almost identical, as will be seen when we come to the North of America.

When they use the harpoon, a long and elastic cord is attached to it, one end of which is retained by the archer. The cord is made from a fibre which has the useful property of hardening by being soaked in water. For killing the fish when held with the harpoon the Mincopies use smaller arrows, without barbs or movable heads.

The Mincopies are very expert fishermen, and use nets which are made from the same fibre that has been mentioned. For small fish they make the nets of rather thin but very tough string, but for turtle and large fish they make nets of cord as thick as a man’s finger. One side of the net is held to the bed of the sea by heavy stones laid on it, and the other is upheld by floats.

The women search for molluscs, a business which occupies a considerable part of their time. They always carry neat baskets, in which to put the results of their industry, and each woman has generally a small net fixed to a handle, like that which is used by butterfly collectors.

In nothing do the Andamaners show their superior skill more than in canoe making. Their bows and arrows are, as we have seen, good specimens of savage manufacture, but in the making and management of canoes they are simply unapproachable, even though their tools are of the rudest possible description.

Furnished merely with a simple adze made of a stone fixed into a handle, the Mincopie boat maker searches the forest for a suitable tree, and after a week or ten days succeeds in bringing it to the ground. The rest of the process is so well described by Captain Mouatt, that it must be given in his own words.

“The next operation is to round the trunk, a process which they perform with remarkable dexterity, it being almost impossible to conceive how, with the imperfect instruments at their command, they execute their work with so much skill and neatness. Practice, however, must render them, as well as others, perfect; and hence it is that in a short time the rough and shapeless trunk begins to assume form and proportions; and, when the process is finished, exhibits a finish and perfection that even a Chinese carpenter, by far the most handy and ingenious of human ‘chips,’ would regard with a feeling of envy, as a work of dexterity which it would be vain for him to attempt to imitate.

“As soon as the trunk has been rounded, they commence the operation of cutting and chipping at it externally, until eventually the outlines of the elegant canoe begin to appear from the shapeless mass of the knotted trunk, just as, by the skill of the statuary, the beautiful figure gradually assumes its fair proportions in the block of marble. The shape externally is generally finished with great care and elaboration before they proceed to hollow it internally, the next process to which they direct their attention. The interior is excavated in the same perfect and business-like manner, until the shell is no thicker than the side of a deal bonnet-box, although it still preserves that strength which would enable it to resist successfully the utmost force and violence of the waves, should it even be assailed by a storm—a thing not at all probable, as, unless carried out to sea by some accident, it is rare that the Andamaners venture far from the shore.

“The buoyancy of these boats, when they are well constructed and carefully finished, is remarkable. They float lightly on the top of the waves, and, unless they have received some injury, it is considered almost impossible to sink them. We sometimes made the attempt, but never succeeded. We fired at them repeatedly when at Port Mouatt—which may be regarded as a sort of Andaman Pembroke-yard, where a fleet of Mincopie men-of-war were lying in every stage of preparation—but they still floated with as great ease and buoyancy as ever. They would make excellent life-boats, such, we believe, as have never yet been constructed by any of our most experienced boat-builders.”

Near shore the boatmen paddle about with perfect ease in these fragile vessels, though an European can hardly proceed twenty yards without being upset. When they go further to sea they add a light outrigger to one side of the canoe, and then venture forty or fifty miles from land. They always, in such cases, take fire with them, which has the double advantage of attracting the fish at night, and of cooking them when taken. Sometimes a number of boats will remain all night at sea, and the effect of their fires and torches is very picturesque when seen from the land.

The outrigger is certainly a new invention. The earlier travellers, who were always minute enough in their accounts, did not mention the outrigger, and, as far as can be seen, the idea has been borrowed from some Cingalese canoe which had got into a current and been drifted toward the island.

The paddles are rather peculiar in their form, and, apparently, very ineffective, looking something like long spoons with flattened bowls, or, on a smaller scale, the “peels” with which bakers take bread out of their ovens. The women are the paddle makers, and the implements vary from three to four feet long. They are cut from a very hard wood, and the work of making them is necessarily laborious.

Imperfect as the canoe and paddles seem to be, they are in fact absolute marvels of efficiency. The tiny Mincopies, furnished with these simple paddles, and seated in a canoe cut by themselves out of a tree trunk, can beat with ease our best oarsmen. Captain Mouatt got up several races between the Mincopies and his own prize crew in their favorite boat. In point of fact there was never any race at all, the Andamaners having it all their own way, and winning as they liked. The powerful, sweeping stroke of the man-of-war’s crew was beautiful to see, but the little Mincopies shot through, or rather over, the water with such speed that the sailors were hopelessly beaten, although they strained themselves so much that they felt the results of their exertions for some time afterward.

Slight, and almost as active as monkeys, the Mincopies ascend the tallest trees with the like agility, applying the soles of their feet and the palms of their hands to the trunk, and literally running up them. When they reach the branches, they traverse them with as much ease and security as if they were on firm land. Indeed, their powers of tree climbing seem to be equal to those of the inhabitants of Dourga Strait, of whom an account will presently be given.

We now come to a question which has often been agitated, namely, the asserted cannibalism of the Andamaners.

It is a question that every observant reader would be sure to ask himself, as the Andamaners are just such a savage race as might be expected to feed habitually on human bodies. Yet, though we find the comparatively civilized New Zealander sharing with the savage New Caledonian the habit of eating human flesh, the Mincopie, who is infinitely below the New Zealander, and certainly not above the New Caledonian, is free from that revolting practice. He undoubtedly has been known to eat human flesh, but only when urged by extreme hunger to eat the flesh of man or to die; and in so doing he has but set an example which has been followed by members of the most civilized countries.

That they are fierce and cruel toward foreigners is true enough, and it is also true that the bodies of those whom they have killed have been found frightfully mutilated, the flesh being almost pounded from the bones by the blows which have been showered upon the senseless clay in the blind fury of the savage. But no attempt has been made to remove any part of the body, and it was evident that the victors had not even entertained the idea of eating it.

The food of the Andamaners is tolerably varied, and is prepared in a very simple and ingenious oven. A large tree is selected for this purpose, and fire is applied to it at the bottom, so that by degrees a large hole is burned in it, the charred wood being scraped away so as to form eventually a large hole. This is the Mincopie oven, and at the bottom a heap of ashes, about three feet in depth, is always left. The fire smoulders away gradually among the ashes, and never entirely goes out; so that whenever a native wishes to cook his pig, turtle, or fish, he has only to blow up the smouldering embers, and in a few moments he has fire sufficient for his purposes.

These oven-trees are very carefully preserved, the natives never cutting them down, and always managing to prevent them from being entirely burned through. In illustration No. 2, on the 893d page, one of these trees is shown, with the fire burning in the hollow, and the natives sitting round it. The Mincopies always contrive to have the opening of the oven in such a direction that the rain cannot get into it and put out the fire.

Pigs have been mentioned as forming part of the Andamaners’ food. These pigs are small and black, with spare, hard bristles, that look like pieces of wire. They are wonderfully active, and, according to Captain Mouatt, “are the most curious and mischievous little animals in creation. They have a leer that makes them look like so many Mephistopheles, who have chosen to assume that peculiar form, in many respects a very appropriate one, for, if they are not so many little devils, they are certainly possessed by them.

“At the time of our visit to the Cinque Islands, we turned out a dozen of them, and, our unwonted appearance filling them with alarm, they ran off from us with the velocity of an Indian express train, squeaking like mad. We set off and had a regular hunt after them—a hunt that beats to chalks the most exciting scene of pig-sticking ever seen in Bengal. After discharging their rifles, some of the hunters would probably find the pigs between their legs, making them measure their length on the sand. The falls were made with considerable violence, though they were not dangerous, for they only excited our risible faculties; and as each one came down he was greeted with a loud and hearty burst of laughter, as a sort of congratulation to him in his misfortune.”

The architecture of the Andamaners is very primitive. Four posts are stuck in the ground in the form of a square, and the builder is quite indifferent as to their straightness. Two of them are much longer than the others, so that when they are connected by sticks, a sloping roof is formed. Palm leaves are then placed upon them, one lying over the other in tile fashion, so that they form a protection from perpendicularly falling rain. A number of these huts are generally erected in a circle, in some cleared space in the forest, which is sheltered by large trees, and within a convenient distance of water. One or two of these simple houses may be seen in the illustration.

Primitive as are these huts, some attempt is made at ornamenting them, the decorations being characteristically the trophies of the chase. Skulls of pigs and turtles, bundles of fish-bones, and similar articles are painted with stripes of red ochre, and hung to the roofs off the huts. Ochre painting, indeed, seems to be the only idea that the Andamaners have of ornament, if perhaps we except a string which the dandies tie round the waist, having a piece of bone or other glittering article hanging from it.

This ochre is in great request among the Mincopies, the women being especially fond of it by way of a decoration of their heads. As has already been mentioned, they shave the head completely, using, instead of a razor, a piece of flint chipped very thin, and having a sharp edge. They are wonderfully adroit at making these primitive knives, which are exactly like those of the stone age. The hair having been scraped off, a tolerably thick plastering of red ochre is rubbed on the head, and the toilet of a Mincopie belle is complete.

Not only is the ochre used for external application, but it is administered internally. What is good for the outside, the Mincopie logically thinks will be equally good for the inside. So, when he feels ill, he makes a sort of bolus of red ochre and turtle oil, swallows it, and thinks that he has cured himself. Wounds are dressed by binding certain leaves upon them, and in many cases of internal pains, bruises, or swellings, scarification is freely used. Certain individuals enjoy a sort of reputation for success in the treatment of disease, and are much honored by the less skilful.

It has already been mentioned that marriage is nothing more than taking a female slave.

When a wife becomes a mother, the only treatment which she receives is, that after the birth of her child she is plentifully rubbed with the red ochre and turtle oil, and is expected to follow her usual occupations on the next day. The young child is soused with cold water, poured out of one of the great bamboo vessels which the Mincopies use, and is dried by rubbing with the hand. Like its parent, the child wears no clothing; but if the party should be on their travels, and rain begin to fall, the mother pulls a few leaves from the next tree, ties them together with a fibre of rattan, and fastens them on the body of the child. This is the only clothing which an Andamaner ever wears.

Children are never weaned, but continue to take their childish nourishment until the mother is absolutely incapable of affording it. Both parents redeem much of their savage nature by their affection for their children, the father being quite as loving a parent as the mother—a trait which is often absent among savage tribes. The children reciprocate the affection, so that, in spite of the absence of any definite home, there is a domestic character about the family which could scarcely have been expected from such a race.

It has been already mentioned that the boys amuse themselves chiefly with small bows and arrows, having these toys of a continually increasing size to suit their growth. The girls are fond of disporting themselves by the sea-shore, and building sand houses for the waves to knock down, precisely as is done by the civilized children of Europe and America. Their great amusement is to build an enclosure with walls of sand, and to sit in it as if it were a house of their own until the rising tide washes away the frail walls. Both sexes are fond of swimming, and as soon as they can walk the little black children are seen running into and out of the water, and, if they can pick some sheltered spot free from waves, they dive and swim like so many ducks. A Hindoo, named Pooteeah, who was taken prisoner by the Mincopies, and his life spared for some reason or other, states that they are such excellent swimmers that several of them will dive together among the rocks, search for fish in the crevices, and bring their struggling captives to shore. This statement was discredited by those to whom it was made, as were several other of his accounts. As, however, subsequent observations showed that he was right in many of the statements which were at first disbelieved, it is possible that he was right in this case also.

(1.) NEW CALEDONIANS DEFENDING THEIR COAST.
(See page 884.)

(2.) ANDAMANERS COOKING A PIG.
(See page 892.)

This man, by the way, was furnished with two wives, mother and daughter, and, as he was above the ordinary size, Captain Mouatt expresses some curiosity as to the appearance of the progeny. He made his escape from the island before the birth of a child that one of his wives was expecting, and, as the Mincopie mothers are remarkable for their affection toward their children, it is likely that the little half-caste was allowed to live, and that a new element may thus be introduced into the race.

They have more than once made use of their swimming powers in escaping from captivity. Several instances have been known where Andamaners have been kept prisoners on board ship, and have seemed tolerably reconciled to their lot. As soon, however, as the ship neared land, they contrived to escape for a moment from the eye of the sentry, slipped overboard, and swam to land. They always dived as soon as they struck the water, swam as far as they could without rising to the surface, and then, after taking a single respiration, dived again, and so swam the greater part of the distance under water. This mode of swimming was doubtless practised by them when trying to escape from the arrows of an unfriendly party.

In Captain Syme’s “Embassy to Ava” there is a curious account of two young Mincopie girls who had been decoyed on board the ship. They were treated very kindly, and soon learned that no harm would be done to them. “They suffered clothes to be put on, but took them off again as soon as opportunity offered, and threw them away as useless encumbrances. When their fears were over, they became cheerful, chattered with freedom, and were inexpressibly diverted at the sight of their own persons in a mirror.

“They were fond of singing, sometimes in a melancholy recitative, at others in a lively key; and often danced about the deck with great agility, slapping the lower part of their bodies with the back of their heels. Wine and spirituous liquors were disagreeable to them; no food seemed so palatable as fish, rice, and sugar. In a few weeks, having recovered strength and become fat, from the more than half-famished state in which they were brought on board, they began to think confinement irksome, and longed to regain their native freedom.

“In the middle of the night, when all but the watchman were asleep, they passed in silence into the Captain’s cabin, jumped out of the stern windows into the sea, and swam to an island half a mile distant, where it was in vain to pursue them, had there been any such intention; but the object was to retain them by kindness, and not by compulsion, an attempt that has failed on every trial. Hunger may (and these instances are rare) induce them to put themselves into the power of strangers; but the moment that their want is satisfied nothing short of coercion can prevent them from returning to a way of life more congenial to their savage nature.”

Like many other savage races, the Mincopies make a kind of festivity on each new moon; and as soon as the thin crescent appears they salute it after their odd fashion, and get up a dance. Their dances are rather grotesque, each performer jumping up and down, and kicking himself violently with the sole of his foot, so as to produce a smart slapping sound. This is the dance which is mentioned in the preceding account of the two captives.

When a Mincopie dies, he is buried in a very simple manner. No lamentations are made at the time; but the body is tied in a sitting position, with the head on the knees, much after the fashion employed among the Bechuanas, and described on page 300. It is then buried, and allowed to decay, when the remains are dug up, and the bones distributed among the relatives. The skull is the right of the widow, who ties it to a cord and hangs it round her neck, where it remains for the rest of her life. This outward observance is, however, all that is required of her, and is the only way in which she troubles herself to be faithful to the memory of her dead husband. It is rather strange that, though the Andamaners make no lamentations on the death of a relative, they do not altogether dispense with these expressions of sorrow, but postpone them to the exhumation and distribution of the relics, when each one who gets a bone howls over it for some time in honor of the dead.

Immediately to the south of the Andaman Islands, and barely thirty miles distant, lie the Nicobar Islands. The group consists of nine tolerably large islands, and several of much smaller size. One of the large islands, called Great Nicobar, is twenty miles long by eight wide, while Little Nicobar is barely half these dimensions.

The islands are singularly fertile, and abound in various kinds of vegetation, especially in the cocoa-nut palm, not a specimen of which is to be found in the Andaman Islands. This curious fact is accounted for by the character of the Andamaners, who have an almost superstitious love for the cocoa-nut. If one of the nuts be washed ashore, it is always broken up and eaten; and if perchance one of the fruit happens to escape the sharp eyes of the natives and to germinate, its green feathery shoots are sure to attract the attention of the first Mincopie who passes in that direction. A similar barrier to the production of the cocoa-nut is found on the coast of Australia.

Although so close to the Andaman Islands, the inhabitants of Nicobar are very unlike the Mincopies, being a fine tall race, and of a copper rather than a black hue. Unlike the Mincopies, the men are very fat, especially about the breast, so that at a little distance they might easily be mistaken for women. Moreover, they wear the hair long, and parted in the middle, which to the eyes of a modern European, gives them a peculiar effeminate look. They wear neither beard nor moustache, their features are ugly, and their large mouths are stained a dark red from the juice of the betel-nut, which they are continually chewing.

There is one distinction, however, which is apparent at a considerable distance. In lieu of clothes, the men wear a strip of cloth, never more than two inches wide. This is passed round the waist, under the legs in front, and tucked through itself behind, the end being left as long as possible. The men place great value on the length of this tail, and he is the best dressed man who wears it the longest. Some of the wealthy among them have the tail dragging along the ground for several feet, like an European lady’s train. If possible, this tail is made of blue cloth, an article that is held in very high estimation by the natives.

The women are quite as ill-favored as the men, and increase their natural ugliness by shaving off all their hair. They do not wear tails like the men, but have a plaited grass girdle, from which depends a soft fibrous fringe about a foot in depth.

The character of the Nicobarians is far gentler than that of the Mincopies, the latter being proverbially fierce and cruel toward strangers, and the former soon learning to welcome foreigners when they have made up their minds that no harm is intended them. Captain Campbell, to whom I am indebted for most of the information respecting these natives, found them very agreeable and hospitable, ready to barter, and always welcoming him to their houses.

After a short time, even the women and children, who had at first been scrupulously concealed, after the manner of savages, came boldly forward, and were as hospitable as the men. On one occasion, while paying a visit to one of their huts, Captain Campbell tried to make friends with one of the children, all of whom were terribly frightened at the white face of their visitor. Finding that no response was made to his advances, he pulled the child from his hiding-place, and held him for a little time, in spite of his struggles. The mother made no opposition, but laughed heartily at the skirmish, evidently feeling that no harm was intended toward her little one.

The native weapons of the Nicobarians are very curious. As the people are not of a warlike character like the Mincopies, their weapons are used almost exclusively for killing game. The most formidable is a tolerably large spear headed with iron, which is used for killing hogs, and is thrown like the assagai of Southern Africa. They have also a smaller javelin for fish-killing, and a number of many-pointed hand-spears for the same purpose. The most remarkable of their weapons is a cross-bow, which is almost exactly like that of the Fan tribe of Africa. It is not very powerful, and only propels a small arrow. Its chief use is in killing birds.

Besides these weapons, every man carries a cutlass-blade from which the hilt has been removed, and a handle roughly made by wrapping some six inches of the butt with cocoa-nut fibre. It is intended not so much as a weapon as a tool, and with it the natives cut down trees, carve their canoes, and perform similar operations.

The architecture of the Nicobarians is infinitely superior to that of the Mincopies, and is precisely similar in character to that which is found among the inhabitants of New Guinea, the home of the Papuan race.

The native architect begins by fixing a number of posts in the ground, and erecting on them a platform of split bamboo. Over this platform he builds a roof shaped exactly like a beehive, and his house is then complete. The bamboo platform is the floor of the hut, and, being elastic as well as firm, serves also for a bed. To this hut the native ascends by a primitive sort of ladder, and passes into the chamber through a hole cut in the floor. The sides of the hut are adorned with the skulls of hogs, intermixed with spears, knives, bows, and arrows. The huts are kept peculiarly neat and clean.

A rather remarkable use is made of the hut. The open space between the floor and the ground is far too valuable not to be utilized, as it affords a cool and airy shelter from the sunbeams. Under this floor is suspended a primitive sort of hammock, which is a board about six feet in length, slung by ropes. In, or rather on, this very uncomfortable hammock the Nicobarian likes to lounge away his time, dozing throughout the hot hours of the day, sipping palm wine at intervals, and smoking without cessation. In fact, we seem to have got again among the inhabitants of Western Africa, so similar is the character of the Nicobarian to that of the negro. The “Scene in the Nicobar Islands,” represented on the 903d page, shows the personal appearance of the Nicobarians and their style of architecture.

The canoes of the Nicobarians are not so beautifully formed as those of the Mincopies, but are constructed on the same principle, being hollowed out of the trunks of trees, and supported by a slight outrigger. They have a very high and ornamental prow, and are propelled by short paddles. They are very light, and, when properly manned, skim over the water at an astonishing pace. Some of them are nearly sixty feet in length, while others are barely six or seven feet long, and only intended for one person.

The mode of burial is not in the least like that which is employed among the Mincopies. When a man dies, the body is placed in a coffin, which is generally made from a canoe. The canoe is cut in half, the body being laid in one moiety, and covered with the other half. In order to supply the deceased with provisions for his journey to the spirit-land, a pig is killed and placed in the coffin, together with a supply of yams and cocoa-nuts. In case he should be attacked on his journey, a quantity of weapons, such as bows, spears, and cutlasses, are placed in the coffin.

The body is buried in the middle of the village, and the spot marked by a stick, to which is attached a small streamer. After some time, when the body has been consumed by the earth, the coffin is dug up again. The deceased being now supposed to have completed his journey to his spirit-home, his bones are thrown into the bush, and the cutlasses and other weapons distributed among his relatives.

CHAPTER XC. NEW GUINEA.

THE HOME OF THE PAPUAN RACE — DISTINGUISHING MARKS OF THE RACE — DERIVATION OF THE NAME — GENERAL CHARACTER OF THE PAPUANS — THE SIGN OF PEACE — AN UNFORTUNATE MISUNDERSTANDING — DRESS AND ORNAMENTS OF THE TRIBES OF DOURGA STRAIT — THEIR AGILITY AMONG THE TREES — THE OUTANATA TRIBES — TATTOOING AND ORNAMENTS — ELABORATE ARCHITECTURE — WEAPONS — THE DUST SIGNALS AND THEIR MEANING — THEIR UNSUSPICIOUS NATURE — ABRAUW, THE CHIEF.

We now come to the very home and centre of the Papuan race.

New Guinea is a very large island, fourteen hundred miles in length, and, as far as has been ascertained, containing some two hundred thousand geographical square miles. It is separated from Australia only by Torres Strait, and, as we have seen, a certain amount of intercourse has taken place between the Papuans of the south of New Guinea and the natives who inhabit the north of Australia. Fertile in the vegetable kingdom, it possesses one or two animals which have the greatest interest for the naturalist, such as the tree-kangaroo, the crowned pigeon, and the bird of paradise. It is equally interesting to the ethnologist as being the home of the Papuan race.

Taken as a race, they are very fine examples of savage humanity, tall, well-shaped, and powerful. They are remarkable for two physical peculiarities. The one is a roughness of the skin, and the other is the growth of the hair. The reader may remember that some of the tribes of Southern Africa have the hair of the head growing in regular tufts or patches, each about the size of a pea.

It is a remarkable fact that, in the Papuan race, the hair grows in similar patches, but, instead of being short like that of the South African, it grows to a considerable length, sometimes measuring eighteen inches from root to tip. The Papuans are very proud of this natural ornament, and therefore will seldom cut it off; but as, if left untrained, it would fall over the eyes, they have various modes of dressing it, but in most cases manage to make it stand out at right angles from the head. Sometimes they take the hair of each patch separately and screw it up into a ringlet. Sometimes they tease out all the hairs with a wooden comb of four or five prongs, and, as the hair is very coarse and stiff, it is soon induced to assume a mop-like shape, and to increase the apparent size of the head to an enormous extent.

Indeed, the word Papua is derived from this peculiarity of the hair. In the Malay language, the word which signifies “crisped” is pua-pua, which is easily contracted into pa-pua. Even the hair of the face grows in similar patches, and so does that on the breast of the man, and in the latter case the tufts are much further apart than on the head or face.

The color of the Papuans is a very dark chocolate, sometimes inclining to black, but having nothing in common with the deep shining black of the negro. Their features are large and tolerably well made, though the nose is very broad at the wings, and the lips wide. The nose, however, is not flat like that of the negro, but is prominent, rather arched, and descends so low that when seen in front the tip nearly reaches the upper lip. The natives seem to be perfectly aware of this peculiarity, and perpetuate it in their carvings.

Although taken as a whole, they are a fine race, there are many diversities among the different tribes, and they may be divided into the large and small tribes. The former are powerfully built, but more remarkable for strength than symmetry—broad-breasted and deep-chested, but with legs not equal in strength to the upper parts of the body.

Their character has been variously given, some travellers describing them as gentle and hospitable, while others decry them as fierce and treacherous. Suspicious of strangers they certainly are, and with good reason, having suffered much from the ships that visited their coasts. A misunderstanding may soon arise between savage and civilized people, especially when neither understands the language of the other. An example of such a misunderstanding is given by Mr. Earle in his valuable work on the native races of the Indian Archipelago. Lieutenant Modera, an officer in the Dutch navy, embarked with several other gentlemen in the ship’s boat, for the purpose of landing on the shore of Dourga Strait, a passage between the mainland and Frederick Henry Island.

“When the boat had proceeded to within a musket-shot distance from them, the natives, who were armed with bows, arrows, and lances, commenced making singular gestures with their arms and legs. The native interpreter called out to them in a language partly composed of Ceramese, and partly of a dialect spoken by a Papuan tribe dwelling a little further to the north; but his words were evidently quite unintelligible to them, as they only answered with loud and wild yells. We endeavored, for a long time without success, to induce them to lay aside their weapons, but at length one of them was prevailed upon to do so, and the others followed his example, on which we also laid down our arms, keeping them, however, at hand.

“We now slowly approached each other, and the interpreter, dipping his hand into the sea, sprinkled some of the water over the crown of his head as a sign of peaceful intentions. This custom seems to be general among all the Papuan tribes, and in most cases their peaceful intentions may be depended upon after having entered into this silent compact.

“This they seemed to understand, for two of them immediately did the same, on which the interpreter jumped into the shallow water, and approached them with some looking-glasses and strings of beads, which were received with loud laughter and yells. They now began dancing in the water, making the interpreter join, and the party was soon increased by other natives from the woods, who were attracted by the presents. Mr. Hagenholtz also jumped into the shallow water and joined in the dance, and they soon became so friendly as to come close round the boat; indeed some of them were even induced to get in.”

Meanwhile their confidence increased, and they began to barter with their visitors, exchanging their ornaments, and even their weapons, for beads, mirrors, and cloth. They were very inquisitive about the strange objects which they saw in the boat, and, although they handled everything freely, did not attempt to steal. One of them took up a loaded pistol, but laid it down at once when the owner said it was tapu, or forbidden. Unfortunately, a misunderstanding then took place, which destroyed all the amicable feeling which had been established.

“While all this was going on, they kept drawing the boat—unperceived, as they thought—toward the beach, which determined us to return, as our stock of presents was exhausted, and there seemed no probability of our inducing any of them to go on board with us. Shortly before this, Mr. Boers had ornamented a Papuan with a string of beads, who, on receiving it, joined two of his countrymen that were standing a little distance off with the arms that had been laid aside, but which they had been gradually getting together again—a proceeding we had observed, but, trusting in the mutual confidence that had been established, we did not much heed it.

“At the moment in which we were setting off the boat to return on board, this man fixed an arrow in his bow, and took aim at Mr. Boers, who was sitting in the fore part of the boat, on which the latter turned aside to take up his gun, but before he could do so he received the arrow in his left thigh, which knocked him over, shouting, ‘Fire! fire! I am hit!’ as he fell. The order was scarcely given before every one had hold of his arms (which, as before stated, were kept at hand), and a general discharge put the natives to flight, swimming and diving like ducks.

“Before they took to flight, however, they discharged several more arrows at our people, one of which struck Mr. Hagenholtz in the right knee, another hit a sailor in the leg, while a third pierced a sailor’s hat and remained sticking in it; and lastly, a Javanese had the handkerchief shot off his head, but without receiving any personal injury.”

Three of the natives were severely wounded, if not killed, in this unfortunate affair, which evidently arose, as Mr. Earle points out, from misunderstanding, and not from deliberate treachery. Seeing the boats being pulled toward the ships while four of their companions were on board, they probably thought that they were being carried off as captives, as has so often been done along their coast by the slavers. They could not be expected to understand the difference between one white man and another, and evidently mistook the Dutch sailors for slavers, who had come for the purpose of inveigling them into the ships, where they could not be rescued.

The tribes of this part of the coast are not agreeable specimens of the Papuan race. They are barely of the middle size, and lightly built. Their skin is decidedly black, and they ornament their bodies with red ochre, paying especial attention to their faces, which are made as scarlet as ochre can make them. The hair is deep black, and is worn in various ways. Most of the men plait it in a number of tresses, which fall nearly on the shoulders, while others confine it all into two tails, and several were seen with a curious headdress of rushes, the ends of which were firmly plaited among the hair. They are a dirty set of people, and are subject to diseases of the skin, which give them a very repulsive appearance.

Dress is not used by the men, who, however, wear plenty of ornaments. They mostly have a belt made of plaited leaves or rushes, about five inches wide, and so long that, when tied together behind, the ends hang down for a foot or so. Some of them adorn this belt with a large white shell, placed exactly in the middle. Earrings of plaited rattan, necklaces, and bracelets, were worn by nearly all. Some of them had a very ingenious armlet, several inches in width. It was made of plaited rattan, and fitted so tightly to the limb that, when a native wished to take it off for sale, he was obliged to smear his arm with mud, and have the ornament drawn off by another person.

Their principal weapons are bows, arrows, and spears, the latter being sometimes tipped with the long and sharp claw of the tree-kangaroo.

The agility of these Papuans is really astonishing. Along the water’s edge there run wide belts of mangroves, which extend for many miles in length with scarcely a break in them. The ground is a thick, deep, and soft mud, from which the mangrove-roots spring in such numbers that no one could pass through them even at low water without the constant use of an axe, while at high water all passage is utterly impossible.

As the natives, who are essentially maritime in their mode of life, have to cross this belt several times daily in passing from their canoes to their houses, and vice versa, they prefer doing so by means of the upper branches, among which they run and leap, by constant practice from childhood, as easily as monkeys. (See p. 909.) There is really nothing extraordinary in this mode of progress, which can be learned by Europeans in a short time, although they never can hope to attain the graceful ease with which the naked savages pass among the boughs. In some places the mangroves grow so closely together that to traverse them is a matter of perfect ease, and Mr. Earle remarks that he once saw a file of marines, with shouldered arms, making their way thus over a mangrove swamp.

The familiarity of these people with the trees causes them to look upon a tree as a natural fortress, and as soon as explorers succeeded in reaching the villages, the natives invariably made off, and climbed into the trees that surrounded the villages.

Wild and savage as they are, the Papuans of Dourga Strait display some acquaintance with the luxuries of civilized life and are inordinately fond of tobacco, the one luxury that is common to the highest and lowest races of mankind.

Some travellers have stated that these Papuans are cannibals, and it is certain that their gestures often favor such an opinion.

The Papuans of Dourga Strait are admirable canoe men, and paddle with singular skill and power. They always stand while paddling, a plan whereby they obtain a great increase of power, though perhaps at the expense of muscular exertion. They give as their chief reason for preferring the erect position, that it enables them to detect turtle better than if they were sitting, and to watch them as they dive under water after being wounded.

Skirting the coast of New Guinea and proceeding northward from Dourga Strait, we come to the Outanata River, at the embouchure of which is a tribe that differs much from those natives which have already been described. They are a finer and taller set of men than those of Dourga Strait, and seem to have preserved many of their customs intact since the time when Captain Cook visited them. Their skin is a very dark brown, and is described as having a bluish tinge, and they are said to rub themselves with some aromatic substance which causes them to diffuse an agreeable odor.

It is probable that the bluish gloss may be due to the same aromatic substance with which the body is perfumed. Mr. Earle thinks that the odoriferous material in question is the bark of the tree called the “rosamala.”

The blue tinge is never seen among Papuan slaves, and this circumstance adds force to Mr. Earle’s conjecture.

The features are rather large, especially the mouth, and the lips are thick. The custom of filing the teeth to a sharp point prevails among this tribe, but is not universal. The eyes are small, and the septum of the nose is always pierced so as to carry a piece of white bone, a boar’s tusk, or some similar ornament. The hair is thick, and, instead of being trained into long tails like that of the Dourga Strait natives, it is plaited from the forehead to the crown.

The men wear scarcely any real dress, many of them being entirely naked, and none of them wearing more than a small piece of bark or a strip of coarse cloth made either of cocoa-nut fibre or of split bamboo. They are, however, exceedingly fond of ornament, and have all the savage love of tattooing, or rather scarifying, the body, which is done in a way that reminds the observer of the same process among the Australians. The scarifications project above the skin to the thickness of a finger, and the natives say that this effect is produced by first cutting deeply into the flesh, and then applying heat to the wounds. Anklets, bracelets, and other articles of savage finery are common, and a man who does not wear an inch of clothing will pride himself on his boar’s teeth necklace, his bracelets of woven rattan, and his peaked rush cap.

The women always wear some amount of clothing, however small, the very fact of possessing apparel of any kind being conventionally accepted as constituting raiment. Their solitary garment consists of a small apron, about six inches square, made from the cocoa-nut fibre.

It is rather remarkable that these people have the same habit of placing their new-born children in hot sand, as has already been described when treating of the now extinct Tasmanians. When the mother goes about her work, she carries the child by means of a sort of sling made of leaves or the bark of a tree.

The architecture of the Outanatas is far superior to that of their brethren of Dourga Strait. One of these houses, described by Lieutenant Modera, was at least a hundred feet in length, though it was only five feet high and six wide, so that a man could not stand upright in it. There were nineteen doors to this curious building, which was at first mistaken for a row of separate huts. The floor is covered with white sand, and the inhabitants generally seat themselves on mats. Each of these doors seemed to be appropriated to a single family, and near the doors were placed the different fireplaces. Over the roof a fishing net had been spread to dry in the sun, while a number of weapons were hung under the roof.

This house was built in a few days by the women and girls, and was placed near a much larger building, which had been raised on piles.

The weapons of the Outanatas are spears, clubs, and the usual bow and arrows, which form the staple of Polynesian arms.

The bows are about five feet in length, and are furnished with a string sometimes made of bamboo and sometimes of rattan. The arrows are about four feet in length, and made of cane or reed, to the end of which is attached a piece of hard wood, generally that of the betel-tree. The tips are mostly simple, the wood being scraped to a sharp point and hardened in the fire, but the more ambitious weapons are armed with barbs, and furnished with a point made of bone. The teeth of the sawfish are often employed for this purpose, and a few of the arrows are tipped with the kangaroo claw, as already mentioned in the description of the Dourga Strait spear.

Beside these weapons, the natives carry a sort of axe made of stone lashed to a wooden handle, but this ought rather to be considered as a tool than a weapon, although it can be used in the latter capacity. With this simple instrument the Outanatas cut down the trees, shape them into canoes, and perform the various pieces of carpentering that are required in architecture.

The most remarkable part of an Outanata’s equipment is an instrument which greatly perplexed the earlier voyagers, and led them to believe that these natives were acquainted with fire-arms. Captain Cook, who visited New Guinea in 1770, mentions that as soon as he reached the shore and had left his boat, three natives, or “Indians,” as he calls them, rushed out of the wood, and that one of them threw out of his hand something which “flew on one side of him and burnt exactly like powder, but made no report.” The two others hurled their spears at the travellers, who were in self-defence obliged to use their fire-arms.

Not wishing to come to an engagement, they retired to the boat, and reached it just in time, the natives appearing in considerable force. “As soon as we were aboard, we rowed abreast of them, and their number then appeared to be between sixty and a hundred. We took a view of them at our leisure. They made much the same appearance as the New Hollanders, being nearly of the same stature, and having their hair short-cropped. Like them they also were all stark naked, but we thought the color of their skin was not quite so dark; this, however, might be merely the effect of their being not quite so dirty.

“All this time they were shouting defiance, and letting off their fires by four or five at a time. What those fires were, or for what purpose intended, we could not imagine. Those who discharged them had in their hands a short piece of stick—possibly a hollow cane—which they swung sideways from them, and we immediately saw fire and smoke, exactly resembling those of a musket, and of no longer duration. This wonderful phenomenon was observed from the ship, and the deception was so great that the people on board thought they had firearms; and in the boat, if we had not been so near that we must have heard the report, we should have thought they had been firing volleys.”

The reader will doubtless remark here that the travellers were so accustomed to associate fire with smoke that they believed themselves to have seen flashes of fire as well as wreaths of smoke issue from the strange weapon. Many years afterward, Lieutenant Modera contrived to see and handle some of these implements, and found that they were simply hollow bamboos, filled with a mixture of sand and wood-ashes, which could be flung like smoke-wreaths from the tubes. The Outanatas, their weapons, canoes and the remarkable instrument just described, are illustrated on the following page.

Some persons have thought that the natives used these tubes in imitation of firearms, but the interpreters gave it as their opinion that they were employed as signals, the direction of the dust cloud being indicative of the intention of the thrower. Others say that the tubes are really weapons, made for the purpose of blinding their adversaries by flinging sand in their eyes. I cannot agree with this last suggestion, because the other weapons of the Outanatas show that the natives do not fight hand to hand like the New Zealanders. I think that the interpreters were right in their statement that the tubes are used for signalling, and this supposition is strengthened by the fact that the natives of Australia do use smoke for the same purpose, as has already been described.

The canoes of the Outanatas are often of considerable size, measuring fifty or sixty feet, and, although narrow in proportion to their length from stem to stern, containing a great number of men. They are handsomely carved and adorned with paint, and both ends are flat and broad. The rowers stand up when they use their paddles, which are necessarily of considerable length, having long handles and oval blades slightly hollowed. The narrowness of these canoes strengthens the opinion of several travellers, that the Outanatas are really an inland tribe, descending the river in flotillas, and returning to their inland home when the object of their expedition is accomplished.

They seem to be less suspicious than their countrymen of Dourga Strait, and have no hesitation in meeting Europeans and exchanging their own manufactures for cloth, knives, and glass bottles, the last mentioned objects being always favorite articles of barter with Polynesian savages, who employ them when entire for holding liquids, and, if they should unfortunately be broken, use the fragments for knives, lancets, points of weapons, and similar purposes. Lieutenant Modera describes the appearance of one of their flotillas as representing a perfect fair, the boats being laid closely together, and their decks crowded with natives laden with articles for barter.

Unlike the Dourga Strait natives, those of the Outanata River had no objection to come on board the European ships, and visited the vessels in great numbers. Even their principal chief came on board frequently. On the first occasion he disguised his rank, and merely came as an ordinary native, but he afterward avowed himself, and came freely on board in his own character. For convenience’ sake he called himself Abrauw, i. e. Abraham, a name by which he was well known for a considerable distance. He offered no objection to going below and entering the Captain’s cabin, though his subjects were rather uneasy at his absence, and shouted his name so perseveringly that he was obliged every now and then to put his head out of the cabin window. He had all the regal power of concealing astonishment, and witnessed with utter imperturbability the discharge of firearms, the ticking of watches, and examples of similar marvels. He did, however, display a little interest in the musketry practice, which was directed at a succession of bottles, slung from the yard-arm, but whether he was struck with the accuracy of aim or with the needless destruction of valuable bottles is doubtful.

He seemed to be worthy of his position as chief, and was desirous of establishing an European settlement near the mouth of the Outanata. Unfortunately, the river, although a noble stream, has a sandbar across the mouth which effectually prevents vessels of even light draught from passing except at high water. The people in general were wonderfully honest, not displaying the thievish propensities which cause the visits of many savage tribes to be so troublesome. They even brought on board articles which had been accidentally left on shore. They probably owe much of their superiority to their connection with the Malay Mohammedans, many of whom visit New Guinea as traders.

(1.) A SCENE IN THE NICOBAR ISLANDS.
(See page 897.)

(2.) THE OUTANATAS AND THEIR WEAPONS.
(See page 902.)

CHAPTER XCI. NEW GUINEA— Concluded .

THE ALFOËRS OR HARAFORAS — VARIOUS REPORTS RESPECTING THEM — THEIR MODE OF GOVERNMENT — AN ALFOËRIAN DIVORCE COURT — TREPANG COLLECTING — DESTRUCTION OF PROPERTY — FUNERAL RITES — TRIBES OF THE SOUTH-EASTERN COAST — A QUAINT DRUMMER — DRESS AND ORNAMENT — THE TATTOO — THE FULL-DRESS PETTICOAT — HAIR-DRESSING — EXCELLENCE OF THEIR CANOES — AN INGENIOUS SAIL — HOW TO STOP A LEAK — THE PIG-PET — ARCHITECTURE — DEFENCE AGAINST VERMIN — HOUSES OF REDSCAR BAY — DREAD OF STEEL — TRIBES OF THE NORTH-WEST COAST — THEIR CANOES — MODES OF FISHING — AQUATIC HOUSES — MODE OF GOVERNMENT — APPOINTMENT OF A NEW CHIEF — NEW GUINEA WEDDINGS — THE KARWAR, OR HOUSEHOLD GOD — THE WAR-DANCE — CEREMONIES AT FUNERALS.

We must here give a short space to some tribes called by various names, such as Haraforas, Alfouras, and Alfoërs, and supposed by many ethnologists to be a separate family living in New Guinea and the neighboring islands, but as distinct from the generality of the inhabitants as the Bosjesman of Southern Africa are from the Kaffir.

This theory, however, has now been shown to be untenable, and it is now known that the word Alfoërs, or Alfouras, is applied by the tribes of the coast to those who live in the interior. The word has a Portuguese origin, and as Mr. Earle remarks, is applied to the mountaineers of the interior, just as the Spaniards called the aborigines of America “Indians,” and the Mohammedan inhabitants of Salee and Mindano “Moros,” or “Moors.”

Most of the accounts that have been received of the Alfoërs are not at all to be trusted. They have been described as peculiarly disgusting and repulsive, ferocious, gloomy, living in the depths of the forest, and murdering all strangers who came in their way. In fact, they have a worse reputation than the Andamaners. It has been ascertained, however, that these evil reports have originated from the coast tribes, who have a very strong objection to allow foreigners to penetrate inland.

The reason is obvious. The visits of the traders are exceedingly valuable, furnishing all kinds of tools, weapons and ornaments, which constitute the wealth of the savage. The natives, having purchased these with articles which to themselves are comparatively valueless, can sell their superabundance to the inland Alfoërs, and make an enormous profit on their bargain. If the white men were allowed to go inland and trade directly with the natives, their profitable traffic would be broken up.

As far as can be ascertained, the Alfoërs are in much the same state as were the Outanatas before they were visited by traders. Those who were seen were remarkable for a certain stupidity of aspect, a taciturnness of disposition, and a slowness of movement, which are not found among the Outanatas. As, however, they were slaves, it is more than likely that these characteristics were the result of servitude.

Subsequently some discoveries were made among the Alfoërs, which entirely contradicted the reports of the coast tribes. They are certainly rough in their manners, and if they take a dislike to a foreigner, or if he should perchance offend any of their prejudices, they eject him from the district with more speed than ceremony; taking care, however, not to inflict personal damage, and refraining from confiscating his property.

As far as can be ascertained from the slight intercourse which has been held with these tribes, there is no regular form of government, the elders deciding disputes, and their decisions being respected. They are an honest set of people, paying the greatest regard to the rights of property; and being so scrupulous in this respect, that if any one should even enter the house of an absent man he is called to account, and made to pay a fine to the owner of the house. A similar law exists with regard to the women. If a man should even touch, though accidentally, the wife of another, he makes himself liable to a fine.

A curious example of this regulation is mentioned by Lieutenant Kolff. A man set out in his canoe to fish, intending to return in a week; but being caught by contrary winds, he was driven away from his own part of the coast, and was detained two months. Unfortunately he had only left at home provisions for a week, and his wife, finding herself without food, asked a neighbor to provide it for her. This he did, and as, day after day, nothing was heard of the husband, the woman transferred her affections and herself to the neighbor who had assisted her, and the pair went off to another island.

After two months had elapsed the husband came back, and, not finding his wife, demanded her from her brothers, who were then bound to produce her. They set off in search of the guilty couple, discovered them, and brought them back, when the injured husband demanded an enormous sum by way of fine. The man said that he could not possibly pay such a sum if he were to work for the rest of his lifetime. The affair was eventually brought before the elders, who decided that the husband had done wrong in leaving his wife so ill provided for, and that if he had supplied her with a sufficiency of provisions the acquaintance between herself and her paramour would probably have been avoided. So they decreed that the man should pay a small fine, and advised the husband to leave plenty of provisions at home when he next went out fishing.

The principal object for which the natives make these expeditions is the trepang, or sea-slug (Holothuria), which is in great demand in China, and is purchased by traders from the natives for the Chinese market. It is chiefly by means of the trepang that a man procures a wife. As is the case among many savage tribes, a wife can only be obtained by purchase, so that daughters are quite as valuable to their parents as sons. With the Alfoërs, the marriage present must always consist of foreign valuables, such as elephants’ tusks, gongs, China dishes, cloth, and similar objects. These are obtained by exchanging trepang with the traders.

When, therefore, a young man wants a wife, and has settled the amount of the marriage portion with the father, he goes off for a year on a hunting expedition. He takes a canoe, and sails from island to island, catching as much trepang as possible, and begging from all those whom he visits. At the end of the year he returns home, knowing that by means of the protective law his house and property will be perfectly safe, and presents himself to the father of the girl with the goods which he has obtained. It is seldom that he is able to make up the entire amount at once, but he is allowed to pay by instalments.

Property cannot be inherited, owing to a peculiar custom. As soon as any one dies, his relations assemble, gather together all his valuables, break them to pieces, and throw the fragments away. Even the precious brass gongs are thus broken, the survivors thinking that no one may use anything belonging to the dead. Large heaps of broken china, ivory, and metal are found on the outskirts of villages that have existed for any long time, showing that many deaths must have occurred within its limits.

The rest of the funeral ceremonies are curious, and are worthy of a brief description.

When death is ascertained, notice is sent to all the relatives of the deceased, who often are scattered widely apart, so that several days usually elapse before they can all assemble. The body meanwhile is kept sprinkled with lime, in order to retard decay as much as possible, and aromatic resins are burned in the house to counteract any ill odor. As the relatives come, they take their places in the house, and begin drinking. Before the traders supplied them with arrack, they had a fermented liquor made by themselves from fruit. They always offer the deceased a share of everything, putting a little food into the mouth of the dead person, and pouring a little liquid between the senseless lips. Meanwhile the women utter loud lamentations, gongs are beaten, and a stunning uproar is kept up until the time of the funeral.

When the relatives have all assembled, a bier is provided, covered with cloth, the quantity and quality of which accord with the wealth of the deceased; and the body is then brought out in front of the house, and supported in a sitting position against a post. The villagers then assemble, and a general feast takes place, a share of which is offered to the deceased as before. Finding that he will neither eat nor drink, in spite of the solicitations of his friends and companions, the body is carried into the woods, where it is placed on a platform erected on four feet.

This being done, the concluding ceremony is left to the women. They remove all their clothing, and then plant by the side of the platform a young sapling; this ceremony being called the “casting away of the body,” and considered as a symbol that the deceased has done with his body, and thrown it from him.

Passing more to the eastward of New Guinea, we come to some interesting nations inhabiting Brumer’s Island, and the neighborhood. These islands are situate about lat. 10° 45´ S. and lon. 150° 23´ E.

Living as they do on a number of small islands, the largest being rather less than three miles in width, the natives are necessarily maritime, passing from one island to another in their admirably contrived vessels. They are accustomed to the visits of ships, and boldly put off to meet them, taking no weapons, except for sale, and displaying the greatest confidence in their visitors.

One of these natives caused great amusement by his imitation of the ship’s drummer. Some one gave him a large tin can, which he, being a musical genius, immediately converted into a drum. At first he merely pounded it with his hands, but when the ship’s drummer was sent into the chains, and began to play upon his instrument, the man watched him for a little time, and then began to imitate him in the most ludicrous manner, his antics and grimaces being especially provocative of laughter. The effect of his buffoonery was heightened by the manner in which he had adorned his face. He had blackened his naturally dark features with charcoal, and had drawn a streak of white paint over each eyebrow, and another under the chin to the cheekbones.

The mode of salutation is rather ludicrous to a stranger, as it consists of pinching. When they desire to salute any one, they pinch the tip of the nose with the finger and thumb of the right hand, while with the left they pinch the middle of their stomachs, accompanying this odd and complex gesture with the word “Magasûka.” These natives seem to be a hospitable people, for, after several of them had been received on board and treated kindly, they returned on the following day, and brought with them a great quantity of cooked yams, for which they refused payment.

The men wear nothing but a small strip of pandanus leaf, but the women have a dress which in principle is exactly similar to the thong-aprons of Southern Africa. It consists of a number of very narrow strips of pandanus leaf, reaching nearly to the knee. The girls wear only a single row of these strips, but the women wear several layers of them, one coming a little below the other, like flounces. In wet weather the uppermost petticoat is taken from the waist and tied round the neck, so as to protect the shoulders from the rain, which shoots off the leaf-strips as off a thatched roof.

On gala days a much handsomer petticoat is worn. This consists of much finer leaf strips than those which constitute the ordinary dress, and it is dyed of various colors. Some of them which were seen by Mr. M’Gillivray were red and green, with bands of pale yellow and pure white. The tufts of which they were composed were extremely light and soft, and looked like very fine-twisted grass blades. Several of the women, by way of finishing their toilet, had blackened their faces. This process, if it did not add to their beauty, certainly did not detract from it, as their faces were originally so plain that the black covering could not make them more ugly. The young men and lads formed a curious contrast to the women in this respect, many of them being remarkable for their good looks.

The women usually, though not invariably, divide their hair into a vast number of little tresses, and twist them up like the thrums of a mop, while the men tease out their stiff and wiry locks as much as possible, and fix in them a slender stick, some two feet in length, decorated with a little plume at the top, the base being cut into teeth and so used as a comb.

The inhabitants of Redscar Bay use a more elaborate system of tattooing than that which has been described above. The men generally restrict themselves to certain portions of the body, such as the breast, cheeks, forehead, and arms, and even on those spots the tattooing is comparatively slight. But the women are so covered with blue patterns, that there is hardly a portion of their bodies which has not been thus decorated. They have various patterns, but the usual type is formed by double parallel lines, the intervals between which are filled with smaller patterns, or with zigzag lines. As the dress of the women consists merely of the leaf-strip petticoat, the patterns of the tattooing are very fully displayed.

The hair of the men is dressed here after a rather singular fashion. It is shaved from the forehead for some three inches, and the remainder is combed backward to its full length. A string is then tied round it, so as to confine it as closely as possible to the head, leaving rather more than half its length to be frizzed into a mop-like bundle projecting from the crown.

Those who are especially careful of their personal appearance add an ornament which is not unlike the pigtail of the last century. A tolerably large bunch of hair is gathered together and tied into a long and straight tail, the end of which is decorated with some ornament. In one case, a man had attached to his pigtail a bunch of dogs’ teeth. The mouths, naturally wide, are disfigured with the universal custom of chewing the betel-leaf mixed with lime, which stains the lips of a dull brick-red, and makes the whole mouth look as if it had been bleeding.

The hair is usually black, but some diversities of color are often seen. Sometimes it is black except the tips of each tress, where the hue becomes yellow or reddish, and sometimes the whole of the hair is red. In all probability, this change of tint is produced by artificial means, such as lime-water, the use of which is known in various parts of New Guinea. Those who have the entire hair red have probably dyed it lately, while those who have only the tips red have passed several months without dyeing it. There is but little beard or moustache.

As far as can be judged from appearances, the women are treated better than is usually the case among savages, and seem to be considered as equal with the men. They are affectionate parents, as was proved by the fact that children were often brought by their fathers to look at the ships.

The average stature of these natives was rather small, few exceeding five feet four inches in height. They were very active, but not powerful, as was proved by testing their strength against that of the ship’s crew.

Allusion has already been made to their skill in boating. These natives possess various canoes, some so small as only to hold, and by no means to accommodate, one person, while others contain with ease fifty or sixty at once.

The commonest canoe is that which is popularly called a catamaran, and which is more of a raft than a boat. It is formed of three planks lashed together with rattan. The man sits, or rather kneels, a little behind the centre, and is able to propel this simple vessel with great speed. Some of these catamarans are large enough to carry ten or twelve persons, together with a cargo. Instead of being merely three planks, they consist of three great logs of wood laid side by side, and lashed firmly together with rattan at their ends, in the centre, and midway between the centre and each end. There is no particular bow or stern, but the central log is longer than the others, so as to project at each end, and is generally carved into rude patterns, and ornamented with red and white paint.

Of course the sea washes freely over this primitive vessel, so that the natives are obliged to erect a small platform in the middle, on which they can place any goods that might be damaged by wetting.

One of the smaller catamarans is shown in the foreground of illustration, No. 2, on the next page, and just behind it is one of the large canoes with its sail struck. Such a canoe as this is about twenty-five feet in length. It consists of two parts, the canoe proper and the outrigger. The canoe proper is very curiously formed. It is cut from the trunk of a tree, and, in spite of its length, is not more than eighteen or nineteen inches in extreme width. The most curious part of its construction is, that the sides, after bulging out below, come together above, so that the space between the gunwale is barely eight inches, there is only just room for a man’s legs to pass into the interior of the boat. A section of the canoe would present an outline very much like that of the Greek Omega reversed, thus—℧. In order to preserve the gunwales from injury, a slight pole is lashed to them throughout their entire length.

As is the case with the catamaran, both ends of the canoe are alike. They are generally raised well above the water, and are carved into the semblance of a snake’s or turtle’s head, and decorated with paint, tufts of feathers, shells, and similar ornaments.

The outrigger is as long as the canoe, to which it is attached by a series of light poles to the gunwale of the canoe itself. The method by which the outer ends of the poles are fastened to the outrigger is very curious, and can be better understood by reference to the illustration than by a description. Like the ends of the canoe, those of the outrigger poles are fashioned into a snake-like form.

The natives can run along these poles to the outrigger with perfect safety, often sitting upon it when the wind is high, so as to preserve the balance of the vessel. In many canoes, however, a slight platform is laid upon these poles, so as greatly to increase the burthen-carrying space of the vessel; and a corresponding but smaller platform projects from the opposite side of the canoe. On this platform several paddlers are stationed, finding it easier to work their long-handled paddles from the platform than from the narrow space of the canoe itself.

The sail is made of strips of palm leaf, interlaced with each other. When it is not required, the sail is struck and rolled up, so as to occupy as little room as possible, and the mast can also be struck, like those of our sailing barges while passing under a bridge.

Two other kinds of New Guinea canoes are shown in the same illustration. These canoes are not found in the same part of New Guinea, but, as the natives travel in them for considerable distances, they have been brought together in the same illustration for the convenience of comparison.

Beyond the large canoe is a smaller one, with a sail that is set in rather a curious manner. There is no mast, but the two edges of the sail are fastened to slight spars, and when the native finds the wind to be favorable, he fixes the lower ends of these spars in the canoe, and supports the upper ends by stays or ropes that were fore and aft. The reader will notice the pointed end of the cylindrical outrigger. On the opposite side to the outrigger is a slight platform made of planks. The platform itself is out of sight, but the reader may see the heads and shoulders of the two men who are sitting on it.

(1.) THE MONKEY MEN OF DOURGA STRAIT.
(See page 900.)

(2.) CANOES OF NEW GUINEA.
(See page 908.)

This canoe is made near Redscar Point, and, except in the arrangement of the sail, is somewhat similar to the vessels which are built at Brumer Island. The paddles are between six and seven feet in length, and are rather clumsily formed, without any attempt at ornament.

The canoe to the right of the illustration is the most curious of these vessels. The body of the canoe is made out of the trunk of a tree, which is first shaped to a conical form at each end, and then hollowed. Over the ends is firmly fixed a piece of wood, several feet in length, so as to make the two ends into hollow cones into which the water cannot force its way. The gunwale is raised about two feet by planks which box in the opening of the canoe, and act as wash-boards, the seams being pitched and rendered water-tight.

These particulars are mentioned because in general the natives of New Guinea are singularly indifferent as to the amount of water which is taken in by their canoes, provided that they are not sunk. There is, for example, one kind of New Guinea canoe found in Coral Haven, in which the gunwales are not connected at the stern, which is left open. The water would of course rush in, were it not that one of the crew sits in the opening, forcing his body into it so as to render it temporarily water-tight. Even with this precaution it is impossible to prevent some water from making its way between the body of the man and the sides of the canoe, as it heels over by the force of the wind, and in squally weather another of the crew is obliged to keep perpetually baling with a large shell.

The most curious part of the canoe which we are now examining is the sail, which, clumsy as it looks, is a very great improvement on those which have been previously described, inasmuch as it can be shifted and trimmed to suit the wind.

The mast, instead of being merely stuck upright when wanted, is permanently fixed, but is so short that it causes no inconvenience when the sail is struck and the paddles alone are employed. It is fixed, or “stepped,” into a hole in a board at the bottom of the canoe, and is lashed to a transverse spar that extends across the canoe from one gunwale to the other. At the head of the mast is a stout projecting arm, through which is bored a hole.

The sail is made by matting stretched between two slight spars, and when not wanted it can be rolled up and laid up on the platform of the outrigger. The halyard, a rope by which the sail is hauled to its place, is fixed to the middle of the sail, and passes through the hole in the projecting arm of the mast-head. Hopes are fastened to each end, constituting the “tack” and the “sheet.” When the crew wish to put their canoe about, they do so in a very expeditious manner, merely letting go the ropes and hauling them in again, so as to turn the sail and convert the sheet into the tack, and vice versâ. As both ends of the canoe are alike, the vessel at once obeys the new impulse, and goes off in the required direction.

The canoe is steered with one special paddle some nine feet in length, of which the oblong, rounded blade occupies half.

The inhabitants of the New Guinea coasts are remarkable for their skill in swimming and diving. When H. M. S. Rattlesnake was off New Guinea, the anchor of one of the boats caught in the coral, and could not be dislodged. An old man who was standing on the beach saw that something was wrong, and swam off to the boat. He soon understood the case, and, after diving several times, succeeded in clearing the anchor, a feat for which he was rewarded by an axe. He always dived feet foremost, without an effort, and remained under water for about half a minute.

It is rather curious that the love of pigs which is found among the New Zealanders should be quite as strongly developed among the natives of New Guinea. The girls and women make great pets of them, and it is not at all an uncommon event to see a young girl tripping along in all the graceful freedom of the savage, holding a young pig in her arms, and caressing and talking to it as an European girl talks to her doll, or to her pet lapdog. These pigs are long-legged, black-skinned, stiff-haired animals, not at all agreeing with our ideas of a pig’s proper form.

The dress used by the women consists of slender leaf-strips, and forms a really graceful costume. Many of the women employ a kind of tattooing, though they do not carry it to such an extent as to disfigure themselves. The patterns, though elaborate, are very small and delicate, and extend over a considerable portion of the body. The arms and front of the body display a regular pattern, which is usually carried over the shoulder for a little way, but leaves the back untouched. The most delicate pattern is reserved for the arm and waist, where it looks like a delicate blue lace fitting tightly to the skin. The women are very proud of this ornament, and are always gratified when a stranger expresses admiration of it. The men occasionally use the tattoo, but in a comparatively scanty manner, confining the patterns to a star or two on the breast. Now and then a man will have a double series of stars and dots extending from the centre of the chest to the shoulders, but on an average a native of this part of the country is not so much tattooed as an ordinary English sailor.

The architecture of this part of New Guinea differs from that of Dourga Strait in being much more elaborate, but throughout New Guinea the style of house-building is so similar that we will take a few examples as representatives of the whole group of islands. All the houses are elevated on posts like those of the Nicobar Islands, but have several improvements in architecture.

The posts vary in number according to the size of the house, and about four feet from the ground each post passes through a wide circular wooden disc, which serves as an effectual barrier against the rats and snakes, which would otherwise take possession of the dwellings. The posts are connected together at about five feet from the ground by rafters, on which the floor is laid.

These rafters, or joists, support a row of poles laid horizontally side by side, and upon them are laid crosswise a great number of slighter spars, thus forming a framework, on which is fixed the floor itself, which consists of a number of thin planks taken from the cocoa-nut tree. The supporting posts are about ten feet in total length, and are connected at their tops by horizontal poles, on which a second or upper floor is fixed, precisely similar to the principal floor, though much smaller. On this upper floor are kept the weapons, implements, provisions, and similar articles, for which accommodation cannot be found on the principal floor. A supply of water, for example, is generally kept in the huts, a number of empty cocoa-nut shells being used in lieu of bottles, and closed at the orifice by a plug of grass. In fact, they are identical in principal with the ostrich-egg vessels of the South African savage, which have been already described upon a preceding page.

Entrance is gained to the house by a square hole in the flooring, and the primitive staircase by which the inhabitants ascend into their houses is equally simple and effectual. It is necessary that the stairs—if we may use the term—should be so constructed, that while human beings can easily obtain access to the house, the rats and other vermin shall be kept out. If an ordinary ladder or even a notched pole were fixed to the house, the rats and snakes would be sure to climb up it and take possession of the dwelling. The native architect, therefore, proceeds after a different fashion.

Immediately under the opening in the floor he fixes two stout posts in the ground, leaving them to project rather more than three feet. The posts have forked heads, and upon them is laid a transverse pole, which is firmly lashed to them. From this transverse pole another pole is laid to the ground, so as to form an inclined plane up which the inhabitants of the house can walk. It will now be seen, that if a man walk up the inclined pole, to the transverse one, he can pass along the latter in a stooping attitude until he comes to the opening in the floor. He can then pass his body through the opening and lift himself to the level of the floor, while the space which intervenes between the horizontal post and the floor affords an effectual barrier against the rats and other vermin.

The reader will better understand this description by comparing it with illustration No. 1, on the 916th page, which represents three of these huts. That on the right is seen from the end, and is represented as half finished, in order to show the structure of the interior.

The sides and roof of the hut are formed of slight spars which are lashed together by a framework, so as to form a support for the thatching. This is made of coarse grass pulled up by the roots in large tufts, and covered with an outer layer of cocoa-nut leaves. If the house be a large one, there is an entrance at each end, and another in the middle, each being closed with neatly woven mats. Similar but coarser mats are fastened to the lower portion of the sides, in order to exclude the wind.

Up to this point the architecture is identical throughout the island, but a divergence takes place in the shape of the house itself, according to the locality. The usual form is that which is represented in the illustration. Such a house as is there drawn is on the average thirty feet in length, nine in width, and thirteen in total height, so that a space of about three feet intervenes between the upper floor and the roof. The central figure of the illustration shows the side view of a finished hut, and the left-hand figure shows the end view of a similar dwelling.

In some places, however, such for example as Redscar Bay, the form of the houses is different. Instead of having the slender poles which form the framework of the walls bent over in a curved form, they are arranged so as to make a lofty and sharply-pointed gable roof. A house of this description, which measures thirty feet in length, will reach, on an average, twenty-five feet in height. There is no distinction between the roof and walls of the huts, except that the lower portion of the roof is covered with sheets of a bark-like substance, which is supposed to be the base of the cocoa-nut leaf flattened by pressure. The entrance or door of these huts is at one end, and is covered with a mat as has already been mentioned. Access is obtained by a sloping pole resting on a short post. In some of these huts a number of spears were seen in the interior, lashed along the sides, together with several human skulls; but whether the latter were intended as ornaments, or whether they were preserved in memorial of the dead owners, is not certain.

The people who inhabit Redscar Bay and its vicinity exhibited a curious mixture of shyness and confidence. They came freely to the ships as they anchored in the bay, and were very anxious to be admitted on board, peeping into the ports in the most inquisitive manner, and holding up their weapons and implements for sale. They have in use a rather remarkable arrow, with a head in the form of a pointed gouge or scoop.

One of these arrows is in my collection. The shaft is made in the usual manner from a reed, and is weighted at one end with a piece of hard and heavy wood. Into this wooden tip is cut a deep groove, into which slips the butt of the head. This is about eight inches in length, and is made of bamboo, the reed being nearly cut away so as to leave a piece rather more than half an inch in width in the middle, and tapering gently to one end so as to form a point, and abruptly to the other end in order to form a butt which can be slipped, into the wooden tip of the arrow.

Bamboo scoops of a similar description, but of a larger size, are used as knives, and are sharpened by the simple process of biting off a piece of the edge. When Mr. M’Gillivray visited New Guinea, he asked a native the use of the bamboo scoop; and when he found that it was used as a knife, he produced his own knife, and, taking up a piece of wood, he showed the superiority of steel over bamboo by cutting a stick vigorously with it.

Strangely enough, instead of being gratified with the performance of the knife, the man was so frightened that he pushed off his canoe, called his friends around him, and explained to them the terrible deed that had been done. The knife was offered to him, but he looked upon the proffered gift as an aggravation of the original offence, and declined all overtures toward reconciliation. This aversion to steel was found to be prevalent among the inhabitants of this part of New Guinea.

The bow by which these arrows are propelled is a very effective though clumsily made weapon. My own specimen is about six feet in length, and is made from some hard and tough wood, apparently that of the cocoa-nut tree. It is very stiff, and requires a strong arm to draw it. The string is a strip of rattan, like that which has already been mentioned when treating of North Australia.

Passing to the north-west of the island, we find that their appearance and manners are not very dissimilar from those which belong to their brethren of the southern coast. Taking the Dory people as our type, we find that they often display good examples of the high and narrow forehead of the Papuan family, and many of them have narrow and arched noses, together with lips nearly as thin as those of an European. Indeed, some of these natives possess a cast of countenance which is so like that of an European that several travellers have thought that there must have been some admixture of foreign blood. Such, however, is not the case, these peculiarities belonging to the individual, and not implying any foreign mixture.

The canoes of this part of the country are rather different from those of the southern coast. The mast is made of three distinct spars, united at their tops. Two of them are fastened to the side by pins passing through them, on which they work backward and forward, as if on hinges. The third is not fastened to the vessel, but its butt fits into a cavity from which it can be removed at pleasure. If, therefore, the natives wish to use their paddles, all they have to do is to lift the foot of this spar out of its socket, when the whole of the triple mast can be lowered on deck. When the wind becomes favorable, and the sail is to be employed, the masts are raised again, the butt of the third spar is stepped into its socket, and the triple mast is thus kept firmly upright. A similar contrivance is now proposed for our ships of war, as these triple masts made of three slight iron bars cannot be so easily shot away as the single and solid mast.

The natives are very expert canoe-men, and are accustomed to the use of their vessels from childhood. Even the small boys have their little canoes, which are so light that they can be carried to and from the water without difficulty.

They excel as fishermen, being as expert in the water as on it. The trepang fishery is energetically conducted by them, as it is by the sale of trepang to the merchants that they obtain the greater part of the foreign luxuries on which they set so high a value. The hawksbill turtle is captured principally for the sake of the shell, which is also purchased by the traders, and, together with mother-of-pearl shell, is mostly sent to the Chinese markets.

The mode of fishing with a net is much the same as on all these coasts. The net is three or four feet in depth, and a hundred feet or more in length. The meshes are about an inch in width. One edge is furnished with a row of flat pieces of light wood, which act as floats, and along the other edge are fastened a number of perforated shells by way of weights.

When the natives wish to use this net, they place it in a canoe, and look out for a shoal of fish. As soon as a favorable opportunity is found, the canoe is taken to seaward of the shoal, and let carefully into the water. Each end is taken in charge by one or two men, who bring the net round the shoal in semi-circular form, so as to enclose the fish. These men gradually approach each other, while another man beats the water with a pole, or flings stones into it, so as to frighten the fish into the enclosure. As soon as the two ends of the net have been brought together, the canoe comes up, and the net, with the fish hanging in its meshes, is hauled on board. They also use fish-traps, like those which have been already described in the account of Australia, sinking them by means of a stone, and raising them by a cord, to the end of which a bamboo buoy is fastened.

They are tolerable smiths, and have a kind of bellows identical in principle with those of savage Africa, but worked in a different manner. Instead of having a couple of inflated skins, they have a pair of wide bamboo tubes, about four feet in length, the lower ends of which are buried in the earth, and connected by means of channels with the hole in which the fire is made. The pistons are formed of bunches of feathers tied to bamboos, and the blower works them alternately up and down, so as to produce a tolerably constant blast. It is remarkable that the bellows of the Chinese itinerant jeweller are fitted with feather pistons. It is most probable that these bellows have been borrowed from the more eastern islands.

As to the actual working of the metal, it bears a curious similitude to that which is employed in savage Africa. The anvil is generally a stone, unless the native smiths can procure an iron “pig” or a piece of a broken anchor. They can work in silver and copper as well as iron, melting the two former metals and running them into moulds, to be afterward beaten and worked into shape.

The architecture of these tribes is rather remarkable. Like the generality of houses in New Guinea, the huts are raised on stakes in order to preserve them from vermin; but those of the Dory people are similarly elevated in order to preserve them from water. These natives have a curious predilection for building their huts on the sea-shore, and place them below the level of low water. They begin this curious style of architecture by building a long pier, or rather jetty, which extends far into the sea, and which keeps open a communication between the house and the shore.

At the end of this jetty the hut itself is situated, and is made of boarded walls and a thatched roof. Great as is the labor that is bestowed upon it, the house does not come up to our ideas of comfort. In the first place, the floors are made of rough spars, placed parallel to each other, but still far enough apart to cause some uneasiness, not to say danger, to an unpractised walker.

A good specimen of a Dory house is about seventy feet long, twenty-five wide, and fifteen high. Along the centre runs a tolerably wide passage, and at either side are a number of rooms, separated from each other and from the passage by mats. At the end next the sea there are no walls, but only a roof, so that a sort of verandah is formed, under which the inhabitants spend much of their time when they are not actively employed. Such a house as this is usually occupied by some forty or fifty individuals, consisting of about twenty men, together with the wives and families of those who are married. All cooking is carried on by the different families in their own chambers, each of which is furnished with its own fireplace.

The dress of the Dory natives varies but little from that of other Papuans of New Guinea. The men, however, often ornament their bodies with raised scars like those of the Australians, and they are fond of tattooing their breasts and arms with figures of their weapons. They are fond of ornaments, such as shells, twisted wire, and armlets of plaited rattan. They ingeniously utilize the latter ornament by plaiting a very thick and strong bracelet, and wearing it on the left wrist and fore-arm, so as to protect the wearer from the recoil of the bowstring.

Though not a warlike people, they always go armed, carrying the invariable parang, or chopper, which, as its very name imparts, is procured from the Malay tribes. These parangs are chiefly made in Borneo, as we shall see when we come to treat of the Dyaks. The Dory Papuans do not seem to fight, as do some savage tribes, for the mere love of combat; the chief object of warfare being the capture of slaves, each of whom is valued at fifty shillings.

This value is, however, a conventional term; and when a bargain is made with the Dory people for so many slaves, in most cases the conventional money value is intended, and not the actual slaves. In fact, the word “slaves” is used much as we use the word “horses” in reckoning the power of a steam-engine, or “tons” in describing the capacity of a ship. Perhaps the words “pony” and “monkey,” of modern sporting slang, are better illustrations.

Still, slavery is rife among the Dory people, who sometimes make a raid into a district, capture a village, and carry off the inhabitants into servitude. They do not, however, treat their captives badly, but feed them well, and seem to consider them partly in the light of domestic servants, and partly as available capital, or as a means of exchange when any of their own friends are taken prisoners by hostile tribes.

The government of the Dory tribes is nominally a delegated chieftainship, but in reality a sort of oligarchy. There is a certain dignitary, called the Sultan of Tidore, under whose sway this part of the country is supposed to be, and from him the chief of the Dory tribes receives his rank. When the chief dies, one of his relatives goes to convey the news to the Sultan, taking with him a present of slaves and birds of paradise as tokens of allegiance. This man is almost always appointed to the vacant place, and is bound to pay a certain tribute of slaves, provisions, and war canoes, the latter being employed in collecting the Sultan’s taxes. Should he fail to comply with these conditions, his village would be attacked by the Sultan’s fleet, and the whole district ransacked; so that the position of chief has its anxieties as well as its privileges.

(1.) HUTS, NEW GUINEA.
(See page 912.)

(2.) DANCE BY TORCHLIGHT, NEW GUINEA.
(See page 917.)

His authority is more nominal than real, for he decides nothing but unimportant matters, leaving more weighty subjects to a council of elders, who, as a rule, administer justice with impartiality. Their laws are really good and sensible, and, though lenient, are based on the principle of the old Jewish law, the eye for the eye and the tooth for the tooth.

Marriages are managed in a very simple manner, the bride and bridegroom sitting opposite each other, in front of an idol, and the former giving the latter some betel-leaf and tobacco. His acceptance of the present, and taking the hand of the giver, constitute the whole of the ceremony.

The idol which has been mentioned is called the Karwar, and is found in every house except those which belong to Mohammedan natives. The Karwar is a wooden figure, about eighteen inches in height, large-headed, wide-mouthed, and long-nosed,—this peculiarity of the Papuan face being exaggerated. It is represented as holding a shield, and wearing a calico wrapper on the body and a handkerchief on the head.

The Karwar plays an important part in the life of a Dory native. It is present at his birth, takes part in his funeral, and, as we have seen, is witness to his marriage. In all cases of perplexity the Karwar is consulted, the devotee stating his intentions, and abandoning them if he should feel nervous, such a sensation being supposed to be the Karwar’s answer. There are plenty of fetishes, but these are only supplementary to the Karwar.

Without going into the details of the various tribes which inhabit this part of the earth, we will glance at a few of the most interesting customs.

These Papuans have a strong love for flowers, especially those which possess a powerful scent. They twine such flowers in their hair, weave them into garlands for their necks, and carry them in their bracelets and armlets.

They are fond of singing and music, and, as far as has been ascertained, are in the habit of composing extempore songs, as well as singing those ditties which they know by heart. As for their musical instruments, they consist chiefly of the cylindrical drum, a trumpet made of a triton shell, and a sort of Pandean pipe, composed of six or seven reeds of different lengths lashed firmly together. There is also a wind instrument, which is nothing but a bamboo tube some two feet in length.

Accompanied by these instruments, they perform their curious dances, one of which as been well described by Mr. M’Gillivray. “They advanced and retreated together by sudden jerks, beating to quick or short time as required, and chanting an accompanying song, the cadence rising and falling according to the action. The attitude was a singular one—the back straight, chin protruded, knees bent in a crouching position, and the arms advanced.

“On another occasion, one of the same men exhibited himself before us in a war dance. In one hand he held a large wooden shield, nearly three feet in length, and rather more than one in width, and in the other a formidable looking weapon, two feet in length—a portion of the snout of the sword-fish, with long, sharp teeth projecting on each side. Placing himself in a crouching attitude, with one hand covered by the shield, and holding his weapon in a position to strike, he advanced rapidly in a succession of short bounds, striking the inner side of his shield with his left knee at each jerk, causing the large cowries hung round his waist and ankles to rattle violently. At the same time, with fierce gestures, he loudly chanted a song of defiance. The remainder of the pantomime was expressive of attack and defence, and exultation after victory.

“But a still more curious dance was once performed a few nights ago by a party of natives who had left the ship after sunset, and landed abreast of the anchorage. On seeing a number of lights along the beach, we at first thought they proceeded from a fishing party, but on looking through a night-glass the group was seen to consist of above a dozen people, each carrying a blazing torch, and going through the movements of the dance. At one time they extended rapidly into line, at another closed, dividing into two parties, advancing and retreating, crossing and recrossing, and mixing up with each other. This continued for half an hour, and, it having apparently been got up for our amusement, a rocket was sent up for theirs, and a blue light burned, but the dancing had ceased, and the lights disappeared.”

An accompanying illustration represents this wild and curious scene. In the foreground are the dancers, each with his torch in his hand, and indulging in the grotesque movements of the dance. To the left are seen the musicians, one playing on the bamboo pipe, and the other beating the drum which has before been mentioned. One of these drums is lying in the foreground. It is a hollow cylinder of palm wood, about two feet in length and four inches in diameter. One end is covered with lizard-skin, and along the side there run longitudinal slits. The native name for this drum is “baiatú.”

The funeral ceremonies appear to differ according to the locality. Among the Dory people, when a man dies, the body is rolled in white calico, and laid on its side in a grave, its head resting on an earthenware dish. The weapons and ornaments of the dead man are laid in the grave, which is then filled up, and a thatched roof erected over it.

Should the deceased be a head of a family, the Karwar is brought to perform its last duties. When the man is buried, the Karwar is placed near the grave, and violently execrated by all the mourners for allowing its charge to die. The thatched roof being finished, the idol is laid upon it, and idol and roof are left to decay together. As is usual with savage tribes, funeral feasts are held at the time of burial and for some days afterward, those which celebrate the deaths of chiefs being kept up for a whole month.

CHAPTER XCII. THE PHILIPPINE ISLANDS. THE AJITAS, OR AHITAS.

POSITION AND DIMENSIONS OF THE PHILIPPINE ISLANDS — THE MALAYS AND THE NEGRITOS, OR AJITAS — RESEMBLANCE TO THE BOSJESMAN — THE BOW AND POISONED ARROWS — SKILL IN ARCHERY — THE SAVAGE INSTINCT — MEETING A PARTY OF AJITAS — THEIR APPEARANCE, AND CHIRPING SOUND OF THEIR LANGUAGE — CONCILIATING THE ABORIGINES — GOVERNMENT OF THE AJITAS — THEIR ACTIVITY IN HUNTING — NOMADIC PROPENSITIES OF THE AJITAS — REVERENCE FOR THE DEAD — A QUARREL, AND ITS CAUSE.

To the north-west of New Guinea lie several islands, which are grouped together under the general name of Philippines. They consist of a considerable number of islands, of which the northern island, called Luza, and the southern island, called Magindano, are by far the largest.

The inhabitants of the Philippines are of two kinds; namely, the Malays and the Negritos. The former are evidently not the aboriginal inhabitants, but have voyaged to the islands in their canoes and formed a number of settlements. As in the course of the work we shall see much of the Malay race, we will pass them by for the present, and only notice the Negritos, or little negroes, so called by the Spanish on account of their dark skins and small size.

This strange little race is mostly known by a name which is given in different forms. By some writers it is spelt Ajitas, by some Ahitas, and by others Itas. Of these different forms I select the first, which, by the way, is pronounced as if it were spelled Aheetas.

The Ajitas are quite as small as the Bosjesmans of Southern Africa, their average height being four feet six inches. They are well shaped, and their skins, though of a very dark hue, are not so black as those of the negro tribes. The features are tolerably good, except that the nose is broad and rather flat, and that there is a marked deficiency of chin. The hair is woolly, like that of other Papuans, and, as they do not know how to dress it, they wear it in a sort of mop round the head. The eyes are remarkable for a decided yellow tinge.

In common with other savages who lead an uncertain kind of life, fasting sometimes for two days together, and then gorging themselves like wolves, they are apt to have their limbs and projecting stomachs with a recurved back such as is the case with the Bosjesman, the back being bent like the letter S. Their shape is in no way concealed by their dress, which is nothing more than a wide belt of plaited bark fastened round the waist.

In many respects there is a great similarity between the Bosjesman and the Ajita. The latter live by the chase and by plunder, having no idea of agriculture. They always go armed, their weapons being bamboo lances and bows and arrows, the latter being poisoned. The effect of the poison with which they are tipped is to produce an unextinguishable thirst in the animal, which seeks the nearest water, drinks, and dies. As soon as it is dead, the hunter cuts away the flesh from around the wound, as the poison would otherwise communicate so bitter a taste to the whole carcass that the flesh could not be eaten.

Their bows are but slight, as are their arrows, the poison doing the work of death, and the depth of the wound being of no consequence. They are skilful archers, having the bow and arrow in their hands from infancy, and practising at any object that may take their attention. Both sexes use the bow, and the little boys and girls are fond of wading along the banks of streams and shooting the fish.

Like the Bosjesman, the Ajita is always at feud with the other races that inhabit the same country, and, small as he is, makes himself dreaded by reason of his poisoned weapons. Sometimes Ajitas are taken prisoners, and are generally enslaved. As they are light, active, and not bad-looking, they are often employed as servants by the dignitaries of Manilla.

One of these people was in the household of an Archbishop of Manilla, and was educated by him with great care. To all appearance he was thoroughly civilized, and at last was ordained priest. But the instincts of his savage nature were too strong for him, and the man escaped from his position and civilized society, threw off his garments, and rejoined his savage relatives. Such instances are continually occurring, and it is almost impossible to retain an Ajita in civilized society, no matter how well he may be treated, or how young he may be when captured.

The habits of the Ajitas are essentially of a savage character, and, as a rule, travellers in the Philippines are obliged to be very careful lest they should suddenly be set upon by these dangerous little creatures. Sometimes, however, they can be gentle, and even hospitable, and an instance of such conduct is related by M. de la Gironière, part of whose narrative has been translated and quoted by Mr. Earle: “We directed our course toward the north, among mountains always covered with thick forests, and which, like those we had just quitted, presented no traced route, excepting a few narrow pathways beaten by wild beasts. We advanced with caution, for we were now in the parts inhabited by the Ajitas. At night we concealed our fires, and one of us always acted as sentinel, for what we feared most was a surprise.

“One morning, while pursuing our way in silence, we heard before us a chorus of squeaking tones, which had more resemblance to the cries of birds than to the human voice. We kept on our ground, concealing our approach as much as possible with the aid of the trees and brambles. All at once we perceived at a little distance about forty savages, of all sexes and ages, who had absolutely the air of animals. They were on the banks of a rivulet, surrounding a great fire. We made several steps in advance, and presented the butt-end of our guns toward them. As soon as they perceived us, they set up shrill cries and prepared to take to flight; but I made signs to them, by showing them some packets of cigars, that we wished to offer them for their acceptance.

“I had fortunately received at Binangonan all the instructions necessary for knowing how to open a communication with them. As soon as they comprehended us, they ranged themselves into a line, like men preparing for a review; this was the signal that we might approach. We went up to them with our cigars in our hands, and I commenced distributing them from one extremity of the line. It was very important that we should make friends with them, and give each an equal share, according to their custom. The distribution being over, an alliance was cemented, and peace concluded, when they commenced smoking.

“A deer was hanging to a tree, from which the chief cut three large slices with a knife of bamboo, and threw them upon the fire, and, drawing them out an instant afterward, presented a piece to each of us. The exterior was slightly burned and sprinkled with ashes, but the interior was perfectly raw and bloody. It would not do, however, to show the repugnance I felt at making a repast scarcely better than that of a cannibal, for my hosts would have been scandalized, and I wished to live in good correspondence with them for some days. I therefore ate my piece of venison, which, after all, was not ill flavored, and my Indian having followed my example, our good repute was established, and treason on their part no longer possible.”

M. de la Gironière showed his wisdom in accommodating himself to circumstances, and in sacrificing his own predilections in favor of expediency; and if all travellers had acted in a similar manner, we should have known much more of savage manners and customs than we do at the present time. After propitiating his little black hosts by tact and kindness, he remained among them for some time, and by means of an interpreter, whom he was fortunate enough to obtain, continued to procure a considerable amount of information concerning a people of whom scarcely anything had been previously known since their existence.

The Ajitas live in small tribes, consisting of some fifty or sixty individuals. They have no fixed residence, but wander about the country according to the amount of game which they find. They have not the least notion of house-building, and in this respect are even below the aborigines of Australia, and at night they crowd round the fire and lie as close to it as possible. This fire is the central point of the tribe, the old people and children assembling round it during the day while the adults are hunting for game; and if the hunters should be able to bring in enough food to last for some days, they remain round the fire until it is all consumed.

There seems to be no particular form of government among the Ajitas, who always choose one of the oldest men to be the chief of each little tribe, and do not acknowledge any principal chief or king. Age is respected among them, and in this point the Ajitas show their superiority over many savage tribes. The language of the Ajitas is said to resemble the chirping of birds rather than the voice of mankind, but it must be remembered that the same was said of the Bosjesmen’s language when European travellers first came among them. Any language which is heard for the first time affects the ear unpleasantly, and even those of Europe are generally stigmatized by foreigners as gabbling or grunting, according to the pitch of the voice. Of the structure of the Ajitas’ language nothing is yet known.

In one point they are superior to many savage people. A man has but one wife, and both are faithful in the married state. When a young man wishes to marry, he asks the consent of her parents, who, on a fixed day, send her into the woods alone before sunrise, and after an hour the young man goes after her. If he can find her, and bring her back before sunset, the marriage is acknowledged; but if he cannot succeed in his search, he must yield all claims to her. It will be seen that the real choice lies with the girl, who can always conceal herself if she dislikes the intended bridegroom, or, even if he did find her, could refuse to come back with him until the stipulated time has passed.

The religion of the Ajitas seems to be, as far as can be ascertained on a subject from which a savage always shrinks, a mere fetishism; any object, such as an oddly-shaped tree trunk or stone, being worshipped for a day, and then forsaken in favor of some other idol.

Any real reverence in the nature of the Ajitas seems to be given to the dead, whom they hold in veneration. Year after year they will resort to the burial-places of their friends for the purpose of laying betel-nut and tobacco upon the grave. Over each spot where a warrior is buried his bow and arrows are hung, the Ajitas having an idea that at night the man leaves his grave, and hunts until the morning. Owing to this reverence for the dead, M. de la Gironière’s expedition nearly came to a fatal termination. They had succeeded in procuring a skeleton from the burial-place, when the theft was discovered by the Ajitas, who at once set upon them, and fairly chased them out of their country, the poisoned arrows proving to be weapons too formidable to be resisted, especially when used by foes as active as monkeys, who could pour their arrows on their foes, while they scarcely exposed an inch of their little dark bodies to the enemy.

It is owing to another form of this veneration for the dead that travellers have so often come in collision with the Ajitas. When a warrior dies, his companions are bound to take their weapons and roam through the country, for the purpose of killing the first living thing that they meet, whether man or beast. As they pass along, they break the boughs in a peculiar manner as warnings to others, for even one of their own tribe would be sacrificed if he fell in their way. Travellers from other countries would either fail to see, or, if they saw, to understand, the meaning of these little broken twigs, and in consequence have been attacked by the Ajitas, not from any unfriendly feelings, but in fulfilment of a national custom.

CHAPTER XCIII. FIJI. APPEARANCE AND DRESS OF THE FIJIANS.

POSITION OF THE FIJI ISLANDS — GENERAL APPEARANCE OF THE NATIVES — THEIR PECULIAR HAIR, AND VARIOUS MODES OF DRESSING IT — HAIR-DYES — THE FIJIAN MIRROR — WIG-MAKING — THE AMBASSADOR AND HIS MESSAGE — THE FIJIAN TURBAN — WATER-PROOF HEADDRESSES — DRESS OF THE FIJIANS — THE “MASI,” AND METHOD OF WEARING IT — EAR-ORNAMENTS — NECKLACES AND FLOWERS — TATTOOING AND PAINT — PATTERNS USED FOR THE FACE — DRESS OF THE WOMEN — THE ROUGHNESS OF THE SKIN AND USE OF PAINT — HAIR-DRESSING — MAKING MASI AND MODE OF PRODUCING PATTERNS — INGENIOUS MODE OF STENCILLING — THE WOMAN’S APRON, OR “LIKU,” AND MODE OF WEARING IT.

To describe the inhabitants of all the multitudinous islands of Polynesia would be an agreeable, but impossible task, our space confining us within limits which may not be transgressed. We will therefore pass at once to the large and important group of islands which is popularly known by the name of Fiji.

This group of islands lies due north of New Zealand, and to the eastward of New Guinea, so that they are just below the Equator. The collective name of the islands has been variously given, such as Fiji, Beetee, Feegee, Fidge, Fidschi, Vihi, and Viti. Of all these names, the first and the last are correct, the northern portion of the islands being known as Fiji, and the southern as Viti. The reader must remember that these names are pronounced as if written Feegee and Veetee.

The inhabitants of Fiji are a fine race of savages, tolerably well formed, and with dark, though not black skin. Like other Papuans, they are remarkable for their thick, bushy hair, which they dress in a singular variety of patterns. As the appearance and costume of savage races are the first points which strike a stranger, we will at once proceed to describe them.

The most conspicuous part of a Fijian’s general appearance is his headdress, in the arrangement of which he gives the reins to his fancy, and invents the most extraordinary variations of form and color. Examples of the Fijian headdress will be seen in most of the illustrations. But as it would be tedious to describe them as they occur, I will mention a few of the most prominent varieties.

The hair of the Papuan race is always stiff, wiry, and plentiful, and grows to a considerable length; so that it necessarily assumes a bushy form if suffered to grow according to its own will. The Fijian, however, thinks that nature is to be improved by art, and accordingly lavishes all the resources of a somewhat artistic character on his hair. To train the hair into any of the graceful and flowing methods which distinguish those soft-haired races would be utterly impossible for a Fijian. He goes on quite the opposite principle, and, true to real artistic feeling, tries to develop to the utmost those characteristics which rightly belong to him, instead of endeavoring to produce effects which would not be consonant with their surroundings.

The principle on which a Fijian coiffure is arranged is, that every hair is presumed to grow naturally at right angles to the skin, and to stand out stiffly and boldly. Supposing, then, that each hair could be induced to follow its own course, without being entangled by others, it is evident that the whole head of hair would form a large globular mass, surrounding the face. It is, therefore, the business of the Fijian hair-dresser to accept this as the normal form of the hair, and to change or modify it as he thinks best.

It is impossible to describe the various modes of Fijian hair-dressing better than has been done by Mr. Williams, who resided in Fiji for thirteen years. “Most of the chiefs have a hair-dresser, to whose care his master’s hair is intrusted, often demanding daily attention, and at certain stages of progress requiring several hours’ labor each day. During all this time, the operator’s hands are tapu from touching his food, but not from working in his garden.

(1.) THE AMBASSADOR’S MESSAGE.
(See page 925.)

(2.) FIJIAN CANOE IN A BREEZE.
(See page 932.)

“The hair is strong, and often quite wiry, and so dressed that it will retain the position in which it is placed, even when projecting from the head a distance of six or eight inches. One stranger, on seeing their performance in this department, exclaims, ‘What astonishing wigs!’ another thinks, ‘Surely the beau idéal of hair-dressing must exist in Fiji;’ a third, ‘Their heads surpass imagination.’” No wonder, then, that they defy description.

“Whatever may be said about the appearance being unnatural, the best coiffures have a surprising and almost geometrical accuracy of outline, combined with a round softness of surface and uniformity of dye which display extraordinary care, and merit some praise. They seem to be carved out of some solid substance, and are variously colored. Jet-black, blue-black, ashy white, and several shades of red prevail. Among young people, bright red and flaxen are in favor. Sometimes two or more colors meet on the same head. Some heads are finished, both as to shape and color, nearly like an English counsellor’s wig.

“In some, the hair is a spherical mass of jet black hair, with a white roll in front, as broad as the hand; or, in lieu of this, a white, oblong braid occupies the length of the forehead, the black passing down on either side. In each case the black projects further than the white hair. Some heads have all the ornamentation behind, consisting of a cord of twisted coils, ending in tassels. In others, the cords give place to a large red roll or a sandy projection falling on the neck. On one head, all the hair is of one uniform length, but one-third in front is ashy or sandy, and the rest black, a sharply defined separation dividing the two colors.

“Not a few are so ingeniously grotesque as to appear as if done purposely to excite laughter. One has a large knot of fiery hair on his crown, all the rest of the head being bald. Another has the most of his hair cut away, leaving three or four rows of small clusters, as if his head were planted with small paint brushes. A third has his head bare, except where a black patch projects over each temple. One, two, or three cords of twisted hair often fall from the right temple, a foot or eighteen inches long. Some men wear a number of these braids so as to form a curtain at the back of the neck, reaching from one ear to the other.

“A mode that requires great care has the hair wrought into distinct locks, radiating from the head. Each lock is a perfect cone, about seven inches in length, having the base outward, so that the surface of the hair is marked out into a great number of small circles, the ends being turned in, in each lock, toward the centre of the cone. In another kindred style, the locks are pyramidal, the sides and angles of each being as regular as though formed of wood. All round the head they look like square black blocks, the upper tier projecting horizontally from the crown, and a flat space being left at the top of the head. When the hair, however, is not more than four inches long, this flat does not exist, but the surface consists of a regular succession of squares or circles. The violent motions of the dance do not disturb these elaborate preparations, but great care is taken to preserve them from the effects of the dew or rain.”

Whenever the Fijian desires to know whether his headdress is in proper order, he has recourse to his mirror. This is not a portable, but a fixed article of manufacture, and is necessarily situated in the open air. When the native sees a large tree with a sloping trunk, he cuts in the upper part of the trunk several deep hollows, and arranges the leaves of the tree so that the water from the foliage drips into them, and keeps them full. These are his mirrors, and by their aid he examines his hair, sees if the outline be quite correct, and, if he be dissatisfied, arranges it with his long-handled comb, and then replaces the comb in his mop of a head, carefully sticking it over one ear as a soldier does his forage cap.

Not content with having the hair plaited and frizzed out as has already been described, many of the Fijians wear great wigs over their own hair, thus increasing the size of their heads to the most inordinate dimensions. The natives are excellent wig-makers and, as their object is not to imitate nature, but to produce as fantastic an effect as possible, it is evident that the result of their labor is often very ludicrous. As is the case with their own hair, they dye these wigs of various colors, red and white being the favorite hues.

Three examples of these curious headdresses are shown in illustration No. 1, on preceding page, which represents an ambassador delivering a message from his chief to some man of consequence. Savages such as these have no idea of writing, but, lest they should forget the various terms of their message, they have recourse to a simple memoria technica, consisting of a bundle of sticks, no two being of the same length.

Each of these sticks answers to one of the terms of the message, which is repeated once or twice to the ambassador, who reckons them over on his sticks. When he delivers his message, he unties the bundle, selects the sticks in their order, and, laying them down in succession, delivers the message without a mistake.

In the illustration, the principal figure represents the ambassador, the others being his attendants. He has laid down several of the sticks, and is delivering the message belonging to one of them, while he is holding the rest in his left hand. His headdress is of that remarkable kind which consists of a number of conical locks of hair—a fashion which denotes a man of rank, as no other could afford to have such a coiffure kept in order. The man seated next to the ambassador has his hair in two colors, the greater part being dark and frizzed out from the head, while a couple of rolls of a lighter hue pass over the forehead. The central figure exhibits a favorite mode of hair-dressing, in which the hair is clipped very short, except in certain spots, in which it is allowed to grow, so as to form a series of brush-like tufts.

Men of consequence mostly protect their enormous mops of hair by a sort of thin turban, which is wrapped round them. The turban is made of a piece of very delicate bark cloth, or masi, nearly as thin as gauze, and perfectly white. It is sometimes six feet in length, but varies according to the quantity of hair. It is twisted round the head in different fashions, but is mostly fastened by a bow on the forehead, or on the top of the head. Several examples of the turban will be seen in the course of the following pages. Men of rank often wear the masi of such length that the ends fall down behind like a scarf.

In order to preserve their hair from being displaced by rain, they use a waterproof covering of their own invention. This is a young banana leaf, which is heated over a fire, and then becomes as thin, transparent, and impervious to water as oiled silk. The light turban offers no protection whatever, being soaked as easily as tissue paper, which it somewhat resembles.

Material similar to that which is worn on the head is used for the dress. The masi which is employed for this purpose is mostly from twenty to thirty feet in length, though a wealthy man will sometimes wear a masi of nearly three hundred feet long. In this case, it is made of very delicate material. It is put on in a very simple manner, part being wound round the loins, and the rest passed under the legs and tucked into the belt, so as to hang as low as the knees in front, and to fall as low as possible behind. A wealthy man will often have his masi trailing far behind him like a train. This is all the dress which a Fiji man needs. Clothing as a protection from the weather is needless, owing to the geniality of the climate, and the masi is worn simply as a matter of fashion.

Ornaments are worn in great profusion, and are of the kinds which seem dear to all savage races. Ear ornaments of portentous size are worn by the inhabitants of Fiji, some of them stretching the lobe to such an extent that a man’s two fists could be placed in the opening. The Fijians also wear breast ornaments, very similar in shape and appearance to the large dibbi-dibbi which is worn by the Northern Australians, and has evidently been borrowed from the Papuan race. Any glittering objects can be made into necklaces, which often combine the most incongruous objects, such as European beads, bits of tortoise-shell, dogs’ teeth, bats’ jaws, and the like.

Flowers are plentifully worn by the Fijian, who keeps up a constant supply of these natural ornaments, weaving them into strings and chaplets, and passing them, like belts, over one shoulder and under the other. In the illustration on page 937th, which represents the payment of taxes, several girls are seen adorned with these garlands.

Tattooing is almost entirely confined to the women, and even in them is but little seen, the greater part of the patterns being covered by the liku or fringe apron. When young, the women usually tattoo their fingers with lines and stars in order to make them look ornamental as they present food to the chief, and, after they become mothers, they add a blue patch at each corner of the mouth. The operation is a painful one, though not so torturing as that which is employed in New Zealand, the pattern being made by the punctures of a sharp-toothed instrument, and not by the edge of a chisel driven completely through the skin.

Paint is used very largely, the three principal colors being black, white, and red. With these three tints they contrive to produce a variety of effect on their faces, that is only to be rivalled by the fancy displayed in their hair-dressing. Sometimes the face is all scarlet with the exception of the nose, which is black, and sometimes the face is divided like a quartered heraldic shield, and painted red and black, or white, red, and black in the different quarterings. Some men will have one side of the face black and the other white, while others paint their countenances black as far as the nose, and finish them off with white.

Reversing the first-mentioned pattern, the Fijian dandy will occasionally paint his face black and his nose red, or will have a black face, a white nose, a scarlet ring round each eye, and a white crescent on the forehead. Sometimes he will wear a white face covered with round scarlet spots like those on a toy horse; or will substitute for the round spots a large patch on each cheek and another round the mouth, just like the face of a theatrical clown.

Some very curious effects are produced by lines. A white face with a single broad black stripe from the forehead to the chin has a very remarkable appearance, and so has a face of which one side is painted longitudinally with black stripes on a white ground, and the other half with transverse stripes of the same colors. A similar pattern is sometimes produced with black upon red. Perhaps the oddest of all the patterns is formed by painting the face white, and upon the white drawing a number of undulating lines from the forehead downward, the lines crossing each other so as to form a sort of rippling network over the face.

So much for the dress of the men. That of the women is different in every way. Though possessing the same kind of stiff, wiry, profuse hair as the men, they do not trouble themselves to weave it into such fantastic designs, but mostly content themselves with combing it out so as to project as far as possible on every side. Sometimes they twist it into a series of locks, which are allowed to fall on the head merely at random, like the thrums of a mop.

Paint is employed by them as by the men, though not with such profusion. Scarlet seems to be their favorite color in paint, and to this predilection Mr. Pickering was indebted for opportunities of ascertaining by touch the peculiar roughness of the Papuan skin. The Fijians, an essentially ceremonious and punctilious people, will not allow themselves to be handled, and Mr. Pickering was rather perplexed as to the means of ascertaining whether this roughness belonged to the race, or whether it were only a peculiarity belonging to individuals. The love of scarlet paint here came to his assistance. The vermilion prepared by European art was so much superior to the pigments of Fiji, that the natives were only too glad to have so brilliant a color put on their faces and bodies. Accordingly men and women, old and young, pressed forward to have a little vermilion rubbed on them, and the mothers, after having their own faces painted, held out their infants to participate in the same benefit.

The native cloth, or masi, which has already been mentioned, is made from the inner bark of the malo tree, and is manufactured in a simple and ingenious manner.

As at the present day English fabrics are largely imported into Fiji, and are rapidly supplanting the delicate and becoming native manufactures, the art of making the masi will soon become extinct in Fiji, as has been the case in other islands where Europeans have gained a footing. I shall therefore devote a few lines to the description of its manufacture.

The natives cut off the bark in long strips, and soak them in water for some time, until the inner bark can be separated from the outer, an operation which is performed with the edge of a shell. After it has been removed from the coarse outer bark, it is kept in water so as to preserve it in the necessary state of moisture; and when a sufficient quantity is collected, the operation of beating it begins.

Masi is beaten upon a log of wood flattened on the upper surface, and so arranged as to spring a little with the blows of the mallet. This tool does not resemble our mallet with a handle and a head, but is simply a piece of wood about fourteen inches in length and two in thickness, rounded at one end so as to form a handle, and squared for the remainder of its length. Three sides of this mallet, or iki, as it is called, are covered with longitudinal grooves, while the fourth side is left plain. Those specimens that I have seen have the sides not quite flat, but very slightly convex, perhaps by use, perhaps rounded intentionally. A masi maker has several of these mallets, sometimes as many as six or seven, each having some difference in the fluting, and with them she contrives to produce a fabric that has all the effect of woven linens among ourselves, the pattern being incorporated with the material.

There are in my collection several specimens of masi, one of which is singularly beautiful. It is thin, snowy white, and soft as silk, and, even at a distance, must have looked very graceful when wrapped round the dark body of a Fijian warrior. But it is only on a closer examination that the real beauty of the fabric is displayed. Instead of merely beating the masi after the usual fashion, so as to impress upon it the longitudinal grooves of the mallet, the native manufacturer has contrived to change the position of her mallet at every blow, so as to produce a zigzag pattern on the fabric, very much like the well-known Greek pattern of European decorators. It is beautifully regular, and, when the fabric is held up to the light, looks like the water mark in paper.

The plasticity of the malo bark is really wonderful. A strip of two inches in length can be beaten to the width of eighteen inches, its length being slightly reduced as the width increases. As the material is very thin and flimsy, a single piece being, when beaten out, no thicker than tissue paper, two or more pieces are usually laid on each other and beaten so as to form a single thickness, the natural gluten which this material contains being sufficient to unite them as if they had been one piece. Some specimens of their larger mantles, now in my collection, are as thick as stout brown paper, and very much tougher, appearing both to the eye and the touch as if made of leather.

When a large masi has to be made, many lengths of the bark are united to each other, the ends being soaked in arrowroot starch, laid carefully over each other, and then subjected to the mallet, which forces the two pieces of bark to unite as if they were one substance, and does not exhibit the least trace of the junction. As I have already mentioned, some of these masis are of very great length. Mr. Williams measured one which was for the use of the king on festival days, and found its length to be five hundred and forty feet. Many of the large, and at the same time thin masis, are used as mosquito curtains, and in that case are decorated with patterns of dusky red and black. The patterns generally commence at the centre, and are gradually extended toward the edges. The mode of making these patterns is well described by Mr. Williams:—

“Upon a convex board, several feet long, are arranged parallel, at about a finger’s width apart, thin straight strips of bamboo, a quarter of an inch wide; and by the side of these, curved pieces, formed of the mid-rib of cocoa-nut leaflets, are arranged. Over the board thus prepared the cloth is laid, and rubbed over with a dye obtained from the lauci (Aleurites triloba). The cloth, of course, takes the dye upon those parts which receive pressure, being supported by the strips beneath, and thus shows the same pattern in the color employed. A stronger preparation of the same dye, laid on with a sort of brush, is used to divide the squares into oblong compartments, with large round or radiated dots in the centre. The kesa, or dye, when good, dries bright.

“Blank borders, two or three feet wide, are still left on each side of the square, and to elaborate the ornamentation of these so as to excite applause is the pride of every Fijian lady. There is now an entire change of apparatus. The operator works on a plain board; the red dye gives place to a jet black; her pattern is now formed by a strip of banana leaf placed on the upper surface of the cloth. Out of the leaf is cut the pattern, not more than an inch long, which she wishes to print upon the border, and holds by her first and middle finger, pressing it down with the thumb. Then, taking in her right hand a soft pad of cloth steeped in dye, she rubs it firmly over the stencil, and a fair, sharp figure is made.

“The practised fingers of the women move quickly, but it is after all a tedious process. In the work above described, the Lakemba women excel. On the island of Matuku very pretty curtains are made, but the pattern is large, and covers the entire square, while the spaces between the black lines are filled in with red and yellow.”

We now pass to the liku, or fringed girdle of the women. This is made of various materials, and much trouble is usually expended in its manufacture. The ordinary likus are little more than a number of slight thongs fixed to a belt, and allowed to hang down for several inches. When worn, it is passed round the waist and tied, not behind, but on one side, and on festivals the bark cord by which it is fastened is allowed to hang so low that it often trails on the ground as the wearer walks along.

The thongs are made of the bark of a species of hibiscus, called by the natives vau, and used for many purposes, of long flexible roots like that of the cascus grass, and of different grasses. One kind of liku which is rather fashionable, is made of a vegetable parasite, called by the natives waloa. The thongs of this liku are not thicker than, packthread, and when fresh, are as flexible as silk. In process of time, however, they become brittle, and are apt to break. The color of this material is deep glossy black.

There are in my collection two specimens of the liku, one of them being made of the fashionable waloa. The other is the common liku. It is made of split grass, the blades of which are more than three feet in length. In order to make them into the garment they have been doubled, and the loops woven into a narrow plaited belt of the same material. The better kind of likus are, however, made with far greater care than is bestowed on this article. There is but little difference in the thongs, the chief labor being bestowed on the belt. In some cases the belt of the liku is four inches in width, and is plaited into elegant patterns, plaiting being an art in which the natives excel.

In general shape the liku never varies, being worn by girls and women alike. As long as a girl is unmarried, she wears a liku the fringe of which is not more than three inches in depth, and the whole article is so scanty that when tied round the waist the ends do not meet at the hips by several inches. As soon as the girl is married, she changes her liku in token of her new rank, and wears a garment with a fringe that reaches half-way to her knees, and which entirely surrounds the body. After she has become a mother, she wears an apron which quite reaches to the knees, and sometimes falls below them.

CHAPTER XCIV. FIJI— Continued . MANUFACTURES.

MAT MAKING — SAILS FOR THE CANOES — FLOOR MATS AND BEDDING — ROPE AND STRING — SINNET AND ITS VARIOUS USES — THE NETTING NEEDLE AND MESH — FANS AND SUNSHADES — THE ORATOR’S FLAPPER — BASKET WORK — FIJIAN POTTERY, AND NATIVE ART — POTTERY RESTRICTED TO THE WOMEN — THEIR SIMPLE TOOLS AND IMPERFECT MATERIALS — MODE OF “FIRING” THE VESSELS — GLAZING THE WATER VESSELS — FIJIAN FISHERMEN — VARIOUS KINDS OF NETS, AND MODES OF USING THEM — THE TURTLE FISHERY — A BOLD DIVER — CONTRACTORS FOR TURTLE — MODES OF CATCHING THE REPTILE — A “HEAD” OF TURTLE AND ITS VALUE — DANGERS OF THE FISHERY — FIJIAN CANOES, AND MODE OF MANAGING THEM — BUILDING CANOES — INGENIOUS METHOD OF JOINING THE PLANKS — TONGA CARPENTERS — THE FIJIANS INFERIOR SAILORS TO THE TONGANS — FIJIAN TRADERS.

Mats of various kinds are made by the women, and they display as much ingenuity in mat-making as in the manufacture of masi. Mats are employed for many purposes. The sails of the Fijian canoes are always made of matting, which is woven in lengths and then sewed together afterward, just as is the case with our own canvas sails. The width of the strips varies from two to four feet, and their length from three to a hundred yards. On an average, however, the usual length of these strips is twenty feet, that being the ordinary length of a sail. Sail mats are necessarily rather coarse, and are made from the leaf of the cocoa-nut palm.

Then there are floor-mats, which are used as carpets in the houses. These vary in size according to the dimensions of the house, but twenty feet by sixteen is a very ordinary measurement. They are generally adorned with a border or pattern round the edges, this border being about six inches wide, and often decorated with feathers and scraps of any colored material that can be procured. Mats of a similar character, but much finer texture, are used as bedding; the best kind, which is called ono, being of a very fine texture.

The native love of ornament is in no way better displayed than in their rope and string making. The best rope is formed from several strands of sinnet. This is a sort of plait made from the fibre of the cocoa-nut. The fibre is carefully removed from the nut, baked, and combed out like wool. Cordage is made by twisting sinnet together, and some of the Fijian cords are nearly as thick as a cable, and possessed of extraordinary elasticity and strength. The sinnet is used in a great variety of offices, houses being built and the planks of the canoes tied together with this most useful material.

When made, the sinnet is made into great rolls, some of them being of gigantic dimensions. Mr. Williams saw one which was twelve feet long, and nearly seven feet in diameter. These rolls are differently shaped, and each shape is known by its own name, such as the double cone, the plain hank, the oval ball, the honeycomb ball, and the variegated roll. These rolls are given as presents, and offered to the chiefs as tribute, together with other property. In the large illustration on page 937, which represents a tax-paying scene, one or two of these rolls are shown.

Sinnet is the favorite material for net making, but as it is costly, nets are often constructed of the hibiscus bark. Another material is a sort of creeper named yaka, which is steeped in water to dissolve the green matter, then scraped to clean the fibres, and, lastly, twisted into strings. It is remarkable that the netting needle and mesh are exactly similar to those which are employed by ourselves, and the same may be said of the mesh and needle of the Esquimaux.

The same ingenuity in plaiting which is expended in the making and rolling of sinnet asserts itself in various other manufactures, such as basket and fan making. In the latter art the Fijian excels, and, as the fan is almost as important to the Fijian as to the Japanese, much play of fancy is exhibited in fan making. Dissimilar as are these fans in shape, there is always a sort of character about them which denotes their origin to a practised eye.

I have a specimen in my collection, which is a very good type of the Fijian fan. It is two feet in length, and rather more than a foot broad in the widest part. The handle is made of cocoa-nut wood, and extends nearly to the end of the fan, so as to form a support through its entire length. It is fastened to the fan by double bands of the finest and most beautifully plaited sinnet. The material of which the fan is composed is cocoa-nut leaf, divided into doubled strips about the third of an inch in width near the base of the fan, and gradually decreasing toward its tip. A strong band of the same material runs round the edges of the fan, and the two ends of this band are secured to the handle by the same sinnet as has been just mentioned.

Such a fan as this is employed rather as a sunshade or parasol than a fan, and is held over the head when the owner happens to be seated in the sunshine. It is very light, and is really a much more efficient implement than its appearance intimates.

The form of the fan is exceedingly variable. Sometimes they are triangular, with the handle projecting from one of the angles, and sometimes they are square, but with the handle passing diagonally across them. Various modifications of the battledoor are in much favor, and there is one form which almost exactly resembles that of the Japanese handscreen.

It is rather remarkable that the aborigines of tropical America, such as the Caribs, the Accowais, and the like, make fans of precisely similar material and structure, except that the handle is not separately made of wood, but is formed from the ends of the leaf-strips of which the implement is made.

There is another curious article of manufacture which is properly Fijian, but extends through several of the Polynesian group. It is the orator’s flapper, which the native holds in his hand while he speaks in council. An engraving showing its form is given on the 949th page. The handle is carved into various patterns, and mostly, though not invariably, is terminated by a rude representation of a couple of human figures seated back to back. Sometimes the entire handle is covered with sinnet, plaited in the most delicate patterns, as none but a Fijian can plait. The tuft at the end is formed of cocoa-nut fibre, which has first been soaked in water, next rolled round a small twig, and then dried. When it is unwound from the stick, it has a crisp, wrinkled appearance, very like that of the Fijian’s hair, and is probably intended to imitate it. In the specimens of my collection, some have sinnet-covered handles, and some carved handles, while some have the tuft black, and others sandy red, just as is the case with the hair of the natives.

In their basket making, the Fijians are equally lavish of their artistic powers, weaving them in patterns of such elaborate intricacy as to put the best European makers to shame, and then, as if not satisfied with the amount of work bestowed upon them, covering all the edges with sinnet, braided into really artistic patterns.

Indeed, the Fijians are born artists. Their work, although sometimes grotesque, is always artistic, because always appropriate. They carry this feeling of art into the material whose plasticity allows the greatest freedom of manipulation; namely, earthenware. Some of the vessels which are intended for cooking are quite plain, while others which are made for other purposes are of elegant shape, and covered with ornaments. Mr. Williams suggests, with much probability, that the cooking pots are made in imitation of the cells of a species of black bee which inhabits the Fiji group of islands.

Several specimens of Fijian pottery are in the British Museum. As examples of intuitive art they are far superior in outline and ornament to the generality of decorated earthenware in civilized countries. A conventional imitation of nature is the principle which is employed by the Fijian potters, who find their chief patterns in flowers, leaves, and fruits, thus obtaining the most graceful curves, joined to great certainty and precision of outline.

Rude as is the manipulation of the potter, and coarse as is the material, the design of the vessel is sure to be bold and vigorous, putting to shame the feeble prettiness with which we are too familiar in this country. Going to nature for their models, the Fijian potters display a wonderful power, fertility, and originality of design. In any country, an artist who really studies nature is sure to produce works that are fresh and original; and in a country like Fiji, which is within the tropics, and in which the magnificent vegetation of the tropics springs up in luxuriant profusion, it is likely that an artist, however rude he may be, who studies in such a school, will produce works of genuine merit.

The art of pottery is confined to the women, and is practically restricted to the wives and daughters of fishermen. The material employed by them is a red or blue clay mixed with sand, and their implements are merely an annular cushion, a flat stone, one or two wooden scrapers, a round stone to hold against the inside of the vessel, and a sharp stick. They have no wheel: and yet, in spite of such disadvantages, they contrive to produce vessels so true in outline, that few persons, unless they are practically acquainted with pottery, could believe that they were merely rounded by the eye.

The shapes of nearly all the vessels are very elegant, as is likely to be the case from the models employed by the maker. They are often wonderfully elaborate specimens of workmanship. Permanently covered vessels, with a hole in the lid, are very common, and Mr. Williams saw one jar as large as a hogshead, that was furnished with four openings for the purpose of filling and emptying it rapidly. The most remarkable examples are the compound vessels, several being united together at the point where they touch, and further connected by arched handles. In some cases, even the handles are hollow, and have an opening at the top, so that the vessels can be filled or emptied through them. This compound form has lately been copied by Europeans.

Considering the amount of labor and artistic skill which is given to pottery, it is a pity that the natives are not better off for material and firing. The material is very coarse, and the very imperfect mode of baking fails to give to the vessels the hard and almost imperishable quality which distinguishes properly prepared earthenware.

After the vessels have been shaped, and the decorative patterns traced on them with a sharp stick, they are placed on the ground close together, but not touching each other, and covered with a quantity of dried leaves, grass, reeds, and similar materials. The pile is then lighted, and when it has burned itself out the baking is supposed to be finished. Those pots that are to be glazed are rubbed, while still hot, with kawri, the same resin which has already been mentioned in the account of New Zealand.

As may be expected in an island population, the Fijians are expert fishermen, and employ various means of securing their prey. Nets, weighted at one edge with shells and floated at the other with pieces of light wood, are much used; and so are the hook, the creel, and the weir. In some places a very remarkable net, or rather an imitation of a net, called the rau, is used. To the long, flexible stems of creepers are fastened a quantity of split cocoa-nut leaves, so as to make a fringe of considerable depth and very great length, one of these raus sometimes measuring nearly ten thousand feet from one end to the other.

When completed, the rau is taken out to sea and thrown into the water, the ends being attached to canoes, which stretch it to a straight line. They then make for a small bay, across which the rau can be drawn, and then capture all the fish by smaller nets or spears. Sometimes they do not trouble themselves to return to the shore, but bring the net round in a circle, the fish being so afraid of the leafy fringe that they avoid it, and keep themselves in the middle of the toils.

The principal use of the net is, however, in turtle fishing, a sport which may be almost called an art. The turtle fishers supply themselves with sinnet nets, some ten feet in width, and one or two hundred yards in length. While the turtle are feeding upon the shore, the fishermen carry out the net and shoot it to seaward, so that when the turtle returns to the sea after feeding, it is sure to be intercepted by the net, which has large meshes, in order to entangle the flippers of the reptile.

When the fishermen feel that the turtle is fairly caught, they proceed to get it on board, a task of very great difficulty and some danger, inasmuch as the turtle is in its own element, and the men are obliged to dive and conduct their operations under water. The most active diver tries to seize the end of one of the fore-flippers, and pulls it violently downward, knowing that the instinctive desire to rid itself of the inconvenience will cause the reptile to rise. Of course the diver can only retain his hold for a limited time, but as soon as he rises to the surface for breath another takes his place. Should the turtle be a vicious one, as is often the case, one of the divers grasps it across the head, fixing his finger and thumb in the sockets of the eyes, so as to prevent the creature from doing mischief.

Finding itself thus hampered, the turtle rises to the surface, when it is seized by the other fishermen who are in the canoe, hauled on board, and laid on its back, in which position it is utterly helpless. The successful fishermen then blow loud blasts of triumph on their conch-shell trumpets, and bring their prize to land.

In consequence of the number of men who are employed in this pursuit, the men almost invariably fish in parties, who are engaged by some individual. Sometimes they are the servants of a chief, and fish on his account, all the captured turtles belonging to him, but the fishermen always receive a present of some kind when they have been successful. Should the fishers be free men, they hire themselves, their nets, and canoe to some one who will pay the regular price, for which they are bound to make ten expeditions. Should they be entirely unsuccessful, they get nothing, but each time that they bring a turtle ashore they receive a present from the hirer, who is obliged, after the completion of the fishing, to give the men a handsome present. Sometimes several turtles are taken in a single day; but the business is a very precarious one, even the best fishermen returning day after day without catching a single turtle.

Some of the modes of catching the turtle are very ingenious. When the men have no net, they chase the reptile as they best can, keeping the shadow of the sail just behind it so as to frighten it, and keep it continually on the move. They will pursue it in this way for a long time, until the creature is so exhausted that it can be captured by a few divers without the aid of a net. When brought home, the turtles are kept in pens and killed as wanted.

Although the flesh of the turtle is highly esteemed, and the green fat is appreciated nearly as much as in England, the chief value of the turtle lies in its shell, the thirteen plates of which are called a “head,” and sold to the traders by weight. A “head” weighing three pounds is a fair one, a head that weighs four pounds is exceptionally good, while one that exceeds five pounds is hardly ever seen.

The dangers that beset the turtle fishery are many. Chief among them is the shark, which is very plentiful on these coasts, and which is equally fond of men and turtle, so that when it sees a turtle entangled in the net it makes an attack, and is as likely to take off the limb of one of the divers as to seize the reptile. Another fertile source of danger lies in the structure of the coral reefs, which form the principal shores of these islands. They are full of hollows and crannies, and it sometimes happens that a diver becomes entangled in them, and is not able to extricate himself in time to save his life.

As the canoes return home after turtle fishing, the women come down to the shore and meet them. Should the expedition be successful, the men return with songs and shouts of triumph, as if they were bringing home the bodies of slain foes, on which occasion, as we shall presently see, a scene of horrid rejoicing takes place. Should they be unsuccessful, they return in sad silence.

In the former case, the women welcome the successful fishermen with songs and dances, and sometimes become rather rough in the exuberance of their delight. Mr. Williams once witnessed an amusing scene, in which the women brought a quantity of bitter oranges down to the shore, and when the fishermen were about to land, pelted them so mercilessly that the men were in self-defence obliged to drive their aggressors off the beach.

As the canoe has so often been mentioned in connection with fishing, it will be now described. In principle it resembles the form which prevails among the great Polynesian group, though in detail it differs from many of the ordinary vessels. All the canoes possess modifications of the outrigger, but the best example is the double canoe, where two boats are placed side by side in such a manner that one of them acts as the outrigger and the other as the canoe.

If the reader will refer to illustration No. 2, on the 924th page, he will be able to understand the general appearance of this curious vessel. The two canoes are covered over, so as to keep out the water, and are connected by a platform which projects over the outer edges of both boats. Hatchways are cut through the platform, so as to enable the sailors to pass into the interior of the canoes. In the illustration a man is seen emerging from the hatch of the outer canoe. Upon this platform is erected a sort of deck-house for the principal person on board, and on the top of the deck-house is a platform, on which stands the captain of the vessel, so that he may give his orders from this elevated position, like the captain of a steamboat on the paddle-box or bridge. This position also enables him to trace the course of the turtle, if they should be engaged in the profitable chase of that reptile.

The mode of managing the vessel is extremely ingenious. The short mast works on a pivot at the foot, and can be slacked over to either end of the vessel. When the canoe is about to get under way, the long yard is drawn up to the head of the mast, and the latter inclined, so that the mast, the yard, and the deck form a triangle. The halyards are then made fast, and act as stays. When the vessel is wanted to go about, the mast is slacked off to the other end, so that the stern becomes the bow, the tack and the sheet change places, and away goes the vessel on the other course.

It will be seen that such a canoe sails equally well in either direction, and, therefore, that it can be steered from either end. The rudder is a very large oar, some twenty feet in length, of which the blade occupies eight, and is sixteen inches wide. The leverage of such an oar is tremendous, and, in a stiff gale, several men are required to work it. In order to relieve them in some degree, rudder-bands are used; but even with this assistance the men have great difficulty in keeping the canoe to her course, and are nearly sure to receive some very sharp blows in the side from the handle of the steering oar. Sometimes a sudden gust of wind, or a large wave, will bring round the rudder with such violence that the handle strikes a man in the side and kills him. With all these drawbacks, canoe sailing is a favorite occupation with the Fijians, who are as merry as possible while on board, singing songs to encourage the steersman, watching the waves and giving notice of them, and adding to the joyous tumult by beating any drum that they may happen to have on board. Even when the wind fails, and the canoe has to be propelled by poling if she should be in shoal water, or by sculling if she should be too far out at sea for the poles, the crew do their work in gangs, which are relieved at regular intervals, those who are resting singing songs and encouraging those who are at work.

Sculling one of these large canoes is rather heavy work, the great paddles being worked from side to side in perfect unison, the men moving their feet in accordance with the rhythm of their comrades’ song. As many as eight sculls are sometimes employed at the same time, should the canoe be a large one and the crew tolerably numerous. The sculling oars pass through holes in the deck, an equal number being out fore and aft.

The mode of building these canoes is so ingenious that I will try to describe it, though without a plentiful use of diagrams description is very difficult. Canoes of moderate size are cut out of single logs; and in these there is nothing particularly worthy of remark. But when the native ship-builder wishes to construct one of the great war canoes, he has to exercise all the skill of his craft.

Here it must be mentioned that the canoe makers form a sort of clan of their own, and have their own chief, who is always a man eminent for skill in his profession. The experienced Fijians know the workmanship of these men as well as our artists know the touch and style of a celebrated sculptor or painter, and contemplate both the man and his workmanship with respectful admiration.

The first process in canoe building is to lay the keel, which is made of several pieces of wood carefully “scarfed” together; and upon it the planking is fixed, without requiring ribs, as in our boats. The most ingenious part of boat building is the way that the planks are fastened, or rather tied together, without a vestige of the sinnet appearing on the outside. Along the inside edge of each plank runs a bold flange, through which a number of holes are bored downward at regular distances, so that when two planks are placed together, the holes in the flanges exactly coincide, and a cord can be run through them.

When a plank has been made, and all the flange holes bored, the edges are smeared with a sort of white pitch, upon which is laid a strip of fine masi. This of course covers the holes, which are reopened by means of a small fire-stick. The planks thus prepared are called “vonos.” When the vono is ready, it is lifted to its place, and very carefully adjusted, so that all the holes exactly coincide. The best and strongest sinnet is next passed eight or ten times through the hole, drawn as tight as possible, and then tied. It will be seen, therefore, that all the tying is done inside the vessel. In order to tighten the sinnet still more, a number of little wedges are inserted under it in different directions, and are driven home with the mallet.

By this process the planks are brought so tightly together that, when the carpenter comes to smooth off the outside of the vessel with his adze, he often has to look very closely before he can see the line of junction. Caulking is therefore needless, the white pitch and masi rendering the junction of the planks completely waterproof. The vonos are by no means equal in size, some being twenty feet in length, while others are barely thirty inches, but all are connected in exactly the same manner.

The gunwales, and other parts above the water mark, do not require so much care, and are fastened without flanges, a strip of wood or “bead” being laid upon the junction, and the sinnet bands passing over and over it and drawn tight with wedges, and the holes carefully caulked with fibre and pitch. When the canoe is completed, it is beautifully finished off, the whole of the outside being first carefully trimmed with the adze, and then polished with pumice stone, so that it looks as if it were made of one piece of wood.

Ornament is freely used in the best canoes, especially in the two projecting ends, which are carved in patterns, and frequently inlaid with white shells belonging to the genus Ovulum or egg shells. This form of canoe has gradually superseded the more clumsy forms that were once in use in Tonga and the neighboring islands. The Tongans often made voyages to Fiji, being better and bolder sailors, though their canoes were inferior; and, having been struck with the superiority of Fijian boat-building, have by degrees built their own vessels after Fijian models. Being also remarkably good carpenters, they have taken to boat building even in Fiji itself, and have in a great measure ousted the native builders, being able to work better and quicker, and for less pay.

In spite of their excellent canoes, and their skill in managing their vessels, the Fijians are not bold sailors, and, according to Mr. Williams, “none have yet taken their canoes beyond the boundaries of their own group.” He knew one old man named Toalevu (Great Fowl) who had a fancy that he could make a profitable trading expedition westward, and who accordingly loaded his canoe with pottery and masi, and started off. After two or three days, however, he became frightened, and made the best of his way back again, only to become a standing warning to rash voyagers. Yet in waters which they know the Fijians are excellent sailors, and the women appear to be as bold and skilful as the men, assisting in steering, managing the sail, and even in the laborious task of sculling or poling.

Owing to their excellence in canoe building, the Fijians carry on a brisk trade with other islands, supplying them not only with the canoes, but with the masts, sails, sinnet, and other nautical appliances, receiving in exchange the whales’ teeth, shells, weapons, and other valued commodities.

CHAPTER XCV. FIJI— Continued . GOVERNMENT AND SOCIAL LIFE.

A NATIVE LEGEND — THE RAT GOD, AND HIS MISHAPS ON A JOURNEY — EVASION OF A HUMILIATING CUSTOM — MODERN CHANGES OF GOVERNMENT — THE VARIOUS RANKS OF CHIEFS AND PEOPLE — THE SYSTEM OF VASU, OR NEPOTISM EXTRAORDINARY — SINGULAR POWER OF THE VASU — THE SYSTEM A HINDRANCE TO INDUSTRY — THE VASU AS AN AMBASSADOR — PAYMENT OF TAXES — PRESENTATION OF THE CANOE — TRIBUTE PAID IN KIND AND IN LABOR — THE TENURE OF LAND — A SINGULAR CUSTOM — ATTACHMENT TO THE SOIL — THE DISAPPOINTED PURCHASER — THE FAMILY THE TYPE OF FIJIAN GOVERNMENT — CODE OF ETIQUETTE AMONG THE FIJIANS — THE COURT LANGUAGE — THE “TAMA,” AND ITS MODIFICATIONS — MEETING A SUPERIOR — THE “BALEMURI” CUSTOM — THE POLITE NATIVE WHO DID NOT GET A MUSKET — HOW GREAT CHIEFS VISIT EACH OTHER — ORATORY, AND MODES OF GREETING — STRICTNESS OF THE CODE OF ETIQUETTE — THE YOUNG CHIEF AND THE GUANA’S TAIL — A FIJIAN FEAST — THE VAST OVENS, AND MODE OF MAKING THEM — PREPARATIONS FOR THE FEAST — ARRANGEMENTS FOR THE BANQUET — VARIETY OF DISHES — MODE OF DRINKING — HOW TO OPEN A COCOA-NUT — CANNIBALISM — THE KING THAKOMBAU — PRESUMED ORIGIN OF CANNIBALISM — NATIVE LEGEND — THE CANNIBAL FORKS — OPPORTUNITIES FOR HUMAN SACRIFICES — “TAKING DOWN THE MAST” — AN UNFORTUNATE MISTAKE.

Owing to the geographical nature of the Fiji group, which consists of seven groups of islands, some of them very large and some very small, the mode of government has never been monarchical, the country being ruled by a number of chiefs of greater or less importance, according to the amount of territory over which their sway extended. The various islands had in former days but little connection with each other. At the present time, more intercourse takes place, and in one instance the visit involves a singular and ludicrous ceremonial.

One of the gods belonging to Somo-somo, named Ng-gurai, went to visit Mbau a spot on the eastern coast of Viti Lemi, one of the greater islands, and to pay his respects to the god of that place. He was accompanied by a Vuna god named Vatu-Mundre, who gave him a bamboo by way of a vessel, and undertook to guide him on his journey. Ng-gurai then entered into the body of a rat, seated himself on the bamboo, and set off on his journey. After they had sailed for some time, Ng-gurai lost his way on account of wanting to call at every island which he passed, and at last, just as he arrived on the Mbau shore, he was washed off the bamboo and nearly drowned in the surf.

From this fate he was rescued by a Mbau woman, who took him into the chiefs house, and put him among the cooks on the hearth, where he sat shivering for four days. Meanwhile, Vatu-Mundre arrived at his destination, and was received in royal manner by the Mbau god, who tried in vain to induce him to become tributary to him.

After a proper interval, the Mbau god returned the visit of Vatu-Mundre, who had craftily greased the path, so that when his visitor became animated, his feet slipped, and he fell on his back. Vatu-Mundre then took advantage of his situation, and forced his visitor to become his tributary.

In consequence of this affair, the Mbau people pay a homage to the natives of Vuna, but indemnify themselves by exacting a most humiliating homage from the men of Somo-somo, though in fact Somo-somo is the acknowledged superior of Vuna.

Whenever a Somo-somo canoe goes to Mbau, the sail must be lowered at a certain distance from shore, and the crew must paddle in a sitting position. To keep up the sail or to paddle in the usual standing position would cost them their lives. As soon as they come within hearing of the shore they have to shout the Tama, i. e. the reverential salutation of an inferior to a superior, and to reiterate it at short intervals.

Arrived on shore, they are not allowed to enter a house, but are kept in the open air for four days, during which time they are obliged to wear their worst dresses, move about in a stooping attitude, and to say the Tama in a low and trembling voice, in imitation of the shivering rat-god. After the four days have expired, they may enter houses and dress in better clothes, but are still obliged to walk in a half-bent attitude. When a Mbau man meets one of these crouching visitors, he cries out, “Ho! Ho!” in a jeering manner, and asks the Somo-somo man whether his god is yet at liberty. The unfortunate visitor is then obliged to place his hand on his heart, stoop half-way to the ground, and say humbly that Ng-gurai is allowed his liberty.

Naturally disliking this oppressive and humiliating custom, the people of Somo-somo have of late years managed to evade it by means of foreign vessels. The custom of lowering the sail and paddling while seated was not binding on people of other countries, and so they contrived to visit Mbau on board of Tongan canoes, or, better still, English ship-boats.

Of late years the government has assumed a feudal aspect, the chiefs of large districts being considered as kings, and having under them a number of inferior chiefs who are tributary to them, and bound to furnish men and arms when the king declares war. According to Mr. Williams, the Fijians may be ranked under six distinct orders. First come the kings, and next to them the chiefs of separate large islands or districts. Then come the chiefs of towns, the priests, and the Mata-ni-vanuas, or aides-de-camp of the great chiefs. Next to them come the chiefs of professions, such as canoe building and turtle fishing, and with them are ranked any distinguished warriors of low birth. The fifth rank includes all the commonalty, and the sixth consists of the slaves, who are always captives.

As is often the case in countries where polygamy is practised, the law of descent passes through the female line, the successor of the king or chief being always the son of a woman of high rank.

The oddest part of Fijian political economy is the system of Vasu, or nephew—a system which may be described as nepotism carried to the greatest possible extreme. Mr. Williams’s description of the Vasu is very curious. “The word means a nephew, or niece, but becomes a title of office in the case of the male, who in some localities has the extraordinary privilege of appropriating whatever he chooses belonging to his uncle, or those under his uncle’s power.

“Vasus are of three kinds: the Vasu-taukei, the Vasu-levu and the Vasu;—the last is a common name, belonging to any nephew whatever. Vasu-taukei is a term applied to any Vasu whose mother is a lady of the land in which he was born. The fact of Mbau being at the head of Fijian rank gives the Queen of Mbau a pre-eminence over all Fijian ladies, and her son a place nominally over all Vasus.

“No material difference exists between the power of a Vasu-taukei and a Vasu-levu, which latter title is given to every Vasu born of a woman of rank, and having a first-class chief for his father. A Vasu-taukei can claim anything belonging to a native of his mother’s land, excepting the wives, home, and land of a chief. Vasus cannot be considered apart from the civil polity of the group, forming, as they do, one of its integral parts, and supplying the high-pressure power of Fijian despotism.

“In grasping at dominant influence, the chiefs have created a power, which ever and anon turns round and grips them with no gentle hand. However high a chief may rank, however powerful a king may be, if he has a nephew, he has a master, one who will not be content with the name, but who will exercise his prerogative to the full seizing whatever will take his fancy, regardless of its value or the owner’s inconvenience in its loss. Resistance is not to be thought of, and objection is only offered in extreme cases. A striking instance of the power of the Vasu occurred in the case of Thokonauto, a Rewa chief, who, during a quarrel with an uncle, used the right of Vasu, and actually supplied himself with ammunition from his enemy’s stores....

“Descending in the social scale, the Vasu is a hindrance to industry, few being willing to labor unrewarded for another’s benefit. One illustration will suffice. An industrious uncle builds a canoe in which he has not made half-a-dozen trips, when an idle nephew mounts the deck, sounds his trumpet-shell, and the blast announces to all within hearing that the canoe has that instant changed masters.”

The Vasu of a king is necessarily a personage of very great importance; and when he acts as delegate for the king, he is invested for the time with royal dignity. He is sent, for example, to other places to collect property, which is handed over to his king as tribute; and were it not for a check which the king has over him, he might be tempted to enrich himself by exacting more from the people than they ought to give. In this case, however, the Vasu is held amenable to the king, and should he exceed his proper powers, is heavily fined.

Taxes, to which reference is here made, are paid in a manner differing materially from the mode adopted in more civilized countries. In Europe, for example, no one pays a tax if he can possibly escape from it, and the visits of the tax-gatherer are looked upon as periodical vexations. In Fiji the case is different. People take a pride in paying taxes, and the days of payment are days of high festival.

On the appointed day the king prepares a great feast, and the people assemble in vast multitudes with their goods, such as rolls of sinnet, masi, whales’ teeth, reeds, women’s dresses—and often accompanied by their wearers—ornaments, weapons, and the like, and present themselves in turn before the king. Each man is clad in his very best raiment, is painted in the highest style of art, and displays the latest fashion in hair-dressing. With songs and dances the people approach their monarch, and lay their presents before him, returning to the banquet which he has prepared for them.

It is hardly possible to imagine a more animated scene than that which occurs when the tribute from a distant place is taken to the king, especially if, as is often the case, a valuable article, such as a large war canoe, is presented as part of the tribute. A fleet of canoes, containing several hundred people and great quantities of property, makes its appearance off the coast, and is received with great hospitality, as well may be the case. The king having seated himself on a large masi carpet, the principal chief of the tribute bearers comes before him, accompanied by his men bringing the presents with them in proper ceremonial, the chief himself carrying, in the folds of his robe, a whale’s tooth, which is considered as the symbol of the canoe which is about to be presented, and which is called by the same name as the canoe which it represents.

Approaching the king with the prescribed gestures, the chief kneels before him, and first offers to his master all the property which has been deposited on the ground. He then takes from the folds of his voluminous dress, which, as the reader may remember, is often several hundred feet in length, the whale’s tooth, and makes an appropriate speech. He compliments the king on the prosperity which is enjoyed by all districts under his sway, acknowledging their entire submission, and hoping that they may be allowed to live in order to build canoes for him. As an earnest of this wish, he presents the king with a new canoe, and, so saying, he gives the king the symbolical whale’s tooth, calling it by the name of the vessel. On receiving the tooth, the king graciously gives them his permission to live, whereupon all present clap their hands and shout, the cry of the receivers being different from that which is employed by the givers.

In the following illustration one of these animated scenes is represented.

Nearly in the centre is the king seated on the masi carpet, having his back to the spectator in order to show the mode in which the flowing robes of a great man are arranged. In front of him kneels the chief of the tax-paying expedition, who is in the act of offering to the king the symbolical whale’s tooth. One or two similar teeth lie by his side, and form a part of the present. In the distance is the flotilla of canoes, in which the tax-paying party have come; and near the shore is the new war canoe, which forms the chief part of the offering.

In the foreground are seen the various articles of property which constitute taxes, such as yams, rolls of cloth and sinnet, baskets, articles of dress, and young women, the last being dressed in the finest of likus, and being decorated, not only with their ordinary ornaments, but with wreaths and garlands of flowers. Behind the offering chief are his followers, also kneeling as a mark of respect for the king; and on the left hand are the spectators of the ceremony, in front of whom sit their chiefs and leading men.

Tribute is not only paid in property, but in labor, those who accompany the tax-paying chief being required to give their labor for several weeks. They work in the fields, they thatch houses, they help in canoe building, they go on fishing expeditions, and at the end of the stipulated time they receive a present, and return to their homes.

Should the king take it into his head to go and fetch the taxes himself, his visit becomes terribly burdensome to those whom he honors with his presence. He will be accompanied by some twenty or thirty canoes, manned by a thousand men or so, and all those people have to be entertained by the chief whom he visits. It is true that he always makes a present when he concludes his visit, but the present is entirely inadequate to the cost of his entertainment.

The tenure of land is nearly as difficult a question in Fiji as in New Zealand. It is difficult enough when discussed between natives, but when the matter is complicated by a quarrel between natives and colonists, it becomes a very apple of discord. Neither party can quite understand the other. The European colonist who buys land from a native chief purchases, according to his ideas, a complete property in the land, and control over it. The native who sells it has never conceived such an idea as the total alienation of land, and, in consequence, if the purchaser should happen to leave any part of the land unoccupied, the natives will build their houses upon it, and till it as before. Then as in process of time the proprietor wants to use his ground for his own purposes, the natives refuse to be ejected, and there is a quarrel.

The state of the case is very well put by Dr. Pritchard: “Every inch of land in Fiji has its owner. Every parcel or tract of ground has a name, and the boundaries are defined and well-known. The proprietorship rests in families, the heads of families being the representatives of the title. Every member of the family can use the lands attaching to the family. Thus the heads of families are the nominal owners, the whole family are the actual occupiers. The family land maintains the whole family, and the members maintain the head of the family.

PRESENTATION OF THE CANOE.
(See page 936.)

“A chief holds his lands under precisely the same tenure, as head of his family, and his personal rights attain only to the land pertaining to his family, in which right every member of his family shares so far as on any portion of the land. But the chief is also head of his tribe, and, as such, certain rights to the whole lands of the tribe appertain to him. The tribe is a family, and the chief is the head of the family.

“The families of a tribe maintain the chief. In war they give him their services, and follow him to the fight. In peace they supply him with food. In this way, the whole tribe attains a certain collective interest in all the lands held by each family; and every parcel of land alienated contracts the source whence the collective tribal support of the chief is drawn. From this complicated tenure it is clear that the alienation of land, however large or small the tract, can be made valid only by the collective act of the whole tribe, in the persons of the ruling chief and the heads of families. Random and reckless land transactions under these circumstances would be simply another seizure of Naboth’s vineyard, for which the price of blood would inevitably have to be paid.”

Another cause of misunderstanding lies in a peculiar attachment which the Fijian has to the soil. When he sells a piece of land, it is an understood thing between the buyer and seller that the latter shall have the exclusive right of working on the ground, that none but he shall be employed to till the ground, or build houses upon it. The white settlers who understand the customs of the natives have accepted the condition, and find that it answers tolerably well. Those who are unacquainted with native ideas have often suffered severely for their ignorance, and, when they have brought a gang of their own workmen to put up a house on the newly purchased land, have been fairly driven out by armed parties of natives.

Mr. Pritchard narrates an amusing anecdote, which illustrates the working of this principle. A missionary had purchased some land according to the code of laws which had been agreed upon by the native chiefs and the colonists; all the natives who belonged to the family having been consulted, and agreed to the purchase. As a matter of course, they expected that the work of clearing the ground and building the house would be given to them. Being ignorant of this custom, the purchaser took some of his own people, but was immediately surrounded by a body of armed savages, who flourished their clubs and spears, and frightened him so much that he retreated to his boat, and made off. When he was well out of range, all those who had muskets fired them in the direction of the boat, as if to show that their intention was not to kill but merely to intimidate.

It will be seen from the foregoing passages, that the whole government of Fiji is a repetition of one principle, namely, that of the family. The head of a family is the nominal possessor of the land. All the members of the family use the land, and support their head, as a return for the use of the land. Districts again are considered as families, the chief being the head, and being supported by the district. The king, again, is considered as the father of all the chiefs, and the nominal owner of all the land in his dominions, and he is therefore entitled to be supported by the taxation which has been described. Practically, however, he has no more right to land than any other head of a family.

From the preceding observations the reader may see that a definite code of etiquette prevails among the Fiji islands. Indeed, there is no part of the world where etiquette is carried to a greater extent, or where it is more intimately interwoven with every action of ordinary life. If, for example, one man meets another on a path, both having, as usual, their clubs on their shoulders, as they approach each other they lower their clubs to their knees, as a token that they are at peace, and pass on. Retaining the club on the shoulder would be equivalent to a challenge to fight.

The leading characteristic of this code of etiquette is the reverence for the chief, a reverence which is carried to such a pitch, that in battle a chief sometimes comes out unhurt simply because his opponents were so much awe-stricken by his rank that they did not dare to strike him. Each superior therefore partakes of the chiefly character as far as his inferiors are concerned, and expects the appropriate acknowledgments of rank.

This extraordinary reverence is carried so far that it has invented a language of etiquette, no one with any pretensions to good breeding speaking in ordinary language of a chief, of a chiefs head or limbs, of a chiefs dress, or indeed of any action performed by a chief, but supplying a paraphrastic and hyperbolical phraseology, of which our own court language is but a faint shadow. The Tama, which has before been mentioned, is the right of a chief, and is therefore uttered by men of inferior rank, not only when they meet the chief himself, but when they come within a certain distance of his village. So elaborate is this code of ceremony that, discourteous as it might be to omit the Tama when due, it would be thought doubly so to utter it on occasions when it was not due. For example, the Tama is not used toward the close of the day, or when the chief is either making a sail or watching a sail maker at work; and if the Tama were uttered on any such occasion, it would be resented as an insult.

Passing a superior on the wrong side, and sailing by his canoe on the outrigger side, are considered as solecisms in manners, while passing behind a chief is so deadly an insult that the man who dared do such a deed would run the risk of getting his brains knocked out on the spot, or, if he were a rich man, would have to pay a very heavy fine, or “soro,” by way of compensation. The reason of this rule is evident enough. The Fijian is apt to be treacherous, and when he attacks another always tries to take him unawares, and steals on him, if possible, from behind. It is therefore a rule, that any one passing behind a superior is looked upon as contemplating assassination, and makes himself liable to the appropriate penalty.

If a man should meet a chief, the inferior withdraws from the path, lays his club on the ground, and crouches in a bent position until the great man has passed by. If, however, the two men should be of tolerably equal rank, the inferior merely stands aside, bends his body slightly, and rubs the left arm with the right hand, or grasps his beard and keeps his eyes fixed on the ground.

The act of giving anything to the chief, touching him or his dress, or anything above his head, or receiving anything from him, or hearing a gracious message from him, is accompanied by a gentle clapping of the hands. Standing in the presence of a chief is not permitted. Any one who addresses him must kneel; and if they move about, must either do so on their knees, or at least in a crouching attitude.

In some cases the code of etiquette is carried to an extreme which appears to us exceedingly ludicrous. If a superior fall, or in any other way makes himself look awkward, all his inferiors who are present immediately do the same thing, and expect a fee as recognition of their politeness.

Mr. Williams narrates an amusing anecdote of this branch of etiquette, which is called bale-muri (pronounced bahleh-moo-ree), i. e. follow in falling. “One day I came to a long bridge formed of a single cocoa-nut tree, which was thrown across a rapid stream, the opposite bank of which was two or three feet lower, so that the declivity was too steep to be comfortable. The pole was also wet and slippery: and thus my crossing safely was very doubtful.

“Just as I commenced the experiment, a heathen said with much animation, ‘to-day I shall have a musket.’ I had, however, just then to heed my steps more than his words, and so succeeded in reaching the other side safely. When I asked him why he spoke of a musket, the man replied, ‘I felt certain you would fall in attempting to go over, and I should have fallen after you (that is, appeared to be equally clumsy); and as the bridge is high, the water rapid, and you a gentleman, you would not have thought of giving me less than a musket.’” Ludicrous as this custom appears, it is based upon a true sense of courtesy, a desire to spare the feelings of others.

When one person of rank visits another, a number of ceremonies are performed in regular order. Should the visit be paid in a canoe, as is mostly the case, a herald is sent a few days previously to give notice of his coming, so as to avoid taking the intended host by surprise. As soon as the canoe comes in sight, a herald is sent out to inquire the name and rank of the visitor, who is met on the shore by a deputation of petty chiefs, headed by one of the Matas, or aides-de-camp. If the visitor be a personage of very high rank, the Matas will go ten miles to meet him.

As soon as the visitor and his retinue have reached the house of their entertainer, they seat themselves, and the host, after clapping his hands gently in token of salutation, welcomes them in a set form of words, such as “Come with peace the chief from Mbau,” or “Somo-somo,” as the case may be.

A series of similar remarks is made by both parties, the main point being that Fijian oratory is the driest and dullest of performances, always broken up into short sentences, without any apparent connection between them, and further hindered by the attitude of courtesy which the speaker has to adopt. It is impossible for the finest orator in the world to make an effective speech if he has to deliver it in a kneeling position, with his body bent forward, his hands holding his beard, and his eyes directed to the ground. In some parts of Fiji etiquette requires that the orator’s back should be toward the chief whom he is addressing. Nobody takes the trouble to listen to these speeches, or is expected to do so, the chiefs often talking over indifferent matters while the proper number of speeches are rehearsed.

The ceremonies on leave-taking are quite as long, as intricate, and as tedious; and, when the speeches are over, the two great men salute each other after the fashion of their country, by pressing their faces together, and drawing in the breath with a loud noise, as if smelling each other. A chief of inferior rank salutes his superior’s hand, and not his face.

When the visitors start upon their return journey, the host accompanies them for a part of the way, the distance being regulated by their relative rank. If they should have come by sea, the proper etiquette is for the host to go on board, together with some of his chief men, and to accompany his visitors to a certain distance from land, when they all jump into the sea and swim ashore.

As is the case in all countries, whether savage or civilized, the code of etiquette is rigidly enforced at meal-times. Even the greatest chief, if present at a banquet, behaves in as deferential a manner as the commonest man present. Though he may be in his own dominions, and though he may hold absolute sway over every man and woman within sight, he will not venture to taste a morsel of food until it has first been offered to him. Many years ago one chief did so, and, in consequence, the Fijians have hated his very name ever since.

So great would be the breach of manners by such a proceeding, that the life of the offender would be endangered by it. On one occasion it did cost the chief his life. He inadvertently ate a piece of cocoa-nut which had not been offered to him; and this insult so rankled in the mind of one of his officers, who was in attendance, that he ran away from his own chief, and joined another who was at war with him. A battle took place, the offending chief was worsted, and was running for his life, when he met the insulted officer, and asked for his assistance. The man was inclined to give it, but the insult could not be forgotten, and so, with an apology for the duty which he was called on to perform, he knocked out his former master’s brains with his club.

A still more astonishing instance of this feeling is mentioned by Mr. Williams. A young chief and his father-in-law were about to dine together, and a baked guana was provided for each. The guana is a lizard which has a long and slender tail. In passing by his relative’s guana, the young man accidentally broke off the end of its tail, which would necessarily be rendered brittle by cooking. This was held to be so gross an insult, that the offender paid for it with his life.

Etiquette is shown to its fullest extent when a king or principal chief gives a great banquet. As with the New Zealanders, such a feast is contemplated for many months previously; vegetables are planted expressly for it, and no one is allowed to kill pigs or gather fruit, lest there should not be a sufficient quantity of provisions.

Just before the day of festival, the final preparations are made. Messages are sent to all the neighboring tribes, or rather to the chiefs, who communicate them to the people. The turtle fishers bestir themselves to get their nets and canoes in order, and, as soon as they are ready, start off to sea. Yams and other root crops are dug up, the ovens made, and the fuel chopped and brought ready for use.

These ovens are of enormous size, as each is capable of cooking a number of pigs, turtles, and vast quantities of vegetables. With all our skill in cooking, it is to be doubted whether we are not excelled by the Fijians in the art of cooking large quantities of meat at a time. The ovens are simply holes dug in the ground, some ten feet in depth and fifteen feet or so in diameter.

The mode of cooking is very simple. A small fire is made at the bottom of the pit, which is then filled with firewood, and as soon as the wood is thoroughly on fire, large stones are placed on it. When the wood has all burned away, the pigs, turtles, and vegetables are laid on the hot stones, some of which are introduced into the interior of each animal, so that it may be the more thoroughly cooked. The oven is then filled up with boughs and green leaves, and upon the leaves is placed a thick covering of earth. The oven regulates its own time of cooking, for as soon as steam rises through the earthy covering, the contents of the oven are known to be properly cooked.

For the two or three days preceding the feast, all the people are full of activity. They take a pride in the liberality of their chief, and each man brings as many pigs, yams, turtles, and other kinds of food as he can manage to put together. The king himself takes the direction of affairs, his orders being communicated to the people by his Matas, or aides-de-camp. Day and night go on the preparations, the pigs squealing as they are chased before being killed, the men hard at work digging the ovens, some loosening the earth with long pointed sticks, others carrying off the loosened soil in baskets, while the flames that blaze from the completed ovens enable the workmen to continue their labors throughout the night.

On these occasions the Fijians dispense with their ordinary feelings respecting cooking. In Fiji, as in New Zealand, cooking is despised, and the word “cook” is used as a term of reproach and derision. In consequence of this feeling, all cooking is performed by the slaves. But on the eve of a great feast this feeling is laid aside, and every man helps to cook the food. Even the king himself assists in feeding the ovens with fuel, arranging the pigs, stirring the contents of the cooking pots, and performing offices which, on the following day, none but a slave will perform.

By the time that the cooking is completed, the various tribes have assembled, and the ovens are then opened and the food taken out. It is then arranged in separate heaps, a layer of cocoa-nut leaves being placed on the ground by way of dish. On the leaves is placed a layer of cocoa-nuts, then come the yams and potatoes, then puddings, and at the top of all several pigs. The quantity of provisions thus brought together is enormous. Mr. Williams mentions that at one feast, at which he was present, two hundred men were employed for nearly six hours in piling up the food. There were six heaps of food, and among their contents were about fifty tons of cooked yams and potatoes, fifteen tons of pudding, seventy turtles, and about two hundred tons of uncooked yams. There was one pudding which measured twenty-one feet in circumference.

Profusion is the rule upon these occasions, and the more food that a chief produces, the more honor he receives. One chief gained the honorable name of High Pork, because he once provided such vast quantities of food that before it could be finished decomposition had begun in the pork.

All being arranged, the distribution now begins, and is carried out with that precision of etiquette which pervades all society in Fiji. The various tribes and their chiefs being seated, the Tui-rara, or master of the ceremonies, orders the food to be divided into as many portions as there are tribes, regulating the amount by the importance of the tribe. He then takes the tribes in succession, and calls their names. As he calls each tribe, the people return their thanks, and a number of young men are sent to fetch the food. This goes on until the whole of the food has been given away, when a further distribution takes place among the tribes, each village first taking a share and then each family receiving its proper portion, which is handed to its head.

It is evident that the Tui-rara has no sinecure. He must possess the most intimate knowledge of all the tribes, and the ranks of their respective chiefs, and must at the same time be on the alert to distinguish any stranger that may make his appearance. Should he be a foreigner, he is considered a chief, and a chief’s portion, i. e. a quantity sufficient for twenty Fijians or sixty Englishmen, is sent to him. Of course he gives the greater part away, but in so doing he acts the part of a chief. It is, in fact, the old story of Benjamin’s mess translated into Fijian.

The men always eat their food in the open air, but send the women’s portion to the houses to be eaten within doors.

The first illustration on the next page will give an idea of a Fijian feast. On the left hand is seen the master of the ceremonies, calling the name of a tribe, and in the centre are seen the young men running to fetch the food. In the foreground is the portion of their tribe, consisting of pigs, yams, turtles, and so forth. In front of them are some of the curious drums, which will be presently described, and in the distance are seen the members of the different tribes, some eating, and others waiting for their portion. The curious building in the background is one of the Burés, or temples, which will be presently described.

From the preceding description it will be seen that the Fijians are not bad cooks, and that the number of dishes which they produce is by no means small. The variety of the dishes is, however, much greater than has been mentioned. They eat many kinds of fish, together with almost every living creature that they find in the coral reefs. Some of their preparations very much resemble those to which we are accustomed in England. For example, a sort of shrimp sandwich is made by putting a layer of shrimps between two taro leaves. Several kinds of bread are known, and nearly thirty kinds of puddings. Turtle soup is in great favor, and so are various other soups.

The Fijians even make sauces to be eaten with various kinds of food, the sweet juice of the sugar-cane being much used for this purpose. They also have a sort of an imitation of tea, infusing sundry leaves and grasses in boiling water, and drinking it when it becomes sufficiently cool. Most of their food is cooked; but, like ourselves, they prefer some food in an uncooked state. Small fish, for example, are eaten alive, just as we eat oysters.

They mostly drink water, or the milk of the cocoa-nut. To drink water in native fashion is not very easy. They keep it in long bamboo tubes, so that when it is raised to the lips the greatest care is required lest it should suddenly deluge the face and body.

Cocoa-nuts are opened in rather a curious manner. A stout stick is sharpened at both ends, and one end driven firmly into the ground. Taking the nut in both hands, the native dashes it on the stick, which splits open the thick husk, and allows the nut to be extracted. With a stone, or even with another cocoa-nut in case a stone should not be at hand, the native hammers away round the pointed end, and contrives to knock off a small round lid, which is then removed, leaving a natural drinking-cup in his hand.

We now come to the terrible subject of cannibalism, on which no more will be said than is necessary to illustrate the character of the people.

The Fijians are even more devoted to cannibalism than the New Zealanders, and their records are still more appalling. A New Zealander has sometimes the grace to feel ashamed of mentioning the subject in the hearing of an European, whereas it is impossible to make a Fijian really feel that in eating human flesh he has committed an unworthy act. He sees, indeed, that the white men exhibit great disgust at cannibalism, but in his heart he despises them for wasting such luxurious food as human flesh.

(1.) A FIJIAN FEAST.
(See page 942.)

(2.) THE FATE OF THE BOASTER.
(See page 952.)

Even the Christianized natives have to be watched carefully lest they should be tempted by old habits, and revert to the custom which they had promised to abjure. For example, Thakombau, the King of Mbau, became a Christian, or at least pretended to do so. He was not a particularly creditable convert. Some time after he had announced himself to be a Christian, he went in his war canoe to one of the districts under his sway. He was received with the horribly barbarous ceremonial by which a very great chief is honored, conch-shell trumpets blowing before him, and the people shouting their songs of welcome. Thus accompanied, he walked through a double row of living victims—men, women, and children of all ages—suspended by their feet, and placed there to give the king his choice. The hopeful convert was pleased to accept the offering, touching with his club as he passed along those victims which seemed most to his taste.

The natives are clever enough at concealing the existence of cannibalism when they find that it shocks the white men. An European cotton-grower, who had tried unsuccessfully to introduce the culture of cotton into Fiji, found, after a tolerably long residence, that four or five human beings were killed and eaten weekly. There was plenty of food in the place, pigs were numerous, and fish, fruit, and vegetables abundant. But the people ate human bodies as often as they could get them, not from any superstitious motive, but simply because they preferred human flesh to pork.

Many of the people actually take a pride in the number of human bodies which they have eaten. One chief was looked upon with great respect on account of his feats of cannibalism, and the people gave him a title of honor. They called him the Turtle-pond, comparing his insatiable stomach to the pond in which turtles are kept; and so proud were they of his deeds, that they even gave a name of honor to the bodies brought for his consumption, calling them the “Contents of the Turtle-pond.” This man was accustomed to eat a human body himself, suffering no one to share it with him. After his family were grown up, he bethought himself of registering his unholy meals by placing a stone on the ground as soon as he had finished the body. His son showed these stones to an English clergyman, who counted them, and found that there were very nearly nine hundred.

One man gained a great name among his people by an act of peculiar atrocity. He told his wife to build an oven, to fetch firewood for heating it, and to prepare a bamboo knife. As soon as she had concluded her labors her husband killed her, and baked her in the oven which her own hands had prepared, and afterward ate her. Sometimes a man has been known to take a victim, bind him hand and foot, cut slices from his arms and legs, and eat them before his eyes. Indeed, the Fijians are so inordinately vain, that they will do anything, no matter how horrible, in order to gain a name among their people; and Dr. Pritchard, who knows them thoroughly, expresses his wonder that some chief did not eat slices from his own limbs.

Cannibalism is ingrained in the very nature of a Fijian, and extends through all classes of society. It is true that there are some persons who have never eaten flesh, but there is always a reason for it. Women, for example, are seldom permitted to eat “bakolo,” as human flesh is termed, and there are a few men who have refrained from cannibalism through superstition. Every Fijian has his special god, who is supposed to have his residence in some animal. One god, for example, lives in a rat, as we have already seen; another in a shark; and so on. The worshipper of that god never eats the animal in which his divinity resides; and as some gods are supposed to reside in human bodies, their worshippers never eat the flesh of man.

According to the accounts of some of the older chiefs, whom we may believe or not, as we like, there was once a time when cannibalism did not exist. Many years ago, some strangers from a distant land were blown upon the shores of Fiji, and received hospitably by the islanders, who incorporated them into their own tribes, and made much of them. But, in process of time, these people became too powerful, killed the Fijian chiefs, took their wives and property, and usurped their office.

In this emergency the people consulted the priests, who said that the Fijians had brought their misfortunes upon themselves. They had allowed strangers to live, whereas “Fiji for the Fijians” was the golden rule, and from that time every male stranger was to be killed and eaten, and every woman taken as a wife.

Only one people was free from this law. The Tongans, instead of being killed and eaten, were always welcomed, and their visits encouraged, as they passed backward and forward in their canoes, and brought with them fine mats and other articles for barter. So much have these people intermingled, that in the eastern islands, which are nearest to those of Tonga, there is a decided mixture of Tongan blood. With this exception, however, the Fijians went on the same principle as the Ephesians of Shakespeare—

save that, instead of merely putting to death those who came from one country, they only excepted one country from the universal law.

The reader may remember that a sort of respect is paid to a human body used for food. Educated people speak of it in the court language, and, instead of using any vulgar term, such as a human body, they employ the metaphorical language, and call it the “long pig.” As a general rule, the vessels in which human flesh is cooked are reserved expressly for that purpose, and both the vessel in which it is cooked and the dish from which it is eaten are held as tapu.

So highly is “bakolo” honored, that it is eaten, not with fingers, but with a fork, and the implement in question is handed down from father to son, like the merais and tikis of the New Zealander. These forks are quite unlike those which are used in England. They mostly have four prongs, but these prongs, instead of being set in a line, are generally arranged in a circle or triangle as the case may be. They are carved out of some very hard wood, and, when they have become venerable by reason of age or of the rank of their proprietor, they receive names of honor. For example, the cannibal chief who ate nearly nine hundred human bodies had a fork which was named “Undro-undro,” the title signifying a small person carrying a great burden. The fork was a small object, but it had carried to the lips of its master the bodies of nearly nine hundred human beings.

As the Fijians set such a value on human flesh, it is to be expected that they will invent a variety of excuses for obtaining it. For example when a chief builds a house, he kills at least one human victim to celebrate the event. If he builds a large war canoe, a series of sacrifices takes place. A man is killed, for example, when the keel is laid, and, if the chief be a very powerful one, he will kill a victim as each plank is fixed in its place. Even when it is finished the slaughter is not over, as, in the first place, the planks of the new vessel have to be washed with human blood, and, in the next, the launch must be commemorated in the same way as the building. One chief gained some notoriety by binding a number of men, and laying them side by side along the shore to act as rollers over which the canoe was taken from the land into the sea. The weight of the canoe killed the men, who were afterward baked and eaten.

Even after the canoe is launched, excuses are found for carrying on the system of human butchery. Whenever it touches at a place for the first time, a man must be sacrificed in honor of taking down the mast, this being done to show that the vessel means to make some stay at the place. If a chief should arrive in a new canoe, and keep up his mast, the people understand the signal, and bring on board a newly-slain victim, so that the mast may be taken down.

On one occasion, when a war canoe had been built at Somo-somo, the missionaries exerted themselves so successfully that the canoe was launched without the sacrifice of a single life. Eventually, however, their well-intentioned interference rather increased than diminished the number of victims. When the canoe arrived at Mbau, the chiefs were so vexed that it had reached them unhonored by human blood that they straightway attacked a village, killed some fourteen or fifteen men, and ate them in order to do honor to the ceremony of taking down the mast.

Sometimes, in order to secure a victim whenever one is wanted, the chiefs pick out secretly a certain number of men, and put them, so to speak, on the black list. Whenever a sacrifice is needed, all the executioners have to do is to find out how many victims are wanted, and then to go and kill the requisite number of the black-list men.

Whole towns are sometimes put on the black list, a curious example of which custom is given by Mr. Williams. “Vakambua, chief of Mbau, thus doomed Tavua, and gave a whale’s tooth to a Nggara chief, that he might at a fitting time punish that place. Years passed away, and a reconciliation took place between Mbau and Tavua, but, unhappily, the Mbau chief failed to neutralize the engagement made with the Nggara. A day came when human bodies were wanted, and the thoughts of those who held the tooth were turned toward Tavua. They invited the people of that place to a friendly exchange of food, and slew twenty-three of their unsuspecting victims.

“When the treacherous Nggarans had gratified their own appetites by pieces of the flesh cut off and roasted on the spot, the bodies were taken to Vakambua, who was greatly astonished, expressed much regret that such a slaughter should have grown out of his carelessness, and then shared the bodies to be eaten.”

The Fijian can seldom resist meat, and that he should resist “bakolo” could not be expected of him. In Mrs. Smythe’s “Ten Months in the Fiji Islands,” an amusing instance of this predilection is recorded. “A white man had shot and carried off a pig belonging to a Fijian, who, being a convert, went to a native teacher named Obadiah, and asked him to go to the delinquent and remonstrate with him. The teacher put on his black coat, went to the man’s house, and with much earnestness pointed out to him the iniquity of the deed, asking him how he would have liked it had a Fijian killed one of his own pigs. The man listened very respectfully, and allowed the error of his ways, acknowledging that the teacher had put the matter in a new light. ‘But,’ said he ‘the pig is now dead, and we cannot bring it to life again. Shall we throw it out and let it go to waste, or, as it is just baked, and you have not breakfasted, shall we not sit down, and you will ask a blessing?’

“Obadiah, taken by surprise by Q——’s penitence, and the compliment paid to his own clerical functions, and swayed perhaps a little by the irresistible love of all Fijians for roast pork, bowed his head, and reverentially said a long prayer, after which the two set heartily to work on the pig.” When the teacher went to the missionary to report his successful labors, he was quite astonished at being charged with complicity with the thief.

CHAPTER XCVI. FIJI— Continued . WAR AND AMUSEMENTS.

WEAPONS OF THE FIJIANS — THE SLING, AND MODE OF USING IT — THE CLUB, AND ITS VARIOUS MODIFICATIONS — GRADUAL DEVELOPMENT OF THE CLUB INTO THE PADDLE — MODE OF MAKING THE CLUBS, AND PREPARATION OF THE TREES — ORNAMENTS OF THE CLUBS, AND THEIR NAMES — FIJIAN SPEARS — THEIR TERRIBLE BARBS — OBJECTS OF WAR — THE REVIEW — THE FATE OF THE BOASTER — INGENIOUS ENGINEERING — CRUELTY TOWARD PRISONERS — “CONSECRATION” OF A WARRIOR, AND HIS NEW NAME — DOMESTIC LIFE — CEREMONIES AT BIRTH — TRAINING IN REVENGE — AMUSEMENTS — VARIOUS GAMES — RIRIKI — WOMEN AGAINST MEN — DANCES AND SONGS — MARRIAGE FESTIVITIES — WEDDING OF A CHIEF’S DAUGHTER — DOMESTIC DISCIPLINE — THE KING’S STAFF — FESTIVITIES AT HOUSE BUILDING — MODE OF THATCHING AND DECORATING THE HOUSES — A PRACTICAL JOKE.

In accordance with the plan on which this work has been arranged, Fijian warfare will be described as it was before fire-arms were introduced, and had changed the ancient style of warfare.

The original weapons of the Fijian are the club, the axe (which, by the way, is little more than a modification of the club), the bow, the sling, and the spear. In most of these weapons is exhibited the fancifully artistic nature of the manufacturers. The sling is perhaps the only weapon from which ornament is almost wholly absent. Like the corresponding weapon of the New Caledonians, it carries stones of tolerable weight and great hardness, and, when wielded by a skilful hand, becomes no inefficient weapon even against fire-arms themselves. A stone hurled from a Fijian sling has been known to render a musket useless, the stone having struck the barrel, and bent and indented it as much as would have been done by a bullet.

The chief weapon of the Fijian is the club, and upon this he lavishes all the artistic power at his command, covering nearly the whole of it with the most intricate and delicately executed carvings. Some clubs are straight, like thick cudgels, others are curved. Those which are knobbed at the end have an infinite variety in the knob, as we shall presently see. Some are more or less flattened, while there are some which are so flat and so broad that it is not easy at first sight to determine whether they are clubs or paddles. Some are so large that they require the whole exertion of a muscular man to wield them, while others are so short that they are kept stuck in the girdle, and used as missiles, precisely as the short knob-kerries are used by the South Africans. A Fijian will often carry two or more of these clubs in his girdle.

Some of the most characteristic forms of Fijian clubs are given on the following page, all being drawn from specimens in my collection. Fig. 1 represents a club, and is evidently modified from a gnarled and knotted branch, and by comparing a number of specimens together it is easy to trace the progress of manufacture. This form of club is also to be found among the Papuans of New Guinea, the natives of the Outanata district carrying it. With the exception of the deep transverse cuts, there is no attempt at ornament. It is tolerably heavy, though not very large, and requires two hands to be wielded properly.

Figure 2 represents one of the paddle-like clubs which have just been mentioned. The blade is not an inch in thickness in the middle, and it gradually slopes off to either side, so as to form a tolerably sharp edge. With the exception of the handle, it is entirely covered with carving; the dentated pattern, which seems common to nearly all savage art, being very conspicuous. It is extremely weighty, and, to an European, appears a very awkward instrument, except perhaps that the broad blade might be utilized as a shield.

(1.) ORATOR’S FLAPPER.
(See page 930.)

(2.) IDOL OF SOLOMON ISLANDS.
(See page 970.)

(3.) SPEAR.
(See page 952.)

(4.) FIJIAN CLUBS.
(See page 948.)

Fig. 3 is a club, which may be considered as a sort of intermediate form between the two already mentioned. Like the last, it has a broad blade, but is evidently a club and not a paddle. The blade is strengthened by a bold ridge running along the centre. In order to show the mode in which it is flattened, a side view of the lower part is shown at fig. a, and a cross section of the blade is given at fig. b. This kind of club is modified in various ways, but is always made on the same principle, i. e. a round handle and a flattened paddle-like end, sometimes nearly plain, as in the above mentioned specimens, and sometimes furnished with knobs, teeth, and spikes projecting from the sides. In some cases it assumes the shape of a crescent, and looks, indeed, much like a cheese knife very much magnified.

Another very characteristic shape is given in fig. 4. As may be imagined from the illustration, it is very weighty, so that even to carry it about must be rather troublesome. It is covered with carvings in the most lavish manner, and such value has been set by the manufacturer upon the weapon, that he has even taken the trouble to invent different patterns for the opposite sides.

The peculiar form of this club is evidently due to the structure of the branch from which it was cut, the projecting portion being the base of another branch. Although in many specimens—my own among the number—the club has been carved from a great log of solid wood, the form has evidently been borrowed from the junction of two branches. The edge of the club is cut into slight teeth, and just within the edge are a number of round holes, set in a line. A tolerably bold ridge runs along the head of the club and follows its curve, and through this ridge are also bored a number of holes, apparently for the purpose of attaching bunches of feathers, or other ornaments, to the weapon.

The most characteristic club of Fiji is, however, that of which an example is given in fig. 5. It is made from the stem and part of the root of a young tree. In this part of the world there are certain trees which grow in a manner which to us seems very peculiar. As is the case with many trees, it sends a tap-root deeply into the earth, and is further supported by a number of smaller roots which diverge from it on all sides, and retain it in its upright position, just as a mast is upheld by the standing rigging.

While the tree is very young, it is drawn down nearly horizontally, and fixed in that position, so as to be bent nearly at right angles close to the earth. When it has grown to the thickness of a man’s wrist, the top is cut off and the roots dug out of the ground. The tap-root is then scraped down to a point, and all the smaller roots are cut off to within an inch and a half of the tap-root, so as to form a radiating mass of spikes, which are sharpened, and thus present the appearance shown in the illustration.

Such a club as this is an exceedingly valuable weapon, and the greatest care is taken in its manufacture. The spike at the end is scraped and rounded until it assumes a perfectly regular shape, and is then polished until it shines like a well-rubbed piece of mahogany. The radiating spikelets are each trimmed with the greatest nicety, so that, in whatever direction the weapon is viewed, they all radiate with exact regularity.

The handle is polished as carefully as the lower spike, and in most cases is adorned with elaborately carved patterns. In many clubs it is completely covered with black and white sinnet made expressly for this purpose, and plaited in patterns as elaborate as those which are carved. Some of the best clubs are further ornamented by having scarlet feathers worked in with sinnet. There are, indeed, scarcely any bounds to the decoration of clubs, many of which are inlaid with shell, or hogs’ tusks, or whales’ teeth, or even the teeth of men. These latter ornaments are chiefly reserved for the knobs of the small missile club.

Beside these, there is an infinite variety of forms, some of the clubs exactly resembling the steel maces of the days of chivalry, others being first squared and then cut into pyramidal form, while others look just like enormous mushrooms. Some of them have the handles completely covered with wickerwork; but, as a rule, these highly ornamental weapons are not for use but for show, like the court sword of the present day.

Some of the names given to these clubs are highly suggestive. For example, one was called “Weeping urges me to action,” others “Disperser,” “Smasher,” and so forth. Those which belong to well-known chiefs or distinguished warriors are used much as cards among ourselves. If, for example, a great chief desires to pay a visit, he will send his club as an intimation that the owner will follow. Or, if one chief asks another for aid in war, the ordinary mode of showing that the application is favorably received is for the latter to send his club by the ambassador who brought the message.

There is as great variety of spears as of clubs. Spears are almost invariably of great length, some measuring fourteen or fifteen feet in length. They are made from hard wood and are almost invariably armed with a series of barbs. In the manufacture and arrangement of the barbs, the Fijians show wonderful ingenuity. Mostly, they are not from the same piece of wood as the spear itself, but in many weapons they are made of other materials. The sharp tail-bone of the sting-ray is a favorite material, both for the points and barbs of spears, probably because it is very hard, and so brittle that it is nearly sure to break off in the wound. Other barbs are made of a wood which has the property of swelling up when moistened, and bursting in the wound, so that it can hardly be extracted. Such spears as this are called by a very ominous title, “The priest is too late.” Some of the spears are not only carved in various patterns, but have the heads cut into a kind of bold open work pattern, which has a very elegant appearance, though it must detract greatly from the strength of the weapon. One of the ordinary Fijian spears is shown on page 949, and is taken from specimens in my collection, in which there are several others, but all of a similar character.

Many of the weapons have more than one point. In the specimens which I have, the points are rather more than a yard in length, and are made of separate pieces of wood, ingeniously dovetailed into the shaft of the spear, and held in their place by lashings of sinnet. In my specimen, the manufacturer has been so lavish of his labor, that he has not only woven the sinnet into elegant patterns, but has continued them along the whole of the shaft, covering it with a sort of mixture of the zigzag and the dentated patterns. There are also spears with several points, each point being barbed or deeply serrated on the inside cap. These are not for war, but for fishing purposes. As for the war in which these weapons are used, it is hardly deserving of the name.

When two chiefs have decided on going to war, messengers pass between them, and both sides beat up recruits for their armies and offer gifts to the gods. Whales’ teeth and food form the chief part of these offerings, and the latter is often given in vast quantities. Independent chiefs often take advantage of war to increase their property. Such a chief, for example, though urged by both sides to join them, trims and hesitates, and bides his time. One party will then send him a bribe, and as soon as the other party hear of it, they send a larger bribe, in order to “press down” the former gift. The result usually is, that the recipient keeps both bribes, and eventually declines to fight on either side.

The forces are gathered by a series of reviews, held as the army marches. These reviews form the great charm of war, as any amount of boasting may be done without the slightest risk. Each warrior rushes up to the commanding chief, brandishes his weapons, and boasts of the great deeds which he is going to do; all the warriors being in their very best, with bodies covered with black powder, so as to contrast with the snow-white masi, and their faces painted as none but a Fijian can paint them, in order to look as martial as possible.

The chief often ridicules the pretensions of these men, insinuating that they will be more ready to run away than to fight; but this is only for the purpose of inciting them to display their courage, and, by way of inducing them to fight well, large gifts are promised to those who distinguish themselves in battle.

Sometimes a warrior, carried away by the excitement of the moment, boasts that he will kill the enemy’s chief, eat his flesh, and make a drinking-cup of his skull. This is generally a very foolish proceeding. The menaced chief is sure to hear of it, and to promise a large reward if the boaster be taken alive.

Should he be captured, his fate is certain. His hands are bound behind him, and a large bundle of dried cocoa-nut leaves is fastened tightly across his shoulders, projecting for several feet on either side. The ends of the leaves are then lighted, and the poor wretch is left to die, the spectators laughing and jeering at him as he runs about, maddened by the torment. This punishment is called by a name which signifies carrying fuel. The artist has represented in the lower engraving, on the 943d page, this frightful fate of the boaster.

The party that are attacked usually retire into a native fort, the structure of which often shows great engineering skill. The Fijians are very apt at selecting a spot which is difficult of access, and fortifying it in such a manner that two or three men could hold it against a thousand. Mr. Williams visited one of these forts, and found that the approach to it was not without danger, even in time of peace. The only path to the fort led through thick and tangled vegetation, and terminated on the edge of a precipice. The entrance to the fort was on the face of the precipice, several yards from the end of the path, and there was no mode of getting to it except by crawling along the perpendicular rock by means of little holes in which the toes and fingers could be inserted.

When the natives cannot find a place of such natural strength, they have a way of defending the entrance by a series of gates with traverses between them, so that any enemies who forced the first gate were obliged to go for some distance through a narrow passage which was pierced with loopholes, through which spears could be thrust and arrows shot. Even if they succeeded in passing the second gate, a similar gauntlet had to be run before they could reach the third. Thorny trees are in great request for the outer defences of these forts, the bare-skinned natives greatly dreading the prickly walls, which every year grow more dense and less penetrable.

Knowing the strength of the forts, the natives do not care about assaulting them, and, as they advance to the walls, avail themselves of every cover. They then yell and shout derisive taunts at the enemy, challenging them to come out and fight. Sometimes the challenge is answered, a number of warriors issuing from the fort and each selecting an adversary; often, however, as soon as the besiegers see their challenge answered, they run away as fast as they can, the Fijian liking to come behind his enemy and knock him on the head stealthily better than to oppose him in open fight.

Should a fort be taken, the slaughter is dreadful, and is nothing but a massacre, the greater number being killed, and the rest reserved to be put to death by torture. One favorite mode of torture is to stun the unhappy captive with a club, and to throw him into a heated oven by way of bringing him back to his senses. The struggles of the unfortunate man as the fierce heat restores him to consciousness are greeted with laughter and jeers by the delighted spectators. Others are bound hand and foot and given to the sons of chiefs as subjects on which they can try their skill at torturing.

As these expeditions are nearly always made in canoes, the return of the war party is seen from a great distance, and all the population assemble on the beach to welcome the victorious warriors, the women dancing and singing songs of triumph in honor of the conquerors. A horrible scene then takes place, too horrible indeed to be described; the bodies of the dead are offered in the temples, the ovens are prepared, and for some days unbridled license reigns supreme.

In connexion with warfare must be mentioned a curious custom of giving a new name to men who have killed any of the enemy during the campaign. Whether the enemy be an armed warrior slain in fair fight, an unarmed man knocked down by stealth, a woman, or even a little child, signifies nothing. The warrior has clubbed an enemy, and has a right to his new name of honor. Should he have killed a chief, he takes the name of his victim, and sometimes his own chief honors him by calling the man his flag, his canoe, his comb, &c. Of the consecration ceremony, wherein the new name is given, Mr. Williams once saw a very excellent example at Somo-somo, the subject of consecration being a young chief.

“The king and leading men having taken their seats in the public square, fourteen mats were brought and spread out, and upon these were placed a bale of cloth and two whale’s teeth. Near by was laid a sail mat, and on it several men’s dresses. The young chief now made his appearance, bearing in one hand a large pine-apple club, and in, the other a common reed, while his long train of masi dragged on the ground behind him.

“On his reaching the mats, an old man took the reed out of the hero’s hand, and despatched a youth to deposit it carefully in the temple of the war god. The king then ordered the young chief to stand upon the bale of cloth; and while he obeyed, a number of women came into the square, bringing small dishes of turmeric mixed with oil, which they placed before the youth, and retired with a song. The masi was now removed by the chief himself, an attendant substituting one much larger in its stead. The king’s Mata (aide-de-camp) next selected several dishes of the colored oil, and anointed the warrior from the roots of the hair to his heels.

“At this stage of the proceedings one of the spectators stepped forward and exchanged clubs with the anointed, and soon another did the same. Then one left him a gun in place of the club, and many similar changes were effected, under a belief that the weapons thus passing through his hands derived some virtue.

“The mats were now removed, and a portion of them sent to the temple, some of the turmeric being sent after them. The king and old men, followed by the young man and two men sounding conchs, now proceeded to the seaside, where the anointed one passed through the ancients to the water’s edge, returned, while the king and those with him counted one, two, three, four, five, and each then threw a stone into the sea. The whole company now went back to the town with blasts of the trumpet shells, and a peculiar hooting of the men.

“Custom requires that a hut should be built, in which the anointed man and his companions may pass the next three nights, during which time the newly named hero must not lie down, but sleep as he sits; he must not change his masi, or remove the turmeric, or enter a house in which there is a woman, until that period has elapsed. In the case now described, the hut had not been built, and the young chief was permitted to use the temple of the god of war instead.

“During the three days he was on an incessant march, followed by half a score lads reddened like himself. After three weeks he paid me a visit, on the first day of his being permitted to enter a house in which there was a female. He informed me his new name was Kuila, or Flag.”

When a name of honor has thus been given to a man, the complimentary title of Koroi, or consecrated, is prefixed to it.

The battles of the Fijians are not, as a rule, remarkable for the slaughter that takes place. They are, in fact, little but a series of single combats. When a man falls, his friends try to get him off the ground to save his life, if possible, or to be able to bury the body if he should die; while the enemy use their best endeavors to secure the wounded man in order to bake and eat him. No dishonor is attached to the fact of a slain man being eaten. On the contrary, it is a proof of his courage, for none but those who die bravely in battle are eaten in the feast which follows upon the victory, the bodies of slain cowards being contemptuously thrown into the bush.

We now come to a more pleasing part of Fijian character, namely, the various incidents of domestic life.

As soon as the Fijian child comes into the world, it is taken from the mother, and given to another woman for three days, during which time she lies at her ease. The first clothing which the child receives is a thick coating of turmeric oil, and the first food which it knows is either the juice of sugar-cane or of cocoa-nut. A name is given to the child as soon as possible after its birth, and these names are generally significant of some event that has happened either to the child itself or to some member of its family.

Though the Fijian children spend the great part of their time in the open air, and are untrammelled by clothing, they are liable to a very unpleasant disease called the “thoko,” which somewhat resembles the “yaws” of the negro tribes. The parents are rather glad than sorry to see their children afflicted with this disease, as they believe that it forms a necessary adjunct to infantile health, and that a child who escapes the thoko is sure to be sickly and feeble when it grows up.

The Fijian child receives no training, unless encouragement of every bad passion may be called by that name. Revenge is impressed upon the child’s mind from its earliest infancy, and most horrible are the means which are sometimes employed for this purpose. In riper years the duty of revenge is kept always before his eyes. Should one man insult another, the offended individual keeps himself constantly reminded of the offence by placing some object in his sight, and not removing it until he has avenged himself.

Sometimes he will effect the same purpose by depriving himself of some luxury until he has had his revenge. One man, for example, will plait his hair in a particular manner, another will hang some article of dress in his house, while another will refuse to dance, or to eat of some particular kind of food. One chief, for example, hung a roll of tobacco on the roof of his house, with the intention of refusing to smoke until he had killed his enemy and could smoke that tobacco over the dead body. Another refrained from speaking, and would only answer by whistling.

The knowledge of this custom makes the Fijians a most nervous race. Should a strange canoe appear off the coast, the inhabitants of the villages are all in a stir, some escaping to the woods, and others concealing their food and other valuables in secret storehouses. They do not like to walk alone in the evening. Mr. Williams mentions that he has seen a whole company disperse at the lifting of a telescope, and, more than once, when he was visited by natives and the door suddenly slammed with the wind, the whole of his visitors rushed tumultuously out of the windows. On one occasion, a number of men were dragging a large canoe into the sea, when one of them espied a slight crack on one side. He whispered his discovery to the man next him, he to the next, and so on, and in a few minutes every man had run away from the boat, fearing lest the owner should charge him with having done the damage.

The amusements of the Fijians are rather more varied than is usually the case among savages. Some of them are identical with many of our own children’s games, such as “hide and seek,” “blind man’s buff,” and a sort of “hop, skip, and jump.” A sort of “pitch and toss,” is also in vogue, the substitute for pence being the flat, circular fruit of a species of mimosa.

They have one game which bears some resemblance to that of the “kangaroo-rat” of Australia, which has been described on page 730. The players have a reed about four feet in length, at one end of which is an oval piece of hard and heavy wood some six inches in length. This instrument is held between the thumb and middle finger, the end of the forefinger being applied to its extremity. With a peculiar underhand jerk the player drives it horizontally, so that it glides over the ground for a considerable distance, the player who sends the missile farthest being the winner. In order that this favorite game maybe constantly played, each village has attached to it a long strip of smooth sward, which is kept sedulously trimmed, so that the missile may skim along with as little resistance as possible.

Then there is the swing. This is made much like the New Zealand swing, but is used in a different manner. Instead of being held by the hands alone, the rope has a loop at the end, into which the swinger inserts his foot. Sometimes, it has a large knot, on which both feet can be supported. Drawing the rope to the top of a convenient bank, the swinger grasps it with his hands, leaps in the air, places his foot in the loop, and goes sweeping through an enormous arc, the radius of which often exceeds fifty feet. In some cases the swing is fixed by the water side, and the more daring of the performers loosen their grasp at the proper moment, and are hurled through the air into the water.

One favorite game, called Ririki, is played after the following fashion:—Close to the water’s edge is fixed a stout post, and on this is laid the trunk of a tall cocoa-nut tree, so that its base rests on the ground, and the tip projects over the water. The game consists in running at full speed up this inclined tree, and jumping into the water one after the other, swimming ashore and repeating the process. This is a very lively game, the natives shouting and laughing the whole time, and plunging so rapidly in succession that the water beneath the end of the inclined tree is white with foam. The people are admirable swimmers, and, having been accustomed to swim as soon as they could walk, disport themselves in the water with as much ease as on land. They are fond of swimming out to sea in parties, and join in various aquatic games, such as trying to push each other under water, diving, racing, and so forth.

Some of their sports are rather rough. They have one game which bears a certain resemblance to snow-balling, except that the missiles are bitter oranges instead of snow-balls. In some places they jerk stones at each other by means of elastic bamboos, and do so with such force that considerable pain is caused when the missile strikes the bare skin.

Sometimes a sort of mock battle takes place. When food is brought to the men, the women suddenly rush upon them, try to drive them away, and to seize the food. Rough as the women may be, the men seldom retaliate, except by taking their assailants round the waists and throwing them on the ground. Mr. Williams mentions one instance when a woman actually shot a man dead with an arrow, turning the mock fight into a sad reality. Several cases are known where the men have been so severely handled that they have afterward died of their wounds.

On certain occasions an amusing game is played by the young men. A thin earthenware vessel is filled with water and suspended from a bough, and a number of young men with their eyes blindfolded, try to break the vessel by striking at it with long sticks.

Music and dancing are greatly studied among the Fijians, and any one who knows a new dance is sure to earn plenty of goods by teaching it. Their musical instruments are very poor, consisting of drums, pipes, and trumpets. The first-mentioned instruments are nothing more than wooden cylinders, through one side of which a groove is cut about an inch or so in width. The pipes are of two kinds; namely, a sort of pandean pipe made of several strips of bamboo fastened together, and the flute. This latter instrument is played by placing the aperture close to one nostril, and breathing through it while the other is stopped with the thumb of the left hand. The trumpets are merely conch-shells blown through a hole in the side.

The dances are very carefully got up, and more resemble military movements than dances, the similitude being increased by the martial array of the dancers, who are all dressed as if for war, their faces painted with scarlet, their bodies powdered with black, and their best clubs or spears in their hands. They execute intricate manœuvres, marching in various figures, wheeling, halting, and stamping their feet in exact time to the rhythm of the song and the beat of the drum. Sometimes several hundred men are engaged in the dance, while the musicians are twenty or thirty in number.

The scene at one of these dances is very picturesque, but it wants the furious energy which gives such fiery animation to the war dance of the New Zealanders, the movements, though correct in point of time, being comparatively dull and heavy. In order to enliven it a little more, a professional buffoon is usually introduced upon the scene, who performs sundry grotesque movements, and is usually applauded for his exertions.

Music and dancing are always used at the celebration of a marriage, and, as may be imagined from the punctilious nature of the Fijian, there is no lack of ceremony on the occasion.

Mostly, girls are betrothed when they are quite infants, no regard being paid to disparity of age between themselves and their intended husbands. The form of betrothal is rather curious, and consists in the mother of the child taking a small liku, or woman’s girdle, and presenting it to the man, who from that moment takes her daughter under his protection until she is old enough to be married.

In those cases where a young man takes a liking to a young woman, he asks her of her father, making at the same time a small present as a matter of form. Should the application be successful, an interchange of presents then takes place between the friends of both parties, and in a few days follows the ceremony called “warming,” which consists in conveying to the house of the bride some food prepared by the intended husband. In most parts of Fiji, the bride has a complete holiday for four days, sitting quietly at home, dressed in her finest apparel, and painted with turmeric and oil. At the expiration of the four days, she is taken by a number of married women to the sea, where they all join in fishing, and afterward cook the fish that they have taken. The cooking being completed, the bridegroom is sent for, and the betrothed couple eat together, each giving the other a portion of food.

After this ceremony comes a period during which the bridegroom is employed in building a house for his intended wife, and the girl undergoes the painful tattooing which marks her as having taken her place among women. During this time, she remains within the house so as to shield her complexion from the sun. The house being completed, all the friends of both families are gathered together, and a great feast takes place, at which the givers make it a point of honor to be as lavish as possible. At the end of this feast, the girl is formally handed over to her husband, and exchanges her narrow liku for the broader garment befitting her new condition.

When the daughter of an important chief is married, her father always gives her a number of female attendants, sometimes as many as twelve or fifteen accompanying the bride to her home. They are placed under the charge of an elderly woman who acts as their superintendent, and are called by a name which signifies a pet servant. There is always a great scene at the departure of a bride to her home, all her relations and friends crowding round her, and kissing her until she is nearly smothered by their caresses.

An interesting description of the presentation of a bride is given by Mr. Williams, and the artist has reproduced the scene in the engraving No. 1, on the next page. “She was brought in at the principal entrance by the king’s aunt and a few matrons, and then, led only by the old lady, approached the king. She was an interesting girl of fifteen, glistening with oil, wearing a new liku, and a necklace of curved ivory points, radiating from her neck, and turning upward. The king then received from his aunt the girl, with two whale’s teeth, which she carried in her hand. When she was seated at his feet, his majesty repeated a list of their gods, and finished by praying that the girl might live, and bring forth male children.

“To her friends, two men who had come in at the back door, he gave a musket, begging them not to think hardly of his having taken their child, as the step was connected with the good of the land, in which their interests, as well as his own, were involved. The musket, which was about equivalent to the necklace, the men received with bent heads, muttering a short prayer, the close of which was exactly the same as they had offered for years, ‘Death to Natawa.’ Tuikilakila then took off the girl’s necklace and kissed her. The gayest moment of her life, as far as dress was concerned, was past; and I felt that the untying of that polished ornament from her neck was the first downward step to a dreary future. Perhaps her forebodings were like mine, for she wept, and the tears which glanced off her bosom and rested in distinct drops on her oily legs were seen by the king, who said, ‘Do not weep. Are you going to leave your own land? You are but going a voyage, soon to return. Do not think it a hardship to go to Mbau. Here you have to work hard; there you will rest. Here you fare indifferently; there you will eat the best of food. Only do not weep to spoil yourself.’ As he thus spoke, he played with her curly locks, complimenting her on her face and figure. She reminded him of a sister of hers, who had been taken to Mbau in years past.”

She had certainly reason for her tears, as the condition of Fijian wives is not a very enviable one. As is the case with most countries in which polygamy is practised, the wives are apt to be very jealous of each other, and to quarrel among themselves. Generally, their squabbles are treated with contemptuous indifference by the husband as long as they do not annoy him personally; but if he should feel himself angered, he speedily checks the tumult by belaboring all parties alike with a very sufficient stick which he keeps for the purpose. One chief had a cudgel as thick as a broomstick, in which he seemed to take no little pride, having carved and inlaid it with ivory.

Women are not held in any great estimation, whether they be single or married. A rather ludicrous example of the value set by Fijians upon women occurred in the course of traffic between Europeans and natives. A chief had bargained with the captain of a ship for a musket, the price of which was to be two pigs. The chief went off with his musket, but could only find one pig. So he honorably kept his bargain by sending the one pig and a young woman instead of the other.

In the description of the ceremonies attendant upon a wedding, mention was made of the custom of building a house for the bride. The form of Fijian houses varies according to locality. In some places they are sharp-ridged and gabled, like those which have already been described when treating of New Guinea. In others they are round, and in others conical. Some are built on posts, and others simply on the ground. As is the case throughout all Polynesia, the houses are made of a wooden framework lashed together, and covered with a thatch of reeds. Many of these houses are of great size, more than a hundred feet in length and about forty in width. A house that is meant to endure for any length of time is made of a wood called by the natives vesi, which is exactly similar to the greenheart of India, and a sort of sandal wood is also used for the same purpose.

The walls are generally made of reeds arranged in three layers, the middle layer being horizontal and the outer and inner layers perpendicular. They are tied or sewed together with sinnet, and it is the Fijian architect’s pride to weave the sinnet into elegant patterns. Some men are celebrated for their skill in inserting and executing these patterns, and go about from place to place as they are wanted. Even the posts that support the edifice are often covered with reeds, bound together in the same ingenious manner. The door is always a small one, probably for the same reason that induces a Kaffir to make so low an entrance to his hut; namely, fear of enemies.

(1.) A FIJIAN WEDDING.
(See page 956.)

(2.) HOUSE THATCHING.
(See page 959.)

The thatch is sometimes of cocoa-nut or sugar-cane leaves, and sometimes of grass, while in a few of the best houses both are used. The leaves are doubled over reeds and sewed together, so as to form lengths of about five or six feet. Grass thatch is fixed almost exactly as straw is used in England being laid on the roof in bundles, and held down by long mangrove branches, and tied firmly with rattan.

House thatching is one of the most animated scenes that can be imagined. As soon as the roof is finished, notice is given that the thatchers are wanted, and then straightway assemble a gang of merry laborers, varying in number according to the size of the house, as many as three hundred sometimes uniting to thatch a very large house. Some bring the leaves and grass, others bind and sew them into the proper form, and others take them to the thatchers. Those who actually apply the reeds always arrange themselves in pairs on the roof, one outside and the other inside the building, so that one can take the end of the lashing as it is pushed through the thatch by his comrade, draw it tight, and return it to him. The reader may find house thatching represented in a spirited engraving, on the 957th page.

The noise that arises from a large house during the process of thatching is almost deafening. Naturally, the Fijian has a great genius for shouting, and on such occasions he fairly outdoes himself. Some call for more grass, leaves, mangrove rods and rattans; others from below shout in reply to them. Those who bring the materials must needs shout as they clamber to the roof, and every one throws in a few yells occasionally by way of encouragement to his companions.

The most characteristic part of a Fijian house is the ridge pole which runs along the top of the roof. It projects at either end for a considerable distance, and in first-class buildings is worked into a trumpet-like shape at the extremities. These projecting ends are mostly blackened, and decorated with large white cowrie shells. A sort of cable made of grass and bound with vine-stalks is generally laid on the ridge pole, and in many cases is finished off with a row of tassels, and nearly covered with patterns worked in sinnet.

Some, though not all, the houses have openings by way of windows, which can be closed by means of mats fastened over them like curtains. Within the house, and nearly in the centre, is the fireplace, which is sunk in the ground to a foot or so in depth, and surrounded by a sort of fender made of hard wood. In very large houses, the fireplace is ten or twelve feet square, and is covered by a wooden framework of several tiers, on which cooking pots and similar utensils can be kept. There is no chimney, nor even a hole in the roof, so that all the smoke from the fireplace ascends to the roof, and finds its way out through the thatch as it best can. In nearly every case the doorway is furnished with a projecting roof.

In connection with roof thatching, a characteristic joke is recorded of the Mbau people. The short missile club is called ula, and the act of hurling it is called ulaula. The latter word, however, also signifies house thatching. By way of a practical joke, the people of Mbau sent to those of Tailevu, asking them to come and ulaula. The latter, taking the word in its ordinary sense, accepted the invitation, and came, expecting the usual scene of merriment, when to their surprise, they were saluted by a volley of ulas hurled at them by their entertainers.

The furniture of a Fijian house is simple. At one end is a raised dais, on which the master of the house sleeps by night and reclines by day. It is covered with mats, and over it are hung the sheets of thin masi which are used as mosquito curtains. On this dais are generally one or two pillows. These implements are not unlike those of the Kaffirs, being nothing more than cylindrical bars of wood supported on legs at either end. Some of them are from four to five feet in length. This form of pillow is used on account of the mop-like headdress of the natives, which would be pressed out of all shape were it laid on an ordinary pillow.

On the hearth are several large earthenware cooking pots, oval in shape, and each set on three stones. As the quantity of food in them diminishes, they are gradually tilted, so that when they contain but very little food they lie quite on their sides. Near the hearth lies the thick concave board on which bread is kneaded, and close to the board are the smooth round stones by which the operation of kneading is conducted. The small hand nets used for fishing are kept near the fire, together with the knives and other implements used in preparing food. Several earthen water jars are always placed near the fire. They may be distinguished by their glazed surfaces, and are placed carefully on a thick bed of grass. A few bamboo vessels containing salt and fresh water, are generally placed near the larger jars. Round the foot of the wall are ranged a series of bowls and jars, which contain the arrowroot and similar articles of food.

CHAPTER XCVII. FIJI— Continued . RELIGION AND FUNERAL RITES.

THE GODS AND THEIR ABODES — VISIT OF THE LAND CRAB — FIJIAN PRIESTS AND THEIR INSIGNIA — CONSULTING THE DEITY — VARIOUS MODES OF DIVINATION — THE DIFFICULT PASSAGE TO HEAVEN — NATIVE TEMPLES, THEIR STRUCTURE AND USES — FEASTS GIVEN TO THE GODS — SACRED STONES — MURDER OF THE AGED AND SICK — A STRANGE MARK OF AFFECTION — PROVIDING THE DEAD WITH ATTENDANTS — BURIAL OF A LIVING KING — A TERRIBLE SCENE — VOYAGE TO THE CEMETERY, AND THE FUNERAL — SIMILARITY BETWEEN THE CUSTOMS OF FIJI AND INDIA — MODE OF MOURNING — THE SUCCESSIVE RITES AFTER A FUNERAL — THE CUSTOM OF LOLOKU — TOMB OF A CHIEF’S WIFE.

The religion, or rather the superstition, of the Fijians is much like that of other polytheists. The people acknowledge vast numbers of gods of greater or lesser power; most, if not all, of which are symbolized under some natural form, such as a hawk, a tree, or the like. Every Fijian considers himself under the protection of some especial god, and, as has been stated, will not eat the animal which is his symbol.

An amusing instance of the reverence paid to the symbols of the gods occurred at Tilioa. A very powerful god, who is worshipped at that place, resides in a land crab, but, as that crustacean is scarcely ever seen in the locality, there are but few opportunities of paying the proper worship. Whenever any one saw a land crab, he immediately ran to the priest, and forthwith the whole place was in a commotion. The people assembled to pay their respects to their deity, and a number of cocoa-nuts were gathered, strung together, and humbly presented to the crab deity in order to propitiate him, and to induce him to give them fair weather and a healthy season.

As to the particular doctrines of the Fijian religion, it is scarcely possible to learn much about them. In the first place, the people know nothing, and the priests, who know but little, dislike communicating their knowledge. Even the Christian converts can seldom be induced to speak on the subject with any degree of truth.

The priests are known by their official insignia, which consists of an oval frontlet of scarlet feathers, and a long-toothed comb made of separate pieces of wood ingeniously fastened together. Several of these combs are in my collection, and are excellent examples of the artistic capabilities of the makers. No two of them are alike, the delicate thread which fastens them together being woven in a singular variety of patterns. The threads are nearly as fine as hairs, and an additional beauty is given to the pattern by using alternately a deep black and a glittering yellow thread.

The priests communicate with their deities by throwing themselves into a sort of ecstatic state, technically called “shaking,” in which the whole body is convulsed, and the utterances which come from the foaming lips are held to be the responses of the god. A vivid idea of this mode of consulting a deity is given by Mr. Williams in the valuable work to which reference has often been made.

“Nothing like regular worship or habitual reverence is found, and a principle of fear seems the only motive for religious observances; and this is fully practised on by the priests, through whom alone the people have access to the gods, when they wish to present petitions affecting their social or individual interest. When matters of importance are involved, the soro or offering consists of large quantities of food, together with whales’ teeth. In smaller affairs a tooth, club, mat, or spear, is enough. Young nuts covered with turmeric powder formed the meanest offering I have known. On one occasion, when Tuikilakila asked the help of the Somo-somo gods in war, he built the war god a large new temple, and presented a quantity of cooked food, with sixty turtles, beside whales’ teeth.

“Part of the offering—the sigana—is set apart for the deity, the rest forming a feast of which all may partake. The portion devoted to the god is eaten by his priest and by old men, but to youths and women it is tapu.

“Strangers wishing to consult a god cut a quantity of fire wood for the temple. Sometimes only a dish of yams or a whale’s tooth is presented. It is not absolutely necessary for the transaction to take place at a temple. I have known priests to become inspired in a private house or in the open air; indeed, in some parts of Fiji, the latter is usually the case.

“One who intends to consult the oracle dresses and oils himself, and, accompanied by a few others, goes to the priest, who, we will suppose, has been previously informed of the intended visit, and is lying near the sacred corner getting ready his response. When the party arrives, he rises and sits so that his back is near to the white cloth by which the god visits him, while the others occupy the opposite side of the Buré. The principal person presents a whale’s tooth, states the purpose of his visit, and expresses a hope that the god will regard him with favor. Sometimes there is placed before the priest a dish of scented oil with which he anoints himself, and then receives the tooth, regarding it with deep and serious attention.

“Unbroken silence follows. The priest becomes absorbed in thought, and all eyes watch him with unblinking steadiness. In a few minutes he trembles; slight distortions are seen in his face, and twitching movements in his limbs. These increase to a violent muscular action, which spreads until the whole frame is strongly convulsed, and the man shivers as with a strong ague fit. In some islands this is accompanied with murmurs and sobs, the veins are greatly enlarged, and the circulation of the blood quickened.

“The priest is now possessed by his god, and all his words and actions are considered as no longer his own, but those of the deity who has entered into him. Shrill cries of ‘Koi au! Koi au!’ (‘It is I! It is I!’) fill the air, and the god is supposed thus to notify his approach. While giving the answer, the priest’s eyes stand out and roll as if in a frenzy; his voice is unnatural, his face pale, his lips livid, his breathing depressed, and his entire appearance like that of a furious madman. The sweat runs from every pore, and tears start from his strained eyes; after which the symptoms gradually disappear. The priest looks round with a vacant stare, and as the god says ‘I depart,’ announces his actual departure by violently flinging himself down on the mat, or by suddenly striking the ground with a club, when those at a distance are informed by blasts on the conch, or the firing of a musket, that the deity has returned into the world of spirits.”

In many cases it is evident that the priests enact deliberate impositions, but it is also certain that in many others they are completely under the dominion of frenzy, and that they do not recollect afterward the words which they uttered while in their delirious state. “My own mind,” said one of them, “departs from me, and then, when it is truly gone, my god speaks by me.”

Various modes of divination are employed by the Fijian priests. They have, for example, divination by the leaf, by the reed, by the nut, and by water. The leaf is tested by taking it between the front teeth and biting it. If it be completely severed, the omen is good; if it hang together, even by a single fibre, the omen is unfavorable. One priest had a very strange mode of divination by the leaf. He had two magic leaves, which he placed on the sides of the applicant, and then left them. If the leaf on the right side stung the skin, the omen was good; but if any plots or treacheries were hatched, the leaf stung the man on the left side, and so warned him of the danger. Another mode of divination by the leaf is to bite it, and judge by the flavor whether the omen be adverse or the contrary.

The reed test is managed as follows. A number of short reeds are cut, and laid in a row on the ground, a name being given to each. The priest then holds his right foot over each, and the response is given by the trembling of the foot.

The water test is performed by holding the straightened arm slightly upward, and pouring a few drops of water on the wrist. If the water should run to the shoulder, the response is favorable; should it fall off at the elbow, the answer is adverse.

The next test is performed by laying a cocoa-nut on a small surface and spinning it. When it stops, the response is given by the direction in which the eye points.

According to Fijian notions, the passage to Buruto or heaven is a very difficult one, except for great chiefs, and the only plan by which a man of inferior rank can hope to obtain admission is by telling the god a lie, and proclaiming himself a chief with so much apparent truthfulness that he is believed, and allowed to pass. Taking on his shoulder his war club and a whale’s tooth, the Fijian spirit goes to the end of the world, where grows a sacred pine, and throws the tooth at it. Should he miss it, he can go no further; but if he hit it, he travels on to a spot where he awaits the arrival of the women who were murdered at his death.

Escorted by them, he proceeds until he is met and opposed by a god called Ravuyalo, whom he fights with his club. Should he fail, he is killed and eaten by the god, and there is an end of him. Should he conquer, he proceeds until he finds a canoe, into which he gets, and is conveyed to the lofty spot where the chief god, Ndengei, lives. Over the precipice extends the long steering oar of the god’s canoe. He is then asked his name and rank, when he replies with a circumstantial account of his grandeur and magnificence, of the countries over which he has ruled, of the deeds which he did in war, and of the devastation which he caused. He is then told to take his seat on the blade of the oar. Should his story have been believed, he is conveyed to Buruto; but should Ndengei disbelieve his story, the oar is tilted up, and he is hurled down the precipice into the water below whence he never emerges.

It has been mentioned that the spirit has to wait for the escort of his wives. This is in order to prove that he is a married man, bachelors having no hope of admission into Buruto. Should a wifeless man start on his journey, he is confronted by a goddess, called the Great Woman, who has a special hatred of bachelors, and, as soon as she sees one, flies at him and tries to tear him in pieces. Sometimes she misses him in her eagerness; but, even in such a case, he has to deal with another god, who hides himself in the spirit path, and, as the soul of the bachelor passes by, he springs on the wretched being, and dashes him to atoms against a stone.

The Burés or temples of the gods abound in Fiji, at least one Buré being found in every village, and some of the villages having many of these buildings. They are made of the same material as the houses, but with much more care. Instead of being merely set on the ground, they are placed on the top of a mound of earth, sometimes only slightly elevated, and sometimes twenty feet or more in height.

The natives think no labor too great for the decoration of a Buré, and it is in those buildings that their marvellous skill in plaiting sinnet is best shown. Every beam, post, and pillar is entirely covered with sinnet plaited into the most beautiful patterns, black and red being the favorite colors; and even the reeds which line the window frames, and fill up the interstices between the pillars, are hidden in the plaited sinnet with which they are covered. So lavish are the natives of their work, that they are not content with covering the pillars and reeds with sinnet work, but they make large plaited cords of the same material, and hang them in festoons from the eaves.

It has already been mentioned that the best houses have the ends of the ridge-poles decorated with cowries, but those of the Buré are adorned with long strings of cowries that sometimes reach the ground. Ordinary laths are thought too common to be used in thatching temples, and the beautifully carved spears of warriors are employed instead of simple wood. When the Buré is erected on a high mound, entrance is gained to it by means of a very thick plank cut into notched steps.

Although the Burés are considered as temples, and dedicated to the god, they are mostly used for secular purposes. Visitors from a distance are generally quartered in them, and in many instances the principal men of the village make the Buré their sleeping-place. Councils are held in the Burés, and entertainments are given in them, of which the offerings to the god form a large part. Sometimes, as has been mentioned, a chief who wishes to propitiate some deity offers a great quantity of food in his temple, and this food is consumed in a general feast. A certain portion is dedicated to the god, and may only be eaten by the priests and the old men, but the remainder may be eaten by any one.

None of the food is left to perish, the Fijians having a convenient belief which combines piety with self-indulgence. The god is supposed to be a great eater, but only to consume the soul of the provisions, so that when food is cooked and offered, the god eats the soul and the people the body. The chief god, Ndengei, used to be both greedy and dainty in his demands for food. He sometimes ate two hundred hogs and a hundred turtles at a single feast, and was continually insisting on human sacrifices. In order to procure these, no respect was paid to persons, and so infatuated were the people that, to keep up Ndengei’s supplies of human food, chiefs were known to kill their own wives.

No regular worship is ever offered in the Burés, which, indeed, are often left to fall into decay until some one desires to consult or propitiate the god, when the building is repaired and cleaned for the occasion. As may be expected, during the building of the Buré several human sacrifices are offered.

If the reader will refer to the drawing of the Buré on the following page, he will see that in front of it are two oddly-shaped objects. These are examples of the sacred stones, several of which are to be found in various parts of Fiji. They are considered as the dwelling-place of certain gods, and are held to be either male or female, according to the sex of the deity who inhabits them. Should the god be of the female sex, the fact is known by a woman’s apron or liku being tied round the stone. One such god is a very useful one, because he hates mosquitoes, and keeps them away from the spot in which he dwells. Food is prepared and offered to those sacred stones, the god as usual, eating the spirit of the food, and the priest and officers consuming its outward form.

(1.) A BURÉ, OR TEMPLE.
(See page 962.)

(2.) CANOE HOUSE AT MAKIRA BAY.
(See page 970.)

We now come to the funeral ceremonies of Fiji, taking those of the chiefs as types of the whole.

Among the Fijians a very singular superstition reigns. When men or women become infirm with age, they are considered to have lived their full time on earth, and preparations are made for their burial. So ingrained is this belief, that if a man finds himself becoming feeble with age or disease, he requests his sons to strangle him, and with this request they think themselves bound to comply. Indeed, if they think that he is too slow in making the request, they suggest to him that he has lived long enough, and ought to rest in the grave. Such conduct seems to imply that they are destitute of affection, but in reality it is their way of showing their love for their parent.

They are really a most affectionate race of people. A young chief has been seen to sob with overpowering emotion at parting from his father for a short time, and yet, were his parents to become ill or infirm, he would think it his duty to apply the fatal rope with his own hands. To be strangled by one’s children, or to be buried alive by them, is considered the most honorable mode of death. The reason for this strange custom seems to be that the Fijians believe the condition of the spirit in the next world to be exactly the same as that of the individual when in life. Consequently, affectionate children are unwilling to allow their parents to pass into the next world in an infirm state of body, and therefore strangle them out of sheer kindness.

From a similar notion of kindness, they also strangle the favorite wives and attendants of the dead chief, so as to provide him with the followers to whom he has been accustomed. They also kill a powerful warrior, in order that he may go before his chief through the passage into the spirit land, and drive away the evil spirits who oppose the progress of a new comer. These victims go by the name of “grass,” and are laid at the bottom of the grave; the warrior painted and dressed for battle, with his favorite club by his side, the women arranged in folds of the finest masi, and the servants with their implements in their hands; so that the inhabitants of the spirit world may see how great a chief has come among them.

All their preparations are carried on in a quiet and orderly manner, the victims never attempting to escape from their fate, but vying with each other for the honor of accompanying their chief. In some cases, when a chief has died young, his mother has insisted on sharing his grave. So deeply do the Fijians feel the necessity for this sacrifice that the custom has been a greater barrier against Christianity even than cannibalism or polygamy, and even those natives who have been converted to Christianity are always uneasy on the subject. On one occasion a Christian chief was shot, and by the same volley a young man was killed. The Christian natives were delighted with the latter catastrophe, inasmuch as it provided an attendant for their slain chief.

The scene which takes place when a great chief is expected to die has been described by Mr. Williams with great power. The King of Somo-somo, a magnificent specimen of the savage, was becoming infirm through age, and toward the middle of August 1845 was unable to do more than walk about a little:—

“I visited him on the 21st, and was surprised to find him much better than he had been two days before. On being told, therefore, on the 24th that the king was dead, and that preparations were being made for his interment, I could scarcely credit the report. The ominous word preparing urged me to hasten without delay to the scene of action, but my utmost speed failed to bring me to Nasima—the king’s house—in time. The moment I entered it was evident that, as far as concerned two of the women, I was too late to save their lives. The effect of that scene was overwhelming. Scores of deliberate murderers in the very act surrounded me: yet there was no confusion, and, except a word from him who presided, no noise, only an unearthly, horrid stillness. Nature seemed to lend her aid and to deepen the dread effect; there was not a breath stirring in the air, and the half-subdued light in that hall of death showed every object with unusual distinctness.

“All was motionless as sculpture, and a strange feeling came upon me, as though I was myself becoming a statue. To speak was impossible; I was unconscious that I breathed; and involuntarily, or rather against my will, I sunk to the floor, assuming the cowering posture of those who were actually engaged in murder. My arrival was during a hush, just at the crisis of death, and to that strange silence must be attributed my emotions; and I was but too familiar with murders of this kind, neither was there anything novel in the apparatus employed. Occupying the centre of that large room were two groups, the business of whom could not be mistaken.

“All sat on the floor; the middle figure of each group being held in a sitting posture by several females, and hidden by a large veil. On either side of each veiled figure was a company of eight or ten strong men, one company hauling against the other on a white cord which was passed twice round the neck of the doomed one, who thus in a few minutes ceased to live. As my self-command was returning to me the group furthest from me began to move; the men slackened their hold, and the attendant women removed the large covering, making it into a couch for the victim.

“As that veil was lifted some of the men beheld the distorted features of a mother whom they had helped to murder, and smiled with satisfaction as the corpse was laid out for decoration. Convulsion strongly on the part of the poor creature near me showed that she still lived. She was a stout woman, and some of the executioners jocosely invited those who sat near to have pity and help them. At length a woman said, ‘she is cold.’ The fatal cord fell, and as the covering was raised I saw dead the oldest wife and unwearied attendant of the old king.”

Leaving the house of murder, Mr. Williams went to the hut of the deceased king, determining to see his successor, and beg him to spare the lives of the intended victims.

To his horror and astonishment, he found that the king was still alive. He was lying on his couch, very feeble, but perfectly conscious, every now and then placing his hand to his side as he was racked by cough. The young king was full of grief. He embraced his visitor with much emotion, saying, “See, the father of us two is dead.” It was useless to dispute the point. The poor old king certainly did move and speak and eat; but, according to the son’s ideas, the movements were only mechanical, the spirit having left the body.

So the preparations for his funeral went on. His chief wife and an assistant employed themselves in covering his body with black powder, as if dressing him for the war dance, and fastening upon his arms and legs a number of long strips of white masi, tied in rosettes, with the ends streaming on the ground. They had already clad him in a new masi of immense size, the white folds of which were wrapped round his feet. In place of the usual masi turban, a scarlet handkerchief was bound on his hair with a circlet of white cowrie-shells, and strings of the same shells decorated his arms, while round his neck was an ivory necklace, made of long curved claw-like pieces of whale’s teeth.

The reader may perhaps wonder that the chief wife of the king was suffered to live. The fact was that the young king would not allow her to be killed, because no executioner of sufficient rank could be found. She lamented her hard lot in being forbidden to accompany her husband to the spirit land, and begged to be strangled, but without success.

Presently the sound of two conch-shell trumpets was heard outside the house, this being the official intimation that the old king was dead, and the new king was then formally acknowledged by the chiefs who were present. He seemed overcome with grief, and, gazing on the body of his father’s attendant, he exclaimed, “Alas, Moalevu! There lies a woman truly wearied, not only in the day but in the night also; the fire consumed the fuel gathered by her hands. If we awoke in the still night, the sound of our feet reached her ears, and, if spoken to harshly, she continued to labor only. Moalevu! Alas, Moalevu!”

The bodies of the murdered women were then rolled up in mats, placed on a bier, and carried out of the door, but the old king was taken through a breach made in the wall of the house. The bodies were carried down to the seaside and placed in a canoe, the king being on the deck, attended by his wife and the Mata, who fanned him and kept off the insects.

When they arrived at Weilangi, the place of sepulture, they found the grave already dug, and lined with mats. The bodies of the women were laid side by side in the grave, and on them the dying king. The shell ornaments were then taken from him, and he was entirely enveloped in mats, after which the earth was filled in, and thus he was buried alive. The poor old man was even heard to cough after a quantity of earth had been heaped on him.

This final scene is represented in an illustration on the 980th page. In the foreground is seen the open grave, with the bodies of the murdered women lying in it as “grass.” The still living king is being borne to the grave by the attendants, while his successor sits mournfully surveying a scene which he knows will be re-enacted in his own case, should he live to be old and infirm. Just above the grave are the rolls of fine mats with which the body of the king is to be covered before the earth is filled in; and in the background appears the mast of the canoe which brought the party to the burial-ground.

The reader cannot but notice the resemblance between this Fijian custom of strangling the wives and the well-known suttee of India. In both cases the women are the foremost to demand death, and for the same reason. Just as the Hindoo women arrange their own funeral pile, and light it with their own hands, the Fijian woman helps to dig her own grave, lines it with mats and then seats herself in it.

The fact is, that the woman has positively no choice in the matter; a wife who survives her husband is condemned to a life of neglect, suffering, and insult, so that the short agony of immediate death is preferable to such a fate, especially as by yielding to the national custom she believes that she shall secure a happy and honored life in the spirit land. Moreover, her relatives are bound by custom to insist upon her death, as, if they did not follow this custom, they would be accused of disrespect toward her husband and his family, and would run the risk of being clubbed in revenge.

In consequence of this horrid custom, the population of Fiji has been greatly checked, for not only is there the direct sacrifice of life, but much indirect loss is occasioned. Many of the murdered women are mothers, whose children die for want of maternal care, so that, what with the perpetual feuds and continual murders, the custom of cannibalism, the sacrifice of wives with their husbands, the strangling of the old or sick, and the death of children by neglect, very few Fijians die from natural causes. Mr. Williams mentions that in a class of nine children under his charge, the parents had all been murdered with the exception of two, and these had been condemned to death, and only saved through the exertions of the missionaries.

After a king is buried, sundry ceremonies are observed. For twenty days or so, no one eats until the evening, the people shave their heads either partially or entirely, and the women cut off their fingers, which are inserted in split reeds, and stuck along the eaves of the royal house. Those who are nearly related to the dead king show their grief by refusing to wear their usual dress, and substituting rude garments of leaves. They often deny themselves the luxury of a mat to lie upon, and pass their nights on the grave of their friend. The coast is rendered tapu for a certain distance, no one being allowed to fish until the proper time has elapsed, and the cocoa-nut trees are placed under a similar restriction.

Various strange rites take place on certain days after the funeral. On the fourth day the friends assemble, and celebrate the melancholy ceremony called the “jumping of maggots,” in which they symbolize the progress of corruption. Next evening is one of a directly opposite character, called the “causing to laugh,” in which the immediate friends and relatives of the dead are entertained with comic games. On the tenth day the women have an amusing ceremony of their own. Arming themselves with whips, switches, or cords, they fall upon every man whom they meet, without respect to age or rank, the greatest chiefs only being exempt from this persecution. The men are not allowed to retaliate, except by flinging mud at their assailants, and those who have witnessed the scene say that nothing more ludicrous can be imagined than to see grave, elderly men running in all directions, pursued by the women with their whips and switches.

The last ceremony is the completion of some special work begun in honor of the dead. It may be the erection of a house, the making of a huge ball of sinnet, a great bale of cloth, and, in any case, it bears the name of the person in whose honor it was undertaken. Building large canoes is a favorite form of this custom, and, during the whole time that the work is in progress, the canoe is put to sleep at night by the beating of drums, and awakened every morning in a similar manner, when the carpenters come to their work.

A curious ceremony takes place in Fiji when one of the principal chiefs has died. It is called the loloku of the sail, and is a sort of a signal of honor. Whenever a canoe approaches the coast for the first time since the death of the chief, the vessel is obliged to show the loloku. This is generally a long strip of masi tied to the head of the mast, and as soon as the canoe touches the land, both the sail and masi are thrown into the water. Sometimes, when the owner of the canoe is tolerably rich, he adds to the simple loloku a whale’s tooth, which is flung from the mast-head into the water, when the people dive and scramble for it.

Should the chief perish at sea, or be killed in a warlike expedition, and be eaten by his enemies, the loloku is shown as carefully as if he had been buried on shore, and his relatives try to compensate him for his adverse fate, by killing an unusual number of women as his attendants. Nearly twenty women have thus been sacrificed on the death of a young chief who was drowned at sea.

The graves of chiefs and their wives are marked by tombs. These are sometimes nothing but stones at the head and foot of the grave, or large cairns of stones piled on the deceased. Sometimes they are roofs from three to six feet in height, decorated, after Fijian custom, with patterns worked in sinnet.

One tomb, that of a chief’s wife, was a very remarkable one. Her husband had a large mound of earth thrown up, and faced with stones. On the top of the mound was a double canoe, forty feet in length, held firmly in its place by being imbedded in earth. Fine shingle was strewn on the deck, and mats were spread on the shingle for the reception of the body. Sand was then heaped over the canoe, and on the sand was laid the body of a little child of whom the deceased woman had been very fond. Over all was then built a large roof, made of mahogany, and adorned with white cowrie-shells.

CHAPTER XCVIII. THE SOLOMON ISLANDS AND NEW HEBRIDES. CHARACTER, DRESS, CUSTOMS.

POSITION OF THE SOLOMON ISLANDS — REASON FOR THE NAME OF THE GROUP — CHARACTER OF THE NATIVES — CANNIBALISM — DRESS AND ORNAMENTS — NEW IRELAND AND NEW BRITAIN — NOMAD CHARACTER OF THE NATIVES — CAVE HOUSES — THE ADMIRALTY ISLANDS — DISTINGUISHING MARKS OF THE CHIEFS, AND THEIR DOMINION OVER THE PEOPLE — THE BOUKA ISLAND — THE NEW HEBRIDES — MODE OF GOVERNMENT, AND DIVERSITY OF LANGUAGE — THE INHABITANTS OF VATÉ — CURIOUS DRESS OF THE WOMEN — ORNAMENTS OF THE HOUSES — TAUNA AND ERRUMANGA — TRADE IN SANDAL WOOD — ANEITEUM AND VANIKORO.

Between New Guinea and the Fiji group lie the Solomon (or Salomon) Islands. They were discovered, as far as we know, by Alvero de Mendana, who touched upon them in the year 1567. Being desirous of inducing his countrymen, who held in those days the chief place among sailors, to visit and colonize so fertile a land, he concocted a pious fraud, and called the group by the name of Solomon Islands, as being the Ophir from which Solomon’s ships brought the vast quantities of gold with which he adorned the Temple and his own palace.

His scheme failed, inasmuch as, when he again went in search of the islands, he could not find them, the imperfect astronomical instruments of that day being far inferior to those of the present time, by means of which a competent observer can tell within a few yards his exact place on the earth.

The natives of the Solomon Islands are so fierce and treacherous, that comparatively little has as yet been learned about them. They have displayed a great genius for lulling voyagers into a fancied security, and then murdering and eating them; so that the Spaniards lost nothing by Mendana’s inability to find the islands again. They contrived lately to entrap a gentleman who visited their islands in his yacht, and murdered him while he was on shore, shooting pigeons. They have committed so many murders on seamen, and even captured so many vessels, that the greatest precautions are now taken by those who visit their shores.

Perhaps the reader may wonder that any one should take the trouble of visiting so inhospitable a place; but the fact is that the hawk’s-bill turtle, so valued as supplying the tortoise-shell of commerce, is plentiful on the coasts, and captured by the natives, who reserve the shell for barter with European ships.

When ships anchor off the coast, the natives put off in canoes; but only a certain number are allowed to approach, the hammock nettings being triced up so as to prevent the natives from boarding the vessel. Only the principal chief is allowed to come on board, and through him the bargains are made. These are very tedious, as the natives will insist on haggling separately over each piece of tortoise-shell, instead of selling the whole “head” at once, as is done at other places. The usual articles of merchandise are employed in the trade, such as glass bottles, beads, axes, cloth, knives, and similar objects.

The natives are very dark, and may even be called black, with thick and crisp hair. That they are cannibals has already been mentioned. They are such inordinate lovers of human flesh that, according to the accounts of some travellers, which may however have been exaggerated, they make it their customary diet. It is evident, however, that this statement must be somewhat overdrawn, as no people inhabiting a limited country could make human flesh the chief article of diet without gradual extermination. That they prefer it to all other food is likely enough, and in this they only follow the example of the Papuans. Mendana mentions that the chief of one of the islands sent him a handsome present of a quarter of a boy, and that he gave great offence to the natives by burying instead of eating it.

They do certainly use great quantities of this horrible diet, and one traveller mentions that, in visiting their houses, he has seen human heads, legs, and arms hung from the rafters, just as joints of meat are hung in a larder. The houses bear token in other ways of the cannibalistic habits of the natives, being ornamented with skulls and similar relics of bygone feasts, together with other ornaments.

The Solomon Islanders are not handsome people, and do not add to their beauty by their modes of adornment. Their inveterate use of the betel-nut blackens their teeth, and their faces are disfigured with streaks and patches of white paint, which has a horribly ghastly appearance against the black skin. They are fond of wearing numerous ornaments in their ears, the lobes of which are perforated, and so distended that they can wear in them circular blocks of wood nine inches in circumference. Their chief ornament is, however, an armlet made from a large shell found on the reefs. Shells of sufficient size for this purpose are extremely rare, and are prized even more than whales’ teeth among the Fijians and neighboring people. Wars are often caused by a struggle for the possession of a single armlet; while, in comparison with so valuable an article, human life is looked upon as utterly worthless. Very great chiefs and warriors wear several of these rings on their arms; but they do so with the full knowledge that their finery is as perilous as it is valuable, and that they are likely to be murdered merely for the sake of their ornaments.

The Solomon Islanders care little for clothing, their whole dress being simply a piece of matting tied round the waist; and it is rather a remarkable fact that they pursue the same art of staining the hair yellow, white, or red, or discharging all color out of it, that is practised by the Fijians.

Warlike as well as fierce, they possess a variety of weapons; such as clubs of different kinds, spears, bows and arrows. In order to guard themselves against the missile weapons, they carry shields made of rushes, woven so thickly and tightly together that they are able to resist the arrows and to render the spears almost harmless.

That they possess canoes may be inferred from the fact that they inhabit islands of such diminutive size. These canoes are made in a most ingenious manner, and are constructed in a mode that gives a clue to the peculiar shape which is so often seen among the islands of Polynesia. Both at the stem and stern the ends of the canoe are very much raised. This structure is not only for ornament, though decoration is freely used in it, but is principally intended for defence. When the crew attack an enemy, or are attacked, they always take care to present the bow or stern of the canoe to the foe, and thus are in a great measure protected by the raised ends.

As is the case with most of these oceanic peoples, the inhabitants of the Solomon Islands profusely adorn the sides of their canoes with carvings, feathers, and inlayings. For the last-mentioned purpose white shells are liberally used, and tortoise-shell is also employed. Sometimes these portions of the canoe are carved so as to resemble the human face, the eyes being made of mother-of-pearl, the ears of tortoise-shell, and the chin furnished with a long beard.

In one of these canoes Captain Bouganville found a great quantity of weapons and implements, such as spears, bows and arrows, shields, and fishing nets. The shape of the shields was nearly oval, and the arrows were tipped with sharp fish bones. Various articles of food were also found in the boat, such as cocoa-nuts and other fruits, among which was the somewhat startling object of a human jaw-bone partially cooked.

Among the same group of islands are New Ireland and New Britain, both of which, by the way, seemed to have been named on the lucus a non lucendo principle, inasmuch as it is scarcely possible to find any part of the world less like Ireland or Britain in general than these little islands.

In their dress and ornaments the inhabitants differ but little from the Solomon Islanders, except that the chiefs wear circular ornaments of pearl almost exactly like the dibbi-dibbi of North Australia. Tortoise-shell is also used for the purpose.

These tribes seem to be continually on the move, the warriors being ordered by the chiefs from stations much like our own regiments at home, and being accompanied by their wives and families. In their various migrations the men are bound to look to the interests of their families; and if they neglect to do so, the case is brought before a council of chiefs, who investigate the matter. Should the accusation be proved, the delinquent is condemned to run the gauntlet, a punishment which is inflicted in exactly the same mode as has been employed in Europe.

All the inhabitants of the village, men, women, and children, are drawn up in a double line, and each is furnished with a bundle of twigs bound together like the birches of schools. The culprit is placed at one end of this line, and at a signal from the chief he is obliged to run through it a certain number of times, receiving a blow from every one as he passes. Sharp and severe as is this law, it shows no small amount of political wisdom, and lifts the people in a degree from mere savage life. Among ordinary savages the man is everything and the women and children nothing, and that in these remote islands they should be placed under the protection of the government shows a considerable advance toward civilization. There is, moreover, an ingenious retributive justice in the mode of punishment. By deserting his family, the man throws the burden of their maintenance on the community, and it is, therefore, thought only fair that the punishment should also be left to the community.

The architecture of these people is good, and we shall presently see an example of it. When a new village is to be built a large space is cleared, in the middle of which is the council house, a large circular edifice, supported on red pillars, and distinguished by having on the roof a number of tall poles, each bearing on its point a human skull. The floor is carpeted with fine mats, colored with turmeric, and adorned with birds’ feathers woven into it.

The dwelling-houses are made in a very different manner. The native architect begins by digging a large square hole in the ground some five feet deep, and over this pit he erects the house, which is rather low, in consequence of the depth gained in the basement. The thatch is of weeds, and is covered with a thick coating of clay, which serves the double purpose of rendering the hut fire-proof and of keeping the interior cool.

The weapons of the warriors are much the same as those of the other islands, but slings are also employed, and the spears are generally tipped with sharp flint. Like most of the Papuans, the victorious party eat the enemies whom they kill in battle.

Owing to the character of these islanders, little is known of their religion. That they have some form of worship is evident from the fact that they make great wooden idols, sometimes ten or more feet in height, and plant them in different parts of the country. The illustration No. 2, on the 949th page, represents one of these idols. To these idols offerings of food are constantly made; and, as such offerings are never taken away, the odor of decomposing figs, fowls, and fruit betrays the presence of the idol at a great distance. In one of the islands, called Ysabel, the natives are said to worship snakes, toads, and various reptiles.

The most eastward of this group, San Christoval, is about seventy miles long and twenty wide. In No. 2, on page 963, is given a view taken in Makira harbor, in order to show the ingenious houses which the natives build for the protection of their canoes. As may be seen, the house is capable of accumulating a considerable number of the beautifully carved vessels, and is elaborately adorned, after the native fashion, with idols in images, human skulls, tufts of feathers, and similar ornaments.

The extremest of the group are those which are known by the name of the Admiralty Islands.

The natives of these islands make use of a sort of obsidian, which they split into fragments and use as we use steel. For example, they make razors of it, with which they shave every part of their bodies excepting the head, on which the hair is allowed to grow, and is tied up in a knot on the top of the head. The hair is often colored with red ochre and oil. They use the same material as heads to their spears, tying the head to the shaft with plaited string coated with gum. The clothing of the Admiralty Islanders is very simple, the women wearing a piece of matting tied round the waist, and the men nothing but a large white shell. They have bracelets and armlets made of plaited fibre, and a belt of similar material round the waist. Some of them make their bracelets of large sea-ear shells, grinding out the middle and rounding the edges; and ornaments of a similar character are hung in the ears, which are often dragged down to such an extent that the lower tips of the lobes almost rest on the shoulders. This enormous size is attained at the cost of much trouble, an elastic hoop being constantly kept in the aperture so as to keep it gradually distended. A few of the natives also have the septum of the nose pierced, and hang upon it a string, to the end of which are fastened teeth. The chiefs are distinguished by a double row of little shells on the forehead, and seem to exercise considerable authority over their inferiors.

When Captain D’Entrecasteaux visited the place, his boats approached the shore, whereon a number of natives were collected, and the captain made signs of peace. A chief, distinguished by the insignia of rank on his forehead, ordered one of the natives to swim to the boats with some cocoa-nuts. “The fear of approaching persons of whose intentions he was ignorant, made the islander, swimming and defenceless, hesitate a moment. But the chief, who doubtless was little accustomed to have his will disobeyed, did not allow him to reflect. Blows from a cudgel, which he held in his hand, immediately succeeded his order, and enforced instant obedience....

“By way of comforting the poor fellow, our people gave him some bits of red stuff, a few nails, and a knife, with which he was greatly pleased. No sooner had he returned to the island, than curiosity collected all the rest around him, every one wishing to see our presents. Canoes were immediately launched, many natives took to the water and swam, and in a short time there was a great concourse round our boats. We were surprised to see that neither the force of the surf nor of the breakers discouraged them from the attempt.

“There was another chief distinguished by the same ornaments as he who has been already mentioned, and also by the blows which he inflicted with his cudgel upon those to whom he gave his orders.”

The canoes of these people are furnished with a double outrigger, only one touching the water, and the other projecting at an equal distance on the opposite side. They are connected by a platform, on which the commander stands when the sail is lowered and laid on the second outrigger. When the sail is hoisted, he stands on the place where it had been laid. Each outrigger projects about eight feet from the gunwale. The paddles are about six feet in length, and are furnished with a broad blade, which is made separately from the handle, and firmly lashed to it with cord.

The sail is made of matting, and about thirteen feet square. The mast is twenty feet in height, and when the canoe is to be pushed to its full speed, the sail is hoisted diagonally, with one angle projecting a yard above the top of the mast. When the natives desire to go slowly, they only hoist a few feet of the sail, the rest of it lying in the canoe; and by thus hoisting or lowering the sail they can regulate their speed much as they like. When the sail is hoisted to its fullest extent, the canoe can beat the swiftest sailing ships. The ordinary length of a canoe is about thirty-two feet, and the extreme breadth is only twenty-six inches.

The Admiralty Islanders chew the pepper leaf, with the addition of lime, which they keep in a little calabash, but do not seem to add the cocoa-nut. Only the chiefs appear to practise this habit, probably on account of the difficulty of obtaining the proper materials.

One of these islands, named Bouka, was visited by Captain D’Entrecasteaux in 1792. The natives are black, tall, powerful, and quite naked. The face is rather broad and flat, the nose projects but little, the mouth is large, and the lips peculiarly thin. They pluck all the hair off the body, and only allow that of the head to grow, sometimes powdering it with red chalk. Red and white paint are freely used on their bodies, and their ears are pierced and loaded with large shells, which drag them nearly to the shoulders. Round the waist they wear a cord which passes round the body several times, and some of them have a custom of binding the upper arm in a similar manner, placing some flat pieces of wood between the arm and the ligature.

These people are good canoe men, and, when they man their large war canoes, exhibit a discipline which is hardly to be expected among savages. Between every two paddlers on each side stands a warrior armed with bow and arrows, while intermediate parties of warriors stand with their faces toward the stern, so as to observe the enemy and fight during a retreat. Two of the crew are told off to bale out the water, which beats continually over the side of the canoe when the wind blows freshly.

The bow is remarkable for having the string coated with a sort of resinous substance in order to preserve it, the middle of the cord being skilfully wrapped with bark to guard it against injury from the nock of the arrow. The arrows are made of two pieces, the head being shaped from a hard and heavy wood, and the shaft being a reed. The place where they are joined is strengthened by a ligature of bark. The butt of the arrow is wrapped in the same manner to prevent it from being split by the string. They use these weapons with much skill, and, as was proved by Captain D’Entrecasteaux, are able to kill birds with them.

The natives were ready to part with their weapons in exchange for red stuff, biscuits, bottles, and other commodities, but were rather prone to cheat, agreeing to deliver a bow for a handkerchief, and, when they had got the handkerchief, pretending that the bargain was not made for a bow but for an arrow. The natives of Bouka Island, naked and savage as they are, have some sort of civilization among themselves, as is evident from the fact that they cultivate the cocoa-nut palm, large plantations of which useful tree extend to the water-side along a great portion of the coast.

Following the line of the Solomon Islands in a south-easterly direction, we come upon another group of islands called the New Hebrides, extending for some four hundred miles, and containing a considerable number of islands of various sizes. They are perhaps best known from the fact that one of them, called Errumanga, was the place in which the celebrated missionary, John Williams, met with his death. These islands attained importance in a secular point of view from the fact that several of them produce sandal-wood, and therefore attract to them a great number of trading vessels of different countries, with whom a considerable commerce has been carried on.

The islands are mostly of a volcanic nature, and present the usual variations of such localities, some parts being rough, craggy, and bare, while others are fertile and prolific to a degree that can scarcely be conceived by those who have never seen tropical vegetation. As is often the case with islands of no great size and divided from each other by moderately wide channels, the tribes which inhabit them differ considerably in their language and manners, and are in a chronic state of feud with each other. They are just far enough apart to have but rare and infrequent intercourse with each other, and so gradually diverge into different customs, and they are not far enough apart to isolate them, and confer upon them a nationality.

We find this feeling in every one of the innumerable groups of islands which stud the Pacific, and, as we shall soon see, it prevails even among those groups which preserve the same language and customs. In fact, among the Polynesians there is that very feeling of local jealousy which prevails even in civilized countries, and which is, though necessarily more limited, far more rancorous than the feelings of enmity which prevail between mighty nations.

One of the largest of these islands is Vaté, sometimes called Sandwich Island. This latter term should not be used, as it tends to cause confusion between a single island of the New Hebrides and the great group of the Sandwich Islands, which are inhabited by a totally different race of men. To strangers Vaté is very unhealthy, but the causes which produce malaria also produce a wonderful fertility of vegetation. This island is about seventy miles in circumference, and is remarkable for the thick growth of forests upon its lower limits, and of verdure upon the higher portions which are not so well fitted for trees. The natives seem to give some time and trouble to agriculture.

The inhabitants are black of skin, but tall and well-formed, and their dress in many points reminds the observer of the costume of several African tribes. That of the men consists of a broad belt or wrapper of matting wrought in patterns colored with red, white, and black. The hair is generally gathered up into a bunch at the top of the head, stained yellow, and adorned with a plume of feathers.

As to ornaments, they are much like those which have already been mentioned as belonging to the Solomon Islanders. The lobes of the ears are always much distended, from the habit of wearing in them heavy ornaments cut from white shells, or similar materials. The septum of the nose is mostly pierced, and the aperture filled with a white stone. Raised scars are made in the arms and chest, and arranged in definite patterns. Armlets made of shells are used by these islanders. Their figure and costume are well represented in the engraving No. 1, on the 973d page.

The women are equally well made with the men, and the general fashion of the dress is much the same. They wear, however, a curious addition to the dress, which is very much like that of the Ovambo women of Africa. Passing round the waist is a belt some seven inches wide, made of plaited fibre woven into neat patterns. From this belt depends in front a square apron of no great size, and behind is attached a broad strip of the same plaited matting as that which faces the belt. It descends half-way down the leg, and is finished off with a fan-like fringe of plaited grass, some eighteen inches long, and of proportionate width. The women, as well as the men, practise the custom of making raised scars on their bodies. They differ from the men in the mode of dressing the hair, keeping it cut closely to the head instead of allowing it to grow to its full length and tying it up in a bunch.

The weapons of these islanders are remarkable for the beauty of their finish, the barbs of the arrows being neatly carved, and the junction of the head and shaft being neatly ornamented with plaited grass and feathers. Indeed, the arrows have a curious resemblance to those made by some of the tribes of tropical America.

Like the Solomon Islanders, the inhabitants of the New Hebrides have large council chambers in their villages. Instead, however, of being circular, they are generally made of considerable length, sometimes measuring as much as a hundred feet from one end to the other. They are entirely open on one side. For some reason which seems rather obscure, they are adorned with bones of various animals, the particular species from which they are taken not seeming to be of any consequence. For example, in one of these houses may be seen bunches of bones taken indiscriminately from pigs, fowls, and fishes, while the shells of lobsters and other crustacea are mixed with them. It is believed that human bones are not used for this purpose.

A curious contrast to these tribes is presented by the inhabitants of another island called Tanna, who are certainly inferior to those of Vaté in stature and general appearance, and are thought to be so in point of intellect. They have a bad reputation, being said to be treacherous and cruel. That they are also reputed to be cannibals is no matter of wonder, inasmuch as they belong to the Papuan race. They are said to rival the Fans of Africa in one respect, and to dig up the bodies of the buried dead, in order to eat them.

The island is volcanic, and the subterranean fires seem to aid the already exuberant vegetation of the tropics, which in Tanna attains a development that is almost incredible.

The inhabitants of Tanna are as black as those of Vaté, but seem to have no other points of resemblance. The men appear to think that they are not black enough by nature, for they have a way of daubing their sable countenances with black lead, and painting upon the black groundwork sundry patterns in red ochre. The hair is frizzed out after the ordinary Papuan type which is dyed a reddish dun color by means of lime.

(1.) MAN AND WOMAN OF NEW HEBRIDES.
(See page 972.)

(2.) WOMAN AND CHILD OF VANIKORO.
(See page 975.)

(3.) DAUGHTER OF TONGAN CHIEF.
(See page 977.)

We come now to Errumanga. It has kept up its traditional ferocity. Not content with killing the first missionary who set his foot on their shores, the people many years afterward murdered another missionary and his wife. This second murder was owing to the priests, who persuaded the people that an epidemic which had done much damage among the natives was caused by the missionaries from a strange land. The ignorant people readily believed this statement, and, wild with the uncontrolled fury of the savage, they murdered both the accused persons. The deed was scarcely done before the people repented of it, and only the day after the murder, when the bodies were buried, the natives stood round the grave overwhelmed with grief, the most sincere mourner being the chief of the district.

The murder of these people, unfortunate as it may seem, really paved the way for others to follow in their footsteps; and, as is generally the case with persecution, the cause only gained additional strength by the attempts made to repress it by main force.

At one time the inhabitants were held in such dread that the natives were not allowed to come on board the ships, nor were the men permitted to land. A small trade was carried on in sandal-wood, which the natives carried to the boats by swimming through the surf, and being necessarily unarmed, could be allowed to make their bargains without suspicion of treachery. Although, therefore, the savage nature of the inhabitants has occasionally broken out and showed itself in bloodshed, the very fact that Europeans have been allowed to reside for any time on the island shows a great improvement in the character of the natives.

The northernmost island of the group is Aneiteum, one of the islands which produce sandal-wood in great plenty. The natural ferocity and suspicion of the natives has been overcome by the judicious establishment and introduction of a factory, to which the sandal-wood is taken by the natives, and from which it is sold to the ships, which find here a store of this valuable wood always ready for them. The chief market for the wood is found in China, where it is cut into various articles of luxury with the customary patience which characterizes the artists of that country. The success of this factory shows that the best way of dealing with savages is to treat them precisely as children are treated, and to employ in all dealings with them an equal mixture of kindness and firmness, making allowances for the different constitution of their minds and the influence of savage habits upon their conduct; but at the same time to be firm almost to severity, and never to permit an encroachment. The safest maxim in dealing with savages is never to deceive and never to trust.

The inhabitants of Malicolo differ considerably from those of the islands which have been mentioned. While the natives of Vaté are tall and finely made, those of Errumanga scarcely inferior to them, and those of Tanna stout and powerful, though comparatively short of stature, the inhabitants of Malicolo are small, ill-proportioned people, ugly of face, and disfiguring themselves by wearing a belt round the waist, drawn so tight that it gives them an hour-glass or waspish aspect.

The reader may perhaps be aware that, in the year 1788, the vessels Boussole and Astrolabe, commanded by the celebrated voyager La Pérouse, disappeared, and nothing more was heard of them. He was last seen at Botany Bay, where he had arrived from Tonga.

In 1791 an expedition, consisting of two vessels, the Recherche and the Espérance, was fitted out under the command of Captain D’Entrecasteaux, and sent out in search of the missing vessels. The expedition failed in its immediate object, though in the course of the explorations some valuable discoveries were made.

In 1792 D’Entrecasteaux’s vessels got among the New Hebrides, and found themselves in the midst of coral reefs and shoals of which they knew nothing, and which caused no small alarm. In consequence of the danger of these reefs, the captain did not touch at all the islands which were seen, but contented himself with naming them, and marking their places on a chart. As it turned out, one of these islands, Vanikoro, or Recherche Island, as D’Entrecasteaux named it, was the place on which La Pérouse was wrecked, so that the expedition actually passed within sight of the very spot which was the object of their voyage. Indeed, D’Entrecasteaux practically completed the voyage which La Pérouse began, and his narrative furnishes a necessary supplement to that of the voyager in search of whom he sailed. It was not until some forty years afterward that the relics were discovered which proved beyond a doubt that Vanikoro was the place in which La Pérouse and his companions perished. Vanikoro is sometimes called Pitt’s Island. An illustration is given on the 973d page, which represents a woman of Vanikoro, and her child, and is a type of the expression and features of these islanders.

CHAPTER XCIX. TONGA. GOVERNMENT AND GRADATIONS OF RANK.

FRIENDLY RELATIONS BETWEEN TONGA AND FIJI — THE ARMY OF OCCUPATION — GENERAL APPEARANCE OF THE TONGANS — THEIR DRESS — THE GNATOO, AND MODE OF WEARING IT — MAKING THE GNATOO — BEATING, JOINING, AND PRINTING THE PIECES — THE DISTINCTION BETWEEN GNATOO AND TAPPA — ORNAMENTS WORN BY THE TONGANS — WHALE’S TEETH, AND THE VALUE SET ON THEM — FINOW AND THE TEETH — DISTINCTIONS OF RANK — SECULAR AND RELIGIOUS RANK — THE TOOI-TONGA, HIS ORIGIN AND PRIVILEGES — THE VEACHI — THE HOW, OR KING, OFTEN INFERIOR IN RANK TO MANY OF HIS CHIEFS — THE EGI, OR NOBLES — THE MATABOOLES, THEIR RANK AND DUTIES — THE MOOAS, OR GENTRY; AND THE TOOAS, OR COMMON PEOPLE — MATRIMONIAL ARRANGEMENTS BETWEEN PEOPLE OF DIFFERENT RANKS — TREATMENT OF WOMEN.

Our readers may remember that, in the account of the Fiji Islands, it was mentioned that there was one nation which was held by the Fijians as free from their usual custom of killing and eating all visitors to their coast. These people are the inhabitants of the Tongan group, popularly known as the Friendly Islands. Owing to their courage in war and superior intellect, they have performed toward the Fijians the same part that has so often been played by more civilized people. On one or two occasions they found the Fijian chiefs hard pressed by rebellion, took the part of their hosts, crushed the rebel forces, and restored the chiefs to power.

A remarkable instance of this timely aid occurred as late as 1855. Thakombau, of whom we have already heard, was in danger of losing his life and throne together through a rebellion led by a chief named Mara. Fortunately, he had previously given a magnificent canoe to the Tongan king, who sailed over, according to custom, accompanied with a large fleet, in order to receive the royal present with due honor. He instantly led his forces against the rebels, stormed a fort called Kamba which was held by them, took it, and utterly dispersed the enemy, Mara himself only escaping by running over the sharp shells of the reef, thereby nearly cutting his feet to pieces, and swimming to a neighboring town on the coast.

After this exploit, the Tongan chief followed up his blow by sailing to the island of Taviuni, where another rebellion was raging in consequence of the murder of the chief by his sons. He put an end to this rebellion also, inquired which of the murdered chief’s other sons had the best claim to his father’s rank, and installed him formally. The vanquished rebels, finding that the Tongan leader was too strong for them, tried to entrap him in an ambuscade, but only succeeded in murdering one of his chiefs. The Tongans immediately landed on the island, and avenged the death of their friends in a most terrible manner. A large party of Tongan warriors was afterward left under the command of a chief named Maafu, a relation of the king, and by means of this force the rebels were effectually suppressed.

As might be expected, the Tongans took advantage of their situation, and enacted over again the fable of the deer, the horse, and the man. Some four hundred of them generally remain in Fiji, and domineer over the natives much like armies of occupation in other countries. A Tongan warrior has not the least scruple in going to a strange village, entering the house that pleases him best, and installing himself in the best place with the simple words: “This part of the house is mine.” He takes the best of the food, and, if he builds a canoe, merely acts as foreman, making the Fijians do all the hard work. There is nothing that the Tongans do, however, which so much incenses the natives as their careless habit of shaking the bread-fruit trees in order to procure the fruit, which ought always to be gathered by hand.

It is said, and perhaps with reason, that the Tongans contemplate the complete conquest of the Fijian group; and from their experience, courage, and discipline, and the fear which they have contrived to instil into the Fijians, there is little doubt that the attempt, if it were to be made, would be a successful one. The Fijian warrior fights on his own account, each man separately, while the Tongans act in unison; so that the Fijians who have fought against them compare them to the gods, against whom it is useless to struggle.

As may be gathered from these particulars, the Tongans are a superior race to the Fijian. They are, indeed, a different people altogether; the Fijians belonging to the Papuan race, whereas the Tongans belong to the Polynesian race, which does not possess the very crisp hair and rough skin of the Papuans; and, as a rule, is much lighter in skin, the complexions being often as white as that of many Europeans. They are, on the whole a singularly handsome set of people, the beauty not being limited to the men, as is the case with so many savage tribes, but possessed equally, if not to a superior extent, by the women. The portrait of a daughter of a Tongan chief, on the 973d page, will verify this statement.

The dress of both sexes is made of similar materials, but is differently arranged. The fabric is called in the Tongan language “gnatoo,” and is almost identical with the Fijian masi. It is made from the bark of the same tree, and is beaten out in very similar fashion, except perhaps that the Tongan women are more particular than those of Fiji in the care and delicacy with which they beat out the bark with their grooved mallets. The gnatoo varies somewhat in quality according to the island in which it is made, that of Vavau being considered as the finest.

In putting on the gnatoo, there is nearly as much diversity as in the arrangement of a Scotch plaid, and the mode in which it is arranged serves to denote difference of rank. The most fashionable mode, which is practised by the chiefs, is to wrap a portion of it round the loins in such a manner that the folds allow fair play to the limbs, and then to pass the remainder round the waist like a broad belt, and tuck the ends under the belt in front of the body. The portion which forms the belt is so arranged that it can be loosened at any moment and thrown over the head and shoulder. This is always done when the wearer is obliged to be abroad in the night time.

The gnatoo of the men measures about eight feet in length, by six in width. Under the gnatoo is a belt made of the same material. Women have a larger piece of gnatoo than the men, and arrange it in folds which are as graceful as those of antique art, and seem as likely to fall off the person. This, however, is never the case, and, even if the gnatoo were by any accident to slip, the women wear under it a small mat or petticoat about a foot in depth.

As this gnatoo plays so important a part in the clothing of the Polynesians, its manufacture will now be described, the account being taken from Mariner’s valuable history of the Tongans:—“A circular incision being made round the tree near the root with a shell, deep enough to penetrate the bark, the tree is broken off at that point, which its slenderness readily admits of. When a number of them are thus laid on the ground, they are left in the sun a couple of days to become partially dry, so that the inner and outer bark may be stripped off together, without danger of leaving any of the fibres behind.

“The bark is then soaked in water for a day and a night, and scraped carefully with shells for the purpose of removing the outer bark or epidermis, which is thrown away. The inner bark is then rolled up lengthwise, and soaked in water for another day. It now swells, becomes tougher, and more capable of being beaten out into a fine texture.

“Being thus far prepared, the operation of too-too, or beating commences. This part of the work is performed by means of a mallet a foot long and two inches thick, in the form of a parallelopipedon, two opposite sides being grooved horizontally to the depth and breadth of about a line, with intervals of a quarter of an inch.

“The bark, which is from two to three feet long, and one to three inches broad, is then laid on a beam of wood about six feet long and nine inches in breadth and thickness, which is supported about an inch from the ground by pieces of wood at each end, so as to allow of a certain degree of vibration. Two or three women generally sit at the same beam; each places her bark transversely upon the beam immediately before her, and while she beats with her right hand, with her left she moves it slowly to and fro, so that every part becomes beaten alike. The grooved side of the mallet is used first, and the smooth side afterward.

“They generally beat alternately, and early in the morning, when the air is calm and still, the beating of gnatoo in all the plantations has a very pleasing effect. Some sounds being near at hand, and others almost lost by the distance,—some a little more acute, and others more grave,—and all with remarkable regularity, produce a remarkable effect that is very agreeable, and not a little heightened by the singing of the birds and the cheerful influence of the scene. When one hand is fatigued, the mallet is dexterously transferred to the other, without occasioning the smallest sensible delay.

“In the course of about half an hour, it is brought to a sufficient degree of thinness, being so much spread laterally as to be now nearly square when unfolded; for it must be observed that they double it several times during the process, by which means it spreads more equally and is prevented from breaking. The bark thus prepared is called fetagi, and is mostly put aside till they have a sufficient quantity to go on at a future time with the second part of the operation, which is called cocanga, or printing with coca.

“When this is to be done, a number employ themselves in gathering the berries of the toe, the pulp of which serves for paste (but the mucilaginous substance of the mahoá root is sometimes substituted for it); at the same time others are busy scraping off the soft bark of the cocoa tree and the toodi-tooi tree, either of which, when wrung out without water yields a reddish-brown juice, to be used as a dye.

“The stamp is made of the dried leaves of the paoongo sewed together so as to be of a sufficient size, and afterward embroidered, according to various devices, with the wiry fibre of the cocoa-nut husk. Making these stamps is another employment of the women, and mostly women of rank. They are generally about two feet long, and a foot and a half broad. They are tied on to the convex side of half cylinders of wood, usually about six or eight feet long, to admit two or three similar operations to go on at the same time.

“The stamp being thus fixed, with the embroidered side uppermost, a piece of the prepared bark is laid on it, and smeared over with a folded piece of gnatoo dipped in one of the reddish-brown liquids before mentioned, so that the whole surface of the prepared bark becomes stained, but particularly those parts raised by the design in the stamp. Another piece of gnatoo is now laid upon it, but not quite so broad, which adheres by virtue of the mucilaginous quality in the dye, and this in like manner is smeared over; then a third in the same way.

“The substance is now three layers in thickness. Others are then added to increase it in length and breadth by pasting the edges of these over the first, but not so as there shall be in any place more than three folds, which is easily managed, as the margin of one layer falls short of the margin of the one under it.

“During the whole process each layer is stamped separately, so that the pattern may be said to exist in the very substance of the gnatoo; and when one portion is thus printed to the size of the stamp, the material being moved farther on, the next portion, either in length or breadth, becomes stamped, the pattern beginning close to the spot where the other ended. Thus they go on printing and enlarging it to about six feet in breadth, and generally about forty or fifty yards in length. It is then carefully folded up and baked under ground, which causes the dye to become rather dark, and more firmly fixed in the fibre; beside which it deprives it of a peculiar smoky smell which belongs to the coca.

“When it has been thus exposed to heat for a few hours, it is spread out on a grass plat, or on the sand of the seashore, and the finishing operation of toogi-hea commences, i. e. staining it in certain places with the juice of the hea, which constitutes a brilliant red varnish. This is done in straight lines along those places where the edges of the printed portions join each other, and serves to conceal the little irregularities there; also in sundry other places, in the form of round spots, about an inch and a quarter in diameter. After this the gnatoo is exposed one night to the dew, and the next day, being dried in the sun, it is packed up in bales to be used when required. When gnatoo is not printed or stained, it is called tappa.”

Various ornaments are worn by both sexes among the Tongans, among which may be enumerated a kind of creeper, with flowers at intervals along the stem. This is passed round the neck or the waist, and has a singularly graceful and becoming appearance. The most valued ornament is, however, that which is made of the ivory of the whale’s teeth, so cut as to resemble in miniature the tooth itself. They are of different sizes, varying from one inch to four inches in length, and strung together by a cord passing through a hole bored in their thick ends.

These teeth are even more valued in Tonga than in Fiji, and a common man would not dare to have one in his possession, knowing well that he would assuredly lose his life on the very first occasion that offered the slightest opportunity of an accusation. Once Finow, the King of Tonga, was told of a whale which had been stranded on a little island inhabited only by a man and his wife. When Finow reached the place he found that the teeth had been removed, and ordered the man and woman into custody on the charge of stealing them. Both denied that they had more than two teeth, which they gave up, whereupon the man was immediately killed with a club, and the woman threatened with a similar fate. Under fear of this threat she produced two more teeth which she had hidden, but, refusing to acknowledge that she knew of any others, met with the same fate as her husband. Many years afterward the missing teeth were discovered, the woman having buried them in the ground. This anecdote shows the value in which whales’ teeth are held, the king taking the trouble to go in person to claim them, and the woman allowing herself to be killed rather than part with her treasures.

(1.) INTERIOR OF A TONGAN HOUSE.
(See page 981.)

(2.) BURIAL OF A LIVING KING.
(See page 966.)

A good idea of the appearance of a Tongan woman of rank may be obtained from the illustration No. 1, on the preceding page, which represents the interior of a chief’s house, and part of his family.

In the foreground is one of the odd wooden pillows which are so much in vogue throughout Polynesia; while one of the most conspicuous objects is a roll of narrow matting, which is used for the purpose of surrounding men and women of high rank as they sit on the floor. Within it is seated the chief’s wife, in the graceful attitude adopted by the Tongans, exhibiting the simple and really elegant folds of the gnatoo dress. The reader will observe the apparent looseness with which the dress is put on, the folds lying so loosely that they seem ready to slip every moment. They are, however, perfectly tight, and there is not the least danger of their slipping.

Within doors the children never wear any clothing until they are two years old; but when they go out, their parents always wrap round them a piece of gnatoo or tappa. The natives are exceedingly fastidious about their dress, criticising every fold with minute care, and spending a considerable time in arranging them. Even when bathing, they always array themselves in a slight dress made for such occasions, going aside for the purpose of exchanging the usual gnatoo for an apron of leaves or matting. So disrespectful is utter nudity reckoned among the Tongans, that if a man be obliged to undress near the spot where a chief is buried, the leaf apron is worn while the dress is changed.

We now come to the various divisions of rank in Tonga, and the mode of government. Ranks may be divided into two distinct orders, namely, the religious and the civil. We must take them in this order, because among the Tongans religious takes the precedence of civil rank.

By far the greatest man in point of rank is the Tooi-tonga. This word literally signifies Chief of Tonga, and is given because the man who bears it is the greatest man in Tonga, which is the chief of the whole group of islands. The word does not represent a name, but a rank, the family name being Fatagehi, and the rank passes downward by legitimate descent. So great a man is the Tooi-tonga, that in his presence no man may stand, but is obliged to sit down in the attitude of respect. Even the king is not exempt from this law; and if he should happen to meet the Tooi-tonga, he would have to squat down humbly until the great man had passed by.

The Tooi-tonga stands alone in many particulars, and, according to our ideas, he has plenty of dignity, but very little comfort, leading a life somewhat like that of the spiritual Emperor of Japan. He has certainly one advantage over his fellows: he does not undergo the operation of tattooing, because there is no one of sufficiently high rank to draw the blood of so sacred a personage. He is married after a manner peculiar to himself, is buried in a peculiar manner, and is mourned in a peculiar manner. He is so sacred, that in speaking of him another language is used, many phrases being reserved expressly for the Tooi-tonga. These are probably relics of an ancient and nearly lost language, as is the case with the incantations of the New Zealand priests.

The reason for this extraordinary veneration is, that the Tooi-tonga is supposed to be a direct descendant of a chief god who was accustomed to visit the islands; but whether his female ancestor was a goddess or a native of earth is an open question with the Tongans. In spite of all the veneration which is shown to him, the Tooi-tonga has very little real power, and in this respect is far surpassed by the king, and equalled by many of the nobles.

There is another chief, the Veachi, who is also supposed to have a divine origin, and is therefore held in higher veneration than any of the chiefs, but is inferior to the Tooi-tonga. It is true that in his presence the king has to sit on the ground in the attitude of humility, and that he is considered a being next in rank to the great Tooi-tonga himself; but the other marks of veneration, such as a separate language, and different modes of marriage, burial, and mourning, are not paid to him; and in power he is equalled by many of the chiefs.

Next in rank, but at a very great distance, come the priests. These men receive their name from their capability of being inspired by certain gods, and, except when actually inspired, have no special rank, and are paid no honor except such as may belong to them as private individuals. Mariner remarks that he never knew a case in which a priest was a chief. The king occasionally becomes inspired, because there is one god who cannot speak except by the royal mouth; but the king is not, in consequence, considered as a priest. Neither are the Tooi-tonga and Veachi considered as priests, nor is there any connexion between them and the priesthood.

Should, in an assembly, a priest become inspired, he is immediately held in the highest veneration as long as the inspiration lasts, because a god is supposed to be speaking through his lips. If, on such an occasion, the king should be present, he immediately leaves his place, and sits humbly among the spectators. Even the great Tooi-tonga himself acts in the same manner, and, though the descendant of a god, he retires before the actual presence of a divinity.

So much for the spiritual rank, and we now pass to the temporal rank.

The highest man in a secular point of view is the How, or king, who is the most powerful of all the chiefs, and yet may be in point of rank inferior to the poorest of his nobles, or Egis. Rank is measured in Tonga by relationship to the Tooi-tonga or Veachi, the relatives of the former being held superior to those of the latter. The consequence is, that the king may meet a poor man who has scarcely any power, and yet who is so high in rank above the king that the latter must sit down till his superior has passed. Should he not do so, or should he by any accident touch anything that belonged to his superior, the tapu would assume its sway, and he would not be permitted to feed himself with his own hands until he had gone to his superior, and saluted him by touching his feet.

In consequence of these customs, the king avoids associating with nobles who are his superior in rank, and they in their turn keep out of his way as far as possible, so as not to humiliate him by making him sit while they stand. Originally, the king was a descendant of the Tooi-tonga, and thus was equally high in spiritual and temporal rank. But when the throne was usurped by other families, the king still retained the temporal power, though he yielded in spiritual rank to others.

Next to the king come the Egis, or nobles. These are all relations of the Tooi-tonga, the Veachi, or the king, kinship to the king being held as conferring rank because he holds the reins of power. Rank descends in Tonga, as in other Polynesian islands, through the female line, so that all the children of an Egi woman possess the rank of Egi, no matter who may be the father.

After the nobles come the Matabooles, or councillors, who are the companions and advisers of the chiefs, and take their rank from that of the chief to whom they are attached. They are always the heads of families, and are mostly men of mature age and experience, so that their advice is highly valued. The eldest son of a Mataboole is carefully trained to take his father’s place when he dies, and is thoroughly versed in all the rites and ceremonies, the administration of laws, and the many points of etiquette about which the Tongans are so fastidious. He also learns all the traditionary records of his people, and by the time that he is thirty years old or so is perfectly acquainted with his profession. But until his father dies he has no rank, and is merely one of the ordinary gentry, who will now be described.

Last of all those who possess any rank are the gentry, or Mooas. All the sons of Matabooles are Mooas, and act as assistants of the Matabooles, aiding on great ceremonies in managing the dances, distributing food, and so forth. Like their superiors, they attach themselves to the service of some chief, and derive their relative consequence from his rank. As a rule, the Mooas all profess some art, such as canoe building, ivory carving, and superintending funeral rites, in which three occupations the Matabooles also take part. They also preside over the makers of stone coffins, the makers of nets, the fishermen, and the architects, and all these employments are hereditary.

Just as the children and brothers of Matabooles take the next lowest rank, that of Mooa, so do those of Mooas take the next lowest rank, and are considered as Tooas, or plebeians. In this case, however, the eldest son of a Mooa assumes the rank of his father after his death, and is therefore more respected than his brothers, who are regarded like younger sons among ourselves. The Tooas do all the menial work, and act as cooks, barbers, tattooers, club-carvers, and so forth. The two latter occupations, however, as requiring artistic skill, are also practised by Mooas.

It will be seen from this brief sketch how elaborate, and yet how intelligible, is this system of the Tongans, even when complicated with the double grades of spiritual and temporal rank. This respect for rank is carried even into the privacy of home. If, for example, an Egi woman marries a Mataboole, or a Mooa, she retains her original rank, which is shared by all her children, so that both she and her children are superior to the husband and father. He, on his part, has to play a double rôle. He is master in his own house, and his wife submits to him as implicitly as if he were of the same rank as herself. Yet he acknowledges the superior rank both of his wife and children, and, before he even ventures to feed himself with his own hands, he goes through the ceremony of touching the feet of his wife or either of his children, in order to free himself from the tapu.

When the case is reversed, and a man of high rank marries a woman of an inferior station, she does not rise to the rank of her husband, but retains her original station, which is inherited by her children, who, together with herself, have to touch the feet of the husband whenever they eat. They imagine that if they did not do so a terrible sickness would consume them. When Mariner lived among the Tongans, he did not trouble himself about the tapu, much to the horror of the natives, who expected that the offended gods would wreak their vengeance on him. Finding that he suffered no harm, they accounted for the phenomenon by the fact that he was a white man, and therefore had nothing to do with the gods of the Tongans.

In consequence of the strictness of this system, Finow, who was king when Mariner lived among the Tongan islands, used to feel annoyed if even a child of superior rank were brought near him, and used angrily to order it to be taken away. Such conduct, however, would not be thought right unless both parties were nearly equal in rank; and if, for example, the Tooi-tonga’s child had been brought near the king, he would at once have done homage after the customary fashion.

Some very curious modifications of this custom prevail throughout Tongan society. For example, any one may choose a foster-mother, even though his own mother be alive, and he may choose her from any rank. Generally her rank is inferior to that of her adopted son, but even this connection between them does not earn for her any particular respect. She would be much more honored as an attendant of a young chief than as his foster-mother.

So elaborate and yet simple a system implies a degree of refinement which we could hardly expect among savages. In consonance with this refinement is the treatment of women, who are by no means oppressed and hard-worked slaves, as is the case with most savage nations. Consequently the women possess a gentle freedom of demeanor and grace of form which are never found among those people where women are merely the drudges of the men. So long ago as 1777, Captain Cook noticed that the women were much more delicately formed than the men, that they were beautifully proportioned, and that the hands were so small and soft that they would compare favorably with the finest examples in Europe and America. Hard and constant labor, such as is usually the lot of savage women, deteriorates the form greatly, as indeed we can see among ourselves, by comparing together a high-bred lady and a field laborer. The two hardly seem to belong to the same race, or scarcely to the same sex.

The Tongan women certainly do work, but they are not condemned to do it all, the men taking the hard labor on themselves, and leaving the women the lighter tasks, such as beating gnatoo, plaiting baskets, making crockery, and the like. At the great dances, the women are not only allowed to be present, but assist in them, taking as important a share as the men, and infusing into the dance a really cultivated grace which would not exist without them.

The light-colored hue of the skin, which has already been mentioned, is much more common among the women than the men, for the reason that the better class of women take more care of themselves than the men; and, though all classes live for the most part in the open air, the wives and daughters of powerful and wealthy men are careful not to expose themselves to the sun more than is absolutely necessary, so that many of them, instead of being brown, are of a clear olive tint, the effect of which is singularly beautiful when contrasted with their dark clustering hair, their gnatoo garments, and the leaves and flowers with which they adorn themselves, changing them several times daily. Altogether, a Tongan chief looks, and is, a gentleman, and his wife a lady.

CHAPTER C. TONGA— Continued . WAR AND CEREMONIES.

NATURAL MILDNESS OF THE TONGANS — BOASTING DISCOURAGED — WAR APPARENTLY LEARNED FROM THE FIJIANS — FINOW’S SPEECH TO HIS SOLDIERS, AND A NEW DISCIPLINE — FATE OF THE VANQUISHED — THE DROWNED CHIEFS — CEREMONIES — KAVA-DRINKING — STRICT CODE OF ETIQUETTE — PREPARATION OF THE KAVA — A GRACEFUL PERFORMANCE — DISTRIBUTION OF THE KAVA — POINTS OF CEREMONY — A TONGAN PLANTATION — SETTING THE YAMS — CEREMONY OF INACHI — THE POLE BEARERS AND THEIR BURDEN — THE YAM PILLARS — LIFTING THE PIGS — DISTRIBUTION OF PROVISIONS, AND CONCLUSION OF THE CEREMONY — TOW-TOW, AND ITS OBJECT — PRESENTATION OF THE OFFERING — A GRAND SCRAMBLE — BOXING AND WRESTLING MATCHES — GOOD-HUMORED COMBATANTS — FIGHTS WITH CLUBS — THE SAMOAN AND TONGAN RULES.

By nature the Tongans are gentle and kind-hearted, and present a most curious mixture of mildness and courage. To judge by many traits of character, they might be stigmatized as effeminate, while by others they are shown to possess real courage, not merely the dashing and boastful bravery which is, when analyzed, merely bravado, and which is only maintained by the hope of gaining applause. The Tongan never boasts of his own courage, nor applauds that of another. When he has performed a deed of arms which would set a Fijian boasting for the rest of his life, he retires quietly into the background and says nothing about it. His king or chief may acknowledge it if they like, but he will be silent on the subject, and never refer to it.

For the same reason, he will not openly applaud a deed of arms done by one of his fellows. He will regard the man with great respect, and show by his demeanor the honor in which he holds him, but he will not speak openly on the subject. Mariner relates an instance in which a young warrior named Hali Api Api, who seems to have been the very model of a gentleman, performed a notable deed of arms, equally remarkable for courage and high-minded generosity. During a council, the king called him out, and publicly thanked him for his conduct. The man blushed deeply, as if ashamed at this public recognition of his services, saluted the king, and retired to his place without saying a word. Neither did he afterward refer either to his exploit or to the public recognition of it.

One warrior actually declared that he would go up to a loaded cannon and throw his spear into it. He fulfilled his promise to the letter. He ran up within ten or twelve yards of the gun, and, as the match was applied, threw himself on the ground, so that the shot passed over him. He then sprang up, and, in spite of the enemy’s weapons, hurled his spear at the cannon, and struck it in the muzzle. Having performed this feat, he quietly retired, and was never heard to refer to so distinguished an act of courage, though he was greatly respected for it by his countrymen.

We need not wonder that such men should establish a moral influence over the boastful but not warlike Fijians, and that the small colony established in the Fiji group should virtually be its masters. Two hundred years ago, the Tongan appears to have been ignorant of weapons and warfare, and to have borrowed his first knowledge of both from Fiji. Consequently, the Tongan weapons are practically those of Fiji, modified somewhat according to the taste of the makers but evidently derived from the same source. Captain Cook, who visited the islands in 1777, remarks that the few clubs and spears which he saw among the Tongans were of Fiji manufacture, or at least made after the Fiji pattern. Yet by a sort of poetical justice, the Tongan has turned the Fijian’s weapons against himself, and, by his superior intellect and adventurous courage, has overcome the ferocious people of whom he was formerly in dread.

Since the introduction of fire-arms, the superiority of the Tongans has made itself even more manifest, the Fijians having no idea of fighting against men who did not run away when fired at, but rushed on in spite of the weapons opposed to them.

It is possible that the Tongans may have learned this mode of fighting from Mariner and his companions. When the king Finow was about to make war upon a neighboring island, he assembled the warriors and made them an address, telling them that the system of warfare which had been previously employed was a false one. He told them no longer to advance or retreat according as they met with success or repulse, but to press forward at all risks; and, even if a man saw the point of a spear at his breast, he was not to flinch like a coward, but to press forward, and at risk of his own life to kill his foe. He also instructed them in the art of receiving the onset of the enemy with calmness, instead of indulging in cries and gesticulations, telling them to seat themselves on the ground as the enemy approached, as if perfectly unconcerned, and not to stir until ordered, even if they threw spears or shot arrows. But as soon as they got the word to advance they were to leap to their feet, and charge without regard to consequences. The reader may remember that this is exactly the strategy which was employed in Africa by the great Kaffir chief Tchaka.

It may easily be imagined how such a course of conduct would disconcert their opponents, and the Fijians in particular, with whom boasting and challenging took the place of valor. Emboldened by the apparent weakness of the enemy, they would come on in great glee, expecting to make an easy conquest, and then, just when they raised the shout of victory, they found themselves suddenly attacked with a disciplined fury which they had never been accustomed to meet, and were consequently dispersed and almost annihilated before they could well realize their position.

Though tolerably mild toward their captives, the Tongans sometimes display an unexpected ferocity. On one occasion, some of Finow’s men surprised and captured four of the enemy, whom they imagined to belong to a party who had annoyed them greatly by hanging on their track and cutting off the stragglers.

At first they wished to take the prisoners home and make an example of them, but the chief of the party suggested that they would have all the trouble of guarding them, and proposed to decapitate them, and take their heads home. One of them objected to the proposal on the ground that they had no knives, but another man, fertile in expedients, picked up some oyster-shells that were lying about, and suggested that they would answer the purpose.

It was in vain that the victims protested their innocence, and begged that at least they might be clubbed before their heads were cut off. The conquerors coolly took off their dresses to prevent them being stained with blood, and deliberately sawed off the heads of the captives with their oyster-shells; beginning at the back of the neck, and working their way gradually round. The reason for this course of action seemed to be twofold—first, that they thought they might spoil the heads by the club; and secondly, that as the heads must be cut off at all events, clubbing the captives beforehand was taking needless trouble.

Indeed, the character of the Tongan presents a curious mixture of mildness and cruelty, the latter being probably as much due to thoughtlessness as to ferocity. Once when eighteen rebels had been captured, Finow ordered them to be drowned. This punishment is inflicted by taking the prisoners out to sea, bound hand and foot, and towing some worthless canoes. When they are far enough from land, the culprits are transferred to the canoes, which are then scuttled, and left to sink. Care is taken that the holes made in the canoes are small, so that they shall be as long as possible in sinking.

On that occasion twelve of the prisoners begged to be clubbed instead of drowned, and their request was granted. The young men divided the prisoners among themselves, being anxious to take a lesson in clubbing a human being, which would serve them when they came to make use of the club against an enemy. The twelve were, accordingly, despatched with the club, but the others, being tried warriors, scorned to ask a favor, and were drowned. The leading chief among them employed the short time which was left him in uttering maledictions against Finow and his chiefs, and even when the water came up to his mouth, he threw back his head for the purpose of uttering another curse.

We will now pass to a more pleasant subject, namely, the various ceremonies in which the Tongan delights. Chief among these is the drinking of kava, which forms an important part of every public religious rite, and is often practised in private. Kava drinking is known throughout the greater part of Polynesia; but as the best and fullest account of it has been obtained from Mariner’s residence in Tonga, a description of it has been reserved for the present occasion. It must first be premised that the kava is made from the root of a tree belonging to the pepper tribe, and known by the name of Piper methysticum, i. e. the intoxicating pepper-tree. Disgusting as the preparation of the kava may be to Europeans, it is held in such high estimation by the Polynesians that it is never made or drunk without a complicated ceremony, which is the same whether the party be a large or a small one.

The people being assembled, the man of highest rank takes his place under the eaves of the house, sitting with his back to the house and his face toward the marly, or open space in front, and having a Mataboole on either side of him. Next to these Matabooles, who undertake the arrangement of the festival, sit the nobles or chiefs of highest rank, and next to them the lower chiefs, and so forth. They are not, however, very particular about the precise order in which they sit, distinctions of rank being marked by the order in which they are served.

This is the business of the presiding Matabooles, and as the distinctions of rank are most tenaciously observed, it is evident that the duties of a Mataboole are of a most difficult nature, and can only be learned by long and constant practice. If the men sat according to their rank, nothing would be easier than the task of serving them in order. But it often happens that a man of high rank happens to come late, and, as he is too polite to disturb those of lower rank who have already taken their places, he sits below them, knowing that his rank will be recognized at the proper time.

It mostly happens, however, that when one of the presiding Matabooles sees a man occupying a place much below that to which his rank entitles him, he makes some one surrender his place to him, or even turns out altogether a man who is seated in a high place, and puts the chief into it. The people thus gradually extend themselves into a ring, sometimes single, but often several ranks deep when the party is a large one, every one of the members being a man of some recognized rank. Behind those who form the bottom of the ring opposite the presiding chief, sit the general public, who may be several thousand in number. It is a remarkable fact, illustrating the rigid code of etiquette which prevails among the Tongans, that no one can sit in the inner ring if a superior relative be also in it; and, no matter how high may be his rank, he must leave his place, and sit in the outer circle, if his father or any superior relative enters the inner ring.

This ring, which constitutes the essential kava party, is formed mostly of the sons of chiefs and Matabooles, and it often happens that their fathers, even if they be chiefs of the highest rank, will sit in the outer ring, rather than disturb its arrangements. Even the son of the king often adopts this plan, and assists in preparing the kava like any of the other young men.

Exactly opposite to the king is placed the kava bowl, and behind it sits the man who is to prepare the drink. On either side of him sits an assistant, one of whom carries a fan wherewith to drive away the flies, and another takes charge of the water, which is kept in cocoa-nut shells. The rank of the preparer is of no consequence. Sometimes he is a Mooa or gentleman, and sometimes a mere cook; but, whoever he may be, he is known to be able to perform his difficult task with sufficient strength and elegance.

All being ready, one of the presiding Matabooles sends for the kava root, which is then scraped quite clean and cut up into small pieces. These are handed to the young men or even to the young women present, who masticate the root, contriving in some ingenious way to keep it quite dry during the process. It is then wrapped in a leaf, and passed to the preparer, who places it in the bowl, carefully lining the interior with the balls of chewed root, so that the exact quantity can be seen.

When all the kava has been chewed and deposited, the preparer tilts the bowl toward the presiding chief, who consults with his Matabooles, and if he thinks there is not enough, orders the bowl to be covered over, and sends for more kava, which is treated as before. Should he be satisfied, the preparer kneads all the kava together, and the Mataboole then calls for water, which is poured into the bowl until he orders the man to stop. Next comes the order to put in the fow. This is a bundle of very narrow strips of bark of a tree belonging to the genus hibiscus, and it has been compared to the willow shavings that are used in England to decorate fire-places in the summer time. The assistant takes a quantity of this material, and lays it on the water, spreading it carefully, so that it lies equally on the surface of the liquid. Now begins the important part of the proceeding which tests the power of the preparer.

“In the first place, he extends his left hand to the farther side of the bowl, with his fingers pointing downward and the palm toward himself; he sinks that hand carefully down the side of the bowl, carrying with it the edge of the fow; at the same time his right hand is performing a similar operation at the side next to him, the fingers pointing downward and the palm presenting outward. He does this slowly from side to side, gradually descending deeper and deeper till his fingers meet each other at the bottom, so that nearly the whole of the fibres of the root are by these means enclosed in the fow, forming as it were a roll of above two feet in length lying along the bottom from side to side, the edges of the fow meeting each other underneath.

THE KAVA PARTY.
(See page 989.)

“He now carefully rolls it over, so that the edges overlapping each other, or rather intermingling, come uppermost. He next doubles in the two ends and rolls it carefully over again, endeavoring to reduce it to a narrower and firmer compass. He now brings it cautiously out of the fluid, taking firm hold of it by the two ends, one in each hand (the back of his hands being upward), and raising it breast high with his arms considerably extended, he brings his right hand toward his breast, moving it gradually onward; and whilst his left hand is coming round toward his right shoulder, his right hand partially twisting the fow, lays the end which it holds upon the left elbow, so that the fow lies thus extended upon that arm, one end being still grasped by the left hand.

“The right hand being at liberty is brought under the left fore-arm (which still remains in the same situation), and carried outwardly toward the left elbow, that it may again seize in that situation the end of the fow. The right hand then describes a bold curve outwardly from the chest, whilst the left comes across the chest, describing a curve nearer to him and in the opposite direction, till at length the left hand is extended from him and the right hand approaches to the left shoulder, gradually twisting the fow by the turn and flexures principally of that wrist: this double motion is then retraced, but in such a way (the left wrist now principally acting) that the fow, instead of being untwisted, is still more twisted, and is at length again placed on the left arm, while he takes a new and less constrained hold.

“Thus the hands and arms perform a variety of curves of the most graceful description: the muscles both of the arms and chest are seen rising as they are called into action, displaying what would be a fine and uncommon subject of study for the painter: for no combinations of animal action can develop the swell and play of the muscles with more grace and better effect.

“The degree of strength which he exerts when there is a large quantity is very great, and the dexterity with which he accomplishes the whole never fails to excite the attention and admiration of all present. Every tongue is mute, and every eye is upon him, watching each motion of his arms as they describe the various curvilinear lines essential to the success of the operation. Sometimes the fibres of the fow are heard to crack with the increasing tension, yet the mass is seen whole and entire, becoming more thin as it becomes more twisted, while the infusion drains from it in a regularly decreasing quantity till at length it denies a single drop.”

The illustration on the preceding page represents this portion of the ceremony. On the right hand is seen the presiding chief seated under the eaves of the house, with a Mataboole on either side of him, and just beyond him extends a portion of the inner ring. In front of the chief sits the performer, who is wringing out the kava, and is just about to change the grasp of his right hand, according to Mariner’s description. On either side sit his assistants, both of whom are engaged in fanning away the flies.

Near them lie the cocoa-nut shells from which the water has been poured. Beyond the inner ring are seen the outer rings and the general population, who have come to witness the ceremony and get their chance of a stray cup of kava or some food.

When the fow ceases to give out any more fluid, a second and third are used in the same manner, so that not a particle of the root remains in the liquid. Should more fow or water be wanted, an order is given, and twenty or thirty men rush off for it, going and returning at full speed, as if running for their lives; and anything else that may be wanted is fetched in the same manner.

While the operator is going through his task, those who are in the outer circle and cannot properly see him occupy themselves in making cups from which the kava can be drunk. These cups are made of the unexpanded leaves of the banana tree, cut up into squares of about nine inches across. The cups are made in a most ingenious manner by plaiting up the two ends and tying them with a fibre drawn from the stem of the leaf. The Mataboole then orders provisions to be served out, which is done in an orderly manner. To the general assembly this is the most interesting part of the ceremony, for they have but little chance of getting any kava, and it is very likely that they will have a share of food, as the regular kava drinkers never eat more than a morsel or two at these entertainments.

The operator having done his part, now comes the test of the Mataboole’s efficiency. The kava is to be distributed in precisely the proper order, a slip in this respect being sure to give deep offence. Should a visitor of rank be present, he gets the first cup, the presiding Mataboole the second, and the presiding chief the third. If, however, the kava be given by one of the guests, the donor always has the first cup, unless there should be a visitor of superior rank to himself, in which case the donor is ignored altogether, only having the kava according to his rank. No person is allowed to have two cups from the same bowl, but after all the inner circle and their relatives are served, the remainder is given out to the people as far as it will go, and a second bowl is prepared. It will be seen that, if the preparer be a man of low rank, he stands a chance of never tasting the liquid which he has so skilfully prepared.

The second bowl is prepared in precisely the same way as the first, except that the second presiding Mataboole gives the orders; and, if a third or fourth bowl be ordered, they take the direction alternately. When the second bowl is prepared, the cups are filled and handed round in exactly the same order as before, so that those of high rank get three or four cups, and those of lower rank only one, or perhaps none at all.

It is a point of etiquette that no chief ever visits the kava party of an inferior chief, as in that case the latter would be obliged to retire from the presidency and sit in the outer ring. When the Tooi-tonga presides, no one presumes to sit within six feet of him; and if perchance an inspired priest be present, he takes the presidency, and the greatest chief, or even the king himself, is obliged to retire into the outer ring on such occasions. A priest always presides at religious ceremonies, and the kava party is held in front of the temple dedicated to the particular god which they are about to consult. But in some cases a god has no priest, and in those cases he is supposed to preside in person, though invisibly, the president’s place being left vacant for him.

The reader will see from the foregoing account that kava is a luxury practically confined to the higher classes. The great chiefs and Matabooles drink it every day, either as presidents or members of the inner ring. Those of lower rank obtain it occasionally; while the Tooas seldom taste this luxury, except by taking the kava after it has been wrung by the operator, and preparing it afresh.

As the reader will see, it is impossible to separate the secular and religious life of the Tongans. They are inextricably woven together, and therefore must be described together. There are a vast number of ceremonies in which these two elements are united, one or two of which will be described, by way of sample of the rest. The first is the festival of Ináchi, a feast of firstfruits, a ceremony which in principle is found throughout the whole earth, though the details necessarily differ. In the present case, the offering is made to the Tooi-tonga, as being at once the descendant and representative of the gods.

About the latter end of July the ordinary yams are planted in the ground; but those which are intended for the feast of Ináchi are of a different kind, coming to maturity earlier, and are planted about a month sooner. In an illustration on the next page we may see how the yams are set in the ground, and may get a good idea of a Tongan plantation. In the centre of the foreground is the chief to whom the plantation belongs, accompanied by his little boy. As is usual with men of rank in Tonga, he bears in his hand a short, many-barbed spear, which may either be used as a walking staff or as a weapon. The former is its normal use, but the chiefs sometimes find the advantage of having with them a serviceable weapon. The point of the spear is frequently armed with the barbed tail-bone of the sting-ray. When Finow captured by craft the rebel chief whose death by drowning has already been described, his chief difficulty was the bone-tipped spear which the chief always carried with him, and of which he was temporarily deprived by a stratagem.

One of his laborers is talking to him, having in his hand the hoe with which he has been making holes in the ground for the reception of the yams. Behind him are more laborers, employed in cutting the yams in pieces, and planting them in the holes. Just beyond the yam plantation is a piece of ground stocked with sugar-canes; and beyond the sugar-canes is the house of the chief, known by the superiority of its architecture. The house is built near the sea-shore, and close to the beach a canoe is seen hauled up on its support.

The greater part of the illustration is occupied with the ingenious spiked fence within which the storehouses and dwellings for the Tooas, or peasants, are placed. As may be seen, it has no doors, but at intervals the fence is only half the usual height and without spikes, and is crossed by means of stiles, two of which are given in the illustration, one to show the exterior and the other the interior of the fence. Close to the further stile is a young tree, surrounded with a fencing to the height of several feet, in order to guard it, while growing, from the attacks of pigs and children.

The open shed is one of the peasants’ houses, under which are seated a number of women, employed in making mats; while some children are playing and fowls feeding by them. Toward the further end of the enclosure is shown one of the storehouses.

As soon as the yams are ripe, the king sends a message to the Tooi-tonga, asking him to fix a day for the ceremony, which is generally settled to be on the tenth day after the request is made, so that time may be given for notice to be sent to all the islands. The day before the ceremony of Ináchi, the yams are dug up and ornamented with scarlet streamers made of the inner membrane of the pandanus leaf. These are in long and narrow strips, and are woven spirally over the yams, first in one direction and then the other, so as to produce a neat checkered pattern, and having the ends hanging loose.

All through the night is heard the sound of the conch shell, and until midnight the men and women answered each other in a song, the men singing, “Rest, doing no work,” and the women responding, “Thou shalt not work.” About midnight the song ceases; but it is resumed at daybreak, and continues until about eight A. M., accompanied with plenty of conch blowing. The prohibition of work is so imperative, that the people are not even allowed to leave their houses, except for the purpose of assisting in the ceremony.

(1.) TONGAN PLANTATION.
(See page 990.)

(2.) CEREMONY OF INACHI.
(See page 993.)

At eight A. M. the ceremony of Ináchi really begins, the people crowding from different parts of the Tooi-tonga’s island toward the capital town, and canoes approaching in all directions from other islands. All are in their very best, with new clothes and ribbons; while the men carry their most beautiful spears and clubs. Each party carries the yams in baskets, which are taken to the marly, or large central space of the village, and there laid down with great ceremony. In the marly are ready laid a number of poles, eight or nine feet in length, and four inches in diameter, and upon them the men sling the yams, only one yam being hung to the middle of each pole.

Meanwhile the great chiefs and Matabooles have gone to the grave of the last Tooi-tonga, should it happen to be on the island, or, should he have been buried on another island, the grave of any of his family answers the purpose. They sit there in a semicircle before the grave, their heads bowed and their hands clasped, waiting for the procession, which presently arrives.

First come two boys blowing conch shells, and advancing with a slow and solemn step; and behind them come a vast number of men with the yams. Each pole is carried by two men, one at each end, and, as they walk, they sink at every step, as if overcome with the weight of their burden. This is to signify that the yams are of such a size that the bearers can hardly carry them, and is a sort of symbolized thanksgiving to the gods for so fine a prospect of harvest. As the men come to the grave, they lay the poles and yams on it, and seat themselves in order before the grave, so that they form a line between the chiefs and the yams.

This part of the ceremony is shown in the lower illustration, on the 991st page. In the foreground are seated the chiefs and Matabooles, with their clubs and spears, while the procession of pole bearers is seen winding along from the far distance. Two of them have already laid their yams and poles before the grave, and have seated themselves between the grave and the circle of chiefs, while others are just depositing their burdens on the same sacred spot. Standing by them are the two boys who headed the procession, still blowing busily at their conch-shell trumpets. In the distance, and on the left hand of the illustration, may be seen the people seated in numbers on the ground.

One of the Tooi-tonga’s Matabooles then sits between the pole bearers and the grave and makes an oration, in which he gives thanks to the gods for their bounty, and asks for a continuance of it to their offspring, the Tooi-tonga. He then retires to his former place, the men take up their poles, and after marching several times round the grave, they return to the marly and again deposit their loads, this time untying the yams from the poles, but leaving the colored streamers upon them.

Here the whole of the people seat themselves in a large circle, at which the Tooi-tonga presides, even the king himself retiring, and sitting in the back ranks. Next the remainder of the offerings are brought forward, consisting of mats, gnatoo, dried fish, and various kinds of food. These are divided by one of the Tooi-tonga’s Matabooles into four equal parts. One of these goes to the gods, and is at once taken away by the servants of the different priests, and the remainder is shared by the Tooi-tonga and the king, the latter, although of inferior rank, getting the larger portion, because he has four times as many dependents to feed. The proceedings are wound up with the kava drinking, which always accompanies such ceremonies. While the infusion is being prepared, the presiding Mataboole makes a speech to the people, explaining the right that has just been concluded, and advising them to pay due honor to the gods and their representative the Tooi-tonga.

When this great potentate dies, there is a most extravagant feast, which often reduces the people to a state of semi-starvation for a long time, and sometimes threatens an actual famine. In such a case, the tapu is laid upon hogs, cocoa-nuts, and fowls for seven or eight months, or even longer, during which time none but the great chiefs are allowed to touch them. Two or three plantations are always exempted, so that there may be a supply for the great chiefs and for the various religious ceremonies. At the expiration of the stated period, if the crops look well, and the pigs and fowls have increased in due proportion, the tapu is taken off with very great ceremony.

One of these ceremonies was seen by Mariner at the Hapai Islands, and a very strange rite it turned out to be. It was held on two marlies, one belonging to the Tooi-tonga and the other to the king. As if to compensate for the limited diet of the previous month, food was piled in abundance. On the Tooi-tonga’s marly were erected four square hollow pillars, about four feet in diameter, and made of four poles connected with matting. These were about fifty or sixty feet in height, and each of them was crowned with a baked hog.

The king’s marly, which was about a quarter of a mile from the other, was equally well supplied with food, only in this case the yams were placed in wooden cars or sledges, and nearly four hundred half-baked hogs were laid on the ground. The king having arrived, and the signal given for beginning the proceedings, the young chiefs and warriors tried successively to lift the largest hog, and at last, when all had failed, it was lifted by two men and taken to the other marly. “In the meantime the trial was going on with the second hog, which, being also found too heavy for one man, was carried away by two in like manner, and so on with the third, fourth, &c., the largest being carried away first, and the least last.

“The second, third, fourth, &c., afforded more sport than the others, as being a nearer counterbalance with a man’s strength. Sometimes he had got it neatly upon his shoulder, when his greasy burden slipped through his arms, and, in his endeavor to save it, brought him down after it. It is an honor to attempt these things, and even the king sometimes puts his hand to it.”

The next part of the proceedings was the carrying twenty of the largest hogs to the late Tooi-tonga’s grave, and leaving them there, while the rest, together with the other provisions, were shared among the chiefs, who in their turn distributed them to their followers, until every man in the island gets a piece of pork and yam. The four great columns of yams were given, one to the king, another to the Tooi-tonga, the third to the Veachi and one or two of the very great chiefs, and the fourth to the gods. The Tooi-tonga also took the cars of yams as a matter of tacit though unacknowledged right. Kava drinking, dancing, and wrestling concluded the ceremony; and as soon as the circle broke up, the tapu was considered as annulled.

The twenty large hogs which were laid on the grave were left there for several days; but as soon as they showed signs of putridity, they were cut up, and divided among all who chose to apply for a share of the meat. By right they belonged to the chiefs, but as they were able to procure fresh pork for themselves, they preferred to forego their right, and divide the tainted meat among the people.

The ceremony of Mo’ee-mo’ee, or taking off the tapu contracted by touching a chief, has already been mentioned. The tapu is even contracted by eating in the presence of a superior relation; but there is a conventional way of getting rid of this tapu by simply turning the back upon the superior, who is then considered as not being ceremonially in the presence of the inferior. Should a man think that he may have contracted the tapu unwittingly, he will not dare to feed himself until he has gone to some chief, whose foot he takes and presses it against his stomach. This rite is called the Fota, or pressing. Any chief can take away the tapu contracted by touching an equal or inferior, but has no power over that of a superior. Consequently, no one but himself can take away the Tooi-tonga’s tapu; and this proved so inconvenient that whenever the potentate went from his house, he left behind him a consecrated bowl as his representative, and this was held to be equally powerful in removing the tapu. The Veachi adopted a similar plan. It is a remarkable fact that kava is exempt from all tapu, so that if even the Tooi-tonga has touched a piece of kava root, the lowest cook may chew it.

There is a ceremony which in principle somewhat resembles that of Ináchi, though it is conducted after a very different manner. Just as the Ináchi is an offering to the gods in general through the Tooi-tonga, so is this ceremony, which is called the Tow-tow, a special thanksgiving to Alo-Alo, the god of weather. It is begun in the early part of November, when the yams are ripe, and is continued for some three months, at intervals of eight or ten days.

All the islands of Tonga are divided into three distinct portions, namely, the northern division, or Hahagi, the southern division, or Hihifo, and the middle division, or Mooa. Each of these divisions has orders to prepare a certain amount of food, such as yams, cocoa-nuts, and the like, and to bring them to the marly. The correct mode of doing so is to bring them on sticks, so that each stick has upon it seven or eight yams, or a bunch of plantains, or a quantity of bananas. If sugar-canes form part of the offering, they are tied in bundles of three or four in each: and all the offerings, no matter what they may be, are piled up in three great heaps, one being erected by the people of each district.

This being done, and a few preliminary matches of boxing and wrestling played, after about three hours a small procession appears, composed of eight or ten men sent by the priest of Alo-Alo, and accompanied by a young girl about eight or nine years old, who represents the god’s wife. She is always the daughter of a chief, and generally of one of the highest chiefs, and, during the eighty days of the ceremony, she resides at the temple of Alo-Alo. She has nothing particular to do, except presiding at one or two feasts and kava parties.

The men are all dressed in mats, and have green leaves tied round their necks. This is the dress of humility and sorrow, and is employed in times of mourning for the dead and supplication for mercy. When they have arrived, they seat themselves in a line, having in front of them a great drum, which is kept for this special purpose. They then offer their prayers to Alo-Alo, begging for propitious weather and good crops, and after these prayers are concluded two of the piles of provisions are carried off by the chiefs, and the third is set aside for the gods. Suddenly the great drum is beaten, on which a general dash is made at the pile of food, every one scrambling for the provisions, and getting as much as he can. There is not the least order in the scramble, and the scene is a most exciting one, the yams being torn from the sticks, and the sticks smashed to pieces, while the sugar-canes are broken up into fragments. Thus the gods are fed vicariously.

The women keep prudently out of the way during this struggle, and stand aside to watch the chief and concluding ceremony. This is nothing more than a general fight. The inhabitants of the island arrange themselves in two divisions, one half fighting against the other. All engage in this battle, the highest chiefs as well as the lowest cooks taking part in it. There is no respect of persons, the king, or even the Tooi-tonga himself, being assaulted without compunction, and handled as roughly as any of the common people.

Severe as is the fighting, it is all conducted with the greatest good humor, and no one displays a sign of ill-temper at the injury which he receives. If a man is knocked down, he gets up with a smile; if his arm is broken, he retires from the battle and has it set, but he never thinks of complaining. The same system is observed in the boxing and wrestling matches of which the Tongans are so fond.

In wrestling matches, for example, it is not thought polite for any one man to challenge another; he ought to give a general challenge, by striking with the right hand the bent elbow of the opposite arm. If the challenge be accepted, the antagonists meet very leisurely, and take care to fasten tightly the gnatoo belt that surrounds the waist. They grasp the belt with a hand on each side, and endeavor to throw their antagonist by lifting him from the ground and flinging him on his back. The vanquished man rises and retires to his place among the spectators without showing any displeasure. Only in one case did Mariner know a man display ill-feeling at being beaten, and in that instance the man, although a chief, was looked upon as an ill-bred fellow.

The victor seats himself on the ground for a few seconds, and then retires to his place, his friends belonging to his own side singing, or rather chanting, a song of victory. After a short time he again rises and offers another challenge, and if it be accepted by several antagonists, he may select one from them. If they find that they are equally matched, they leave off by mutual consent; and sometimes, if a man encounters a chief much superior to him, he will generally yield out of respect to the other’s rank. This only takes place in single combat, not in the general fight of the Tow-tow festival.

Boxing is conducted on similar principles of fair play. The challenger proceeds into the middle of the ring, holding one arm stretched out in front and the other behind, and advances sideways, changing sides at every step. When the challenge is accepted, both combatants wrap a piece of cord round their hands and proceed to blows, which are given with great force and rapidity. When one is vanquished, he retires with apparent unconcern to the ring, and sits to watch the combats of others, knowing that to be vanquished is not considered a disgrace. When the victor returns to his people, they welcome him, but do not sing the chant of victory unless he has knocked his antagonist down. Falling is on these occasions considered as equivalent to being killed in real battle, and, in consequence, the song of victory is not sung unless the antagonist has fallen to the ground. If a man be beaten in wrestling, he may not wrestle a second time in the same day, though he may box, and vice versâ.

In the ceremony of Tow-tow, these scrambling, boxing, and wrestling matches are carried on every tenth day, and are repeated eight times, so as to make up the eighty days of the festival. After each battle, those who have touched a superior chief come to be relieved of the tapu which they have contracted by touching him. Even the Tooi-tonga, whose nose has been flattened, his teeth knocked out, and his face pounded to a jelly by a mere peasant, over whom he has supreme command of life and death, performs the needful ceremony with perfect good humor.

The illustration No. 1, on the 999th page, represents the concluding scene of this ceremony. In the foreground are seen the two contending parties, one of which is beginning to get the victory over the other. In the centre of the illustration, and on the left, are the fragments of the food-piles, with a few men still scrambling for them, and in the distance the women are seated under the trees, watching the progress of the fight.

Fighting is not confined to the men, but is practised also by the women, who on this occasion lay aside the ordinary gentleness and mildness for which they are remarkable. When Captain Cook visited Tonga, he was much surprised to see the girls step into the ring and box with as much spirit and determination as had been shown by the men. They do not, however, carry the combat to such extremes, and if one of them does not speedily yield, the combatants are parted by the elder women. Even the merest children box after a similar fashion, the little girls knocking each other about with hearty good-will as long as they are allowed to fight.

On one occasion, Finow ordered that all the women who were seated as spectators should engage in a general fight, after the manner of the men. They seemed nothing loth, and all the women who lived on the north of the island fought against those who lived on the south side. Nearly fifteen hundred women engaged on each side, and fought with the greatest courage for more than an hour, both parties contending with such determination that neither could gain a foot of ground; and at last Finow ordered them to desist, seeing that several ankles had been sprained and limbs broken.

Besides boxing and wrestling matches, the Tongans have club fights on great occasions. As with the other matches, the combatants are divided into two parties, one being seated opposite to the other, with a considerable space of ground between them.

When all is ready, a man jumps up, runs to the people of the opposite side, and sits down in front of them, asking if any of them will fight him. As in the boxing and wrestling matches, to challenge a particular opponent is bad manners. If the challenge be accepted, the combatants walk to the middle of the ring, each attended by his second, and then settle whether they shall fight after the Tongan or Samoan manner. The former mode does not allow a man to strike an antagonist after he is knocked down, but only to flourish his club over him in token of victory. By the latter mode he is allowed to beat the fallen man as long as he shows signs of life. When the fight is over, the men on the side of the victor chant their song of triumph, and the conqueror advances to the king, sits down before him in token of respect, and then rises and returns to his own party. On one of these occasions, the young prince fought no less than fourteen battles, and was victorious in every one of them.

CHAPTER CI. TONGA— Concluded . SICKNESS—BURIAL—GAMES.

SACRIFICE OF THE FINGER, AND MODE OF OPERATING — SACRIFICE OF CHILDREN — CONSULTING THE GODS — MODES OF INSPIRATION — SACRIFICE OF WIVES — FINOW’S GOOD SENSE — SUPPOSED CAUSES OF DEATH — FINOW’S FUNERAL — CUTTING THE HEAD — OPENING AND CLOSING THE VAULT — DRESSING THE GRAVE — APPOINTMENT OF A SUCCESSOR — CONCLUDING CEREMONIES — IDEAS OF RELIGION — VARIOUS SPORTS AND GAMES — RAT SHOOTING AND BIRD CATCHING — FINOW AND THE DECOY BIRD — BALL PLAY — A DANGEROUS STAKE, AND HONORABLE PAYMENT — THE LOVER’S CAVE, AND A NATIVE LEGEND.

As might be expected, various ceremonies take place with regard to sickness and burial.

If any one is ill, the inferior relations cut off a joint of the little finger as an offering to the gods. Sometimes a whole joint is taken off at once, but those who have many superior relations remove only a portion, so that they may be able to offer the sacrifice several times. In consequence of this superstition, there is scarcely a person in Tonga who has not lost a considerable portion of the little finger of one or both hands.

The mode of amputating the finger is simple enough. It is laid upon a flat block of wood, and the edge of a knife or axe, or even a sharp stone, placed on it. A smart blow is given with a mallet, and the stump, which bleeds but little in consequence of the nature of the operation, is held over the smoke of fresh grass, so as to check any after bleeding. No application is made to it, and in a week or two it heals without trouble. The Tongans do not seem to fear this operation, and even little children may be seen quarrelling with each other for the honor of having it performed upon them.

Should the illness take an unfavorable turn, instead of a mere finger, a child is offered to the gods by being strangled. For example, when Finow fell ill of the malady from which he died, and was apparently sinking, his eldest son took a young child of the king’s from its mother’s lap, strangled it, and offered it to the gods at various consecrated houses. The people look with the greatest compassion on the poor little victim, but think that it is right to sacrifice a little child who at present is useless to the community, and may not live to be of service, so that they may obtain in exchange the life of a chief who is needed by his people.

Such a sacrifice is sometimes made on other occasions, when the anger of some god is to be averted. In Tonga there are several sacred places, in which to spill blood is a sacrilege, so that they serve the purpose of cities of refuge. Once a chief named Palavali was pursuing some men, who ran for refuge to the nearest sacred spot. One of them was just getting over the fence, when Palavali, in the heat of the moment, struck him on the head, so that he fell dead within the enclosure. As soon as he had done the deed he was filled with fear, and reported what he had done to Finow, who consulted a priest. The priest, becoming inspired, said that a child must be sacrificed to the gods, and the chiefs, after holding a consultation, agreed that they should sacrifice a child of one of their own number by a female attendant. Such children are always selected, for two reasons; firstly, because the child of a chief is held to be a worthy sacrifice, and secondly, because, as its mother is of inferior rank, it could never live to be a chief.

The mother, knowing the custom, took alarm, and hid the child, but it was at last found by the men who were sent to search for it. The rest must be told in Mariner’s words. “Its poor mother wanted to follow, but was held back by those about her. On hearing its mother’s voice it began to cry, but when it arrived at the fatal place of execution, it was pleased and delighted with the band of gnatoo that was put round its neck, and, looking up in the face of the man who was about to destroy it, displayed in its beautiful countenance a smile of ineffable pleasure.

“Such a sight inspired pity in the heart of every one; but adoration and fear of the gods was a sentiment superior to any other, and its destroyer could not help exclaiming, as he put on the fatal bandage, ‘O yaooé chi vale!’ (‘Poor little innocent!’) Two men then tightened the cord by pulling at each end, and the guiltless and unsuspecting victim was soon relieved of its painful struggles. The body was then placed upon a sort of hand-barrow, supported upon the shoulders of four men, and carried in a procession of priests, chiefs, and Matabooles clothed in mats, with wreaths of green leaves round their necks.

“In this manner it was conveyed to various houses consecrated to different gods, before each of which it was placed on the ground, all the company sitting behind it, except one priest, who sat beside it, and prayed aloud to the god that he would be pleased to accept of this sacrifice as an atonement for the heinous sacrilege committed, and that punishment might accordingly be withheld from the people. After this was done before all the consecrated houses in the fortress, the body was given up to its relations, to be buried in the usual manner.”

This particular case had a strange termination. Four or five days after the sacrifice, Palavali went on a foraging excursion at the head of a body of men who were not tried soldiers, and met with a smaller body of real warriors. In a very short time Palavali’s men began to run, and it was in vain that he tried to rally them. At last, in boldly facing the enemy to set his men an example, he received four spears in his body, and fell. This sight angered his men so much that they charged the enemy, drove them back, and rescued their dying chief. They were proceeding to draw out the spears, but he told them that it would be useless, as the gods had doomed him for his sacrilege, and he must die. His prognostication was correct, for he died half an hour after the battle.

When a priest is consulted on any subject—say, on the sickness of any one—a carefully regulated ceremony is performed. On the previous night a hog is killed and prepared, and taken to the place where the priest lives, together with plantains, yams, and kava root. Next day they all go to the patient’s house, and there seat themselves in order, the priest taking his place just within the eaves, if the appointed spot be a house. Opposite to the priest is the kava bowl, and around him sit the Matabooles as usual; but on this occasion the chiefs always mix with the people, or even sit behind them, thinking that such retiring and humble behavior is pleasing to the gods.

From the moment that all are seated, the god is supposed to take possession of the priest, who sits silently with his hands clasped in front of him, his head bowed, and his eyes bent on the ground. The kava being prepared, the required questions are put to him. Sometimes he answers them at once, but very often he remains in silence until all the provisions are eaten and the kava drunk. When he does speak, it is in a low, constrained voice, generally above its natural pitch, the words being supposed to be the utterances of the god through him without his volition. In some cases he is quite calm and quiet while delivering his answers, but at others his face becomes inflamed, his eyes seem ready to start from their sockets, tears pour from his eyes, and his words issue in broken sobs and gasps.

This paroxysm lasts for some time, and then gradually subsides. As it is passing away, he takes up a club which is placed near him for the purpose, gazes at it attentively, and then looks round, apparently without seeing the object at which he looks—“his eyes are open, but their sense is shut.” Suddenly he raises the club, and dashes it violently on the ground, at which instant the god is supposed to leave his votary, who immediately rises and leaves the place of honor, retiring to the back of the ring among the people. The man of highest rank present then takes the place of honor, and more kava is served.

When a priest is consulted on behalf of a sick person, the inspiration retains its hold as long as the patient is in his presence, and in some cases the inspiration lasts for several days. If one priest cannot find a cure, the patient is taken to another, and so on, until he either recovers or dies.

The illustration No. 2, on the next page, represents a consultation of the priest respecting a sick child. In the foreground are the provisions and the presents brought to the priest, and in the centre is the kava bowl. On the right is the priest, seated in a state of inspiration, with crossed hands and bowed head, listening to the questions which are being put by the Mataboole. The mother of the child is seen with the infant in her arms, and around are members of her family, all wearing coarse mats instead of fine gnatoo, and having round their necks the leaves which denote humility.

Other persons beside chiefs become inspired, generally by the spirits of those whom they had known in life. The eldest son of Finow, who afterward succeeded to the throne, used to be inspired by a great chief who had been murdered by his father and another chief. Mariner asked him what were his feelings on such occasions, and he replied that he felt restless and uncomfortable, and all over in a glow of heat, and that his mind did not seem to be his own. When asked how he knew the name of the spirit who then visited him, he answered that he could not tell—he knew it intuitively, but could give no explanation.

(1.) THE TOW-TOW.
(See page 995.)

(2.) CONSULTING A PRIEST.
(See page 998.)

While Mariner was in the Tonga Islands, a young chief, remarkable for his beauty, became inspired to such a degree that he fainted, and was taken to the house of a priest, who told him that the spirit was that of a young woman who had died two years before, and was now in Bolotoo the Tonga heaven. She inspired him because she wished for him as a husband in Bolotoo, and would soon take him there. The young chief acknowledged the truth of the exposition, saying that for several nights he had been visited in his sleep by a young woman, and had suspected that she was the person who inspired him. Two days after he was taken ill and died. Mariner was present when the priest gave his explanation of the illness.

Shortly before Mariner was at the Tonga Islands, a still graver form of human sacrifice was practised than that of a child.

When the Tooi-tonga died, his chief widow was strangled on the day of the funeral, and buried in the same grave with him, just as is the case in Fiji, whence in all probability, the Tongans borrowed the practice. Comparatively short as was Mariner’s stay two Tooi-tongas died; but in neither case was this terrible rite observed. In the one case there happened to be no chief wife, all his wives being so equal in rank that neither of them ruled the household; and, in consequence a selection of a victim became impossible. In the second case the chief wife was the daughter of Finow, who said openly, that if the husband were to die first, his daughter should not be strangled, for that to destroy a young and beautiful woman because her husband had died was inflicting a double loss upon the community. As it happened, the Tooi-tonga did not die until after the elder Finow was dead and had been succeeded by his son, who not only carried out his father’s wishes on that subject, but would not allow another Tooi-tonga to succeed; thus abolishing the source of the only rank that was superior to him.

The Tooi-tonga being abolished, it necessarily follows that the ceremony of Ináchi was abolished too, and but for the fact of Mariner’s enforced residence in Tonga, this curious and interesting ceremony would have passed away without being known to European civilization.

Mariner was present at the wedding of Finow’s daughter to the Tooi-tonga, and describes it with some minuteness. It much resembled a Fijian wedding, except in the costume of the bride, who was first copiously anointed with cocoa-nut oil scented with sandal-wood, and then arrayed in a vast number of the finest Samoan mats, which were wrapped round her in such quantities that her arms were stuck out almost horizontally from her body, and her legs were so much trammelled that she could not sit down, but had to rest in a bent attitude upon her attendants.

She was eighteen at the time. Had it not been for the good sense of Finow, Mariner would have seen within a very short time her wedding, her murder, and her burial. The technical name for the ceremony of strangling is Nawgía.

We now come naturally to the subject of funerals, and will take as a typical example the funeral of the elder Finow.

Almost immediately after the death and burial of his favorite daughter, a child about seven years of age, Finow fell ill, his malady having been increased by the exertions which he made during the long ceremony of the funeral. It was on this occasion that he ordered the women to box in general combat. On the evening of that day Finow retired to a small house that had just been built for him, and was seized with a violent illness, which almost deprived him of the power of speech, though not of intellect. He evidently knew that his end was at hand, and continually muttered “My country! my country!” evidently feeling that calamities might come on his land if he were suddenly taken away.

A child was offered on behalf of him, which had already been selected, but, by the time that the sacrificing party had come back to the house where the king lay, he had lost both his speech and his consciousness, and in a few minutes the great and wise Finow had departed this life. When his death was ascertained, a curious ceremony was performed. The body was carried to the Tooi-tonga’s house, and placed on the hole in which the cooks were accustomed to light their fires. This was a symbolical expression of humility and submission to the gods, the cooking place being so degraded a spot that only the lowest Tooas would condescend to touch it.

Not only the king himself, but all those in his confidence, fully believed that his death was caused by a god named Toobo Totai, to whom he had prayed in vain for his daughter’s recovery. In revenge for the negligence of the god, Finow had made arrangements for killing his priest, and had been heard to say that if Toobo Totai did not change his conduct, and exert himself a little more, his priest should not live long. Finow’s sudden death put a stop to this project, which was only known to one or two of his immediate friends. It is not unlikely that the threatened priest may have heard of his intended assassination, and saved himself by getting a dose of poison administered to Finow at the funeral banquet.

Finow was right in his prognostications of trouble, for no sooner was his death known than a number of the principal chiefs of different islands began to assemble their forces, with the intention of seizing on the throne. His successor, however, inherited his father’s wisdom, and took such precautions that the attempt of the conspirators was quietly foiled.

After the royal corpse was brought back from the Tooi-tonga’s dwelling, it was laid on bales of gnatoo in the large conical house, which was nearly filled with women, who kept up a continual lamentation, led by his daughter, a beautiful girl of fifteen. Even by night the lamentations went on, the house being lighted up with lamps made of cocoa-nut shells half filled with cocoa-nut oil, which is only used on such occasions; and on the following morning the people assembled on the marly to take part in the obsequies of their late king, whom they both loved and feared. Indeed, among savage nations, there is no love toward a chief who is not thoroughly feared.

By this time the faces of the principal mourners were scarcely recognizable, being swollen and disfigured by the repeated blows which they had inflicted on themselves as signs of sorrow. The chiefs and Matabooles who were especially attached to the person or household of the deceased king proceeded to inflict even severer injuries upon themselves, using the club, or shell, or a sharp stone; and running two or three at a time into the open space, while they cut their heads with the clubs and shells so that the blood poured down their bodies in streams; as they did so, they uttered a sort of dirge, some specimens of which have been given by Mariner. The following is his translation of the death chant and accompanying proceedings.

“‘Finow, I know well your mind; you have departed to Bolotoo, and left your people, under suspicion that I or some of those about you are unfaithful; but where is the proof of infidelity? where is a single instance of disrespect?’ Then inflicting violent blows and deep cuts in the head with a club, stone, or knife, would again exclaim at intervals, ‘Is not this a proof of my fidelity? does this not evince loyalty and attachment to the memory of the departed warrior?’ Then perhaps two or three would run on and endeavor to seize the same club, saying with a furious tone of voice, ‘Behold, the land is torn with strife, it is smitten to pieces, it is split by revolts; how my blood boils; let us haste and die! I no longer wish to live: your death, Finow, shall be mine. But why did I wish hitherto to live? it was for you alone; it was in your service and defence only that I wish to breathe; but now, alas! the country is ruined. Peace and happiness are at an end; your death has insured ours: henceforth war and destruction alone can prosper.’

“These speeches were accompanied with a wild and frantic agitation of the body, whilst the parties cut and bruised their heads every two or three words with the knife or club they held in their hands. Others, somewhat more calm and moderate in their grief, would parade up and down with rather a wild and agitated step, spinning and whirling the club about, striking themselves with the edge of it two or three times violently upon the top or back of the head, and then suddenly stopping and looking steadfastly at the instrument spattered with blood, exclaim, ‘Alas! my club, who could have said that you would have done this kind office for me, and have enabled me thus to evince a testimony of my respect to Finow? Never, no, never, can you again tear open the brains of his enemies. Alas! what a great and mighty warrior has fallen! Oh, Finow, cease to suspect my loyalty; be convinced of my fidelity! But what absurdity am I talking! if I had appeared treacherous in thy sight, I should have met the fate of those numerous warriors who have fallen victims to your just revenge. But do not think, Finow, that I reproach you; no, I wish only to convince you of my innocence, for who that has thoughts of harming his chiefs shall grow white-headed like me (an expression used by some of the old men)? O cruel gods, to deprive us of our father, of our only hope, for whom alone we wished to live. We have indeed other chiefs, but they are only chiefs in rank, and not like you, alas! great and mighty in war.’”

Such were their sentiments and conduct on this mournful occasion. Some, more violent than others, cut their heads to the skull with such strong and frequent blows, that they caused themselves to reel, producing afterward a temporary loss of reason. It is difficult to say to what length this extravagance would have been carried, particularly by one old man, if the prince had not ordered Mr. Mariner to go up and take away the club from him, as well as two others that were engaged at the same time. It is customary on such occasions, when a man takes a club from another, to use it himself in the same way about his own head; but Mr. Mariner, being a foreigner, was not expected to do this: he therefore went up, and, after some hesitation and struggle, secured the clubs one after another, and returned with them to his seat, when, after a while, they were taken by others, who used them in like manner.

The next proceeding was to place the body of the dead king in the grave, which was at some distance from the place where those wild laments had been made. Having arrived at the spot, a small house was speedily put together, the body was laid in it, and the whole house was covered with coarse black gnatoo, the sign of mourning, which passed over the top of the house, and hung from the eaves to the ground, so as entirely to conceal it.

Here another set of lamentations took place, while a number of men were employed in opening the grave. All great families bury their dead, not merely in the ground, but in a solid vault, about eight feet long by six wide, and eight deep. It is made of six enormous stones, the upper one, which forms the cover, being necessarily larger than the others. For the convenience of raising it when required, the upper stone does not fit quite closely upon the lower, some smaller stones being placed between them at one end.

After digging some ten feet deep, the men came to the vault, and, having cleared away the earth, they passed a rope under the end of the stone cover, and by the united force of nearly two hundred men raised it on end. Several bodies were already in the grave. Two of them, which had been buried for full forty years, were dried and nearly perfect; while others, which had not been buried nearly so long, were reduced to a few bones. In some cases the vault is lined with the gnatoo on which the body rested, while in others it becomes the property of the presiding Mataboole.

All being ready, the body of Finow was handed down into the vault, still lying on the gnatoo, and the body of his daughter, at whose funeral he was seized with illness, was buried by his side. The stone was then let down with a great shout, and the head-cutting and maiming began afresh. The next ceremony was that of collecting sand for the decoration of the grave.

The whole company formed themselves in single line, the women going first, and proceeded to the back of the island, singing loudly to warn stragglers of their presence. For any one not actually engaged in a funeral to be seen on the road is held as so great an insult that any ordinary man would lose his life. Even if the king himself saw a similar procession advancing, he would hide himself until it had passed. Remaining on his feet, though it might not actually cost him his life, would probably be so bitterly remembered that he might lose his throne. As soon as the funeral party arrived at the place where the sand was found, they all set to work at making baskets out of leaves, which they suspended from sticks and carried on their shoulders. By the time that they reached the grave, it was nearly filled up with earth, and the remainder was filled with sand, which was carefully and neatly smoothed.

Next came a very curious custom, that of burning the cheeks. The mourners, clothed in mats and green leaves, set fire to little rolls of bark, and pressed them against each cheek-bone, so as to raise a circular blister. This is then rubbed with the juice of an astringent berry, which causes the wound to bleed, and the blood is smeared over the cheeks. The friction is repeated daily for twenty days, so that an indelible scar is the natural result.

The day after the burial a ceremony took place by which the young prince was installed in his father’s place, and invested with his father’s name. Finow was the name of the reigning family; but, according to custom, no one but the actual king was allowed to bear it. Sometimes, as a mark of especial favor, he allowed it to be borne by a relation, but always in conjunction with some other name. The name by which the young prince had previously been called was Moegnagnongo.

The ceremony was begun by a kava party, at which the young prince presided. The two first cups having been filled and drunk, the third was due to the president. The Mataboole who directed the proceedings said, while all eyes were fixed on the prince, “Give it to Finow,” thus acknowledging him as the king of Tonga. The young king displayed not the least emotion on being called by the new name, as that would have been thought beneath his dignity, but took the cup as quietly as if he had been called by the name of Finow all his life.

Rites similar to those which have been described went on for nineteen days, and on the twentieth the concluding ceremony was performed. All the relations of the deceased king, together with those who had taken part in the funeral, went to the back of the island, and procured a great quantity of flat pebbles, mostly white, but having a few black among them. These they carried to the grave, and strewed completely over the grave in the form of an oval, each pebble being laid by the side of the other. The black pebbles were laid upon the white ones.

Dances, wrestling matches, and head-cutting then took place, in which latter rite the fishermen of the late king distinguished themselves in a very curious manner. Into each cheek they thrust three arrows, the points of which passed into the mouth. The shafts of the arrows were brought over the shoulders, and to each pair was tied another arrow across the shoulders, so as to make a triangle. Equipped in this extraordinary manner, they walked round the grave, and, not satisfied with this proof of their devotion to their late master, they cut their heads with their paddles, and pinched up the skin of their breasts, thrusting a spear through the fold. A grand wrestling match ended this complicated series of ceremonies.

At the burial of one great chief, who was assassinated while walking with the king (apparently with his connivance), a very curious variation of the ceremony took place. As soon as the body had been lowered into the vault, one of the assassins, a man of exceptional strength and stature, advanced toward the grave, and, brandishing his club, avowed himself as the murderer, and challenged any friend of the deceased chief to fight him.

The challenge was not accepted, and, although one of the wives of the murdered man did her best to arouse the family to vengeance, she could only succeed in inducing them to erect a strong fortress, in which they hoped to bid defiance to Finow. The king, however, was too wise to allow such a standing menace to remain, started off with four thousand warriors, and reduced the disaffected chiefs to obedience. In storming the fort, the challenging chief distinguished himself by his deeds of arms. Though wounded in the breast with a five-barbed spear, he broke off the shaft, scaled alone the enemy’s fortress, knocked out a man’s brains with his club, and made good his escape. As he retreated, however, he received another spear in his back, and died on the following day. It is remarkable that in this battle nearly all the assassins perished.

The religious system of the Tongans is tolerably simple. They believe that there are several orders of gods, just as there are several ranks of men. The principal gods are self-existent and eternal; but the second order of gods are the souls of deceased chiefs and Matabooles. All of noble blood have souls, and take rank in Bolotoo, or Paradise, not according to their moral merit, but according to the rank which they held in the world. Matabooles become ministers to the gods, just as they were ministers to the chiefs; but they are not powerful enough to inspire priests. There is also a class of mischievous gods, who are, fortunately, much less powerful than the benevolent deities.

As to the Mooas, or middle class, the learned are rather doubtful whether they go to Bolotoo, or whether they have souls. But that the Tooas, or peasantry, have no souls, there is not the slightest doubt, and that they can go to Bolotoo is therefore impossible.

With regard to Bolotoo, or Paradise, the Tongans believe it to be an island somewhere to the north-west of Tonga. It is a most beautiful place, full of the choicest fruits and the most lovely flowers. Pigs are plentiful, and never die unless they are killed to supply food for the gods, in which case another hog comes into existence to supply the place of the one that was killed. So, when a fruit or a flower is plucked, another immediately takes its place. These particulars are learned from some Tongan voyagers, who were returning from Fiji, but were driven out of their reckoning by a storm. At last they were blown to a lovely island, on which they succeeded in landing. There was abundance of fruit, but their hands could not grasp it. They walked through the trunks of trees, and through the walls of houses as if they were mere shadows; while some of the inhabitants walked through their own bodies in a similar manner. Then they found they were at Bolotoo. The gods told them to go home at once, and promised them a favorable wind. They reached Tonga in safety, but all died soon afterward, the air of Bolotoo not suiting mere mortals.

It has already been mentioned that the religious and secular lives of the Tongans are so blended together that it is very difficult to separate them, and that even their amusements partake somewhat of the religious character. There are, however, one or two of their games which partake but slightly of this element, and which are yet characteristic of the natives. One of these sports is called Fanna-kalai, and is a very ingenious mode of bird catching by means of decoys.

In order to practise this amusement, the sportsman furnishes himself with a bow and arrows, goes into the woods, and there ensconces himself within a large wicker cage covered with green leaves, so that the inmate may not be seen, but having plenty of openings through which the arrows can be aimed. By his side he has a small cage, in which is kept a hen bird, and on the top of the large cage the cock bird is tied by the leg. When properly trained, these birds continue calling to each other, and thus attract numbers of their own species, which fall victims to the arrows.

Well-trained birds are exceedingly valuable, and one chief has been known to make war upon another for the sake of procuring an especially fine bird. Indeed, the Tongans look on these birds much as sportsmen of the olden times looked on their falcons. To each pair of birds there is a keeper, whose whole business it is to attend to and train them. He is careful to teach the cock bird to flap its wings as it calls to its mate, and to utter its notes loudly, so that they may be taken as a challenge to other birds to come and fight him. The bird keepers have almost unlimited powers, as nothing is allowed to interfere with the welfare of their charge. Even when a famine visits a district, the birds must not starve. The keeper forages for the birds, and if he sees a fine bunch of plantains, he is allowed to put the tapu on it by sticking a reed in the tree, after which the proprietor dares not touch the fruit which he has saved for himself and his family. He may starve, but the birds must be fed.

As may be imagined, the keepers attend to their own interests as well as those of the birds, and are great pests to the neighborhood, fleecing the people without mercy. Now and then they go a little too far in their insolence, and a complaint is laid against them, in which case the man seldom escapes without a severe beating.

In order to show the enormous value of these birds, Mariner tells a story respecting the elder Finow. The chief of Hihifo possessed a bird which he had himself trained, and which was the best that ever was known. Finow heard of this bird, and sent a commissioner to Hihifo in order to treat with the chief for the purchase of it. This the owner declined to do, saying that not only had he an affection for the bird, which he had himself trained, but he had sustained many wars made on him by neighboring chiefs who wanted to get the bird—many lives had been lost, and he felt his honor involved in keeping it. However, he intrusted the ambassador with another pair of birds, very nearly as good, and asked him to present them to Finow.

The king tried the birds next day, and was so delighted with their performance that he was the more anxious to obtain the bird which was even superior to them. He therefore prepared a present, which according to the Tongan ideas of that day was of almost incalculable value, comprising, beside whales’ teeth, gnatoo, kava, and other native productions, several iron bolts, a quantity of beads, a looking-glass, a grindstone, and some axes, all of which had been procured from Europe, and most of them from the vessel in which Mariner had been wrecked. Seeing that Finow was determined to have the bird, and that he would probably make war if again refused, the chief wisely accepted the present, and sent the desired prize with a polite message.

As this sport is necessarily a very expensive one, it can only be practised by the king and very great chiefs, even the lesser chiefs being unable to bear the cost. There is another sport which is limited to chiefs and Matabooles. This is Fanna-gooma, or rat shooting, and is conducted as follows. Two chiefs take the command of two parties who intend to shoot rats, and arrange the preliminaries, i. e. settling the course which they mean to take, the number of shooters on each side, and so forth. On the appointed day, they go to some place which has been previously fixed upon, each being provided with his bow and two arrows.

These arrows are six feet in length, and made of a reed headed with hard wood. They are most beautifully made, the heads being smooth and polished with the greatest care, and the junction of the head and shaft guarded with plaited sinnet. In some of these weapons in my collection, the sinnet is scarcely broader than sewing silk, and is laid on with a perfection that is scarcely credible. After the sinnet is finished off, a slight coating of transparent varnish is laid over it, so as to bind the plait more firmly together, and to give it an uniform polish. In some arrows there are several similar belts of plaited sinnet. No feather is needed, as they are never aimed at any distance, and their great length is requisite to allow them to go straight through the bushes among which the rats lurk.

The bow is about the same length as the arrows, and not very powerful, so that the aim may not be disturbed by the effect of drawing it.

When they are ready to start, a couple of attendants are sent forward, who take in their mouths some roasted cocoa-nut, which they chew, and spit the fragments on either side of the path. If they come to a cross-road, they plant in it an upright reed, by means of which a tapu is laid on the path, in order to prevent any one from passing along and disturbing the rats. No one ever disregards this tapu. Even if one of the greatest chiefs come toward it, he will stop at a distance and sit down until the sportsmen have passed, while an inferior chief would to a certainty be clubbed for his insolence if he were to break the tapu.

When the party start, they arrange themselves in the following manner. They walk in Indian file along the path, the leading chief of one party going first, followed by the leading chief of the other side. Then come the men of next rank on either side, and so on alternately. Except the leading man, no one may shoot at a rat that is in front of him, though he may do so if it be on either side, or behind him. As soon as any one has shot his arrow, he changes places with the man behind him, no matter whether the shot be successful or not, so that each in turn has his chance of becoming the leading man, and so getting a double chance of a rat. Every sportsman has an attendant who follows the party, and, as soon as his master has discharged an arrow, picks it up and returns it to him.

In order to attract their game, the sportsmen imitate the squeaking of a rat, which often has the effect of bringing them out of their holes, and if a rat should run away instead of waiting to be shot, one or two of them, with a sharp percussion of the tongue, utter another sound, which has the effect of making the rat stop and sit up to listen. The party that shoots ten rats first wins the game. Birds of any kind are counted as rats.

These two sports are necessarily restricted to chiefs, on account of the expense in one case and the power of the tapu in the other, but there is another which is played only by chiefs and Matabooles, being restricted to them by etiquette and not by necessity.

The two players sit opposite each other, and one of them makes one of three movements with his right hand, i. e. presenting the open palm, the closed fist or the extended forefinger. His antagonist endeavors to imitate the movements, but if he can succeed in making five without being imitated, he wins a point, and marks it by laying down a little piece of stick. Should the antagonist be successful, he asks of the other player what were the preceding movements, their order and the reason for each of them. If his opponent should fail to give the correct answer, he loses a point, but if he succeeds, the game is continued.

The skill lies not in seeing and imitating the various movements, which are made so rapidly that an inexperienced eye cannot detect one of them, but in remembering the movements made by the antagonist, and in giving a feigned explanation of each. This explanation must be made according to the laws of the game, and alters with every variation in the order of the movements, so that considerable readiness and ingenuity are needed in order to invent on the spur of the moment an explanation according to the laws of the game. The chiefs are exceedingly fond of this game, and, while playing it, work themselves up to a wonderful pitch of excitement. The lower orders play a game somewhat similar to this, except that no discussion about the moves is allowable, and the intellectual element is therefore wanting.

There are many other games that are common to all ranks. One of these is called Tolo. A piece of soft wood, nine inches in diameter, is fastened to the top of a post of harder wood about five or six feet high, and the game consists in throwing a heavy spear so that it shall stick in the soft wood. Six or eight persons play on each side, every player being allowed three throws. Another game with spears somewhat resembles the djerid, and consists in hurling blunted spears at each other.

The Tongans are singularly dexterous of hand. They excel in ball play, and have a game which consists in playing with five balls, which are thrown from one hand to the other, so as to keep four balls always in the air. They sing a song at the same time, each cadence coinciding with the transfer of the balls from one hand to the other, and for every verse that they can finish without a mistake they score one point. They have also a game very much resembling our cup and ball.

Another game in which dexterity of hand is needed is called Lafo. A mat is laid on the ground, and the players throw beans on it, each trying to knock off those of his antagonist. This game has a sort of celebrity from having been connected with one of the few acts of cannibalism attributed to the Tongans. During a severe famine, two daughters of a chief played a game of lafo with two young warriors. If the men won, they were to have half the yam, but if they lost, they were still to have half the yam, but were obliged to go out, kill an enemy, and divide his body with the girls. They lost the game, ate their yam, and waited until night for the fulfilment of their promise. After dark they stole out, and hid themselves near the fortress of the enemy. As they had anticipated, in the early morning one of the men came out to fetch salt water, and passed near the spot where they lay in ambush. They struck him down with their clubs, and at the risk of their lives brought his body off to the spot where the girls lived. If in any of these games there should be a dispute, the men settle it by an extemporized wrestling match, and the women by spinning a cocoa-nut.

Being islanders, they are very familiar with the water, and practise the well-known sport of surf swimming. This sport will be described when we come to treat of the Sandwich Islands. They have another aquatic sport peculiar to themselves. Two posts are driven into the bed of the sea, about seventy yards apart, a spot being chosen where the water is about ten feet deep. Each player takes in his hands a large stone, jumps into the water by one post, and tries to carry it to the other post by running along the bottom. The chief difficulty is to pursue a straight course, as at such a distance the winning post is not visible through the water.

While Mr. Mariner was at the Tonga Islands, he took part in an amusement which derived its origin from a love legend. He accompanied Finow to a small island called Hoonga, and, on walking down to the sea-shore, he saw his companions bathing near a great rock, and was startled to find that they one after the other dived into the water and did not come up again. Just as the last was preparing to dive, he asked the meaning of this astonishing proceeding, and was told to follow, and he would be taken to a place where he had never been before, and where Finow and his Matabooles were then assembled.

He then dived into the water, and Mr. Mariner followed him, guided by the light reflected from his heels. Passing through an aperture in the base of the rock which has just been mentioned, he rose to the surface of the water and found himself in a cavern. At first he could see nothing, but he could distinguish the voices of Finow and his other friends; and after a while became so accustomed to the dim light that he could just manage to see that he was in a vast stalactitic cavern.

As the only light which entered it was reflected from the bottom of the water, and exceedingly dim, he dived out again, wrapped up his loaded pistol in a quantity of gnatoo, directed a servant to prepare a torch in the same manner, and dived back again By means of the pistol he lighted the torch, and probably for the first time since it was formed, the cavern was illuminated. It was about forty feet wide and as many high, and ran off at one side into two galleries. Its roof was covered with stalactites hanging in the fantastic patterns which they are apt to assume. The story which was told him respecting the discovery of this cavern is quite a romance of savage life.

Many years ago a young chief of Vavaoo discovered the cavern by accident, while diving after turtles, but took care to keep the discovery to himself, as he thought he should find it useful in case he was detected in a plot against the principal chief of the island, a man of cruel and tyrannous disposition. Another chief had the same intentions, and was organizing a revolt, when he was betrayed by one of his own followers, and condemned to be drowned, together with the whole of his family. It so happened that he had a very beautiful daughter whom the young chief had long loved, but to whom he dared not speak, knowing her to be betrothed to a man of higher rank than himself.

When, however, he found that her life was to be sacrificed, he contrived to make his way to her in the evening, told her of the fate which was in reserve for her, and offered to save her. The girl at once consented, and the two stole gently to the seaside, where a little canoe was drawn up. On their way to Hoonga the young chief told the girl of this place of retreat, and as soon as the day broke took her into the cavern. He was not long in finding out that the affection was mutual, but that the fact of her being betrothed to another had caused her to avoid him.

She remained in this cavern for two months, during which her young husband brought her the finest mats and gnatoo, the best food, and everything which constitutes Tongan luxury. He was, however, forced to spend a considerable part of his time at Vavaoo, lest the tyrannical chief should suspect him, and he was naturally anxious to take his wife to some place where they could live together in safety.

Accordingly, he called together his subordinate chiefs and Matabooles, and told them to prepare for a voyage to the Fiji Islands, accompanied with their wives and families. This expedition was kept secret lest the tyrant should put a stop to it. Just as they started, one of the chiefs advised him to take a Tongan wife with him, but he declined to do so, saying that he should find one by the way. They took his reply for a joke, and set sail toward Hoonga. When they neared the shores of the island, he told his men to wait while he went into the sea to fetch a wife, and, leaping into the sea from the side of the canoe which was farthest from the shore, he dived and disappeared.

After waiting for a while the people began to be seriously alarmed, thinking that he must have met with some accident, or that a shark had caught him. Suddenly, while they were debating as to the best course to be pursued, he appeared on the surface of the water, accompanied by a beautiful young female, whom he took into the canoe. At first his people were terribly frightened, thinking that she was a goddess; but, when they recognized her features, they took her for an apparition, believing that she had been drowned together with the rest of her family. The young chief arrived safely at the Fiji Islands, where he lived for two years; and at the expiration of that time, hearing that the tyrant of Vavaoo was dead, he returned to his native island, bringing with him his strangely rescued wife.

The facts of this story show that the cave must have some opening which admits the outer air, as otherwise no one could have lived in it so long. Even granting that the time of the girl’s residence was exaggerated, Mr. Mariner found that the air was perfectly fresh and sweet after Finow and his friends had remained in it for several hours, and a torch had been burned in it besides.

The island in which this extraordinary cavern is found is rather venerated by the Tongans as being the origin of their group of islands. Tongaloa, the god of arts and inventions, let down a fishing-line from the sky into the sea, when he suddenly felt his hook caught. He hauled up his line, thinking that from the resistance he had caught a very large fish. It turned out, however, that the hook had got itself fixed in the bed of the sea, and as the god continued to haul he drew up the Tonga islands. They would have been much larger, only the line broke, and the islands were left imperfect.

Mr. Mariner learned that the hook by which the Tonga islands had been drawn from the bed of the sea was kept in the custody of the Tooi-tonga, but had been burned, together with the house, about thirty years before. It was about six inches long, and from the description was one of the ordinary fishhooks of the country. Mariner asked why it did not break when hauling up so enormous a weight, and was told that it was a god’s hook, and therefore could not break. Being asked how it happened that the line, which was also the property of a god, broke, his interlocutor declined to pursue the subject any further, saying that so he had been told, and that there was no necessity for further inquiries.

CHAPTER CII. SAMOA, OR THE NAVIGATORS’ ISLANDS. APPEARANCE—CHARACTER—DRESS—MANUFACTURES.

POSITION OF THE GROUP, AND DERIVATION OF THE NAME — GENERAL APPEARANCE OF THE PEOPLE — THEIR CHARACTER FOR GENTLENESS, HOSPITALITY, HONESTY, AND COURTESY — CARRYING A MISSIONARY AND HIS FAMILY — AFFECTION FOR CHILDREN — DRESS OF THE SAMOANS — THE TATTOO A PARTIAL SUBSTITUTE FOR DRESS — MODE OF TATTOOING — TIME OCCUPIED IN COMPLETING THE OPERATION — THE FINE MATS OF SAMOA — WIG MAKING — FEATHER HEADDRESSES — DRESS OF THE WOMEN — DANCING COSTUME — ADVICE TO FAA-SAMOA — MODE OF DRESSING THE HAIR — TREATMENT OF WOMEN — MODE OF MAKING CLOTH — THE PROFESSIONAL AND HEREDITARY MANUFACTURER.

North of the Tongan group, and a little to the eastward, lie the Navigators’ Islands, more property called by their native name of Samoa, or Hamoa. The former of these names was given to them by Bougainville, in consequence of the skilful seamanship of the natives. There are eight islands comprehended in this group, the largest of which is Savaii.

As is often the case among these island groups, no single king or head chief is recognized, each island having its own ruler; under whom are subordinate chiefs of different ranks. This mode of government is so similar to that of the Tongans that we need not expend any time upon it.

The Samoans are a fine race of people, much exceeding the English in average stature, and peculiarly well made. Their skin is smooth, soft, and a warm reddish-brown in color, and the hair, though copious, possesses none of that woolliness which distinguishes the hair of the Papuan races, but is long, straight, and, in a few cases, possesses a slight wave. Naturally there is but little beard, and the Samoan takes a pride in extirpating every sign of a hair upon his chin. He is quiet, composed, and stately in manner, so that in all things he presents a bold contrast to the black, harsh-skinned Fijian, with his frizzed and woolly hair, his copious beard, and his quick, restless, suspicious manner.

Being savages, the Samoans have many of the imperfections which necessarily accompany savage life, but at the same time they approach nearer to the “noble savage” of the poet than most races of men. They are hospitable, affectionate, honest, and courteous, and have well been described as a nation of gentlemen. Toward strangers they display a liberality which contrasts greatly with the cruel and bloodthirsty customs of the Papuan tribes. The Fijians, for example, do all in their power to repel strangers from their shores, either driving them off, or killing and eating them. The Samoans, on the contrary, welcome strangers, allot to them their best houses, give them the best food, and make them feel that they are honored guests.

They are singularly affectionate in their disposition, and as parents are rather too fond of their children. As a rule, a Samoan parent cannot bear to thwart a child, and allows it to do what it likes. In consequence of this absence of discipline, many a child dies through the mistaken kindness of its parents, who have allowed it to eat food that was unsuitable to it, or to engage in games for which it had not sufficient strength.

The honesty of the Samoans is really wonderful. When a number of them were on board of an English vessel, they scrupulously refrained from stealing. Property which to them was equivalent to unbounded wealth lay within reach of their hands, but not even a nail or a needle was touched. In one instance, an European vessel went ashore on the rocks. The whole of its cargo was at the mercy of the Samoans, but not a man went on board of the vessel, and the whole of the property was reserved for the rightful owners. There are many civilized countries where the vessel would have been ransacked within an hour of her striking on the rocks.

Once when a great chief, named Malietoa, went on board an English vessel, accompanied by a younger brother, he examined everything with great attention, but asked for nothing, only requesting the white men to come on shore and visit him. This they did, bringing with them a present of axes, mirrors, beads, knives, scissors, needles, and similar articles. When the present was offered, Malietoa took up each article separately, laid it on his head, and returned thanks for it, and after he had gone through the whole of the present in detail, he made a complimentary speech, in which he thanked the donors for the entire gift. His brother, to whom a similar present had been offered, at first refused to take the basket, priceless as were its contents, but passed it on to his elder brother, saying that he would take whatever his brother did not happen to want.

“At the close of this important and interesting interview, Malietoa informed his people, who had been gazing with wonder upon the novel proceedings, that a large quantity of valuable property had been given to him, and that the English chiefs, to whom he was indebted for it, would want something to eat on their return. ‘For,’ said he, ‘there are no pigs running about upon the sea, neither is there any bread-fruit growing there.’ Upon hearing this, the whole company instantly rose and scampered away; and in about an hour they returned, bringing with them fifteen pigs of various sizes, with a large quantity of bread-fruit, yams, and other vegetables, the whole of which the chief presented to us.” This extract, from the journal of Mr. Williams, the well-known missionary, gives a good idea of the hospitable nature of the people.

Courtesy is, among the Samoans, reckoned as one of the duties of life. They address each other by titles of honor, and it is considered as an essential point of etiquette that, when one man addresses another, he should use a title rather higher than that to which his interlocutor has any claim. Should he be ignorant of the rank of the person whom he addresses, he uses the term chief, as a safe one.

The earlier voyagers have all been struck with the Samoans, whose gentle demeanor, perfect honesty, scrupulous cleanliness, graceful costume, gigantic stature, and polished manners, made a strong impression upon them. When Messrs. Williams and Barth visited these islands, they were received in the most hospitable manner. As they went on shore, the former happened to mention that he was tired, when a young chief addressed a few words to the people, and in a moment the visitor was lifted off the ground by a number of gigantic young men, who seized him, “some by the legs, and others by the arms, one placing his hand under my body, another, unable to obtain so large a space, poking a finger against me; and thus, sprawling at full length upon their extended arms and hands, I was carried a distance of half a mile, and deposited safely in the presence of the chief and his principal wife.”

Several children were on board, and were carried off by the natives in great glee. One or two of them were missing for several hours, causing their parents great anxiety. However, they were all brought back in safety, their absence being due merely to the exuberant hospitality of the Samoans. The natives were so delighted at their good fortune in having the charge of a white child that they could not make up their minds to restore it to its parents, but took it home, killed and baked a pig and other food, feasted the child to the fullest extent, and then, having kept it as long as they dared, restored it to its parents. This anecdote carries out the statement already made, that the Samoans are exceedingly fond of children. Mr. Pritchard mentions that on one occasion, when he was witnessing a native dance, which is a performance requiring the greatest exertion, the chief’s wife sat as a spectator, with two fine twin children in her lap. The chief, engaged as he was in the absorbing amusement of the dance, could not keep himself away from his children, but every now and then left the dance to caress them. The mothers nurse their children for several years, and a child of five or six years old may often be seen to pull away its younger brother or sister and take its place.

The dress of the Samoans varies considerably, according to the rank of the individual and the occasion on which it is assumed. The usual dress of the men is a sort of small apron, about a foot square, made of the green leaves of the Dracæna tree, but on occasions of ceremony they generally wear a flowing robe called the lava-lava. This is made of bark cloth, and is beautifully fine and soft, the Samoans excelling in such manufactures, which will presently be described. This robe is gathered round the waist into folds, and reaches down to the ankles.

Small as may be the ordinary dress of the Samoan men, they always seem to be fully dressed, in consequence of the tattooing with which they are carefully decorated. Even to European eyes the tattooing conveys the same impression, and has been mistaken for a dress by some of the early voyagers, who described the people as being clothed from the waist downward, with fringed lace “made of a silken stuff, and artificially wrought.”

The reader will remember that the New Zealanders tattoo no part of the body except the hips, and that even in that case a semblance of dress is produced. The Samoans tattoo the whole of the body from the hips to the knees, covering the skin so completely with the pattern that it looks at a little distance exactly as if the man were wearing a tight pair of ornamental drawers.

Even European eyes become so accustomed to the tattoo that they are rather shocked at its absence; and, according to Mr. Pritchard, an untattooed Samoan does in truth look unmanly, looks even naked, by the side of one who is tattooed. So completely is this feeling realized by the natives that chiefs who have arrived at middle age frequently undergo the process of tattooing a second time, in order to renew the patterns, as they become dim and uncertain by lapse of years; for, though indelible, the tattoo does fade in the course of years, as I can testify from personal experience. When a very young boy, I read of the custom of tattooing, and must needs try it on my own arm. I did not do much of it, but the whole arm swelled up to the shoulder, and was useless for some time. At first the marks were bright blue, clear and well-defined, but now the blue is of dull indigo, and the outline very undecided.

The production of this elaborate decoration is a work of considerable time, the operation being, in the first place, too painful to be continued for any long time; and, in the second, it is apt to cause so much disturbance in the general system that the result would be fatal if the whole were executed at once. The operation is generally performed in company, a number of young men keeping company with the son of the chief. When, for example, a chief’s son arrives at the proper age, i. e. about eighteen, all the lads of his tribe assemble to partake with him of the tattoo, which is to transform them from boys into men.

There is quite a ceremony, or rather a series of ceremonies, for the occasion. The tattooer or Matai, is a man of great influence, and his services have to be requested in regular form, accompanied by a present of fine mats. His acceptance of the mats ratifies the bargain, though no regular charge is made. On the appointed day, the lads and their friends meet in a house set apart for the ceremony, and more mats are presented to the Matai. Should the youth be wealthy, he sometimes gives a canoe. The friends of the lads are also bound to supply provisions as long as the operation lasts.

The tools are simple enough, being a set of five “combs” and a little mallet. The combs are made of human bone, and are an inch and a half in length, varying in width from the eighth of an inch to an inch, and looking very much like little bone adzes with the edges cut into a number of teeth. These blades are attached to handles about six inches in length. The pigment which is introduced into the wounds is made from the ashes of the cocoa-nut.

All being ready, the young chief lies on his face in front of the operator, and lays his head in the lap of his sister or some other female relation, while three or four young women hold his legs, and sing at the tops of their voices, in order to drown any groans or cries that he may utter. This is done out of consideration for his reputation, as it is thought unworthy of the state of manhood to utter a sound. Still the pain is so intense that the lads often do utter groans, and now and then actually yell with the pain. In one or two instances they have been so utterly overcome with the agony that, after they have been released they have not dared to submit themselves again to the operation, in which case they are despised for life as cowards.

Having traced out his pattern, the operator begins his work, driving the teeth of the comb through the skin by sharp and rapid taps of the mallet; there is an art even in holding this instrument, the handle of which passes under the thumb and over the fore-finger, and is used with wonderful rapidity and regularity. “The rapidity with which the Matai works his fingers,” writes Mr. Pritchard, “the precision with which he moves the instrument and punctures exactly the right spot, and the regularity of tapping with the mallet, are astounding.” By the side of the patient are placed several assistants, furnished with strips of white masi, whose duty it is to wipe away the blood as it flows from the punctures of the comb, and to leave the skin clear for the operator. Between every two or three strokes the toothed end of the comb is dipped into the pigment, which is mixed with water.

The pattern is in its main elements alike throughout all the Samoan Islands; but there are usually slight variations which denote the island in which the man lives, and others which mark the family to which he belongs. Sometimes, after a man has slain an enemy, he will make an addition which corresponds to a grant of arms among ourselves. The form of some animal is the ordinary pattern for such a badge of honor.

About an hour is occupied in executing a patch of tattoo not quite three inches square, and when this is done, the lad rises and another takes his place. In a week or so, the turn of the first lad comes round again, and so the process is continued for three or four months, according to the number of the patients, not more than five being operated on in a single day. When the pattern is about half completed, the Matai has another present; but the great payment is only made when the last finishing touch is put to the work. Should the Matai feel dissatisfied with his fees, he will not go on with the work, and, as an unfinished tattoo is thought to be most disgraceful, the friends of the youths get together what property they can, and make up the deficiency.

(1.) TATTOOING DAY IN SAMOA.
(See page 1013.)

(2.) CLOTH MAKING.
(See page 1016.)

During the time engaged in the operation, the patients look most miserable beings, the wounded parts swollen and inflamed, and displaying as yet none of the elegant pattern which has been traced on them. The lads hobble about in all sorts of contorted attitudes, fanning away the flies with flappers made of white masi, and doing all in their power to alleviate the pain. At last, however, comes the reward of all their sufferings. As soon as the wounds are healed, their friends get up a grand dance. As the costume of the male dancers is nothing but the little apron of leaves which has been already mentioned, the pattern of the tattooing is freely displayed; and the lads, now admitted among the men, think themselves well repaid for their former sufferings by the honor and glory of being ranked as men, and by the admiration of the opposite sex.

An illustration on the preceding page represents the process of tattooing. In the centre is lying the patient with his head in his sister’s lap, and his legs held by her companions, who are singing, in order to cover his groans, should he utter any. Near him are two assistants with their white masi cloths, and at his side kneels the operator, busily at work with his mallet and comb. The little vessel of pigment is by his side. Ranged round the wall of the house are the young men who are waiting their turn. Painful as is the operation, and expensive as it is, involving not only the fees to the operator, but a constant supply of provisions, all the lads look forward to it with the greatest anxiety, knowing that they will never be considered as men unless they can show a complete tattoo.

Both men and women wear mats, called in the native language “je-tonga.” One of these mats is in my collection, and is a beautiful piece of work. It is made of very narrow strips of leaf scraped thin, each strip being about the fifteenth of an inch in width. These are plaited together with beautiful regularity, and the whole is edged with a very fine and almost silken fringe of the same material.

Some of these mats are decorated with the red feathers of the parrot tribe, and increase in their value by age, being handed down to successive generations, and having legends attached to them. My own specimen has been adorned in a way which doubtless was very imposing to a Samoan eye, though not to that of an European. The native maker had evidently treasured up some scraps of English calico, and some blue and yellow paper such as is used for wrapping parcels. These treasures she has fastened to the mat, to which they give a most ludicrous appearance.

Samoan chiefs, when full dressed for war or state, may be known at a great distance by the splendid headdress which they wear. In the first place, they increase the apparent size of their heads by enormous wigs made of their own hair, which is suffered to grow long for this express purpose. When it has attained sufficient length, it is cut off, and is stained red, and frizzed out, until it assumes as large dimensions as the woolly head of a Papuan. They also wear great plumes of feathers, sometimes towering to the height of nearly two feet above their heads; so that the height of a Samoan chief, measured from the top of his plume, is not far from nine feet.

One of these headdresses in my collection is made of a vast number of feathers, tied by the stems in little bundles, and carefully arranged so that they shall droop evenly. There are about ten feathers in each bundle. These tufts are arranged closely together in circles composed of leaf stems and cocoa-nut fibre, and there are four of these circlets placed one over the other, so that several hundred feather tufts are employed for this single dress. The maker has ingeniously, though ignorantly, copied the peacock, the egret, and other birds which are furnished with trains. In them, the tail feathers are short and stiff, so as to allow the long train of feathers to droop gracefully over them. In a similar manner, the Samoan artificer has employed the shortest and stiffest feathers in the lower-most circlet, while in the uppermost are placed the longest and most slender plumes. The headdress is really very handsome, and even when worn by an European gives a most martial aspect to the countenance, especially when the war mat is worn, and the huge Samoan club carried on the shoulder.

The dress of the women is made of the same material as that of the men, but differently arranged. Their work costume is a petticoat of Dracæna leaves, but instead of being, like that of the men, a mere short apron, it is much longer, and completely surrounds the body. On occasions of state or ceremony, however, they wear lava-lavas of siapo like those of the men, only put on rather differently, and of much larger size. A woman of rank will often have this garment so long that it trails on the ground far behind her.

Captain Hood, in describing an entertainment given in honor of the white visitors, writes as follows. After the men had danced “a number of girls entered, who went through a somewhat similar set of evolutions, with infinite exactness and grace. It may seem incredible to our fair sisters in England, that a young lady arranged in no other garment but a mat tied round her waist should look handsomely dressed; but could they see these Samoan belles enter the circle in their full evening costume, with their coronets of nautilus shell and scarlet hibiscus, and their necklaces of red and yellow flowers, I believe they would admit that their appearance is highly imposing.

“Some wore beautifully plaited fine mats, which are so highly prized that they cost more than a rich silk or satin dress. Others had white shaggy dresses, made from the inner fibres of the hibiscus, the amplitude of which would satisfy the most extensive patronesses of crinoline, and indulged in trains equalling in length that worn by those dames of England in former days, while their carriage and air plainly showed that, whatever we might think, they felt themselves superior beings.” To judge from the photographed portraits of these Samoan beauties, Captain Hood is perfectly right; they not only look well dressed, but, if anything, over dressed.

That this opinion was not a rare one is evident from Mr. Williams’s account of Samoa, which he visited more than thirty years before Captain Hood. The missionaries’ wives had endeavored to persuade the Samoan women to wrap their abundant mantles over the whole of the body, but without success. On the contrary, the Samoan belles in their turn tried to convince the white visitors that it would be much better for them to faa Samoa, i. e. to do in Samoa as the Samoans do. Garments that covered the whole of the body might do well enough in the white woman’s country, but when they came to Samoa they ought to dress themselves like the Samoans, tie a shaggy mat round the waist, coquettishly looped up on one side, and anoint themselves with scented oil and color themselves with turmeric; wear a flower on the head instead of a bonnet, and a necklace of flowers by way of a bodice. Thus accoutred, they might faa-riaria, i. e. strut about in the consciousness of being well dressed, and certain of admiration. There is much to be said on both sides of the question.

The women wear their hair differently from the men, generally cutting it rather short, and combing it back. It is then powdered with fine lime made of burning coal, which has the effect of staining it of a reddish purple hue, which is thought to be the most fashionable color. After this is done, a Samoan belle merely twists a wreath of scarlet hibiscus flowers among the hair. In both sexes great pains are taken about the hair, and in order to promote its growth in after years the head is kept shaved in childhood, the boys having a single lock of hair on one side, and the girls one on either side.

There is a slight distinction of dressing the hair in the different islands of the Samoan group. In some of them the women separate the hair into multitudinous ringlets, each bound with cocoa-nut fibre, and cut square at the bottom, much like the ancient Assyrian fashion. As if to carry out the resemblance still further, the men preserve their beards, and dress them almost exactly like those of the figures on the Nineveh marbles.

In bodily form the women are by no means equal to the men, the latter being truly magnificent specimens of humanity, while the former are rather short, and stoutly made, with features that are pleasing in expression, but have otherwise little beauty. They are as well treated as in Tonga, and are not expected to do hard work. In fact, the men seem to take a pride in assisting the weaker sex. Mr. Pritchard writes on this subject as follows:—“We saw several women sitting quietly in their canoe, whilst their cavaliers swam alongside, towing them through the surf, not because they are at all less at home in the water than their husbands and brothers, as we saw this afternoon, when a large number of girls were alongside, who were as often swimming about, laughing and talking, for about half-an-hour at a time in the water, or sitting in their boats, which they are constantly upsetting.”

When the husband of a Samoan wife dies, his widow is not sacrificed at his funeral, but is usually taken by his brother, after the ancient Jewish custom. It is remarkable, by the way, that many of the Mosaic laws still exist in full force among the Samoans. In time of war no male captives are taken, all being killed. Their female relatives, whether wives or sisters, are considered as the property of the victors, and mostly become their wives. Thus it often happens that women are related to both sides, and, as they are by courtesy allowed to visit their relatives, all the designs of one side are speedily told to the other. So, whenever the principal chief prepares any plan of action, some of the women who have relations on the opposite side, immediately go off and tell them about the proposed movements. Still, the Samoans seem to make it a matter of honor not to take advantage of this knowledge, and to allow the enemy to execute his movements without interruption.

The women seem quite at their ease in warfare, and mostly accompany their husbands to the wars, in order to supply them with necessaries, and to nurse them if they should be wounded. Mr. Pritchard says that he has seen them in the heat of action, carrying water to the wounded, and seeming to care less for the thickly flying bullets than the warriors themselves.

Before passing to another subject, we will complete our notices of dress. The reader may remember that on page 977 was given a full account of the various processes by which the inner bark of the paper mulberry is made into garments. The Samoans employ the same method as the Tongans, but are even more careful in the manufacture of the cloth, which is in great request throughout many parts of Polynesia, and can be recognized at once by a skilful eye.

The women are the sole manufacturers, and are wonderfully skilful and patient over their work. In the first place, for the finest cloth they always employ very young trees, not more than fourteen to fifteen months old, and only two or three inches in diameter. They begin their work by cutting down the trees, peeling off the bark, and steeping it for eight and forty hours in water, so as to enable the rough outer bark to be removed from the thin and delicate inner bark. The well-known “bass,” with which gardeners tie up flowers, is a familiar instance of “liber,” or inner bark, procured from the lime tree. By constant beating, this substance becomes greatly increased in width and reduced in thickness, and, like gold leaf, it can be beaten out to almost any extent.

As the strips of bark are only ten or twelve inches wide, a number of them are united by overlapping the edges and putting between them arrow-root dissolved in water. The united pieces, while still wet, are again beaten, and after a while the two pieces become incorporated into one, and all signs of the junction disappear.

When a piece of sufficient size is made, printing and staining are the next processes. The dyes are generally of three kinds, red, brown, and yellow. The two first tints are obtained from clays, and the third from the ever useful turmeric. The women who make and print the cloth do not prepare the dyes, that being a separate occupation, and in these islands the different professions are strictly limited to certain families, just as is the case with the castes in India. The printing is done on exactly the same principle that is employed in rubbing brasses in this country. The pattern is made by fastening the flexible ribs of the cocoa-nut leaf on a board. When the ribs are quite hard and dry the cloth is stretched over them, and the dye rubbed over it with a stiff brush, so that it only adheres to those parts of the cloth which press against the raised pattern below. For patterns of a larger description a softer bark is used, which holds a quantity of color.

There are in my collection several specimens of Samoan bark cloth; one is very fine, pure white, six feet long, by two wide, and ornamented with a fine fringe all round it. Another is thicker and stronger, being made of four layers of bark, one placed upon the other. In some places the junction has not been completed, and the different layers are quite distinct. It measures rather more than seven feet in length and three feet ten inches in width. It has a deep-colored border about eighteen inches in width, composed of a diamond pattern impressed upon a number of perpendicular parallel lines and dots. This border is a light red in color, and upon it are several circles of dark brown. Circles of a similar kind are scattered over the uncolored portion of the robe, which is of a creamy yellow hue.

The third specimen is still thicker, and larger. It is seven feet square, and has been completely covered on the outside with the clay pigment, which has been put on so thickly as to make the fabric comparatively stiff. Two broad bands of deep black are drawn across it so as to divide it into three equal portions, and in each division are four patterns also drawn in black, very much resembling the “broad arrow” used in the government mark of England.

In the second illustration on page 1012 are shown the successive processes of converting the bark into cloth. In the foreground and at the right hand are seen some women kneeling in the stream, engaged in scraping the liber to free it from every particle of the outer bark. One woman is examining a piece against the light, to see whether it is quite clean. Behind them, and toward the left centre of the illustration are more women, some of them beating and scraping the bark with the square mallets which have been already described when treating of Tonga, and another is busily employed in joining two pieces with arrow-root. Just above them is another woman engaged in the more skilful part of the manufacture, i. e. printing by rubbing dye over the cloth when laid on the pattern board, and one or two of the boards themselves are given, in order to show the cocoa-nut leaf pattern upon them. In the distance, the other women are seen hanging the still wet cloth up to dry.

CHAPTER CIII. SAMOA, OR THE NAVIGATORS’ ISLANDS— Continued . WAR.

CAUSES OF WAR IN SAMOA — THE MALO, AND STRUGGLES FOR ITS POSSESSION — THE CHIEF’S VENGEANCE — FIRE-ARMS PREVENTIVE OF WAR — SAMOAN WEAPONS — THE CLUBS — PATTERNS OF CLUBS THROUGHOUT POLYNESIA — STRANGE MODE OF USING THE SPEAR — THE SHARK-TOOTH GAUNTLETS — SUITS OF ARMOR — GETTING TOGETHER AN ARMY, AND MODE OF FIGHTING — UNPLEASANT POSITION OF NEUTRALS — THE SEA-FIGHT — DISTINGUISHING PENNANTS — THE DEFIANCE BEFORE BATTLE — TROPHIES OF WAR, AND ELATION OF THE VICTOR — DISPOSAL OF THE BODIES — THE HEAD PILE — SINGLE COMBAT BETWEEN CHIEFS — SAMOAN LAW — PUNISHMENT FOR MURDER AND LESSER OFFENCES — CANNIBALISM — NATIVE LAWYERS — THE PLAINTIFF DEFEATED WITH HIS OWN WEAPONS.

It was mentioned on page 1014, that women when captured in war become the absolute property of those who take them; we will therefore devote a short space to warfare among the Samoans, omitting those characteristics in which it resembles war among the other Polynesian tribes, which have already been described.

The causes of war may mostly be reduced to four; namely, the desire of political supremacy, disputed succession to chieftainship, revenge for the murder of a chief, and infringement of the strange marriage laws of the Samoans.

The first of these causes is always rankling. Each island is divided into several districts, and when one begins to show signs of special prosperity, another is sure to take umbrage at it and go to war in order to secure the “Malo,” or political supremacy. One example of such a war occurred only a few years ago in the island of Apolo.

Manono, one of the three districts into which it is divided, held the supremacy, and the chiefs felt indignant because another district, Aâna, was prospering under the teaching of the missionaries. The chiefs of Manono therefore began to oppress Aâna by making continual demands of property and food. Still, in spite of their exactions, the district would persist in flourishing; it made and sold more cocoa-nut oil, and sold it for more hatchets, calico, and other European treasures, than the other districts. The Manono chiefs were naturally indignant that when they went to a subject district they found it better cultivated and richer than their own, and construed the inferiority which they could not but feel into an intentional insult on the part of Aâna. So they proclaimed the people of Aâna to be rebels, and made war against them.

Such a cause of war, absurd as it may be, and subversive of all real progress, is intelligible, and to be explained by the petty jealousies of human nature, which is too prone to feel itself personally hurt at the prosperity of another. Vengeance for a murdered chief is intelligible, and so is a war for succession; but the last cause needs some explanation.

By the laws of Samoa, a woman once a wife is always a wife, even though she may be put away by her husband. The Samoan chiefs claim the right of marrying as many wives as they choose, and putting them away as often as they like. Indeed, a man often marries a girl merely for the sake of her dower of mats and other property. But even after he has put away a wife, he still considers her as his own chattel; and if any other chief takes her to his house, war is at once declared against him. It is a curious fact that the original husband cares nothing about the morality of the wife whom he has put away, but only for the insult offered to himself by taking his property. Such cast-off wives mostly attach themselves to the Fala-tele, or visiting house, leading most immoral lives, and may do so without incurring any resentment from their former husband. But let them marry another, and vengeance immediately follows the insult.

Head larger

Full length in proportion to head

MANGAIAN SPEAR.
(See page 1034.)

ADZE MAGNIFIED.
(See page 1033.)

SUIT OF ARMOR.
(See page 1019.)

SAMOAN CLUB.
(See page 1019.)

MANGAIAN PADDLES
(See page 1033.)

 

Before the introduction of fire-arms, the principal weapons of Samoa were the spear and the club. The older chiefs have a rooted objection to the musket, and, like Hotspur’s fop, have not been particularly willing to take the field since that “villanous saltpetre” has come into vogue. Muskets, say they, are weapons for boys; clubs for men. They have some reason to complain of the bullets, which, as they say, do not know chiefs, because their towering headdresses make them so conspicuous that they afford excellent marks to the enemy; and if by chance one of their opponents should have even a moderate notion of taking aim, their chance of coming safely out of the battle would be a very small one.

The clubs used in Samoa are remarkable for the excellence of their make, and the polish and finish with which the native carver loves to ornament them. Some of them are short, used for one hand, and made just like the steel maces of European chivalry. Others are almost exactly like the club No. 1, figured on page 949. The example which is given in the illustration entitled “Club,” on page 1018, is drawn from a specimen in my collection, and belonged to the same chief who owned the war mat and feather headdress which have been described. It is five feet in length, and very heavy, so that none but a very powerful man can use it. As it has seen much work, it has been battered about, the wood of the head cracked, and the carving defaced. I have therefore had it drawn as it was when new.

As a rule the clubs of Tonga, Samoa, Fiji, and other Polynesian groups can hardly be definitely referred to any one of them. The commerce which passes between them has caused an interchange of weapons as well as of peaceful commodities, so that the two distinct races which inhabit Fiji and the Tongan and Samoan group use weapons which are almost identical. Thus the serrated club which has just been mentioned is equally used in New Guinea, Fiji, and Samoa, the pattern having been found a convenient one, and so transmitted from one island to the other.

The spears, again, have a great similitude, and are armed with barbs, the best being tipped with the tail-bone of the sting-ray. In former days, when a warrior had pierced an enemy with his spear, he tried to lift him from the ground upon it; and if he were unable to do so, he was generally assisted by several of his comrades, who all thrust their spears into his body, lifted him in the air, and bore him aloft in triumph, not caring whether he were alive or dead.

One weapon, however, seems to be peculiar to Samoa, and has been mentioned by Mariner. It consists of a pair of gauntlets made of cocoa-nut fibre, on the inside of which are fixed several rows of sharks’ teeth, set edgewise. In fact, this weapon is made exactly on the principle of the terrible “tiger-claw” of India, and is intended for the purpose of ripping up an adversary, the abdomen being the part that is always attacked, both by the Samoan and the Hindoo.

One chief, who was of gigantic dimensions, even for a Samoan, always fought with these terrible gauntlets. He used them, however, in a different manner, and disdained to tear open the body of his antagonist. As all the points of the teeth are directed backward, it is impossible for any one who is grasped by these gauntlets to tear himself away. The gigantic chief was accustomed to rush at one of the enemy, seize him with his gauntleted hand, fling him on his face, place one foot on the small of his back, grasp him by the head and bend him forcibly upward so as to break his spine. This was his mode of dealing with able-bodied men. If, however, he seized a small man, he merely threw the victim across his knee, broke his back, and flung his dying foe on the ground. The illustration on page 1025 is taken from a beautiful specimen in the collection of the United Service Museum.

In order to guard themselves against these weapons, the Samoan warriors gird themselves with a very broad and thick belt, made of cocoa-nut fibre, wide enough to reach from the arm to the hip. It is not quite long enough to encircle the body, but is worn mostly on the left side, that being the side most exposed to the enemy.

One of these belts, in my collection, is two feet nine inches in length, so that when fastened round the waist it leaves a considerable portion of the right side exposed. It is made by taking a number of plaited cords, and passing them over two sticks, so that all the cords are parallel to each other. They are then bound firmly together by strings of twisted fibre, which pass under and over each alternately, and make a very strong armor, through which the dreaded sharks’ teeth cannot make their way.

Sometimes the Samoan warrior seems to have been mistrustful of the efficacy of the belt, and to have feared the effects of the shark’s teeth on his naked arms and legs. There is in the collection of the United Service Museum a complete suit of armor, most ingeniously made out of fibre, and so formed as to cover the greater part of the body and limbs. It is in two portions, the upper being put on as a coat, and the lower as trousers. By the sides of the armor, on p. 1018, are two small sketches, showing on an enlarged scale the patterns of the plaiting.

There is no definite army among the Samoans, each man being considered as a soldier, and having his weapons always at hand. He is liable at any time to be called out by his chief, and, as a rule, he troubles himself very little about the cause of the war, only concerning himself to fight in the train of his chief. The Samoans are a brave race, and, if properly led and taught the veriest rudiments of discipline, would make good soldiers. As it is, however, no Samoan warrior fights with the knowledge that his movements are directed in accordance with a definite plan, or that he will be supported by others. He does not feel himself a simple unit among many, but has to look out for himself, to select his own adversary, to advance when he thinks he can do so with advantage, to run away when he feels himself getting into undue peril.

Whenever a few Samoans have put themselves under the guidance of a white man, they have always repelled their foes. In one such case, twenty men drove off a body of five hundred enemies, flushed with success and bloodshed. Both parties were armed with muskets, but the regular though insignificant volleys of the twenty men so completely disorganized the five hundred undisciplined foes, that the latter dared not attack the little stone wall, five feet high and twenty-five yards long, behind which the defenders were lying.

Had the latter been left to their own devices, they would have fired all their pieces at once, and been left with unloaded muskets at the mercy of their foes. But being taught always to keep half their muskets loaded, they had always a volley ready for their enemies, who were utterly discomfited at their reception, and at last were only too glad to escape as they best could, with the loss of many men.

The position of a neutral is not at all a pleasant one in Samoa, as, in case either side should appear to be likely to win the day, those of the losing side who happen to be friendly with the unfortunate neutral make a point of stripping him of all his property, to prevent it from falling into the hands of the enemy. Those Europeans who know the native customs always erect barricades whenever war parties come near them, knowing that they stand in equal danger from friends or foes.

When a chief decides on going to war, he calls out all the warriors in his district. Though there is no real discipline of the soldiers, there is at all events some semblance of order in their arrangement. Each town has its definite place, and the inhabitants would resent any attempt on the part of another town to take the place which they consider as their own. The most honorable post is in front, and, though it is a post of danger, it is so honorable that if a man belonging to any town privileged to lead the war were placed in the rear, he would probably desert to the enemy. In fact, a vast amount of desertion does take place, and by means of the deserters and the women, both parties know tolerably well the designs of their antagonists. The idea of conceiving, maturing a plan, keeping it secret, and then suddenly acting on it, seems never to have entered the mind of the Samoan chiefs.

Though the vanguard is the post of danger as well as of honor, it is greatly coveted, for it is also the post of profit both in peace and war. The inhabitants of the privileged towns claim the largest share at the feasts, and generally rule the district in which they live. As all the Samoans dress much alike and speak the same language, they are obliged to wear a sort of uniform, by which they shall know friends from foes. In the case of warriors, the hair is dressed in some strange way, or a white shell is hung round the neck, or a strip of cloth tied round the arm, these symbols being changed every three or four days, in order to prevent the enemy from imitating them.

When canoes unite under one leader, they hang out symbols of a similar character, such as bunches of leaves, strips of matting, or even a sort of flag made of native matting, and having painted on it the rude figure of some animal, such as a pig, a dog, or a bird. True to the independent nature of Samoan warriors, the two men who respectively command the land and the sea forces never think of consulting together, and acting in concert together, but each does what he thinks best on the spur of the moment. In the case already mentioned, where twenty Aâna men repulsed five hundred of the Savaiis, the latter might have been cut off to a man. While they were kept in check by the twenty disciplined warriors, a fleet of Aâna canoes appeared off the shore; and, if the commander had only landed his men, a most thorough example would have been made of the invaders. But he had nothing to do with the land force, and so allowed the enemy to escape without even attempting to stop them.

The student of anthropology always finds that human nature is much the same in different parts of the earth, and that manners and customs wonderfully resemble each other in principle, though they may be modified in detail by the accident of time and place. It has already been mentioned that many of the Samoan laws are identical with those given by Moses, though there is no possibility that any geographical connection could ever have taken place between Polynesia and Sinai.

Warfare is carried on at the present day in Samoa just as the scriptures tell us it used to be in Palestine and Syria, and as Homer tells us it was waged on the plains of Troy. When two opposing bodies meet, the leaders challenge and abuse each other in good set terms, each boasting of his own prowess, depreciating that of the adversary, and threatening after he has killed his enemy to dishonor his corpse in some way. Thus, we find that when David had accepted the challenge of Goliath, before they proceeded to action they reviled each other, Goliath threatening to give David’s flesh unto the “fowls of the air and the beasts of the field,” and David retorting in almost the same words, but adding that he would do the same by the bodies of the whole army.

Thus, in the old Homeric story, where Ulysses flings his spear at Socus, he uses almost exactly the same formula of words:—

Thus, the Fijian warrior defies his enemy in words before he proceeds to blows, threatening to bake and eat his body and make a drinking-cup of his scull. Thus, the Samoan war parties always think it necessary to pause and defy each other in words before they proceed to blows. For example, when the Manono and Aâna men fought in the struggle which has just been described, they exchanged threats and injurious epithets wonderfully like the “winged words” of the Homeric warriors, the sentiment being identical, though the imagery is necessarily different. The illustration No. 1, on page 1027, shows these Samoan warriors exchanging defiance with their foes.

“You banana-eating Manono men, be your throats consumed by Moso.”

“Ye cocoa-nut eating Aâna men, be your tongues wasted.”

“Where is that Savii pig that comes to his death?”

“Roast that Atua king who is about to die by my spear;” and so on ad infinitum.

These war parties afford excellent opportunities of studying the dress and ornaments of the Samoans. It is thought a point of honor with them, as with the American Indians, to go into action in the fullest dress and decorated with every ornament that can be procured, so that the headdress and general accoutrements of a chief when engaged in war are sure to be the best examples that can be seen.

The proceedings that take place after a battle are well described by Mr. Pritchard. “After a fight, the heads of the slain warriors are paraded in presence of the assembled chiefs and people, when the heroes are individually thanked, and their general prowess and daring publicly acknowledged. The excitement of the successful warrior is intense, as he passes before the chiefs with his bleeding trophy, capering in the most fantastic evolutions, with blackened face and oiled body, throwing his club high in the air, and catching it behind his back or between his legs; sometimes himself carrying his dead enemy’s head, sometimes dancing round a comrade who carries it for him, all the while shouting in his loudest voice, ‘Ou te mau tangata! Ou te mau tangata!’ (‘I have my man, I have my man!’)”

To a young Samoan this is the realization of his highest ambition, to be thus publicly thanked by the chief for slaying an enemy in mortal combat, as he careers before his comrades with the reeking head of his foe in one hand, and his club in the other.

“Then, again, when the war is over, and he returns to his village, to hear his companions rehearse the exploit, and the girls pronounce him ‘toa’ i. e. brave; then it is you see in their very perfection the complacent dignity and latent pride that lurk within that brown-skinned islander. As he assumes an air of unconscious disregard of the praises his deeds evoke, you see the sublime and the ludicrous neatly blending, when he turns to the girls, and mildly exclaims, ‘Funa mai si rului!’ (‘Woman, hand me a cigar.’) This modest little order is at once pretty and pert, dignified and careless, when it falls from the lips of a hero or a beau. And proud is the girl who hands it to him; she has but one ambition then, to become his wife, even with the certainty of being cast off in less than a month for another.

“After the heads have been paraded before the chiefs, they are piled up in the malae, or open space in the centre of the town, the head of the greatest chief slain being placed uppermost. If among the visitors there are any relatives of the slain, they claim the heads and bury them, or send them back to the comrades of the deceased. The unclaimed heads are buried together in the malae. Any bodies that may be recognized are also buried by their friends, while those who have no relations among the visitors are left to rot and make food for the dogs.

“The relations are careful to bury the bodies they identify, lest their spirits should haunt them or wander about the field of battle, disconsolate and mournful, lamenting the fate which left their bodies to rot or to be eaten by the dogs. I have often heard the natives say, ‘Hear that spirit moaning, I am cold! I am cold!’ when a stormy night has thrown its darkness and poured its torrents of rain and gusts of wind over the battle-field. It was vain to tell them that the noise they heard was merely the creaking boughs or the pelting rain; to them it was nothing else than the spirit of the unburied dead enemy.”

The feelings of vanity are so acute in a Samoan warrior that he will do almost anything to procure applause at these meetings after a battle. One man who had failed to kill an enemy was greatly annoyed with himself at having missed the public applause which he had hoped to gain, and hit upon another mode of obtaining a sort of celebrity. He cut off the great toes of a dead enemy whose head had already been taken, and with these toes in his mouth paraded before the chiefs as if he had taken a head. Finding that this novel act excited admiration, he became so excited that he ate the toes, even without cooking them, in the presence of all the people.

Such an act as this might induce the reader to suppose that the Samoans, like many Polynesians, are cannibals. In the ordinary sense of the word, they are not so. After a battle they will sometimes cook and eat a human body, but this is done as an act of disgrace, and not as a gratification of the appetite. In one instance, a young woman whose father had been killed in battle obtained a scalp that had belonged to the enemy. She first burned it to ashes, then beat it to powder, and scattered the dust on the fire over which she cooked her provisions.

After a decisive battle, the chiefs of the beaten side come humbly before their victorious antagonists, carrying firewood, stones and pieces of bamboo. They lay their burdens before the principal chief, and prostrate themselves on the ground, lying there in silence. Should, as is generally the case, the victors be willing to accept the submission, the prostrate chiefs are told to rise and return home; but if they should not be satisfied, the men are clubbed where they lie, while the people whom they represent suffer all the horrors of savage warfare.

The firewood, stones, and bamboo are considered as emblems of the utterly abject state to which the bearers have been reduced. The stones, being the material with which the native ovens are made, signify that those who deposit them at the feet of the victors give themselves up to be baked and eaten by the conquerors. The firewood represents the material with which the ovens are heated, and the bamboo serves as a double symbol. In the first place, the knives with which the Samoans cut up their food were always made of bamboo before the use of iron was introduced by Europeans; and in the second place, the instruments by which torture was inflicted on prisoners by cruel captors were made of the same material.

When the conquered party are pardoned, they enter the house of the chief, kiss his feet, and present him with fine mats, bark cloth, food, and similar property. This ceremony is called Ifonga, and is sometimes employed on other occasions. For example, during the war between Manono and Aâna, two of the most influential chiefs of the latter party took umbrage at some slight, either real or fancied, and deserted to the enemy. Desertion of this nature is quite a common event in Samoan warfare, inasmuch as the chiefs are almost entirely independent of each other, and are bound together by the slightest of ties. In fact, the condition of these islanders much resembles that of the Scottish Highlanders in the old times, when it was hardly possible to wage a regular war on account of the rival jealousies of the different chiefs, besides the internal dissensions among the members of each clan.

Besides, as in the old Scottish clans, there is no discipline by which even the men are bound together. Each man serves as long as he chooses, and no longer. If he thinks himself slighted, or if his crops at home have to be got in, he has no hesitation in shouldering his club, and going off to his own village; nor is there any law by which he can be punished for so doing. In the war to which we are now alluding, a vast number of the Savaii allies of Manono had gone off to their own plantations.

In order to carry out the principle of obtaining the Malo, or sovereignty, it was necessary that the deserters should do homage to Manono, and be replaced in state in their homes, which they were supposed to hold under Manono as vassals in charge. If they could take possession without being attacked by the opposing party, they were supposed to have asserted their rights.

Accordingly, a great ceremony was projected. The Manono chiefs recalled all the allies who had escaped from the war, ostensibly to look after their plantations, but in reality because they had a strong objection to bullets, and summoned them to bring the produce of their plantations to a great “fono,” or discussion. Accordingly, they all came back, allured by the prospect of the feast which accompanies such a “fono.” The two deserting chiefs were introduced to the assembly, and went through the ceremony of Ifonga as a matter of form. Next they had to be safely installed in their own villages. With one of them this was a comparatively easy matter, as the whole district was deserted. So the chief was taken there in triumph, escorted by thirty or forty canoes, and formally installed in his own domains, as vassal to Manono, and therefore acknowledging the right of Malo to belong to that district. He had no followers with him, and in a day or two he left the place and returned to Manono. Still, the transaction had been completed, the time during which he held his domain not being of any importance. The reader may be glad to know that this chief suffered the usual fate of renegades, being received at first with great ceremony, and made much of, and afterward sinking into utter obscurity.

As to the other chief, there was a difficulty respecting the installation. It so happened that, he having been one of the most influential leaders, all the united forces of the two districts, Aâna and Atua, were encamped in and about the place, and if he had been taken there he would not only have been attacked, but the invading party would probably have been repelled by the united forces of the other two districts. So, after much deliberation, it was determined that he should be installed at a convenient season, but that the precise time for performing the ceremony need not for the present be fixed upon.

Sometimes a couple of chiefs quarrel, and, instead of going to war, fight it out themselves with their clubs. They display great dexterity in fencing and guarding, as well as striking, and are watched intently by the spectators. They are usually parted before they do any serious harm to each other, because in case either were killed, or even seriously injured, a war of vengeance would be the inevitable result.

Comparatively little is known of the native laws of Samoa, which, like all similar institutions, are always on the change, and of late years have been almost forgotten by reason of the presence of Europeans in the islands. We find, however, from several travellers, especially from those who have lived among the Samoans as missionaries, that a tolerably well-defined code of laws is recognized, and administered by the chief and his councillors.

Murder, for example, was punishable by death; and this was so well known that when one man murdered another, he and all his family generally fled to another district, where they were sure of protection. It was necessary that all the family should accompany the murderer, because the relatives of the slain man might wreak their vengeance upon any relation of the murderer. Practically, the punishment for murder resolved itself into a heavy fine. The fugitive necessarily left behind him his plantations, his house, and other property, all of which was seized by the chief. Sometimes the whole of the property was confiscated, the house burned down, the plantation devastated, and a message sent to the murderer that he might never return to his own village. Generally, however, this extreme punishment was commuted for a heavy fine, part of which consisted in giving a feast to the entire village.

Damaging a fruit tree was held to be a crime deserving of heavy punishment; and so was speaking disrespectfully to a chief, destroying a fence, or behaving rudely to strangers. For several offences the Samoans had a curiously graduated scale of punishments. Sometimes, when the offence was a light one, the offender was sentenced to seat himself in front of the chief and his council, and take five bites of a cruelly pungent root. Sometimes he was obliged to toss and catch a certain number of times one of the prickly sea-urchins, which are covered with slender spikes, as sharp as needles and as brittle as glass. Sometimes he had to beat his head with sharp stones until his face was covered with blood.

These punishments were usually inflicted, but there was a severe set of penalties for graver offences. In some cases the offender was hung by the feet to the branch of a tree, or stripped of all his clothes, and set in the burning rays of the mid-day sun. One of the severest, as well as most degrading punishments consisted in taking a pole cut from a very prickly tree, tying together the culprit’s feet and hands, slinging him on the pole as pigs are slung when they are being taken to the oven, and carrying him to the house or village against which he had offended.

The degrading part of this punishment consisted in likening the offender to a pig going to the oven. It is always held as a deep insult to a Samoan to compare him to a pig; while the very idea of being baked in the oven is most repulsive to the feelings of the people, who have the same contempt for any of the processes of cookery that prevails throughout New Zealand, Fiji, and Tonga. So utterly humiliating is this punishment, that when the culprit is laid helpless at the feet of those whom he has injured he is almost invariably released and forgiven, the extreme degradation being accepted as an atonement for almost any offence, no matter how heinous. This is the reason why the ceremony of Ifonga is considered as so degrading.

Indeed, it is in consequence of this feeling that cannibalism is occasionally practised, though, as has already been mentioned, it exists in a very modified form. Formerly, the women always attended upon the warriors for the sake of obtaining the bodies of the slain foes, which they dragged out of the field, and then cooked, by way of expressing the utmost contempt for them. The priests used also to accompany the warriors, and pray to the gods for success. They had good reason for wishing for victory, as their portion of the food was only the hands of the slain warriors, and as long as the struggle lasted they were not allowed to eat any other food except these hands. The priests of the losing side have sometimes been obliged to fast for several days in succession.

When the body of a chief was carried off to the oven, great rejoicings were made, and every one was expected to eat a piece of it, no matter how small. On such occasions, even the women and little children had a share, the question being frequently asked whether all have tasted. Sometimes, when a captive has been taken alive, the Samoans have been known to tie him up to a tree, dig a hole in front of him, line it with stones, heat it before his eyes, and then throw him into it.

According to the accounts of the natives, wars were formerly much more common than is now the case, the musket having almost driven the club and spear out of the field, and rendering useless the strength and skill of the warriors, who prided themselves on their dexterity of handling their weapons. How well they fence with the club has already been described, and that they were equally efficient in the use of the spear is evident from an anecdote told by Mr. Williams.

A chief named Matetau had come on board an English vessel, and the captain, wishing to test the skill of his visitor, painted on the foresail a ring about four or five inches in diameter, and asked Matetau to throw his spear at it. The chief retired to the quarter-deck, about eighty feet from the mark, poised his spear for a moment, and sent it through the middle of the ring. Warriors thus skilful in the use of their weapons might well feel indignant at the introduction of fire-arms, which equalize the weak and the strong, and enable a mere boy only just tattooed to kill the greatest chief.

When cases are brought before the council for adjudication, both plaintiff and defendant exhibit the greatest ingenuity in stating their case, and are wonderfully fertile in inventing new arguments. The Samoan litigant is as slippery as an eel, and no sooner has he found one post untenable than he has contrived to glide away from it and establish himself in another. Mr. Pritchard gives a very amusing instance of this characteristic of the Samoan.

The property of an English resident, who was popularly called “Monkey Jack,” had been wantonly destroyed, and the injured man referred the case to the council. As at that time two ships of war arrived, the matter was by common consent referred to the senior officer, and the plaintiff, accompanied by his friends, proceeded to the spot. The chiefs were convened, and, though they could not deny that the property had been destroyed, they put forward a series of excuses for refusing to pay any indemnity.

Firstly, they said that the plaintiff had joined the enemy, and that they were therefore entitled to wage war on him. This accusation being refuted, they shifted their ground from the man to his wife, saying that she was related to the enemy, and that her husband necessarily partook of the relationship. Fortunately, the woman happened to be related equally to both sides, so that the defendants had to abandon that plea.

Their next count was, that the destruction of the property was accidental, and that therefore the owner had no claim on them. As their own previous admissions contradicted them, there was no difficulty in disposing of this allegation. Their next line of defence was a very ludicrous one, and showed that they were nearly brought to bay. It so happened that “Monkey Jack” was something of an armorer, and used to repair for the natives the muskets which their rough hands had damaged. His opponents suddenly recollected this and turned it to account, saying that his charges for repairs were so much heavier to them than to the enemy, that in self-defence they had taken his property in compensation. Evidence was brought that his charges were always the same to any natives, no matter to which party they belonged, and so the defendants were again beaten.

Like wise men, however, they had reserved their weightiest argument to the last. It has already been mentioned that in time of war either party has no scruple in destroying or confiscating the property of a friend, on the plea that it is better for them to have the use of the property than for the enemy to take it. The defendants brought forward an argument based on this custom, saying that they only acted in accordance with national custom, and that they had destroyed the property of the plaintiff, in order to keep it out of the hands of the enemy.

This was by far the most formidable argument they could have employed, but “Monkey Jack” was as clever as his opponents, and replied with crushing effect, that for several weeks the opposite party had been able, if they had desired to do so, to destroy all his property, but had refrained from touching it.

When the chiefs saw that they had met with men more skilful than themselves in argument, they were sadly perplexed, and some of the younger chiefs hit on a mode by which they thought that they might escape from paying the indemnity. They agreed quietly to surround the spot where the captain and the consul were sitting, and suddenly carry them off, and retain them as hostages until the indemnity should be given up. Fortunately, Mr. Pritchard detected their plot, and contrived to slip back to the boats, where he arranged a counter plot.

Before very long, the Samoans surrounded the place where the intended captives were sitting, and, just as they were about to seize them, Mr. Pritchard called out to them, and showed them that they were covered by the levelled muskets of the sailors and marines, who had accompanied the captain and the consul to the spot. Knowing that, unlike themselves, the English warriors had an inconvenient habit of hitting when they fired, the Samoan chiefs acknowledged themselves conquered, and agreed to pay the indemnity.

Another case, much more petty, was a very ludicrous one, the Samoan absolutely granting himself to be defeated by the logic of his opponent.

There was a certain West Indian negro, who had taken up his residence in Samoa, and had attained in a neighboring tribe the rank of chief, together with the name of Paunga. A native chief, named Toe-tangata (called, for brevity’s sake, Toe), had a dog, which was in the habit of stealing from Paunga’s house. The latter had often complained to the owner of the animal, but without success, and at last, as the dog continued to steal, Paunga shot it. Now in Samoa to insult a chief’s dog is to insult the owner, and so Toe considered himself to have been shot by Paunga.

The case was at last referred to the captain of an English man-of-war, but Paunga refused to appear, saying that he was a Samoan chief, and not under the jurisdiction of a foreigner. A file of armed marines was at once sent for Paunga, who ingeniously took advantage of the proceeding, placing himself at their head, and telling the people that they might now see that he was a chief among the white people as well as among natives, and had his guard of honor, without which he would not have stirred out of the house.

Both being before the captain, Toe made his complaint, and was instantly crushed by Paunga’s reply. He admitted that the property of a chief was identical with the owner. Consequently, when Toe’s dog ate Paunga’s food, he, Toe, ate Paunga. Therefore, when Paunga shot Toe in the person of his dog, he only balanced the account, and neither party had grounds of complaint against the other.

SHARK-TOOTH GAUNTLET.
(See page 1019.)

CHAPTER CIV. SAMOA, OR THE NAVIGATORS’ ISLANDS— Concluded . AMUSEMENTS—MARRIAGE—ARCHITECTURE.

SAMOAN AMUSEMENTS — PIGEON CATCHING — THE DECOY BIRDS, AND MODE OF USING THEM — TRAINING THE BIRDS — FISHING: THE NET AND THE LINE — DARING MODE OF SHARK CATCHING — A BOLD FISHERMAN — CURIOUS ACCIDENTS TO THE DIVERS: THE SHARK AND THE CORAL — THE BOAR HUNT — A DANGEROUS FOE — SAMOAN COOKERY — THE PALOLO — ITS CURIOUS APPEARANCE, MODE IN CAPTURE, AND WAY OF COOKING IT — MARRIAGE IN SAMOA — CEREMONIES IN THE MARRIAGE OF A CHIEF — THE WEDDING FEAST AND DANCES — SAMOAN ARCHITECTURE — DIVISION OF THE HOUSE BY MOSQUITO CURTAINS.

The amusements of the Samoans are in many respects identical with those of other Polynesians, and therefore only those will be described wherein is anything characteristic of these islanders. One of the principal sports is pigeon shooting, which is carried on in certain parts of the wood expressly prepared for it. The principle on which the sport is followed much resembles that of the rat shooting practised by the Tongans. Several chiefs agree to go off on a pigeon-catching expedition, and at the appointed time the fowling ground is cleared of bush, a large circle is marked out by stones, and just outside the circle are made a number of ambushes, formed from leaves and branches, which are cut fresh daily.

The sport is preluded by a drink of kava, and when this indispensable preliminary is over, the chiefs repair to their stations, each having a net and a trained bird. The net is small, and is fixed to the end of a bamboo, thirty or even forty feet in length. The bird is perched on a stick near its master, and is attached to its perch by a string forty or fifty yards in length.

At a given signal, the birds are thrown into the air, and, following the instructions they have received, wheel round and round for some little time. The wild pigeons see them from a distance, and fancying from their movements that they are hovering over food, fly to join them. As they wheel to and fro with the decoy birds, the chiefs raise their nets and dexterously capture them. He who takes the greatest number of pigeons wins the game, and receives from each of the other players a stake which has been previously fixed upon. Generally the stakes consist of food or kava roots, and in such cases the winner practically gains nothing but the honor of winning the game, as the food is cooked and distributed by the winner to all his companions, and the kava is converted into drink.

These bird-catching parties last for a very long time, the players sometimes remaining on the spot for a month. Huts are consequently run up around the open space on which the birds are flown. The second engraving on the next page illustrates this sport very accurately.

The decoy birds are most carefully trained, the object of the trainer being to make them rise at the word of command, fly to the end of the string, wheel round in graceful circles for some time, and then return to the perch. When a bird will remain on the wing for five minutes and return to its perch at its master’s call, it is considered as having been highly trained, and is held in great estimation. The natives may be often seen engaged in training the birds in the open space in the centre of the village. The birds are encouraged in their flight by a peculiar mode of jerking the string.

(1.) SAMOAN WARRIORS EXCHANGING DEFIANCE.
(See page 1021.)

(2.) PIGEON CATCHING BY SAMOANS.
(See page 1026.)

Fishing is a very favorite amusement with the Samoans, who display a wonderful amount of skill and often of courage in their sport. The latter quality is chiefly brought into play when the natives are occupied in shark fishing. Whenever a great feast is to be held, the fishermen go off in search of sharks, the flesh of this fish being one of the principal dainties of Samoa. The fishermen go off in canoes, each canoe being manned by two or three fishermen, who are supplied with a strong rope, having a noose at one end and a quantity of animal offal.

Going to the edge of the lagoon, where the sharks lie under shelter of the rocks, the men throw the offal overboard, for the double purpose of attracting and gorging the sharks. They then peer into the water, and when one of the fishermen sees a shark lazily stretching itself on the sand that lies under the overhanging rocks, he lets himself very quietly into the sea, dives down with the rope in his hand, slips the noose over the shark’s tail, and rises to the surface. As soon as he gets into the boat, the men drag the shark out of his retreat, and haul away until the creature’s tail is raised out of the sea, when it becomes nearly helpless. A sudden jerk brings it into the canoe, where it is instantly killed.

Sometimes the shark lies in a deep submarine cave, with only its head out of the opening. The Samoan fisherman, however, is not to be baffled by this attitude, but dives down to the shark, and taps it gently on the head. The fish, replete with food, feels annoyed at the interruption, and turns round, exposing as it does so its tail to the daring fisherman, who slips the noose over it in a moment.

One young man, mentioned by Mr. Pritchard, was celebrated for his daring in this sport. He disdained assistance, and used to go out alone in a little canoe, dropping bait overboard in order to attract the sharks, and throwing his noosed rope over their tails. On one occasion the rope broke, but the brave fellow had no idea of losing both shark and rope. He leaped overboard among all the sharks, seized the rope, scrambled into his canoe again, and, after a long and severe struggle, succeeded in killing his shark and towing it ashore.

Sometimes the hook is used in shark fishing. The fishermen bait a hook, carry it out in a canoe in twelve feet or so of water, and bring the line back to land. Before very long a shark is nearly sure to seize the bait; and when the fish is fairly hooked, several men haul at the rope and drag the shark into shallow water, where it is allowed to flounce about until it is exhausted, and is then killed without difficulty.

Such a sport as this is necessarily attended with much danger, but the Samoan fisherman is nearly as much at home in the water as the shark itself, and treats his dangerous game with the same easy indifference which a Spanish matador displays toward a furious bull. Accidents certainly do happen in both cases, but they are the exception, and not the rule.

Another of their amusements which is dangerous is pig hunting. As the swine are allowed to run loose in the woods, they have reverted to their wild modes of life, and are sly, swift, active, and ferocious. It is thought a point of honor for a chief to challenge a wild boar, and to receive no assistance except in case of extreme need. The hunter is armed with his knife and tomahawk, or sometimes with a whale spade, which makes a very formidable weapon if the edges are kept sharp.

To kill one of the animals is no easy task. In the first place, a wild boar is so quick that nothing but the greatest activity can save the hunter from its tusks; and were the fight to take place on an open plain instead of among trees, behind which the hunter can jump when hard pressed, the beast might probably get the better of the man. Then the boar is wonderfully tenacious of life, and has a skin so tough that a sharp weapon and a strong arm are needed to inflict a mortal wound. Even when the animal has fallen, and is apparently dead, an experienced hunter always drives his knife into its throat, as boars have an awkward way of suddenly reviving, leaping on their legs, and dashing through their foes into the bush.

The sows are even more dangerous antagonists than the boars. They are, as a rule, lighter, thinner, and more active, and, although they have no long tusks wherewith to rip up their foes, they can bite as sharply and as quickly as wolves. Indeed, were it not for the dogs which are trained to boar-hunting, and are wonderfully courageous and skilful, though very ugly and most unpromising to the eye, they would seldom be brought to bay.

Mr. Pritchard gives an account of an adventure of his own with a boar, which gives an excellent idea of the ferocity, cunning, and activity of the animals. The boar had actually received two rifle bullets in his left shoulder, inflicting wounds which would have disabled, if not killed, most animals, but seemed only to irritate the boar by the pain.

“The fury of the beast was intense, with its two wounds and the worrying of the dogs. He stood grinding his teeth and frothing at the mouth, looking first at one and then at another of us, as if measuring an antagonist for fight. The chief suggested that one of us should tackle him, while the others looked on without interfering. Of course I had to claim the privilege to do so after such a challenge; though, in truth, this being the first boar I had ever encountered, I felt as if I had somewhat rashly undertaken the combat, for, even with his two wounds, I fancied he might possibly hold out longer than myself, and, if I failed to kill him, the failure would be fine sport for my comrades, and not soon forgotten in their jokes.

“However, I stepped out in front of the infuriated beast, and no sooner was I there than he was there too—quite promptly enough, I thought. He made a furious charge at me, which I received with the butt end of my rifle, trying to throw him over on his wounded side, but ineffectually. A second time he came at me, and a second time I checked him. As he drew up for the third charge, his long bristles standing on end, grinding his tusks and tossing the froth from his huge mouth, I drew my tomahawk. On he came, swifter than ever; the tomahawk fell deep into the thick part of his neck, and my boy Atamu did the rest with his long knife.

“It was rather hot work, for these boars have immense strength and no little dogged pluck, and their skins are so tough that often a spear will break short off without leaving even a mark where it struck.”

The same boar had previously forced the writer to employ rather a ludicrous manœuvre. He had fired at the shoulder of the animal, thinking that, if the bullet did not reach the heart, it would at all events disable him. But the boar made at him almost as it received the shot, and sprang on him so quickly that he was forced to jump over its head upon its back, and roll off toward the nearest tree. The smaller pigs are killed in a different manner. The dogs are trained to catch them by the ears, shoulders, and tail, and when the hunters come up they place a stick across the animal’s throat, and press it down until the pig is dead.

As to the cookery of the Samoans, there is little to distinguish it from that of the Tongans and other Polynesians of the same race. They have a great abundance of dishes, being able to produce almost as great a variety in that respect as the Fijians, and many of their dishes are extremely palatable to an European. Vegetables form the staple of the Samoan’s food, and of those he has abundant choice. Putting aside those vegetables which have been imported from Europe, he has yams, taro, bananas, bread-fruit, cocoa-nuts, and plantains. Sometimes these are cooked separately and sometimes mixed, in order to produce a compound more palatable to native taste. As a rule, the simpler specimens of Samoan cookery please even the English palate, but when the native cooks dress compound dishes the natives are generally the only persons who can eat them.

For instance, there is nothing better in its way than the young cocoa-nut, which is entirely different from the hard, indigestible state in which we see it in England. But when the milk is poured out, its place is supplied with salt water, and the contents allowed to become putrid, the compound is offensive to more senses than one. Some of their compounds are, however, excellent. Such is a sort of pudding made by pouring the juice of cocoa-nuts over bananas, and baking them together. Even the very young kernel of the cocoa-nut makes a very rich dish when baked.

The strangest diet of the Samoans is the annelid called the Palolo (Palolo viridis). Mr. Pritchard gives an excellent account of this curious being and the mode of cooking it.

It appears only in certain strictly defined and very limited localities in each group (i. e. in Fiji, Tonga, and Samoa); a month earlier, about the first week in November, in Samoa than in the two other groups. It rises directly from the bottom of the sea to the surface, appearing first about four o’clock in the morning, and continuing to increase in number, until about half an hour after sunrise, when it begins to dissolve, and gradually disappears. By eight o’clock not a trace of the palolo remains in the sea. They look just like so many worms, from an inch to a yard in length, showing every conceivable color as they wriggle about, and are soft to the touch.

“The time of their appearance is calculated by the old men of the various tribes, and is known by the sun, moon, and stars having a particular bearing to each other. A month before the great appearance, a few are found in each of the localities where they rise. Parties go out in their canoes to watch for this first appearance, for by it the calculation as to the second and great appearance is verified.

“When that time comes, whole villages, men, women, and children, crowd the scene; by two o’clock the sea is covered with canoes, the outriggers getting foul and breaking adrift without distracting the attention, as by four o’clock all are busied scooping up the palolos and pouring them into baskets made for the occasion. The noise and excitement from four to six o’clock is something astonishing, and the scrambling most amusing. And when, with canoes landed, the crowd disperses, the next thing is to prepare the ovens to cook the palolos, which are merely wrapped in bread-fruit leaves. They are sent round with much formality to friends at a distance, and sometimes kept three or four weeks by being occasionally warmed in an oven.

“I never could muster courage to do more than merely taste them, so repulsive is their very appearance as they roll and coil together, though Englishmen and even English women there are who eat them, and professedly with a relish, for which I suppose one cannot but accept their word. One lady in particular there is, as described by Dr. Seeman, a ‘strong-minded individual,’ who eats palolo with a remarkable gusto. I think she will not be deprived of her fancy dish by many of her visitors.”

There has been much discussion about the palolo, many persons having doubted whether it was ever an annelid, and believing the worms to be mere strings of spawn. The question has, however, been settled, and there is an elaborate paper on the palolo in the “Transactions of the Linnæan Society,” vol. xxii. p. 237.

The worm is allied to the well-known Nereids, several species of which are so plentiful on our own shores. It is flattish, about the sixth of an inch in width, and consists of a vast number of segments. The entire specimen has never been secured, so delicate and fragile is the creature, and it is with the greatest difficulty that a head can be discovered. Among the specimens first sent to the British Museum, not a single head could be found, and among a large bottle full of palolo collected expressly for scientific purposes, only one head was discovered. The head is a little narrower than the joints which compose the neck, and is furnished with two little eyes on the upper surface, between which are placed three tentacles, of which the middle is the longest.

The normal color of the annelid is green, and it is remarkable for the regularly dotted appearance of the back, one black dot being placed on the middle of each segment. So regularly does the palolo make its appearance, that among the Fiji group the months of October and November are known by the names of the Little Palolo and Great Palolo, the former being the month in which it is first seen, and the second that in which it makes its grand appearance.

Marriages in Samoa are conducted much like those of Tonga, the latter group of islands having borrowed many of the Samoan customs. It is thought rather below the dignity of a chief to court a wife for himself, and that office is generally undertaken by his friends, who praise him in the most unmeasured terms, and do all in their power to induce the girl to yield. When her consent has been given, the chief sends property to her father, and receives in return fine mats and other articles, this exchange being considered as the betrothal.

On the day of marriage, the bride, well anointed with oil, colored with turmeric, and dressed in large quantities of the finest mats, is placed in the malae, or open space in the centre of the village, attended by her young friends, who are arrayed in all the gorgeousness of savage finery, with wreaths of flowers and nautilus shells on their heads. She is also accompanied by the two duennas who have had charge of her, and who chant her praises and extol her virtue. The object of this public assembly is to prove whether the girl be worthy to be the wife of a chief. Should the verdict be in her favor, she is presented to the people as the chief’s wife, and, amid their acclamations, is taken into the house by her duennas and attendants. Should, as is very seldom the case, the verdict be adverse, all the male members of her family, even her fathers and brothers, rush on her with their clubs and kill her on the spot, in order to take away the disgrace which she has brought on her house.

After the bride has been led away there is a grand dance. This differs somewhat from the dances which are usually seen among the Polynesians. The spectators being seated in a circle round a cleared space, and keeping up a monotonous chant, the men first enter the circle, led by a young chief, and clothed merely in the little leaf apron, so as to show off the tattoo to the best advantage. Their leader goes through a vast number of steps, sometimes leaping high in the air, and sometimes executing movements of a slower and more graceful character, while every step is watched and criticised as it is danced by the leader and imitated by his followers. After the men have danced for some time they retire, and a number of girls enter, who go through evolutions of a similar character, and afterward both men and women dance together.

The houses of the Samoans are all built on the same model. They are very conservative in some of their ideas, and follow implicitly the plan which was adopted by the chief who, according to their traditions, first built a dwelling. At a distance, the appearance of the house has been compared to a large mushroom.

The first process is, to make a large platform of rough stones, covered with gravel, extending some twenty feet on every side beyond the walls of the house. In the centre are planted three posts, standing about twenty-five feet out of the ground. Upon these central posts are supported the rafters of the roof, one end of each rafter being fixed to them, and the other end to the tops of short posts about four feet high, which form, or rather which do duty for, the walls of the house. Real walls there are none, but at night the space between the posts is closed by blinds made of plaited cocoa-nut leaves. The whole framework of the roof is made in several sections, so that it can be removed.

The thatch is made of the leaves of the sugar-cane, nailed by the women to reeds with spikes made of the ribs of the cocoa-nut leaves. About four thousand leaves are required for thatching a house, and they are lashed carefully with cocoa-nut fibre.

The floor of the house is strewn with very fine gravel and covered with mats. There are no separate chambers, but at night the house is divided into a number of sleeping places by means of the mosquito curtains which are attached to the central post, and let down when required. It is a point of etiquette that all guests should be supplied with clean mats. The pillow used in Samoa is like that of Fiji, and is nothing more than a stick supported on a foot at each end.

CHAPTER CV. HERVEY AND KINGSMILL ISLANDS. APPEARANCE—WEAPONS—GOVERNMENT. — THE KINGSMILL ISLANDS.

POSITION OF THE HERVEY ISLANDS — FIERCE AND TREACHEROUS NATURE OF THE INHABITANTS — THE CHIEF MOUROOA, AND HIS VISIT TO THE SHIP — SKILL IN CARVING — THEIR BEAUTIFUL PADDLES AND CANOES — THE MANGAIAN ADZE: ITS CARVED HANDLE AND STONE HEAD — THE MANY-BARBED SPEAR — THE CLUB AND SLING — THE FOUR RANKS IN BATTLE — FEROCITY OF THE WOMEN — FEUDS AND THEIR CONSEQUENCES — A MANGAIAN HOUSE — FOOD — PROCURING AND COOKING IT — A RAT HUNT — IDOLS OF THE MANGAIANS — THE KINGSMILL ISLANDERS — LOCALITY AND GENERAL DESCRIPTION OF THE KINGSMILL ISLANDS — APPEARANCE OF THE NATIVES — ARCHITECTURE — DRESS AND TATTOOING — WARLIKE NATURE — THE TERRIBLE WEAPONS OF THESE ISLANDS — THE SWORD AND SPEAR — MODE OF GOVERNMENT — BURIAL OF A DEAD CHIEF.

Eastward of Samoa, and rather southward, lie the Hervey, or Cook’s Islands. The group includes seven islands, the principal of which is Rarotonga, an island between thirty and forty miles in circumference. This island is remarkable for the lofty mountains of the interior, and round it extends a large reef of coral. Some of the islands are entirely coral, and all of them are surrounded by the dangerous coral reefs, at which the coral “insects” are still working.

In general appearance the people bear much resemblance to the Samoans, but seem to be of a more warlike and ferocious character. Indeed, so quarrelsome and bloodthirsty are the natives of this group, that when Mr. Williams visited Hervey’s Island he found that only sixty of the population survived, and a few years later they were reduced to five men, three women, and some children, and these were on the point of fighting among themselves, in order to ascertain which should be king.

One of the principal islands of this group, namely, Mangaia, was discovered by Captain Cook in March 1777. The natives were very unwilling to come on board the vessel, but at last two men put off in a canoe, their curiosity overcoming their terror. The name of one of them was Mourooa, and he was distinguishable by a large scar on his forehead, the result of a wound received in battle.

“Mourooa,” writes Captain Cook, “was lusty and well-made, but not very tall. His features were agreeable, and his disposition seemingly no less so, for he made several droll gesticulations, which indicated both good nature and a share of humor. He also made others which seemed of a serious kind, and repeated some words with a devout air before he ventured to lay hold of the rope at the ship’s stern; which was probably to recommend himself to the protection of some divinity.

“His color was nearly of the same cast common to the most southern Europeans. The other man was not so handsome. Both of them had strong, straight hair, of a jet color, tied together on the crown of the head with a bit of cloth. They wore such girdles as we perceived about those on shore, and we found they wore a substance made from the Morus papyrifera, in the same manner as at the other islands of this ocean. It was glazed, like the sort used by the natives of the Friendly Islands, but the cloth on their heads was white, like that which is found at Otaheite.

“They had on a kind of sandal made of a grassy substance interwoven, which we also observed were worn by those who stood upon the beach, and, as we supposed, intended to defend their feet against the rough coral rock. Their beards were long; and the inside of their arms, from the shoulder to the elbow, and some other parts, were punctured or tattooed, after the manner of the inhabitants of almost all the other islands in the South Sea. The lobe of their ears was pierced, or rather slit, and to such a length that one of them stuck there a knife and some beads which he had received from us; and the same person had two polished pearl-shells and a bunch of human hair loosely twisted hanging about his neck, which was the only ornament we observed.”

After some time, Mourooa ventured on board the ship, but seemed very uneasy at his position, his feelings of curiosity being overcome by those of alarm at finding himself in so gigantic a vessel. He showed little curiosity about the ship and the various objects which it contained, but the sight of a goat entirely drove out of his mind any emotion except wonder, he never having seen so large an animal. He wanted to know what bird it could be, and, as soon as he could get ashore, he was seen narrating to the people the wonders which he had seen on board the great canoe.

All the Hervey Islanders are gifted with a natural appreciation of art, and the inhabitants of Mangaia seem to be pre-eminent in this respect. They lavish the most minute and elaborate carving on various objects, the handles of tools and the paddles seeming to be their favorite subjects. The beautiful paddle which is shown on the 1018th page, is drawn from a specimen in my own collection. It is nearly four feet in length, and the blade is eleven inches wide in the broadest part. The pattern is given as well as can be done, considering the minute elaboration of the original. The opposite face of the blade is even more carefully decorated, and perhaps with a more artistic design. The squared shaft of the paddle is covered with carving, as is also the peculiarly shaped handle.

Another paddle is made in a similar manner, except that the shaft is rounded instead of squared, and decorated at the handle with a row of ornaments which seem to be conventional imitations of the human face (see fig. 2). The wood of which these paddles are made is light, though strong and elastic; and, as the implement is sometimes used as a club, both these last-mentioned characteristics are needed.

Captain Cook noticed the peculiar shape of these paddles, though he does not appear to have handled them, or to have examined them carefully. “The canoe they came in (which was the only one we saw) was not above ten feet long and very narrow, but both strong and neatly made. The fore-part had a board fastened over it and projecting out, so as to prevent the sea from getting in on plunging ... but it had an upright stern about five feet high, like some in new Zealand, and the upper part of this stern-post was forked. The lower part of the canoe was of white wood, but the upper was black, and their paddles made of wood of the same color, not above three feet long, broad at one end and blunted.”

Another paddle was brought to England by the late Admiral Young, and presented to me by his daughter. It is not so large as the specimens which have been just described, but is the most delicately carved specimen I have ever seen. The wood of which it is made is a very rich dark brown, and takes a high polish, so that the effect of the carving is peculiarly good. The blade is covered with a vast number of stars, wonderfully well carved, seeing that the native maker had no compasses by which to take his measurement, and that his only tools were sharks’ teeth and bits of stone. The maker has spared no pains over this trophy of his skill, and, as if to show his own fertility of invention, he has not covered the whole of the shaft with the same pattern, as is the case with the two paddles that have just been described, but has changed the pattern every few inches. I have also a much smaller and shorter paddle, not quite three feet in length, which is made with equal care, but which is not intended so much for use in propelling boats as for ornament in dancing.

The love of ornamentation is displayed in all their manufactures, which are decorated in a manner equally elaborate and artistic. Even their drinking cups, which are made from cocoa-nut shells, are covered with carved patterns of a nature similar to those of the paddles.

The reader will remark that many Polynesians adorn with carving the handles of their tools and weapons, examples of which have been given in the preceding pages. The Hervey Islanders, however, leave no portion of the implement without carving, and, in many instances sacrifice utility to ornament. This is generally the case with the adze handles, many of which are so extremely ornamental that it is not easy to see how they can be useful.

The specimen which is represented on page 1018 (adze magnified), is a good example of such an adze. The lower part of the handle is completely hollow, the native manufacturer having contrived to cut away the wood through the intervals between the upright pillars. As these intervals are not quite the third of an inch in width, the labor of removing the interior of the handle must have been very great, and the work exceedingly tedious. Even with European tools it would be a difficult piece of workmanship, and its difficulty is greatly enhanced by the fact that the native who carved it had nothing but a sharp stone or a shark’s tooth lashed to a handle by way of a knife. This particular specimen has been in England for many years, and must have been made before the introduction of European tools among the natives.

The head of the adze is made of stone, and is lashed to the handle in a way exactly like that which is employed by the New Zealanders, except that it is far more elaborate. As if desirous of giving himself as much trouble as possible, the maker has employed the finest plaited sinnet, not wider than packthread and quite flat, and has laid it on the tool in a manner so elaborate that to give a proper idea of it the artist must have occupied an entire page with his drawing. Suffice it to say that the illustration gives a good general idea of the mode in which the head is lashed to the handle. The sinnet is laid as regularly as if wound by machinery, and the native artist has contrived to produce the most extraordinary effects with it, throwing the various portions into a simulated perspective, and making the lashing look as if there were four distinct layers, one above another.

Between the stone of the adze head and the wood of the handle is placed a piece of very strong tappa cloth, which seems to have been laid on while wet, so that the bands of sinnet have pressed it well together, and aided in strengthening the junction. The end of this tappa is seen projecting on the upper part of the head, just where it is joined to the handle. That such an implement as this should have been intended for use seems most unlikely, and I believe that it has only been constructed as a sample of the maker’s skill. Sometimes adzes of a similar character are made, the handles of which are from four to five feet long, and carved with a pierced pattern throughout their entire length, so that they could not have been intended for hard work.

A similar elaborate ornamentation is found upon the Hervey Islanders’ spears, one of which is shown in the illustration entitled “Spear,” on the 1018th page.

The spear, which is in my collection, is rather more than ten feet in length, and beautifully made. The shaft is very straight, very slender, and highly polished, but without any carving; indeed, it is so slight that it could not bear any pattern to be carved upon it. The ornament is therefore confined to the many-barbed head, which is a beautiful specimen of savage art.

By referring to the illustration, the reader will see that just below the first set of barbs the wood of the spear swells into a slightly oval form. This portion of the head is covered with carving, necessarily very shallow, but sufficient for ornament. Between the various sets of barbs the spear is wrapped with very narrow strips of some reed, which is highly polished and of a bright yellow color, so that the contrast between the dark wood of the barbs and the shining yellow of the wrapping is very striking. In spite of the large size of the head, the spear is well balanced, the length of the slender and elastic shaft acting as a counterpoise; and altogether the weapon is as formidable as it is elegant.

Their clubs are ornamented in a similar manner. Mr. Williams describes one of a very curious form. It was carved like the club, fig. 1, on page 949, but was bent nearly at right angles, rather beyond the junction of the handle with the head, and was ornamented with a great bunch of long and slender feathers. Slings of great length and power are used by these people.

According to the accounts of this missionary, the inhabitants of Mangaia can use their weapons with great skill and courage. They do not try to hide behind trees and bushes, and take their foes by surprise, but boldly meet them in the open field. When two parties meet, they form themselves into four lines. The warriors who compose the first row are armed with the long spears which have just been described, the second rank carry clubs, the third are furnished with slings, and the fourth rank is composed of the women, who carry additional weapons, in case the men should be disarmed, together with a supply of small stones for the slingers. This arrangement of forces is represented in the battle scene given on the opposite page.

Sometimes the women take an active part in the fray. One young chief told Mr. Williams that in one battle he was fiercely assailed by the wife of his antagonist. He told her to desist, as he had not come to fight with women. However, she would not listen to him, and exclaiming, “If you kill my husband, what shall I do?” flung a stone at him, which struck him to the ground. Had it not been for the prompt assistance of his own people, who came to the rescue, he would assuredly have lost his life through this woman’s fury.

The people are apt to be ferocious in battle, and Mr. Williams mentions that several of his converts forgot the maxims of Christianity in the excitement of battle, and killed their vanquished enemies in spite of their entreaties for mercy. In all probability, these people were carrying out some feeling of vengeance, according to the custom of these islands.

Throughout the greater part of Polynesia the friends or relatives of the murdered man are bound to avenge his death by killing the murderer, if they can secure him, or at all events by killing one of his family. The family of the victim then retaliate in their turn, so that when a man goes into battle he mostly has a number of feuds on his hands. Like the Corsican Vendetta, if such a feud cannot be carried out in a man’s lifetime, he bequeaths it to his son, so that it may be carried on for any number of generations.

This savage custom has stood greatly in the way of the missionaries. They found no very great difficulty in persuading the people that to harbor malice against another, who might be totally innocent, was exceedingly wrong, and that they ought to abandon the feud. But the new converts argued that it was very unfair to demand that they should abandon their feuds against others while the feuds against themselves were still in operation.

(1.) THE BATTLE.
(See page 1034.)

(2.) VILLAGE IN THE KINGSMILL ISLANDS.
(See page 1038.)

In their architecture the Mangaians display the same love of carving which has already been mentioned. Mr. Williams thus describes a building which had been erected for him, and which was large enough to hold sixteen hundred persons:—

“It was a fine building, of an oval shape, about one hundred and twenty feet in length. The large posts which supported the roof (eight in number), the ridge-pole, and the rafters were most beautifully carved, and tastefully colored with various native preparations.

“It is impossible, however, so to describe them as to enable the reader to form a correct idea of their appearance, or of the taste and ingenuity displayed in their execution. These posts were twenty-five feet high, and from twelve to eighteen inches square, and when we considered the tools with which the work was done, which were principally old nails, pieces of iron hoop, and a few chisels, we were amazed both at the patience and skill of the carvers. The effect on entering the place was very striking.”

On the shores of this island fish appear to be less plentiful than is generally the case, and the inhabitants are obliged to have resort to various modes of procuring and preserving food. For example, when they have caught a large quantity of flying fish, they do not eat them at once, but dry them in wood smoke, much as herrings are cured among ourselves. They have an ingenious method of catching these fish by night. The boatmen go out in their double canoes, supplied with torches and large ring nets fastened to the end of handles ten or twelve feet long. They stamp on their canoes so as to make a noise, which is communicated to the water and alarms the fish, and at the same time wave their torches about. According to their instinct, the flying fish dart out of the water toward the light, and are easily captured in the nets.

Rats form a most valued portion of their diet. When the missionaries first visited Mangaia, the natives were so fond of this food that they measured all other kinds of diet by comparison with rats’ flesh. Indeed, the flesh of these animals is far better than is generally supposed. Several English rat-catchers have learned by practical experience the value of rat’s flesh, which is said by those who have tried it to be equal to that of the squirrel and better than that of the rabbit. The Mangaians caught the rats by digging a hole in the ground, and throwing bait into it. When a sufficient number had entered the hole, a net was thrown over the mouth of it, and the inmates easily secured.

In Rarotonga, another island of this group, the rats swarmed in such numbers that they were not only a nuisance, but an absolute pest; and, if it had not been for the pigs which were introduced by the Europeans, and allowed to run wild, the rats would probably have driven the natives out of their villages. At every meal one or two persons were detailed for the sole purpose of keeping the rats from the provisions. When the people sat down in their houses the rats ran over them, and when they lay down to rest the rats had made a settlement in their bed.

At last warfare was declared against the rats, and a number of baskets were made to contain the bodies of the slain, each basket being five or six feet in length. The inhabitants then armed themselves with sticks, and in an hour no less than thirty of these great baskets were filled with dead rats. Even then no diminution seemed to have taken place among these pests. Next, the missionaries tried the introduction of cats, and with some success, but the most fortunate introduction that was made was that of the pig. These animals were brought to Rarotonga for the purpose of supplying the sailors with meat which should supersede the flesh of the rat, and the pigs repaid their introducers by eating every rat which came across them.

When the natives were converted to Christianity, they consulted the missionaries, wishing to know whether the flesh of rats was unlawful food for Christians. They evidently asked this question because they saw that their teachers abstained from these animals. The missionaries returned a very judicious answer to this question, by saying that in their own country rats were not eaten, because the white man had a repugnance to them, but that there was nothing unlawful in eating them, and that the Mangaians might do as they pleased. The people were satisfied with this answer, and contented themselves with passing a law that all Christians should catch and cook their rats on Saturdays, so as to avoid working on the Sunday.

The idols of the Hervey Islanders are very odd-looking things, and would scarcely be recognized as objects of worship. It might naturally be imagined that if these people bestow such pains upon their weapons and implements, they would at least take equal pains with their gods. Yet the gods of the Hervey Islanders are the rudest possible specimens of native workmanship. They consist principally of a staff about sixteen or seventeen feet in length, the upper part of which is carved into a rude representation of a human head. On the staff are laid a few red feathers and a string of beads, which are called the soul of the god. Round the staff and the beads is wrapped a vast quantity of native cloth, so as to form a slightly conical roll about a yard in diameter, and ten feet in length. One of these idols is placed at the bow of every canoe, and whenever the natives are out on a fishing excursion they always make offerings to this strange deity.

North-west of the Samoans is a group known by the name of Kingsmill Islands. It consists of about fifteen islands, all of coral, and all lying very low, so that they might easily escape the attention of voyagers. As is always the case with coral islands, the navigation among them is very dangerous. They are mostly very long in proportion to their width, the largest of the group, called Taputeonea or Drummond Island, being nearly forty miles in length, and in many places not a mile in width.

The inhabitants of these islands have a character for ferocity which is not often to be found among this race of Polynesians, and are said to be lower in the human scale than any whom we have hitherto described. Those of one of the group, called Pitt Island, are said to be less liable to this charge than any other, being quiet, peaceable, and not so perpetually at war as is the case with the inhabitants of the other islands.

Their color is approaching nearer to black than that of the inhabitants of Tonga and Samoa, and the people are of more moderate stature than those of the latter group of islands. They are well made and slender, and have black and glossy though rather fine hair. The mouth is large, but has nothing of the negro character about it and the teeth are kept very white. The nose is mostly aquiline, and the hair of the beard and moustache black, and by no means coarse.

It is rather remarkable that the people of Pitt Island are not only more quiet and peaceable than their neighbors, but are also of a lighter hue, approaching in this respect the naturally peaceful though courageous inhabitants of Tonga. Their faces are oval and neatly rounded, and their features delicate. It may be that they have been modified by the mixture with the Samoans or Tongans, who have been blown out of their course by gales, landed on the island, and gradually became absorbed in the community.

Architecture among the Kingsmill Islands is rather distinguished for strength and massiveness than for beauty, the natives preferring to employ their artistic powers on smaller objects, such as swords, spears, and similar articles. The houses vary much in size and form according to their uses. For example, the ordinary dwelling-house of the Kingsmill Islanders consists of two stories, the upper part being used as a sleeping-house, and the lower entirely open. In fact, the houses of the Kingsmill Islands are exactly similar in principle to those of Nicobar, which have been described on page 903.

Some of the houses wherein the chiefs sit and talk among themselves and receive visitors are mere sheds, being nothing more than roofs supported on poles. As is usually the case in Polynesia, there is in every village a central council house, in which the people assemble on stated occasions. It is of enormous dimensions, having a lofty roof thatched with leaves and lined with matting. Several examples of their houses are illustrated on the 1035th page, and the reader will see that the lower part affords a complete and yet an airy refuge from the sun in the heat of the day, while the upper part, which is too hot to be comfortable during the daytime, forms comfortable sleeping-rooms at night.

Dress varies much according to the particular island. Tattooing is practised by both sexes, but the women are far less decorated than the men, the lines being very fine and far apart. The men are tattooed at the age of twenty, the process being always left in the hands of professional tattooers, who, as in other islands of Polynesia, are paid according to the celebrity which they have attained, in some cases obtaining very large fees. They dress chiefly in mats made of the pandanus leaf cut into narrow strips, and dyed brown and yellow. These strips are plaited together in a very ingenious fashion so as to form diamond or square patterns. A small cape, worn, in poncho fashion, with a slit in the middle, through which the head passes, is worn over the neck, and a conical cap of pandanus leaf is worn on the head.

The dress of the women consists of a petticoat of leaf-strips reaching from the waist to the knees, and fastened by a thin rope, sometimes five or six hundred feet in length, made of human hair. On the rope are strung at intervals beads made of cocoa-nut and shells, ground so as to fit closely together, and strung alternately so as to form a contrast between the white shell and the dark cocoa-nut.

It has already been mentioned that the Kingsmill Islanders are a warlike people. War, indeed, seems to be their chief business, and indeed their whole thoughts appear to be given to fighting. Even their principal amusement is of a combatant character. There is nothing which delights the Kingsmill Islanders so much as cock fighting, and large groups of the people may be seen seated in a circle, eagerly watching the progress of the combat which is taking place in the midst. Cock fighting is largely practised in many other countries, but is almost invariably accompanied by betting. The Malays, for example, are passionately fond of the sport, and wager whole fortunes upon it. Betting, however, has no charms for the Kingsmill Islander, whose martial soul is utterly absorbed in the fight, and does not require the additional excitement of betting.

This being the nature of the people, it is natural that their weapons should be of a formidable character. They are indeed exactly suitable to the fierce and bloodthirsty people by whom they are made. Instead of contenting himself with a club or a spear, the Kingsmill Islander must needs arm his weapons with sharks’ teeth, which cut like so many lancets.

The spears and swords which are shown on the 1041st page are drawn from specimens in my collection, and are admirable examples of these extraordinary weapons.

For want of a better word, we must use the name of sword for these weapons, as they are constructed with edges, and are meant more for striking than thrusting. I have often wondered that in none of these weapons that I have seen is the point tipped with a sharp bone, such as that of the sting-ray, or even with a shark’s tooth. Perhaps they are formidable enough even for these ferocious islanders, as the reader may easily infer by looking at the illustration. By the side of each figure is a specimen of the shark’s tooth drawn on an enlarged scale, partly to show the nature of the tooth itself, and partly to exhibit the principal methods by which it is fastened in its place.

On referring to these illustrations, the reader will see that the teeth are not merely sharply edged and pointed, but that their edges are finely and regularly serrated, so that their cutting power is greatly increased. Indeed, the weapons armed with these teeth have such a facility of inflicting wounds that they must be handled with the greatest caution. I have cut myself more than once with them, and visitors who insist upon handling them generally suffer for their curiosity.

Although these teeth are fastened to the blade of the weapon on the same principle, the makers vary the detail according to their own convenience. In the weapon represented in fig. 1, a slit runs along each edge, into which the bases of the teeth fit rather tightly. A hole is bored through the tooth, and a corresponding one through the edge of the sword, and each tooth is fixed in its place by a piece of fine sinnet passed repeatedly through the holes, drawn tight, and neatly finished off. A plaited loop of broad sinnet serves to suspend the weapon round the wrist, and a piece of the hard, ivory-like skate-skin holds it in its place.

The next, fig. 2, shows a much more elaborate weapon, which, instead of consisting of a single piece, has one central blade and three auxiliary blades. Moreover, as the reader may see by carefully examining the illustration, there are four rows of teeth instead of two on each blade, and the teeth are larger and more deeply serrated than those of the other weapon. In this case the maker has most ingeniously contrived to spare himself the trouble of making a fresh tie for every tooth, which, as upwards of two hundred teeth are employed, would have been a very tedious business.

Firstly, he has shaped the wooden blades with four bold ridges, and cut a slight groove along each ridge, so as to keep the teeth straight. Instead of troubling himself to bore holes in the sword as well as in the tooth, he has laid along the edges of each groove a strip of elastic wood obtained from the rib of the palm leaf, which is as hard and elastic as whalebone. The sinnet has then been passed through the holes in the teeth, and over all them palm-leaf strips, so that one piece of sinnet serves to fasten four teeth. As in the other case, the sinnet is exceedingly fine, and is passed several times round the sword. It is observable that in this weapon the teeth have been most carefully selected and graduated, the largest and longest being near the handle, and diminishing equally to the point, where they are comparatively small.

The auxiliary blades diverge more than is shown in the illustration, and it is hardly possible to imagine a more formidable weapon, especially when employed against the naked skin of a savage. In actual warfare the Kingsmill Islander has a mode of protecting himself, which will be presently mentioned; but in a sudden skirmish or a quarrel the sword would be used with terrible effect. As may be inferred from its shape, it is not merely used as a striking weapon, but is driven violently backward and forward against the body of the antagonist, one or more of the blades being sure to take effect somewhere.

The next sword, fig. 3, has the teeth fixed exactly in the same manner as those of the many-bladed sword, as may be seen by reference to the single tooth, where is seen not only the tooth but the strips of leaf stem between which it is placed, and the mode of fastening off the sinnet. The wooden blade of this weapon is quite unlike that of the others, being marked with a rich black graining, to which the glittering white teeth form an admirable contrast.

The last of these swords, fig. 4, is remarkable for the cross-guard. I cannot but think that the maker must have seen an European sword with a cross-guard, and made his own in imitation of it. Otherwise, without the least idea of the object of a guard, it is not easy to see why he should have armed the guard with teeth, especially in the centre, or where they come against the handle, and must be quite ineffectual.

The Kingsmill Islanders do not restrict the sharks’ teeth to the swords, but also use them as armature to their spears. One of these spears, also in my collection, is fifteen feet in length, and about as formidable a weapon as can well be imagined. It is made of a very light wood, so that it may be wielded more easily, and at the butt is nearly as thick as a man’s wrist, tapering gradually to the point. The butt is unarmed, and rounded for about four feet, so as to act as a handle, but from this point to the tip it is rather flattened, like the sword blades, for the more convenient reception of the teeth, which are fixed along each edge nearly to the point of the weapon. The teeth are fastened by means of the leaf ribs. In order to render it a more dangerous weapon, it is furnished with three projections, also armed with teeth, and made exactly like the auxiliary blades of the sword, though much smaller.

This remarkable spear is shown in the illustration No. 2, on the next page, accompanied by sections and a portion drawn on a larger scale, so as to show the mode of its construction. Fig. a represents the method in which the teeth are fastened to the weapon by the sinnet passing through the hole in the teeth and bound down by the cross loop under the little strips of wood. At fig. b is a section of the spear, showing the oval shape of the weapon, and the mode in which the teeth are supported by the wooden strips at each side. It is worthy of notice, that if the jaw of a saw-fish were to be cut through the section would present a wonderfully similar appearance.

In order to show more clearly the source whence the natives obtain such vast numbers of sharks’ teeth, I have introduced a drawing of a shark’s mouth on same page, taken from a specimen in my collection. The reader will see that the jaws are furnished with row after row of teeth, all lying upon each other, except the outer teeth, and constructed so that when one tooth is broken or falls out of the jaw, another takes its place.

In the jaw which is here figured, the teeth lie in five rows, and altogether there are three hundred of them—largest toward the middle of the jaw, and becoming gradually smaller toward the angles of the mouth. The native, therefore, has no difficulty either in procuring the requisite number of teeth, or in selecting them of the requisite shape and dimensions.

That they may look more imposing in battle, the chiefs wear a cap made of the skin of the diodon, or porcupine fish, which, when inflated, is covered with sharp spikes projecting in every direction, and upon this cap is fixed a bunch of feathers. Both sexes fight in battle, and both are killed indiscriminately, women and children being slaughtered as well as the warriors.

The chiefs, of whom mention has just been made, are the principal persons in the islands. With one exception, there is no chief who is looked upon as a king, ruling over subordinate chiefs, each being independent of the other. Government is carried on by a council of chiefs, the eldest taking the first place, and the others being reckoned by seniority. To this council are referred crimes of great importance, while those of lesser moment are left to be punished by the offended person and the relatives. The solitary exception to the independence of the chiefs is in the three islands Apamama, Nanouki, and Koria, which are governed by the chief of Apamama.

Each chief has a mark peculiar to himself, and when a stranger arrives, and can place himself under the protection of a chief, he receives the mark of his protector. The symbol is a very simple one, and consists of a patch on the forehead, made of some colored paint, and a stripe drawn down the middle of the face as far as the chin. Next in rank to the chiefs come the land-holders, and the slaves form the third and last division of the people.

In order to accommodate the council of chiefs and the people in their public assemblies, there is in every village a central town-house, called the Mariapa. It is built very much after the fashion of the Samoan houses, having an enormous arched roof, and the walls being composed of posts and matting. It might be thought from their warlike and ferocious character that the Kingsmill Islanders are cannibals. Such, however, is not the case. It is very true that in some instances portions of a human body have been eaten. For example, if a celebrated warrior is killed, the victors sometimes cook the body, and each eats a small portion of it. This however is done, not from any predilection for human flesh, but from a feeling of revenge, and probably from some underlying notion that those who partake of such food also add to themselves a portion of the courage which once animated the body. Animated by the same spirit, they preserve the skulls of such warriors, and use them as drinking vessels.

The skulls of the dead are always preserved by their friends, provided that they have died natural deaths, or their bodies been recovered in battle. The body is first laid out on mats for eight days, being every day washed, oiled, and laid out in the sunshine at noon, while the friends mourn, dance, and sing praises of the dead. The body is then buried for a time, and lastly, the skull is removed, cleaned, oiled, and stowed away. Each family preserve the skulls of their ancestors, and, occasionally, bring them out, oil them afresh, wreathe them with flowers, and set food before them. When a family change their residence, they take the skulls with them.

(1.) SHARK’S JAW.
(See page 1040.)

SHARKS TEETH

ENLARGED PIECE
OF SPEAR

SECTION

SECTION

(2.) SHARK TOOTH SPEAR.
(See page 1040.)

SHARKS TOOTH

SECTION

(3.) SWORDS OF KINGSMILL ISLANDERS.
(See page 1039.)

In one portion of the Kingsmill group, Pitt Island, or Makin, there exists the most extraordinary funeral ceremony in the world. The body is washed, oiled, exposed to the sun, and wailed over, as already related. But, after the first wailing, it is laid on a new mat spread over a great oblong plate or tray made of tortoise-shell sewed together. A number of persons seat themselves opposite each other on the floor of the house, and support the plate on their knees as long as they are able. When they are tired, they are relieved by others, and thus the body is borne by friends and relations for two years, the bearers relieving each other at intervals. During this time a fire is kept burning in the house, and is never extinguished night or day.

After the two years have expired, the head is removed, and the skull cleaned and preserved, as has been already mentioned, and not until that time are the bones wrapped up in mats and buried. The place where the warriors have been interred is marked with three stones.

CHAPTER CVI. THE MARQUESAS ISLANDS. DRESS—AMUSEMENTS—WAR—BURIAL.

ORIGIN OF THE NAME — APPEARANCE OF THE NATIVES — THEIR DRESS — THE ELABORATE TATTOO OF THE MEN — DIFFERENCE IN STATURE BETWEEN THE SEXES — CARE OF COMPLEXION — A BLEACHING PROCESS — A MAN IN FULL DRESS — MODES OF WEARING THE HAIR — THE CHIEF’S NECKLACE — CLOSE SHAVING — PECULIAR HEADDRESS — METHOD OF OBTAINING FEATHERS — ARCHITECTURE IN THE MARQUESAS — AMUSEMENTS — DANCING AND STILT-WALKING — THE AMPHITHEATRE OR PAHOOA — WAR — TROPHIES OF VICTORY — MODE OF WARFARE — DESTRUCTION OF PROPERTY — ETIQUETTE OF WAR — REPLACING A PRISONER — CANOES AND FISHING — FLY-FISHING IN THE MARQUESAS — BURIAL CUSTOMS.

We now come to that very interesting group of islands called the Marquesas, or Mendana Islands. Both these names derive their origin from the Spanish navigator Mendâna, who discovered them nearly two hundred years ago. The discoverer named them Los Marquesas de Mendoça, in compliment to the then Viceroy of Peru, and by many succeeding voyagers the islands have been called by the name of their discoverer.

The character of the islands is rather peculiar, and very picturesque. They are craggy, mountainous, and volcanic, having exceedingly lofty peaks in the centre, which look at a distance as if they were the ruins of vast buildings. Being situated near the equator, their temperature is warm, and, as at the same time they are well watered, the vegetation is peculiarly luxuriant. Like most of the Polynesian Islands, the Marquesas are surrounded with coral reefs; but these are not so large as is generally the case, so that, although the navigation among them is not so difficult as in many islands, the ships do not find that protection from storms which is afforded by the great coral reefs of other islands.

The inhabitants are splendid specimens of humanity, the men being remarkable for their gigantic size, great strength, and fine shape, which emulates those of the ancient Greek statues. One of the chiefs was measured carefully, and was found to be six feet eight inches in height, and said that he knew another chief who was at least a foot taller than himself.

In general they wear but little raiment, a slight piece of bark cloth round the waist being the only garment which they think needful, the place of clothing being supplied by the tattoo. There are many nations where this decoration is worn; but there are no people on the face of the earth who carry it out so fully as do the Marquesans, every part of their bodies, even to the crown of the head and the fingers and toes, being covered with the pattern. The “Tattooed chiefs” on the opposite page illustrate the extent to which the Marquesans carry this custom. This extreme elaboration is only to be found in the men, the women contenting themselves with a bracelet or two tattooed on their arms, and a few similar ornaments here and there. A very interesting description of the tattooing of the Marquesans is given in Langsdorff’s “Travels.”—

“Sometimes a rich islander will, either from generosity, ostentation, or love to his wife, make a feast in honor of her when she has a bracelet tattooed round her arm, or perhaps her ear ornamented. A hog is then killed, and the friends of both sexes are invited to partake of it, the occasion of the feast being made known to them. It is expected that the same courtesy should be returned in case of the wife of any of the guests being punctured. This is one of the few occasions on which women are allowed to eat hog’s flesh.

(1.) TATTOOED MARQUESAN CHIEFS.
(See page 1048.)

(2.) CHIEF’S HAND.
(See page 1047.)

(3.) NECK ORNAMENT.
(See page 1048.)

(4.) MARQUESAN CHIEF.
(See page 1049.)

“If, in a very dry year, bread-fruit, hogs, roots, and other provisions, become scarce, any one who has a good stock of them (which commonly happens to the chief), in order to distribute the stores, keeps open table for a certain time to an appointed number of poor artists, who are bound to give in return some strokes of the tattoo to all who choose to come for it. By virtue of a tapu, all these brethren are engaged to support each other, if in future some happen to be in need while the others are in affluence.

“The same person may be a member of several of these societies; but, according to what we could learn, a portion must always be given to the priest, or magician, as he is called, even if he be not a member. In a time of scarcity, also, many of the people who have been tattooed in this way unite as an absolute troop of banditti, and share equally among each other all that they can plunder or kill.

“The figures with which the body is tattooed are chosen with great care, and appropriate ornaments are selected for the different parts. They consist partly of animals, partly of other objects which have some reference to the manners and customs of the islands; and every figure has here, as in the Friendly Islands, its particular name. Upon an accurate examination, curved lines, diamonds, and other designs are often distinguishable between rows of punctures, which resemble very much the ornaments called à la Grecque.

“The most perfect symmetry is observed over the whole body. The head of a man is tattooed in every part; the breast is commonly ornamented with a figure resembling a shield; on the arms and thighs are strips sometimes broader, sometimes narrower, in such directions that these people might be very well presumed to have studied anatomy, and to be acquainted with the course and dimensions of the muscles.

“Upon the back is a large cross, which begins at the neck and ends with the last vertebra. In the front of the thigh are often figures which seem intended to represent the human face. On each side of the calf of the leg is an oval figure, which produces a very good effect. The whole, in fact, displays much taste and discrimination. Some of the tenderest parts of the body—the eyelids, for example—are the only parts not tattooed.”

As may be seen by the illustration No. 2 on the 1046th page, even the hands are tattooed with the same minute care that is bestowed on the body. Each finger has its own pattern, so that the hand looks as if enclosed in a very tight-fitting glove. The reader will notice the great length of the nails. Among the Marquesans, as among the Chinese, very long nails are esteemed as a mark of rank, being a proof that the wearer is not obliged to do any hard work.

This elaborate ornamentation answers the purpose of dress, and is considered as such. Indeed, it would be useless to undergo so much pain, and to pay the operator such costly fees, if the tattooing were to be hidden by clothing. The men, therefore, wear nothing but a slight cloth round their waists, and the women of rank a similar garment, with the addition of a larger piece which they throw over their bodies to keep off the darkening rays of the sun.

Few phenomena struck the earlier travellers more than the difference in appearance and stature between the men and the women; and the same writer who has just been quoted remarks more than once that it was difficult to believe that the undersized, stumpy, awkward women could have been the parents of the magnificent, gigantic, and graceful men. There is, however, a great distinction between the women of rank and those of the lower orders. As was afterward discovered, the better class of women, who for some time kept themselves aloof from the strangers, being well developed, and of a fair complexion, about which they were very careful, enveloped themselves in their bark cloths, and never ventured into the sunshine without holding over their heads a bunch of leaves by way of parasol.

So careful are they of their complexions, that if they find themselves getting sunburnt they have a mode of bleaching themselves again, which they adopt before all great ceremonies, though at the cost of much time and trouble. They take the sap of three trees, with which they anoint the whole body. The immediate effect of the mixture is to dye the skin of a deep black. The pigment is allowed to remain on the skin for six days, during which time the woman remains within the house. At the expiration of that time she bathes, when all the black dye comes off, and the skin is left beautifully fair.

A woman who has just undergone this process, and who has dressed herself in all her native finery, is a very striking object, her body being gracefully enveloped in bark cloth, her hair adorned with flowers, and her fair skin almost without ornament except upon the feet, hands, and arms, which appear as if she were wearing boots, gloves, and bracelets.

The mode of tattooing is almost exactly like that of the Samoan islanders, except that the “comb” is made of the wing-bone of the tropic bird. The operation is always conducted in certain houses belonging to the professional tattooers, who lay on these buildings a tapu, which renders them unapproachable by women. As is the case in Samoa, the best tattooers are men of great importance, and are paid highly for their services, a Marquesan thinking that he is bound to be liberal toward a man to whom he is indebted for the charms which he values so highly. These men gain their skill by practising on the lower orders, who are too poor to pay for being tattooed, and who would rather wear a bad tattoo than none at all. A considerable amount is generally exacted at each operation, which lasts from three to six months; and so elaborate is the process, that a really complete tattoo can hardly be finished until the man is thirty years old.

By the time that the last piece of tattoo is executed, the first generally begins to fade, and if the man is rich enough he has the pattern renewed. Some men have been tattooed three times, and, as the patterns cannot be made to coincide precisely with each other, the result is that the whole skin becomes nearly as dark as that of a negro. In this state it is greatly admired, not because the effect is agreeable to the eye, but because it is an indubitable mark of wealth. The pigment used in the tattooing is the well-known aleurita, or candle nut, burned to a fine charcoal and mixed with water.

The ornaments worn by the men are more imposing than those of the women. In the first place, they allow the hair to grow to a considerable length, and dispose of it in various ways. For a number of years it is tied in a bunch on the top of the head; but when the man is rich enough to be entirely tattooed, he shaves all the head with the exception of a patch at each side, in order to allow the pattern of the tattoo to be extended over his head. In such a case, the tuft of hair at each side is still suffered to grow long, but is twisted into a conical form, so as to make a sort of horn projecting outward over each temple. Examples of this curious mode of wearing the hair may be seen in the illustration No. 1, on page 1046.

Sometimes a man may be seen wearing the whole of his hair in curled ringlets. Such men are cultivating a crop for sale, as the Marquesans are very fond of decorating with these ringlets the handles of their spears and clubs, and of making them into ornamental figures which are worn on the ankles. The most valued of these decorations are long white human beards, which are grown for the express purpose, and sold at a very high price. The purchaser uses them either as plumes for his head or as ornamental appendages to his conch-shell trumpet. One of these beards is now always reckoned as equivalent in value to a musket, and before fire-arms were introduced was estimated at an equally high rate.

The ear ornaments of the Marquesan men are very curious. An univalve shell, of a dead-white color, is cut into a circular shape, and filled with a sort of cement made of the resin and wood of the bread-fruit tree. Into this cement is pressed an ivory stem, carved with figures in relief, so that the whole ornament looks like a very large white headed nail. The stem is pushed through a hole in the lobe of the ear, so that the head of the nail projects forward, as seen in the right-hand figure of “tattooed chiefs” on page 1046. The name of the ornament is “taiana.”

Ornaments made of whales’ teeth are as fashionable among the Marquesans as among the Polynesians, and are worn by the chiefs suspended round their necks. Wooden ornaments bleached white are also used, and others are cut from shells. One ornament of which they are very fond is made from wood, wax, and seeds. It is in the form of a horseshoe, the framework being made of wood, which is thickly covered with wax. Into this are pressed the pretty black and scarlet seeds of the Abrus precatorius, arranged in rows radiating to the circumference. One of these ornaments is shown in the illustration No. 3, on the same page and is drawn from a specimen in my collection. It measures eight inches in diameter, and is slightly concave on the outside, and convex on the inside. Very great pains have been taken in arranging the seeds; they are placed in a regular series of double rows, the black portion of each seed being pressed into the wax, so that only the brilliant scarlet portion is visible. Upward of eight hundred beads have been used in making this ornament, so that the trouble which is taken by the natives is very great.

Some of the chiefs wear a very curious ornament, which seems to take the place of the hair which they shave from their own heads, and is nothing more than a large bunch of hair cut from the head of a wife. As a rule, the Marquesan removes all hair from the body, except from the head, only one or two of the very old men allowing a few straggling hairs on the chin.

In Langsdorff’s travels an amusing incident occurred, illustrative of that feeling. In those days close shaving was the custom in Europe, so that when the officers went on shore they were found to have conformed to the fashion of the islands. They were talking very amicably together, when suddenly a chief stared intently into the face of one of the officers, and, with horror depicted in his features, rushed forward, and grasped him tightly. The officer naturally thought that he was going to be murdered; but the fact was, that the Marquesan had actually discovered a hair on his face, and was going to pull it out with his shell tweezers.

When they wish to be considered as wearing full dress, the better class of men wear a most elaborate cap, made of fibre, feathers, and shells. First, a broad fillet is plaited from cocoa-nut fibre, so as to pass round the forehead, after the manner of a cap without a crown. On the centre of this fillet is fixed a large plate of mother-o’-pearl, decorated with carving. In the middle of this plate is fixed a smaller but similarly shaded plate of tortoise-shell, and in the middle of that a still smaller disc of pearl shell. Some headdresses have three of these ornaments, as is the case with that which is figured in the Marquesan chief on the 1046th page.

In the fillet are also fastened a number of feathers, either from the tail of the cock or from that of the tropic bird, so that when the fillet is bound on the forehead the feathers will stand upright. The feathers of the tropic bird are greatly prized by the natives, who use them for various ornaments, and display great ingenuity in procuring them. Instead of killing the birds, and so stopping the supply of feathers, they steal upon them when they are asleep, and dexterously twitch out the two long tail-feathers. In process of time the feathers grow again, and so the supply is kept up. I mention the custom because it is contrary to the recklessness respecting the future which is usually found among savages.

The houses of the Marquesans are rather peculiar, especially those of the better kind. The native builder begins with making a platform of large stones, many of them being so enormous that ten or twelve men are required to move them. This platform is from ten to eleven feet high, and about thirty feet long by twelve wide. Upon this is erected the house, which is built with the back very much higher than the front, so that the roof slopes considerably, the back being perhaps twelve or more feet in height, and the front only five feet. The door is naturally small, and no one can enter without stooping. The walls at the end are no higher than that of the front, so that a considerable portion of each end is left open. As, however, the climate of the Marquesas is so equable, this is rather an advantage than otherwise.

The interior of the house is divided into two portions, one of which is left bare, with no covering to the stony floor, while the other part is considered as the dwelling-place, and the floor is covered with mats. The walls are also covered with matting. Near the back wall is the strangely made family bed. Two horizontal poles are placed about six feet apart, and a foot or so from the ground, and the space between them is filled with dry grass covered with mats. The sleepers lie on the mats, resting the back of their heads on one pole, and their feet on the other, and pass the night in this position, which seems to have been invented for the purpose of making the sleepers as uncomfortable as possible. Round the walls are hung the weapons and implements of the owner, such as spears, clubs, stilts, drums, slings, axes, and similar articles. The houses are always placed near trees, so that they may have the advantage of shade.

The Marquesans have a curious custom of erecting small and highly decorated buildings in honor of the children of great chiefs. These buildings are considered as acknowledgments of the legitimacy of the children; and if they were omitted, the parents would consider themselves insulted. They are protected by tapu, and after they are made are not repaired, but allowed to decay. Dr. Bennett, in his “Whaling Voyage round the Globe,” thus describes those edifices:—

“This compliment had been paid to Eutiti’s daughter at Vaitahú a few weeks before our arrival. It consisted of two small huts, neatly built with peeled hibiscus rods, which were covered with white tappa (bark cloth) and stained cocoa-nut sinnet. The interior was occupied by many of the same rods ranged vertically, graduated in height, and entwined with bunches of herbs. The face of the building was ornamented by a few boards, painted with mystic figures in black and red.

“The white and delicate appearance of the hibiscus rods, the fluttering pennants of fine tappa, and the various gaudy hues employed, gave the entire edifice a fantastic and imposing appearance. A low stone wall enclosed the two huts, and within its precincts were several bundles of cocoa-nut leaves placed upright, and intended to represent the tutelary deities of the spot. A striking edifice of the same description had been erected in honor of Eutiti’s son at Anamaihai, the territory of his guardian. It differed from that dedicated to his sister in being placed on an elevated stone platform, as well as in having a long wicker basket placed at the entrance.”

In every village there is a sort of amphitheatre, in which the dancing and similar amusements are conducted. For this purpose the natives choose a sheltered and level spot, surrounded on all sides with rising banks. The middle of the amphitheatre is carefully smoothed and covered with mats, and the rising banks serve as seats for the spectators.

When a dance is to be performed, the mats are laid afresh, and a large amount of food is prepared. The spectators take the food with them, and, seated on the banks, remain there throughout the greater part of the day. The dances are not very graceful, consisting principally of jumping, without moving from the same spot. Various ornaments are used by the dancers, the most curious of which are the finger-rings, which are made of plaited fibre, adorned with the long tail-feathers of the tropic bird. When women dance they are not allowed to wear clothing of any description, and this for a curious reason. None dance except those whose husbands or brothers have been killed in war or taken prisoners, and the absence of clothing is accepted as an expression of sorrow on their part, and of vengeance on the part of the spectators.

They have several other amusements, which are conducted in this theatre, or pahooa, as it is called. The Marquesans are most accomplished stilt-walkers, and go through performances which would excite the envy of any professional acrobat. One of the games in which they most delight is a race on stilts, in which each performer tries, not only to distance his opponents, but to cross their course and upset them. They are such adepts at this pastime that they walk over the rough stones of the house platform with ease and security.

If the reader will refer to the portrait of the Marquesan chief, he will see that the head is not only decorated with the feather fillet, but is also covered with a veil that falls on either side of the face. This is a mark of war, and is worn when chiefs go into battle. The Marquesans do not use the bow and arrow, but they throw spears, sling stones, and use clubs. The slings are made of plaited grass, and are very powerful, often exceeding five feet in length, and carrying stones of a considerable size. The spears are generally about ten feet long, and the clubs are carved out of hard wood, which is made harder by burying the weapons for a considerable time in the mud.

They are fierce in war, and are never satisfied until they have gained a trophy of victory. When a Marquesan kills an enemy, he cuts off the head of his fallen antagonist, tears open the skull, and eats the brain. He then cleans the skull very carefully, adorns it with tufts of bristles, and slings it by a cord to his girdle. When he goes to battle again he always carries this trophy with him, partly on account of the respect in which it is held by his comrades, and partly in order to strike awe into the enemy by the sight of so redoubtable a warrior.

According to most travellers, the Marquesans are a quarrelsome people among themselves, and much addicted to making raids in each other’s districts. These districts are generally divided from each other by natural boundaries, such as mountain-spurs and ridges, many of which are of enormous height, and so steep and precipitous as to be almost inaccessible. The worst part of their mode of warfare is not the cruelty exercised on the vanquished warriors, but on the destruction to property, and the distress indicted on non-combatants.

When one chief intends to make war upon another, he tries to steal by night into the district of his enemy, and silently damages all the bread-fruit and cocoa-nut trees he can find. The former are stripped of their bark, and, though their vitality is so great that they are not absolutely killed by the injury, they bear no more fruit for five years, and thus the whole population are deprived of an essential article of diet, and for a long time are reduced to great straits for want of food.

The cocoa-nut trees are killed after a different manner. The destroyer walks up the tree after the mode employed by these islanders; namely, by applying the palms of his hands to either side of the trunk, and so ascending the tree in monkey fashion. He then bruises with a stone the central shoot, or “cabbage” of the palm, and descends the tree, knowing that it must soon die. The reason for the fatal nature of the injury is, that the tree is an endogenous one, and consequently the destruction of the central bud involves the death of the tree. Sometimes the tree is killed in another way, a sea-slug (bèche-demer) being laid at the root of the “cabbage,” killing the tree as it decays.

Quarrelsome as they are and cruel to the persons and property of the vanquished, they have yet some slight etiquette in war, one rule of which is so curious that it must be given in the relator’s own words:—

“June 18.—Captain Riggs of the General Gates, just arrived from the Marquesas, informs us that he has had a narrow escape of his life there. At the island of Nukahiva, as he was attempting to go on shore, a native chief, assisted by a posse of dependants, seized and carried him off, stripped him of his clothing, and then presented him to the king, an infirm old man, who took him under his protection. That protection, however, could have little availed him, for the sovereign had not power to set the prisoner at liberty unless a suitable ransom were paid for him.

“The captors first demanded five muskets and five barrels of gunpowder, which being agreed to, they rose in their violent extortion, and required more; and this also being conceded, they still refused to liberate him unless their rapacity was still further gratified. The captain then resolutely stood out, and insisted on being set at liberty, at the same time having but small hopes of obtaining it, or any other issue of his captivity except to be killed and eaten by these cannibals, some of whom had conspired to spear him, but the king’s authority restrained their violence.

“At length, however, the terms of ransom being settled, he was ordered to be released; but here an unexpected difficulty arose. The law of the land requires that whoever captures another on board of a boat must, when the prisoner is at liberty, carry him down to the water again, and reinstate him in the same situation as he was found. This the cowardly and treacherous chief, who had readily acted the part of kidnapper, was unwilling to do, lest he should be shot from the ship. The obligation, however, being indispensable, he obtained the captain’s assurance that no harm should be attempted against him, and then performed the ungracious office. When Captain Riggs had reached his vessel, the natives on the shore gave three hideous howls, which were returned by three hearty cheers of the crew.”

Finding that their captive had been so profitable to them, the natives tried boldly to take the ship, and displayed equal ingenuity and daring in their attempt. On the same evening a native was detected in trying to cut the cable, and was shot for his temerity. Finding that an open assault of this kind was useless, the natives, who are wonderful divers, swam off to the ship, carrying with them a rope, one end of which they fastened to the rudder, well under the water, the other end being carried ashore. Fortunately this trick was discovered in time to save the ship, and, had not the rope been seen, the natives would have waited until the vessel weighed anchor, and then have dragged her ashore.

In the above narrative the Marquesans are described as cannibals. It is, however, very doubtful whether they can be justly charged with this revolting custom.

The canoes of the Marquesans are furnished with outriggers, after the custom of all Polynesia, and are well-built and swift vessels. They have, besides the outrigger, a small stage projecting over the stem, on which the steersman stands when the vessel is under sail. The bow of the canoe is much turned up in front, probably for the purpose of acting as a defence to the rowers, when advancing against an enemy.

They are very skilful in the fishing art, both with line and net. They have different modes of using both these implements. When they fish with the line, they sometimes bait the hook, pass the line over the side, and angle in the mode adopted in this country. But when they fish for the albacore, they employ a totally different method, which bears some resemblance to fly fishing, except that the bait is not made to represent an insect, but a fish.

A very ingenious imitation of a flying fish is made by cutting the shape of the fish out of a mother-of-pearl shell, and inserting a long tuft of hog’s bristles at either side to represent the wing fins, and another at the extremity to do duty for the tail. This is armed with a hook, and fastened to one end of a line, the other end of which is attached to the top of a long bamboo rod planted in the stern of the canoe. Sail is hoisted, and the vessel is driven over the waves at full speed, the sham flying-fish leaping and bounding through the air in a manner that wonderfully resembles the action of the living fish. The albacore naturally takes the bait for a real fish, leaps at it, and is caught before it has time to discover the imposition.

Net fishing is carried on in several modes, but the most curious and perhaps the most sportsmanlike plan is that which compels the fisherman to pursue his occupation under water. He takes with him a hand-net and a stick about two feet in length, jumps into the water, and dives among the coral, holding his net over the nooks and crevices with one hand, while with the stick he drives the fish out of their hiding places into the net.

By this mode of fishing great numbers are captured, but the fisherman is always exposed to two dangers. In the first place, there is a chance that a shark may come up unobserved, and carry off a limb, even if it does not kill the man. The Marquesans are such excellent swimmers that they care little for a shark as long as they can see him, and it is only when the terrible fish darts unexpectedly out of a hiding place that they know any real fear.

Sometimes a rather strange circumstance occasions the death of the diver. It has already been mentioned that up to the time when a man can afford to have his head tattooed he wears his hair very long, and tied up in a knot on the crown of his head. Before going into the water, the natives untie the fillet, and allow the hair to float down their backs. It has occasionally happened that a diver, who has thus prepared himself, finds, when he tries to rise to the surface of the water, that his long floating hair has become entangled in the branching coral; and, as he has already remained under water nearly as long as his breath will last, he is sometimes drowned before he has time to extricate himself.

When a Marquesan dies a natural death, his relatives make great preparation for his funeral, including the usual accompaniment of feasting. They send for a “tana,” or priest, who makes a long oration over the corpse, which is then delivered to the relatives, who have a long and disagreeable task before them. They first wash the body thoroughly, and then rub it with cocoa-nut oil, laying it in the sun, and turning it continually. Several times daily the corpse is newly anointed, until at last the combined effects of the sun and oil reduce it to a mummy. Wrapped in cloth, it is laid on a bier, and deposited in the cemetery.

Each district has its cemetery or “morai,” which is adorned with gigantic human figures carved in wood, and similar decorations. It is surrounded by a wall, and held in great respect by the inhabitants of its district. Unfortunately, the inhabitants of other districts hold it in no respect at all, and, when war is declared, try to steal out of the morai the body of any man of rank. When, therefore, war seems to be imminent, the bodies are carried away and hidden, or sometimes buried. A similar custom prevails in many parts of Polynesia, and Mr. Williams mentions an instance where a man climbed an apparently inaccessible precipice with a corpse lashed to his back, placed the body on a lofty shelf, and descended in safety.

CHAPTER CVII. NIUE, OR SAVAGE ISLAND. ORIGIN—COSTUME—LAWS—BURIAL.

REASON FOR THE NAME OF THE ISLAND — SINGULAR LEGEND — THE SAILOR AMONG THE SAVAGES — APPEARANCE OF THE NATIVES — A SAVAGE WAR DANCE — MODE OF DRESSING THE HAIR — COSTUME OF THE MEN — A CURIOUS WEAPON — PRESUMED ORIGIN OF THE SAVAGE ISLANDERS — DEFEAT OF THE TONGANS — CODE OF LAWS AND PUNISHMENTS — CANOE MAKING — SAILING — NIUAN ARCHITECTURE — DISPOSAL OF THE DEAD.

Between the Hervey and the Tongan groups, there lies an island which was called by Captain Cook “Savage Island,” on account of the behavior of the natives, who not only declined his overtures of peace, but attacked him “like so many wild boars.” The native name of the island is Niue.

This ferocity of theirs is due to an ancient custom of putting to death all strangers who land on their shores, a fate from which even their own people do not escape, if they have been absent for any length of time. The history of this strange people has of late years become better known, owing to the exertions of the missionaries, who have discovered that fear rather than ferocity was the cause of this savage custom. They had an idea that their island was naturally free from disease, and that all ailments were brought by foreigners, and they in consequence had a law that all foreigners should be killed as soon as they could be captured.

On one occasion a native teacher narrowly escaped death in consequence of his absence. He was obliged to exert all his powers of eloquence to persuade his countrymen to spare him for a time, so that he might keep himself far away from their residence, and purify himself by the healthy air of Niue.

When Mr. Williams visited the island, he contrived to induce two lads to go off with him for the purpose of being instructed. They were at first very miserable on board, and howled incessantly for the first few days, thinking that the white sailors were cannibals and that they were only carried off to be fattened and eaten. Finding, however, that the sailors were eating pork, and not human flesh, they became reconciled to their lot, and were even pleased at the prospect of seeing new lands. These lads were taken to Raietea, and, having been educated for their task, were sent home again. Unfortunately, soon after their arrival, an epidemic disease spread over the island, and the natives, naturally attributing it to the two travellers, killed them both.

The first white man who landed there since the time of Cook met with a singular fate. A ship was lying off the island, and bartering with the natives. Just as the ship got under weigh, the master flung one of the sailors overboard among the savages, who took him on shore, and held a great debate as to the course to be pursued. Some were for keeping up the old custom, and killing him, but others argued that the man had not landed of his own free will, and that he ought not to be liable to the usual penalty, even though salt water was in his eye—this being the mark of a shipwreck.

After a vast amount of discussion they agreed to a compromise, put him into a canoe, gave him a quantity of bananas and cocoa-nuts, and sent him out to sea. The man contrived to slip on shore again without being seen, and, after hiding in caves for some days, he succeeded in getting on board a whaler that was passing near the island.

(1.) THE WAR DANCE OF THE NIUANS.
(See page 1055.)

(2.) PRESENTING THE CLOTH.
(See page 1060.)

The appearance of the natives as they were before the missionaries came to them was anything but prepossessing. Mr. Williams gives a graphic account of an old chief who was induced, after much trouble, to come on board. “His appearance was truly terrific. He was about sixty years of age, his person tall, his cheek-bones raised and prominent, and his countenance most forbidding. His whole body was smeared with charcoal, his hair and beard were long and gray, and the latter, plaited and twisted together, hung from his mouth like so many rat’s tails. He wore no clothing except a narrow strip of cloth round his loins, for the purpose of passing a spear through, or any other article he might wish to carry.

“On reaching the deck the old man was most frantic in his gesticulations, leaping about from place to place, and using the most vociferous exclamations at everything he saw. All attempts at conversation with him were entirely useless, as we could not persuade him to stand still for a single second. Our natives attempted to clothe him, by fastening round his person a piece of native cloth, but, tearing it off in a rage, he threw it upon deck, and, stamping upon it exclaimed, ‘Am I a woman, that I should be encumbered with that stuff?’

“He then proceeded to give us a specimen of a war dance, which he commenced by poising and quivering his spear, running to and fro, leaping and vociferating, as though possessed by the spirit of wildness. Then he distorted his features most horribly by extending his mouth, gnashing his teeth, and forcing his eyes almost out of their sockets. At length he concluded this exhibition by thrusting the whole of his long grey beard into his mouth, and gnawing it with the most savage vengeance. During the whole of the performance he kept up a loud and hideous howl.” On the preceding page the artist has given the reader an illustration of this singular war dance of the Niuans.

These islanders do not use the tattoo, though they are fond of decorating their bodies with paint. Those who come on board European vessels are delighted to be adorned with streaks and spots of red and green paint, especially the latter, which is a novelty to them, and for which they are willing to pay highly. At a little distance, they look much as if they were suffering from some cutaneous disease, but a closer inspection shows that their appearance is partly due to the salt of the sea crystallizing on their oiled bodies, and partly to the multitudinous flies which settle upon them.

The hair is sometimes seen very short and sometimes very long, and this is the case with both sexes. They allow it to grow to a considerable length, and when it is a foot or eighteen inches long, they cut it off, and plait it into thin bands which are worn round the waist. The men prize these ornaments highly, and Captain Hood thinks that the love-locks are exchanged, and are valued accordingly. The younger men do not wear their beards, but the elders suffer them to grow to a great length, plait them, and adorn them with pieces of oyster or clam shell. They know the art of coloring the hair a yellowish red by the application of lime.

As to dress, the men think it quite needless, and wear nothing but the belt round the waist. Some, however, wear a very small apron, only ten or twelve inches square, and this is considered rather in the light of ornament than of dress. They are of moderate stature, rather under than over the middle height, thus forming a strong contrast to the gigantic Marquesans and Samoans. The natural color of the skin is a clear brown, and their limbs are round and well shaped.

In weapons, they use the spear, the club, and the bow, all made well and neatly. They do not seem to invade other islands, and their warfare is therefore waged mostly among themselves. It seems rather strange that in an island only thirty miles in circumference war should exist, but in Niue, the usual Polynesian custom exists of dividing an island into several districts, among which is perpetual feud.

They use a very curious weapon. On their island are a number of caves in the coral limestone, similar in character to that which has been described in page 1006, though not approached in the same curious manner. From the roof hang vast numbers of stalactites, from which water continually drops. Indeed, the natives owe their fresh water almost entirely to these caves, and since the missionaries came to reside among them have learned to collect it by digging wells in the caves, into which the water flows, and so insure a certain instead of a precarious supply. The floor of the caves is covered with stalagmitic masses, and from these the natives make oval balls about the size of cricket balls, which they hurl from the hand with wonderful force and accuracy, not using the sling, as is the case with so many Polynesian tribes. Specimens of these balls are in the Christy collection.

These caves are evidently due to the character of the island, which is partly coral and partly volcanic, the coral having been upheaved by volcanic force, leaving the surface fissured and broken by the sudden violence of the shock. The native legend respecting the origin of the island points to the same conclusion. They state that the island was raised to its present elevation by two of their ancestors, named Hananaki and Fao, who swam there from Tonga, and found the island only just above the waves. They stamped twice upon it, the first stamp elevating the island to its present height, and the second clothing it with trees and plants. They made wives for themselves out of the Ti tree, and so the island became peopled. We may easily see in this tradition a record of the two facts that the island was elevated suddenly from the sea, and that the inhabitants are not aborigines, but emigrants from some other part of Polynesia, probably from Tonga. Though they believe themselves to be derived from this origin, they have been subject to invasion from the restless and daring Tongans, whom they repulsed by an ingenious stratagem. The Tongans, possessed of far better weapons and better disciplined than the Niue islanders, and being equally courageous, were rapidly completing the conquest of the island, when the natives took advantage of the peculiar formation of their country.

The reader will remember that Niue is rocky, and covered with deep and narrow clefts, the result of the upheaval which elevated the island above the sea. Across one of these the Niuans laid small branches, which they covered with banana and cocoa-nut leaves, and then strewed over all a slight covering of earth, which they arranged so as to look exactly like the surrounding soil. They then executed a sham retreat, and slipped round to the further side of the chasm, so that the Tongans, flushed with victory, rushed on their retreating enemies with yells of triumph, and a great number of the foremost and best warriors were hurled down to the bottom of the cavern. Before the survivors could recover from their surprise, an attack was made upon them in overwhelming numbers, and of the whole Tongan expedition not a man escaped alive.

It was formerly thought that the Niuans were cannibals, but, as far as can be ascertained, the natives have never eaten human flesh. They do not even care for animal food of any kind; and, though at the present time they have pigs in abundance, they use them almost entirely for the market to European ships, contenting themselves with bananas, yams, taro, and fish. Strangely enough, they have not imported into Niue the custom of kava drinking, and they stand almost alone in their non-use of tobacco.

Polygamy is still practised among the inhabitants of Niue, though it is fast dying out under the influence of the missionaries, who have further conferred a vast boon on the people by their discouragement of infanticide, which at one time prevailed to a terrible extent. The mere check which they have placed on this custom has already raised the number of the population by more than three hundred—a considerable increase when the small size of the island is taken into consideration.

Even before the missionaries came, a tolerably comprehensive and just code of laws was in existence, so that the Niuans were in reality much less savage than many of their neighbors, and the missionaries had a better ground to work on than in other islands of more promising aspect. Their standard of morality was much higher than is usually the case among savages, infidelity among women being severely punished. So great was their horror of this crime that illegitimate children were always thrown into the sea until the missionaries taught the people that, though the parents might be liable to punishment, the innocent children ought not to suffer.

Their punishment consisted generally in deprivation of food. For example, for some offences, the criminal was tied to a post, and allowed no food except bitter and acrid fruits, while for more serious offences he is lashed hand and foot to a bamboo for a considerable length of time, only sufficient food being given to save him from actually dying of starvation. For these punishments the missionaries have induced the natives to substitute forced labor in well sinking, road making, and other useful works.

The Niuans are good canoe-makers, constructing their vessels very neatly, and ornamenting them with devices in shells and mother-of-pearl. They manage these canoes well, and as a rule are excellent swimmers. There are, however, some families living in the interior of the island who, although they can be barely four miles from the sea, have never visited it, and are greatly despised by their neighbors because they can neither swim nor sail a canoe.

The native architecture is not particularly good, but it has been much improved by the instructions of the Samoan teachers, who have instructed the Niuans in their own mode of building houses, upon which the Niuans have engrafted their own mode of adornment, so that altogether the effect of a modern Niuan house is quaint, and at the same time artistic. The natives seem to be wonderfully quick at learning, and have even acquired the use of the pen, so that a Niuan can now be scarcely better pleased than by the gift of a pencil and a supply of white paper.

Nothing shows the wonderful advance that these people have made more than the fact that they have not only utterly discarded their old habit of murdering foreigners, but that they display the greatest eagerness to be taken as sailors on board European ships. They contrive to smuggle themselves on board without the knowledge of the captain and crew; and whereas in former times it was scarcely possible to induce a Niuan to venture on board an European ship, the difficulty is now, to find a mode of keeping them out of the vessels.

The method of disposing of the dead is twofold. When one mode is followed, the body is laid on a bier and left in the woods until all the flesh has decayed, when the bones are removed to the family burying-place, which is usually a cave in the limestone rock. When the other method is employed, the body is laid in a canoe, and sent adrift in the sea to go wherever the wind and tides may carry it.

CHAPTER CVIII. THE SOCIETY ISLANDS. APPEARANCE, DRESS, AND SOCIAL CUSTOMS.

DISCOVERY OF THE ISLANDS, AND REASONS FOR THEIR NAMES — THE ISLAND OF TAHITI OR OTAHEITE — CONFORMATION AND CLIMATE OF TAHITI — THEIR EFFECT UPON THE INHABITANTS — EFFEMINATE APPEARANCE OF THE MEN, AND BEAUTY OF THE WOMEN — SOCIAL CONDITION OF THE SEXES — GENERAL MODE OF LIFE IN TAHITI — SEPARATE TABLES FOR THE MEN AND WOMEN — POMARÉ’S CRUCIAL TEST, AND ITS RESULTS UPON IDOLATRY — DRESS OF THE SOCIETY ISLANDERS — MODES OF WEARING THE HAIR — TATTOOING IN TAHITI — MEANS EMPLOYED BY THE MISSIONARIES TO ABOLISH THE PRACTICE — HOSPITALITY OF THE TAHITANS — MODE OF MAKING PRESENTS — SOCIAL USE OF PRESENTS — THE BAKED PIG AND THE CLOTH — DISTINCTIONS OF RANK — REASONS FOR OMAI’S FAILURE — EXTERNAL INDICATIONS OF RANK — DEPORTMENT OF TAHITANS TOWARD THEIR SOVEREIGN — AMUSEMENTS OF THE TAHITANS — THEIR SONGS AND MUSICAL INSTRUMENTS — SURF RIDING — BOXING AND WRESTLING MATCHES.

This interesting group of islands was originally discovered in 1605 by De Quiros, and has derived the name of the Society Islands from the liberality of the Royal Society, which, in 1767, sent an expedition under Captain Cook for the purpose of observing the transit of Venus over the sun. There are many islands of this group, the best known of which is Tahiti, or Otaiieite, as the word was given in Cook’s Voyages. This island forms one of a portion of the group which is distinguished by the name of the Georgian Islands, in honor of George III.

Tahiti is singularly picturesque when viewed from the sea, in consequence of its mountainous character, the island being so filled with lofty peaks and crags that the only way of reaching the interior is by following the courses of the valleys. Sometimes the rocks shoot up into sharp and spire-like peaks, sometimes they run for miles in perpendicular precipices, several thousand feet in height; sometimes they are scarped and angular like gigantic fortresses, sometimes they are cleft into ravines of terrible depth, and sometimes they are scooped out into hollows like the craters of extinct volcanoes.

Down these craggy steeps dash torrents that fertilize the soil, and so equably genial is the temperature that every shelf and ledge is covered with luxuriant foliage and gorgeous flowers. Tahiti indeed, as has been well said, is the gem of the Pacific. Our business, however, lies not so much with the island as with its inhabitants—not the semi-civilized people of the present day, but the uncivilized people of 1769, when Captain Cook visited them. In the following description, we will take Tahiti as the typical island of the Society group, merely introducing the lesser islands by way of illustration of the manners and customs which pervaded the whole group.

In consequence of the superior fertility of Tahiti, and the consequent supply of food without the need of labor, the Tahitans are more plump and rounded of form than are the inhabitants of most other Polynesian islands. In the case of the men, the fair skin and plump rounded forms give them an effeminate appearance, and the earlier voyagers have all noticed the strong contrast between the dark, nervous, and muscular frames of the Tongan men, and the fair, smooth limbs and bodies of the Tahitans. The men, too, wear their hair long, and, if it were not that they permit the beard to grow to some length, they would well deserve the epithet of effeminate.

Not only is this smoothness and fairness one of their distinguishing marks, but they also are characterized by a sort of languor in their movements and timidity in their carriage, very unlike the demeanor of the bold and warlike Tongans and Samoans. “This observation,” writes Captain Cook, “is fully verified in their boxing and wrestling, which may be called little better than the feeble efforts of children, if compared to the vigor with which those exercises are performed at the Friendly Islands.”

They are so careful of their complexion that when they think their skins are becoming darkened by exposure to the sun, they have a mode of bleaching themselves. Captain Cook merely mentions that they remain within doors for a month or two, wear great quantities of clothing, and eat nothing but bread-fruit, this diet being supposed by them to have a strong bleaching power. It is probable, however, that besides the diet and the confinement within the house, they also employ some preparation similar to that which is used by the Marquesan women under similar circumstances.

The Tahitans place such reliance on the effect of food on complexion, that they believe themselves to change the hue of their skins several times in the year, owing to the kind of food on which, owing to the change of season, they are obliged to live. They do not, however, like many nations, think that corpulence is a mark of rank and wealth.

That fairness of skin and roundness of form which detract from the manly beauty of the male sex only add to the feminine charms of the women, who are far more beautiful even than those of Tonga, while they infinitely surpass the short, thickset women of the Marquesans. A Tahitan woman would be reckoned beautiful even among Europeans, the skin being fairer than that of many a Spanish girl, and the large full eyes and rich hair having a fascination peculiar to themselves, a charm which many travellers have endeavored to describe, and all, according to their own statements, have failed to convey in words.

Yet the lot of the Tongan women is far superior to that of the Tahitan. As we have already seen, the woman of Tonga is by no means the mere slave of the despotic husband, but is often his true helpmeet and best adviser. Among the Tahitans, however, we find that the effeminate, smooth-limbed, long-haired, fair-skinned man, who would not abide the charge of a Tongan boy, is a very tyrant at home, having no idea that women can be anything but chattels, and beating his wives, his dogs, or his pigs, with equal disregard of their feelings.

The women are not allowed to eat of various kinds of food, as they would offend the gods by so doing, and it is a remarkable coincidence that the gods do not permit the women to eat exactly those articles of food which the man likes best, such, for example, as turtle, and certain kinds of fish and plantain.

Neither are the women allowed to eat with their husbands, but take their meals in a separate part of the house. This prohibition is the more galling because, in a well-to-do Tahitan’s family, eating goes on all day with very short intervals. The family breakfast at eight, and have a first dinner or luncheon at eleven. Thus invigorated, they are able to wait until two, when they take their first dinner. This is followed by a second dinner at five and supper at eight, after which they retire to rest. But as it is manifestly impossible to go without food for twelve hours, they awake at two, take another meal, or “rere-supper,” and sleep again until daybreak.

As to the turtle, a certain sort of sanctity is attached to it. When one of these reptiles is caught, it is always sent to the king, who, however, does not cook so sacred a creature in his own house, but sends it to the temple, where it is offered to the idol. It is cooked in the marae, or sacred enclosure, and, after a portion has been taken by the priest for the idol, the remainder is sent back to the king. Unless this offering were made, the offender would immediately suffer from the vengeance of the offended god.

This custom was exploded by Pomaré about 1820. The king had long believed that the idols were nothing more than images, and that the gods were but human inventions, and determined to try the subject by a crucial test. He waited until his subjects had caught a turtle, and sent it to him according to the custom of the island. Instead of sending it to the marae, he had the turtle taken to his own kitchen and cooked there. It was then served up, and his whole household sat down with him to partake of it. No one, however, except the king, had the courage to eat a mouthful, and even Pomaré himself was in a state of nervous trepidation, and had very little appetite when he came to apply his test. However, he was a man of great moral courage, and though he could not eat much of the royal dainty, he ate enough to bring down upon him the wrath of the god.

Finding that no harm happened to him, he convened an assembly of the chiefs, and narrated the whole of the circumstances, telling them they were free to act as they liked, but that for his part he abjured idolatry from that time. The consequence was, that of their own accord the people voluntarily abandoned their idols, and either gave them to the missionaries, used them as seats, or put them in the fire with which food is cooked, the last proceeding being the very depth of degradation.

One of these raids on the idols was conducted after a very curious manner.

When the converts had reached the temple in which were deposited the idols that they had so long worshipped, their hearts failed them, and not a man dared to enter the house and lay his hands on the sacred images. They bethought themselves, however, of trying the effect of fire-arms, with which they were furnished, and, in the presence of the terrified population, made ready to fire upon the idols. After calling upon the images, warning them that they were about to be fired upon, and calling upon them to avenge themselves if they could, they fired a volley into the house. Finding that no harm ensued, they advanced more boldly, and burned down the temple together with its occupants.

A curious instance of courage similar to that of Pomaré occurred at the island of Rurutu. A native teacher recommended at a public assembly that a feast should be held, and that the king, his chiefs, his people, and their wives should together partake of turtle and pork, both these articles of diet being prohibited to women in Rurutu. The test was accepted, and the party assembled, having by a curious coincidence selected ignorantly a piece of ground sacred to Oro, the vengeful god of war. That any one should eat on so sacred a spot would have been sufficient to draw upon the delinquents the full terrors of Oro’s anger; but that men and women should eat together on the spot, and that women should absolutely eat both turtle and pork, were enormities almost too great to be conceived.

The feast took place, and, as writes Mr. Bennett, “when the Rurutuans saw that, they said, ‘No doubt they will die for this trespass on the sacred ground,’ and looked earnestly, expecting some one to have swollen or fallen down dead suddenly; but after they had looked for a considerable time and saw no one come, they changed their minds, and said, ‘Surely theirs is the truth; but perhaps the god will come in the night and kill them: we will wait and see.’

“One man actually went in the night to the wife of the chief Auüra, who also ate a part of a hog or turtle on the sacred spot, and said, ‘Are you still alive?’ When the morning arrived, and the Rurutuans found that no harm had happened to any of them, they became exceedingly disgusted at their having been deceived so long by the evil spirit.”

Like many other Polynesians, the Tahitans are of fair complexions, and very well made. Both men and women are good-looking, and many of the latter may be called beautiful, their graceful robe of bark cloth, and the flowers with which they love to entwine their hair setting off their charms in an admirable manner. It is rather strange, by the way, that the women of Eimeo, one of this group, are very inferior to those of the other islands, being darker, of lower stature, and not so graceful, and, as Captain Cook remarked, if a handsome woman were seen at Eimeo, she was sure to have come from another island.

The men dress in rather a variable manner. All wear the primitive garment of Polynesia, namely, a piece of bark cloth passed round the waist, then through the legs, and the end tucked into the girdle. Over this garment many wear a sort of mantle made of finer cloth, gathered neatly round the waist, and sometimes flowing over their shoulders; while others wear the tiputa, or tibuta, a garment made in poncho fashion, with a hole in the middle through which the head passes, and hanging down in front and behind, but open at the sides. This garment is found in a very great number of Polynesian islands, the material and the form varying according to the locality. The bark cloth is made exactly after the fashion employed in Tonga and Samoa.

Both sexes usually cut their hair short, and sometimes crop it so closely at the crown of the head that it looks as if shaven. They anoint their locks freely with scented cocoa-nut oil, or with a resinous gum, which gives it a moist and glossy appearance, and causes it to retain the shape into which it is twisted. Beside the flowers worn in the hair and ears, and the garlands twisted round the head, the women wear a very elegant and striking ornament. They take the very young stipe of the cocoa-nut palm, peel it into long strips, and dry it. When properly prepared, it is of a glossy, pure white, looking much like white satin ribbon, and is worn twisted into rosettes and similar ornaments. The normal color of the hair is mostly black, but in some cases it takes a lighter and reddish hue. In children it is often light, but assumes a dark hue in the course of a few years.

The Tahitans think that the shape of the head is much improved by being flattened at the back. Accordingly, the mothers have a way of supporting their children during infancy by the heels and back of the head, and, as they think that the shape of the nose can be improved by art, they continually squeeze and press it with the hand while it is tender and plastic.

Tattooing was once much esteemed, and the operation was performed by means of a comb and mallet, as has been described when treating of Samoa. Professional artists executed the tattoo, and were accustomed to travel about the islands, remaining for some months at each spot, and being paid highly for each lad whom they decorated. The face was almost invariably left untouched; the bust, legs, arms, and even hands being covered with the graceful patterns. The women also employed the same decoration, but in a less degree, wearing the tattoo mostly on the arms, ankles, and feet, the latter being tattooed nearly half-way to the knees, so that at a little distance the woman looked as if she were wearing boots or socks fitting tightly to the skin. The missionaries, however, discouraged the tattoo, which by degrees came to be accepted as a mark of a revolutionary spirit, and rendered the offender liable to punishment.

Mr. Bennett mentions two instances where old men were tattooed on the face as well as the body, one of them being a man who had been the high priest of the god Oro, the Polynesian Mars, who was worshipped with every accessory of bloodshed and cruelty. This deity, together with other objects of Tahitan worship, will be presently described.

The means that were employed to put an end to the practice of tattooing were of a very severe and rather despotic character, It was found that ordinary punishments were of little avail in checking a practice so much in consonance with the feelings and habits of the natives. Even after they had submitted themselves to the laws which the white colonists introduced, they could scarcely bring themselves to obey the edict which forbade the tattoo, and evaded it on every possible pretext. They would even voyage to another island, nominally on mercantile affairs, but in reality for the purpose of being tattooed while out of the reach of the white men and their laws.

As to the punishment which ensued, the delinquents cared little about it—the allotted task of road making or well digging was completed in time, whereas the decoration of the tattoo lasted throughout life. After trying to check the practice by various penal laws, the new legislators hit upon a plan described by themselves as merely disfiguring the pattern made by the tattoo. Dr. Bennett, however, uses more forcible terms. “The ancient practice of tattooing the skin is gradually declining amongst the Society Islanders generally. The missionaries have been much opposed to the custom, and among the laws framed for these islands was one which made tattooing criminal; but this has since been repealed, or continues in force only in the islands of Huahine, Raiatea, and Tahaa.

“When viewed in connection with the habits of the natives, tattooing is not, certainly, so innocent a display of savage finery as most Europeans imagine it to be; nevertheless, we felt much regret, not unmingled with indignation, when we beheld, in the house of the royal chief of Raiatea, a native woman of naturally agreeable features, disfigured by an extensive patch of charcoal embedded in her cheek—a punishment inflicted upon her by the judges for having slightly tattooed herself. While we were regarding this spectacle a second female showed us her hand, which afforded a similar instance of judicial severity.”

The various figures employed by the Tahitans have each a separate name, and these figures are imprinted not only upon the skin, but upon the bark cloth garments of both sexes.

The Tahitans are naturally a hospitable people, and have invented a complete code of etiquette for making presents, the most curious of which is that which is employed in giving bark cloth. Captain Cook’s description of this custom is very interesting. It is also illustrated on the 1054th page. “I went with Otoo to his father’s house, where I found some people employed in dressing two girls with a prodigious quantity of fine cloth, after a very singular fashion. The one end of each piece of cloth, of which there were a good many, was held up over the heads of the girls, while the remainder was wrapped round their bodies, under the arm-pits. Then the upper ends were let fall, and hung down in folds to the ground, one over the other, so as to bear some resemblance to a circular hoop-petticoat.

“Afterward, round the outside of all were wrapped several pieces of differently colored cloth, which considerably increased the size, so that it was not less than five or six yards in circuit, and the weight of this singular attire was as much as the poor girls could support. To each were hung two taames or breastplates, by way of enlivening the whole, and giving it a picturesque appearance. Thus equipped, they were conducted on board the ship, together with several hogs and a quantity of fruit, which, with the cloth, was a present to me from Otoo’s father.

“Persons of either sex, dressed in this manner, are called atee, but I believe it is never practised except when large presents of cloth are to be made. At least, I never saw it practised on any other occasion; nor, indeed, had I ever such a present before; but both Captain Clarke and I had cloth given to us afterward, thus wrapped round the bearers.”

These cloths are mostly put on the bearers by laying the end of the cloth on the ground. The girl then lies down on the end of the piece, holds it tightly to her body, and rolls over and over, until she has wound herself up in all the cloth that she is intended to present. When the bearers are taken into the presence of the chief to whom the offering is made, they reverse the process, and unroll themselves, by revolving on the floor in the contrary direction.

Food is presented in another way. The donor sends his servants with the hogs, bread-fruit, and other provisions, to the house of the person to whom the present is made. They do not enter the house, but simply spread leaves on the ground, lay the provisions on them, and then return to their master. The donor then enters the house, and calls upon his friend to come out and look at the present that has been brought for him. The latter signifies his acceptance by ordering his servants to carry the food within his house, but utters no thanks.

In most of these cases, it is expected that a present of equal value should be returned, and, if the recipient should be a wealthy man, he would be thought rather shabby if his return present were not rather more valuable. In consequence of this theory, Captain Cook found that when he purchased provisions he got them much more cheaply than when they were presented to him.

In these islands is found the widely spread practice of selecting friends from strangers. When a ship arrives, each of the officers and crew is selected by a native as his particular friend, and during the time of the vessel’s stay is placed under his charge. Every day, the “apoa” or friend will come on board with his present of cooked bread-fruit and other provisions; and should his visitor go on shore, he takes care that all possible necessaries, and even luxuries, shall be provided for him. It is assumed that when the visitor departs he will in his turn make a present; but there have been many instances where the natives have been so grateful for some kindness that they have refused to accept anything in return for their hospitality.

One very graceful mode of giving presents is by offering them in the name of a child. In this case, whenever provisions are sent, they are always accompanied by the child, who is supposed to present them, and to whom all returns are made.

There is a custom—once very prevalent but now become nearly if not wholly extinct—which is evidently based on the same principle. When a man is in want of something which he cannot obtain, such as a new house, or a quantity of cloth, he bakes a pig, and sends it by his friends to all the population of the place. The bearers offer the pig, and mention at the same time the needs of the owner. All those who partake of it, even though they eat but a mouthful, thereby bind themselves to share in assisting the petitioner, either in building the house or in making the cloth.

Mr. Bennett mentions one instance, where a man wanted thirty-six yards of cloth, and sent a pig after the usual fashion. No one, however, would touch it, and the poor man would have gone without his cloth had not the queen taken compassion on him. She ordered the bearers to leave the pig in her house, thereby assuming to herself alone the task of providing the cloth. A number of women who saw the proceeding, felt rather ashamed that the queen should be left to perform the task alone, so they went into the house, ate the pig, and made the desired cloth.

Among the Society Islands, the distinctions of rank are jealously insisted upon, and no one can command any respect unless he be in the possession of some acknowledged rank. Ignorance of this characteristic was the real cause of Omai’s failure. Most of my readers are aware that this man, the first Polynesian who had ever visited England, was a native of Raietea, one of the Society Islands, and that he was brought to England for the purpose of being educated, so that he might act as a missionary both of Christianity and civilization in his native country.

In Captain Cook’s third voyage, Omai was taken back again, after he had been loaded with presents of various kinds. It was found, however, that all that he really cared for was the possession of weapons, especially fire-arms, by means of which he might make himself master of the island. He had several muskets and pistols, together with ammunition, but Captain Cook remarked in his journal that he fancied Omai would be happier without the fire-arms than with them, and expresses a doubt whether he would not have been happier still if he had never been removed from his island.

The result justified these anticipations. No one, except the lower orders, would have anything to do with a man of no rank, and the nobles, who led public opinion, would not even look at him as he paraded up and down, clad in the suit of armor which had been presented to him with more generosity than prudence. In fact, they felt that his possession of all these treasures was a slight upon themselves, and the natural result was that Omai was soon fleeced of all his property, and speedily sank back again into his original barbarism and idolatry.

Tenacious as they are of their rank, the Tahitan nobles show but few external marks of it. Even at the present day, although they have obtained considerable wealth from trade, and though implicit deference is paid to them by their own people, the chiefs, as a rule, dress and fare no better than the generality of their subjects. The fact is, that every person’s rank is so well known, that there is no necessity for indicating it by outward show or luxurious habits, which would only serve to bring upon them the contemptuous epithet of fahié, or conceited.

In illustration of this principle, Mr. Bennett remarks in his “Whaling Voyage round the Globe,” that it was “usual to see the Queen Aimata clad in a loose cotton gown, bare-headed and bare-footed, mingling with natives of every class. Her meals, too, are equally unostentatious, the bread-fruit, poë, cocoa-nuts, and baked pig, intended for her food, being placed on a layer of fresh leaves spread on the ground; while the partaking party display, by the use of their fingers, a thorough contempt for the modern innovation of knives and forks, in the use of which, however, they are perfectly well versed.” This visit to Tahiti was made in 1834.

Nothing, perhaps, shows the innate respect for rank more than the conduct of the Tahitans toward their queen. Personally she was not in the least respected, nor indeed did she deserve respect. Being the only daughter of Pomaré II., and deriving from her birth the title of Pomaré Vahine, by which she was better known than by the name of Aimata, she became queen in 1827, on the death of her infant brother. Her conduct as queen was at first of the most unqueenly kind. She resisted to the utmost the attempts that were being made to improve the moral condition of the people, and did her best, both by precept and example, to bring back the state of unrestrained licentiousness which had reigned through the land. Yet, in spite of her conduct, the respect for her rank was in no way diminished, and, as has been seen, she could be on familiar terms with the lowest of her subjects without derogating from her dignity.

The amusements of the Tahitans are much like those of other Polynesians, and therefore need but little description. The Tahitans are fond of singing, and possess good voices and ears, so that they have been apt pupils in European music. As a rule, however, they prefer singing the air, or at most a first and second, the more elaborate movements of concerted music scarcely pleasing them. They excel in keeping time, and exhibit this capacity not only in their songs but in their dances. The native mode of singing is not pleasing to an English ear, being of a monotonous character, nasal in tone, and full of abrupt transitions from the highest to the lowest notes.

The native songs are mostly on two subjects, namely, love and war, the former predominating, as is likely to be the case from the quiet and peaceable character of the people. Sometimes their songs assume a more patriotic cast, and set forth the praises of their island home, the beauty of its scenery, and the fertility of its soil. The singers are usually women, whose sweet voices render pleasing even the nasal intonations. The men sing but seldom, and when they do exert their voices, they almost invariably use the harsh native mode of vocalization.

Their musical instruments are but few. They have of course the drum, with which they accompany their songs and dances, not by beating it violently after the African style of drumming, but gently tapping it with the fingers. The drums are of different sizes, and are all cylindrical, and very long in proportion to their diameter. Like many other uncivilized people, they display a great fondness for the Jews’ harp, partly because it is easy to play, and partly because it reproduces to some extent the peculiar intervals of savage music.

The chief native instrument that is capable of producing different notes is a sort of flageolet or “hoe,” which produces a low, deep tone, something like the “drone” of the bag-pipe. The native musician can tune his instrument in a very simple manner. The mouth-piece is split longitudinally, so that the pieces vibrate like those of any “reed” instrument. Surrounding the mouth-piece is a ring of soft wood, and by pushing this forward, or driving it back, the performer can tune his instrument with some nicety, the former movement producing a sharp, and the latter a graver tone.

The hoe is seldom played alone, and is generally used as an accompaniment to the native dances. The performers, after tuning their instruments, sit in a circle, pressed closely together, and, bending forward so that their heads are bowed over their knees, play in admirable time, though as much praise can scarcely be given to the melody.

Following the instincts of the savage nature, the Tahitans are passionately fond of cock-fighting, and amusements of a similar character. Some of them are of a more harmless character. One of the most manly and graceful of these amusements closely resembles the surf swimming of the Sandwich Islanders, and is thus described by Captain Cook:—

“Neither were they strangers to the soothing effects produced by particular sorts of motion, which in some cases seem to allay any perturbation of mind with as much success as music. Of this I met with a remarkable instance. For on walking one day about Matavai Point, where our tents were erected, I saw a man paddling in a small canoe so swiftly, and looking about with such eagerness on each side, as to command all my attention.

“At first I imagined that he had stolen something from one of the ships, and was pursued, but on waiting patiently saw him repeat his amusement. He went out from the shore till he was near the place where the swell begins to take its rise; and watching its first motion very attentively, paddled before it with great quickness till he found that it overtook him, and had acquired sufficient force to carry his canoe before it without passing underneath. He then sat motionless, and was carried along at the same swift rate as the wave, till it landed him upon the beach, when he started out, emptied his canoe, and went in search of another swell.

“I could not help concluding that this man felt the most supreme pleasure while he was driven on so fast and so smoothly by the sea, especially as, though the tents and ships were so near, he did not seem in the least to envy, or even to take any notice of the crowds of his countrymen collected to view them as objects which were rare and curious.

“During my stay, two or three of the natives came up, who seemed to share his felicity, and always called out when there was an appearance of a favorable swell, as he sometimes missed it by his back being turned and looking about for it. By this I understood that this exercise, which is called chorooe, was frequent amongst them, and they have probably more amusements of this sort, which afforded them at least as much pleasure as skating, which is the only one of ours with whose effects I could compare it.”

Like the Tongans and Samoans, these people are fond of boxing and wrestling matches, not only as spectators, but actors. They do not, however, enter into them with the spirit and courage displayed by the more hardy islanders, and there is little doubt that a boxer or wrestler of Tonga would scarcely be able to find a worthy opponent in the Society Islands.

Of these two sports, the Society Islanders much prefer wrestling, boxing being thought rather too rough an amusement, and being apt to leave unpleasant marks on the face of the vanquished combatant. Wrestling, however, is much more common, and is conducted after the following manner.

The intending combatants first went to the temples of their special gods, and laid offerings before them, asking for their assistance in the approaching struggle. They then proceeded to the spot selected for the sports, which had always a smooth surface, sometimes covered with grass and sometimes with sand. A circle of thirty or forty feet in diameter was left clear for the competitors, and around it sat the spectators, the inhabitants of the island or district on one side, and the visitors on the other. All being ready, the combatants enter the arena, wearing nothing but the simple girdle, and mostly having well anointed their bodies and limbs with cocoa-nut oil. The mode of challenge and wrestling has been so well described by Mr. Ellis that I prefer to give his own words:—

“The fame of a celebrated wrestler was usually spread throughout the islands, and those who were considered good wrestlers, priding themselves on their strength or skill, were desirous of engaging only with those they regarded as their equals. Hence when a chief was expected in whose train were any distinguished wrestlers, those among the adherents of the chief by whom the party were to be entertained who wished to engage, were accustomed to send a challenge previous to their arrival.

“If this, which was called tipaopao, had been the case, when they entered the ring they closed at once without ceremony. But if no such arrangement had been made, the wrestlers of one party, or perhaps their champion, walked round and across the ring, having the left arm bent with the hand on the breast, and, striking the right hand violently against the left, and the left against the side, produced a loud hollow sound, which was challenging any one to a trial of skill. The strokes on the arm were sometimes so violent as not only to bruise the flesh, but to cause the blood to gush out.

“When the challenge was accepted the antagonists closed, and the most intense interest was manifested by the parties to which they respectively belonged. They grasped each other by the shoulders, and exerted all their strength and art each to throw his rival. This was all that was requisite; and although they generally grappled with each other, this was not necessary according to the rules of the game.

“Mape, a stout and rather active though not a large man, who was often in my house at Eimeo, was a famous wrestler. He was seen in the ring once with a remarkably tall heavy man, who was his antagonist; they had grappled and separated, when Mape walked carelessly toward his rival, and, on approaching him, instead of stretching out his arms as was expected, he ran the crown of his head with all his might against the temple of his antagonist, and laid him flat on the earth.

“The most perfect silence was observed during the struggle, but as soon as one was thrown the scene was instantly changed; the vanquished was scarcely stretched on the sand when a shout of exultation arose from the victor’s friends. Their drums struck up; the women and children danced in triumph over the fallen wrestler, and sung in derision of the opposite party. These were neither silent nor unmoved spectators, but immediately commenced a most deafening noise, partly in honor of their own clan or tribe, but chiefly to neutralize the triumph of the victors. It is not easy to imagine the scenes that must often have been presented at one of these wrestling matches, when not less than four or five thousand persons, dressed in their best apparel, and exhibiting every variety of costume and brilliancy of color, were under the influence of excitement. One party were drumming, dancing, and singing, in all the pride of victory and the menace of defiance; while, to increase the din and confusion, the other party were equally vociferous in reciting the achievements of the vanquished, or predicting the shortness of his rival’s triumph. When the contest was at an end, victor and vanquished once more repaired to the idol temple, and renewed their offerings of young plantain trees.

“Although wrestling was practised principally by the men, it was not confined to them. Often when they had done, the women contended, sometimes with each other, and occasionally with men. Persons of the highest rank often engaged in this sport; and the sister of the queen has been seen wearing nearly the same clothing the wrestlers wore, covered all over with sand, and wrestling with a young chief in the midst of the ring, round which thousands of the queen’s subjects were assembled.”

CHAPTER CIX. THE SOCIETY ISLANDS— Continued . RELIGION.

RELIGION OF THE SOCIETY ISLANDS — THEIR IDOLS — PARALLEL BETWEEN THE IDOLATRY OF MODERN POLYNESIA AND ANCIENT SYRIA — ORO, THE GOD OF WAR — EXTENT OF HIS WORSHIP — LEGEND OF A SHELL — ORO’S MARAE, OR TEMPLE — THE HUMAN SACRIFICE — HIRO, THE GOD OF THIEVES — HIS WORSHIP AND APOTHEOSIS — TANE, THE CHIEF GOD OF HUAHINE — HIS MARAE AND HIS BED — DRESSING TANE — THE TREES AROUND HIS MARAE — HIS UNFORTUNATE TAIL — HIS HIGH PRIEST — AN INGENIOUS EVASION — TANE’S HALF-WAY HOUSE — TANE AVERSE TO BLOODSHED, BUT NEEDING THE SACRIFICE OF LIFE — TANE’S STONE CANOE — THE SHARK GOD, AND HIS WATER TEMPLE — APOTHEOSIS OF A LIVING MAN — SINGULAR PERFORMANCE OF THE INSPIRED PRIESTS — MOVABLE SHRINES.

We now come to the somewhat complicated subject of the religious belief of the Society Islanders. It is not an easy subject, involving, as it does, a great variety of national customs, including the all-pervading tapu, the burial of the dead, and the human sacrifices which accompany a funeral or are offered on great occasions. We will begin with a brief account of the religious system of these islanders, as far as it is possible to reduce to a system a subject so obscure in itself, and so little understood by the first travellers, who alone would be likely to witness and gain information about the various religious ceremonies.

As might be expected from these islanders, their religion is pure idolatry, or rather, it consists in the worship of certain images which are conventionally accepted as visible representatives of the invisible deities. The idols are of two different kinds, the one being rude imitations of the human figure, and the other, certain combinations of cloth, sinnet, and feathers, rolled round sticks, not having the slightest similitude to the human form, or being recognizable as idols except by those who understand their signification. The human figures are held as being inferior to other idols, and are considered in much the same light as the Lares and Penates of the ancient Romans. They are called by the name of Tu, and are supposed to belong to some particular family which is taken under their protection.

The other gods are, in the ideas of the natives, possessed of far more extensive powers, sometimes being supposed to watch over particular districts, or even particular islands. There are gods of the valleys and gods of the hills, exactly as we read was the belief of the Syrians nearly three thousand years ago: when Ahab had repulsed Benhadad, “the servants of the king of Syria said unto him, their gods are gods of the hills, therefore they were stronger than we; but let us fight against them in the plain, and surely we shall be stronger than they.” (1 Kings xx. 23.)

Fully believing in the protection which these deities are able to extend over their worshippers, it is no matter of wonder that the latter consider that they have a right to the good offices of their gods, and complain bitterly when anything goes wrong with them. So, if a god has been worshipped in some locality, and the ground becomes barren, or the cocoa-nut trees do not produce their full amount of fruit, or the district is devastated by war, the people think that their god is not doing his duty by them, and so they depose him, and take another in his place.

Although these gods are in a manner limited in their scope, many of them are acknowledged throughout the whole of the group of islands; and the chief, because the most dreaded, of them is Oro, the god of war.

This terrible deity is held in the greatest awe by his worshippers, and at one time was feared throughout the whole of the islands. His name was associated with sundry localities, and with many objects, so that his dreaded name was continually in the mouth of the people. There was even a small species of scallop shell which was held in such fear that not a native would dare to touch it. It was called tupe (pronounced toopeh), and was said to be the special property of Oro. When a man died, and was to be converted into a spirit, the body had to be entirely consumed. This was done by Oro, who scraped the flesh from the bones with a tupe shell, and thus ate the body.

The subsequent career of the spirit was rather peculiar. After issuing from Oro in its new form, it betook itself to a great lake in Raiatea, round which is a belt of trees, which from some cause are quite flat at the top, presenting a level surface like a leafy platform. On this place the newly enfranchised spirits danced and feasted, and after they had passed through that stage of their existence, they were transformed into cockroaches.

In Huahine there was an enormous marae, or sacred enclosure, dedicated to Oro. It was a hundred and fifty-six feet long by eighteen wide, and was built by a fence made of flat slabs of coral-rock placed on their edges, and the intervals between them filled in with earth. One of these blocks of stone measured nine feet by ten, so that the labor of cutting them and conveying them to such a distance from the sea must have been enormous.

On this platform a smaller one was erected, so as to leave a space of about four feet in width, and within this upper story were laid the bones of the many victims that had been slain in the worship of the god. The temple itself, called Fare no Oro, or the House of Oro, was quite a small building, eight feet long by six wide, and a little beyond this was the square stone on which the priest stood when about to offer a sacrifice, a higher stone behind it answering as a seat whereon the priest might rest himself when wearied.

Small as was this house, it had been the scene of many human sacrifices, and even its erection cost a number of lives, every post having been driven into the ground through a human body. Besides these victims, others had been sacrificed on many occasions, fourteen of whom were enumerated by an old man who had once officiated as the priest of Oro. When the chief of the island became converted to Christianity, this man tried to conceal the idol which he had so long worshipped, and to save it from destruction, hid it in a hole in the rock. The chief, however, very rightly feared that if the idol were allowed to remain its worship might revive, and accordingly insisted upon its destruction. Besides the priest who offered the sacrifice, Oro had another officer, whose special duty it was to kill the victims. He was officially termed the Mau-buna, or Pig-owner, a human body killed for sacrifice being named a “long pig.” When the victim was pointed out to him, the Mau-buna, having a round stone concealed in his hand, found an opportunity, of getting behind him, and, with a single blow, struck him senseless to the ground, where the murder was completed. He then packed the body in a basket of cocoa-nut leaves, and delivered it to the priest.

Next to Oro was Hiro, the Polynesian Mercury, or god of thieves. He was originally a man, but was elevated to the society of the gods in consequence of his wonderful deeds on earth, the chief of which seems to have been his daring in taking the image of Oro and flinging it to the ground with impunity.

The worship of Hiro extended through all ranks, from the highest chief to the lowest cook, and his votaries always asked for his help when they went on a plundering expedition, and promised him a share of the spoil. This promise they always performed, but as they were careful not to define the amount of booty which was to belong to the god, they contrived practically to have it all to themselves. For example, a thief would go out pig stealing, and promise Hiro a share of the stolen pork. Accordingly, if he had been successful, he would take home his ill-gotten booty, bake it, break off an inch of the tail, and go with it to the shrine of Hiro, where he would offer it with as much ceremony as if it had been half the pig, and at the same time beg the god not to divulge the theft of a votary who had kept his promise.

The natives are quite dexterous enough in the thieving way to be worthy of the protection of this god, having the most ingenious modes of stealing the goods of another. For example, if the objects are small, a hook is fastened to the end of a long bamboo, and the coveted article is slily withdrawn by the actual thief while a confederate directs the attention of the victim elsewhere. Sometimes the hook is tied to a line, and the thief literally angles for the property.

The apotheosis of Hiro was a very remarkable one. After his life of theft, rapine, and murder, in which he did not spare even the temples of the gods, and had, as we have seen, the hardihood to fling Oro’s image on the floor, and roll on it as if he had conquered Oro in wrestling, he was thought to have been so superhumanly wicked that he must have been a god. Accordingly, his skull was placed in a huge marae which he himself had erected, while his hair was put into an image of Oro, and both buried together, this act constituting the apotheosis. When Messrs. Bennett and Tyerman were at the Society Islands, this skull was still in existence, but it disappeared, together with the idols and other relics of the old religions.

The next god is Tane (pronounced tahneh), who was worshipped over a considerable range of country, and was in one or two islands considered as their supreme god. Such was the case with Huahine, in which Tane had a marae or malae of gigantic dimensions. I may here remark that in most Polynesian dialects the letters r and l are interchangeable, so that marae and malae are, in fact, the same word.

This marae is a hundred and twenty-four feet in length by sixteen in breadth, and is composed, like the marae of Oro, of two stories, the last being nearly ten feet in height, and built of coral blocks, some of which are ten feet in width, and correspondingly long and thick, so that their weight is enormous. As the marae is about a hundred yards from the shore, a prodigious amount of labor must have been expended in getting these huge stones out of the sea and fixing them in their places. The upper story is barely a yard in height, and has at each end an upright stone six feet high.

In the middle of the principal part is the idol’s bed, which he occupies once annually, and in which he ought to feel comfortable, as it is twenty-four feet long by thirteen wide. It is built, like the marae, of stone and earth, and is only eighteen inches high. This is a very ancient structure, as is shown by the trees that surround and spread their arms over it. Near the bed is a small house about twelve feet by six, in which rests the god Tane, together with lesser gods, each of whom is set over a district.

Tane himself—burned in 1817—was carved out of a great block of wood, and was about as large as a tall man. He was not remarkable for an elegant shape, having no neck and no legs, the body terminating in a cone. The head was furnished with apologies for eyes, mouth, nose, and ears, and the whole was covered with sinnet.

Once in every year, Tane had a new dress, and was invested with great solemnity. He was brought out of his house by his priest and laid on his bed, having four lesser gods on either side of him. The chiefs of the district stood each in front of his own god, and the priests stood round Tane as being the great god of them all. The old garments were then removed, and examination made into the interior of the idol, which was hollow, and contained various objects, such as scarlet feathers, beads, bracelets, and other valuables. Those that began to look shabby were removed, and others inserted to take their place, and the idols were then invested in their new robes.

Meanwhile, a vast amount of kava was prepared—the natives saying that it was equal in cubic measure to the marae—and a scene of drunken debauch took place, lasting for several days, even the priests being so intoxicated that they were unable to stand while performing their duties, but had to chant their incantations while lying on the ground. This stage of the idol-dressing is represented in the fine engraving on the opposite page. At the expiration of the three days a special god called Moorai was produced and stripped, and, as soon as his garments were removed, violent rain showers fell, as a signal for all the idols to be removed to their respective houses. The greatest care was taken that no woman should witness this ceremony, and if a female of any age had been detected coming within a certain distance of the marae, she would be at once killed, and even her father, husband, or brother, would have been among the first to strike her down.

The trees which decorated this marae are the banyans (Ficus Indica), one of which is described by Mr. Bennett as being seventy feet in girth at the principal stem, and throwing out vast horizontal branches, each of which is supported by a root which looks more like the trunk than the root of a tree. “More than forty of these we counted, standing like a family of earth-born giants about their enormous parent. A circle drawn round all these auxiliary stems measured a hundred and thirty-two feet in circumference, while a circle embracing the utmost verge of their lateral ramification was not less than four hundred and twenty feet.

“The upper stories (if such we may call them) of this multiform tree presented yet more singular combination of interesting and intertwisting boughs, like Gothic arches, circles, and colonnades, propped as by magic in mid-air. These were occasionally massy or light, and everywhere richly embellished with foliage, through which the flickering sunshine gleamed in long rays that lost themselves in the immensity of the interior labyrinth, or danced in bright spots upon the ground black with the shadows of hundreds of branches, rising tier above tier, and spreading range above range, aloft and around.”

This tree was one of the places in which the bodies of human beings were offered, being packed in leaf baskets and hung to the branches. One branch, which was hugely thick and strong, and ran horizontally at a small height from the ground, was pointed out as the principal gibbet, on which human sacrifices, thousands in number, have been offered century after century.

Tane, all powerful though he was, labored under one disadvantage. He had a very long tail, and whenever he wished to leave his house, rise into the air, and dart through the sky on some errand of mischief, he was restrained by his long tail, which was sure to become entangled in some object, which from that time became sacred to the god. For example, the magnificent tree which has just been described was several times the means of detaining Tane on earth, and the several branches round which his tail was twisted became tapu at once. On one side of his house there was a large stone, which had become sacred in consequence of having arrested the flight of the god.

SOCIETY ISLANDERS DRESSING THE IDOLS.
(See page 1066.)

This idea of the long and streaming tail has evidently been derived from meteors and comets, which are supposed to be the gods passing through the air, and whenever a native saw one of them, he always threw off his upper garments, and raised a shout in honor of the passing god. Mr. Bennett suggests that the permanent tail attached to Tane is in all probability a commemoration of some very magnificent comet with a tail measuring eighty or ninety degrees in length.

So sacred was the idol that everything which was touched by it became tapu, and might not be touched by profane hands. There was only one man who was allowed to carry it, and he was called from his office, “Te amo attua,” i. e. the god-bearer. His task was not an easy one, and his office, though it caused him to be viewed with nearly as much reverence as the god of whom he was the special servant, must have deprived him of many comforts. The god-bearer was not even allowed to climb a cocoa-nut tree, because, if he did so, the tree would be so sacred that no one might ascend it after him; indeed, every action of his life was fenced about with some similar restriction. He could not marry, as, in the first place, no woman could be deserving of the honor, and, in the second place, he would be defiled and unfitted for his office if he were to take any woman to wife.

A celibate life does not seem to us to entail such self-denial as seems to be implied by the prominence given to the celibacy of the god-bearer, who appears to have been the only bachelor in the whole group of islands. But among most savage nations a man’s wealth and consequence are regulated by the number of his wives, who do all the work of the household, and in fact keep their husband in idleness.

The house in which the god lived was a small hut elevated on posts twenty feet high, and there were no means of access except by climbing one of these posts. The god-bearer, therefore, had no easy task in climbing up these posts with the great wooden image fastened to his back.

In the illustration on the 1084th page we see the chief priest of Tane—the god-bearer—ascending the pole of the sacred house, with the unwieldy idol slung on his back. A gust of wind has risen, and has wafted Tane’s long tail into the air, so that it has been entangled in a neighboring tree. One of the principal priests is running to ascend the tree and free the god’s tail, and from that time the tree will be tapu, and no one of lower rank than the priest who freed the tail will be allowed to ascend the tree.

Sometimes Tane paid a visit to a marae at some distance, and when he did so, his bearer was naturally fatigued with the weight of his burden. It was, however, thought derogatory to the character of the god to say that his bearer could by any possibility be tired of carrying him, and so, by an ingenious evasion, the god himself was thought to be fatigued with the journey, and was laid to rest for a while on a flat stone about half a mile from the sacred tree. This stone was tapu to women, and if a woman had sat upon it, or even touched it with her finger, she would have been at once killed.

The stone was not a large one, being only four feet long, one foot broad, and nine inches thick. It is a singular fact that this sacred stone, which had so often been the witness of idolatrous rites, should also have witnessed the destruction of the idol to whom it was consecrated. After Christianity had been fairly established in the island, the chief men who adhered to the worship of Tane made war upon the Christians, who repelled them, so that they were obliged to bring out their idol and lay him on the sacred stone. The two bodies of warriors met face to face close to the idol, and the struggle was about to commence when the chief of the Christians made a speech to the enemy, laying before them the distinctions between idolatry and Christianity, and recommended peace instead of war.

His voice prevailed, and those who came to fight against the Christians renounced their idols, and, as a proof of their sincerity, they built a large fire on the spot, threw Tane into it, and then held a great feast, at which the men and women ate together. They then proceeded to Tane’s house, burned it down, and dismantled his great marae.

The feathers attached to these idols and placed within their hollow bodies are mostly the two long tail-feathers of the tropic bird, white and broad toward the base, and narrow and scarlet for the remainder of their length. When the gods are newly dressed, it is considered a meritorious act for any one to present fresh feathers in lieu of those which have been deteriorated by age. After the old garments are unrolled, the feathers are placed inside the image, and a corresponding number of old feathers taken out and presented to the devotee, who values them beyond all things, as partaking of the sanctity which surrounds the original idol. These feathers are then carefully wrapped with sinnet, so as to cover them, with the exception of a little portion of both ends, and they are then laid before the idol, while the priest recites a prayer, in which he beseeches the god to transfer his sanctity to these feathers, which from that moment become minor gods.

The happy devotee has already provided himself with bamboo tubes, in each of which he places one of the feathers, and from which he never takes them except to pray to them. Sometimes he has a smaller idol made, and places the feathers within it; but in this case, he has to take the new idol to be laid before the original one, so that the transfer of sanctity may be guaranteed to them. This mode of honoring the sacred feathers is usually employed when the devotee has enjoyed some piece of good fortune after he has received them, and in most cases he not only encloses them in a new idol, but builds a small temple in which that idol lives.

Formerly, when animals were brought to be sacrificed to Tane, no blood was shed, but they were laid upon a stone and strangled by pressing their necks between two sticks. Food of all kinds was presented to him, part of which he was supposed to consume himself, part was taken by the priests, and the remainder was consumed by the worshippers. All first fruits went to Tane, a peasant being supposed to offer him two of the earliest fruits, while a raatira or gentleman offered ten, and the chiefs still more, according to their rank and wealth.

Not very far from the sacred stone was a marae containing a very sacred object, no less, in fact, than a piece of Tane’s own canoe. According to the people, it was a very miraculous canoe, for it was made of stone, and yet floated as well as if it were made of wood. In proof of this statement, they placed the fragment in water, where it floated, as it was likely to do, being nothing more than a piece of pumice stone. No one knew where the stone had been obtained, but they said that there were more pieces in different parts of the island.

Besides the idol gods, there are gods which are symbolized by living creatures, of which the shark is the chief, being worshipped for the same reason that crocodiles and venomous serpents are worshipped in some parts of the world, viz. on account of its destructive powers. Mr. Bennett saw a large marae which had been consecrated to a shark god on account of a miraculous event which was said to have happened some time previously. In one particular spot the ground begun to shake and tremble, and, as the people were flying in terror, the ground opened, and a huge shark forced his head through the cleft in the soil.

The formation of the maraes has already been mentioned. Some time before Mr. Bennett arrived at the place, a shark had contrived to force its way through the sand into the marae, which was situated on the shore of the lagoon. The water flowed in with the fish, and the natives, feeling delighted that their god had actually come to take possession of his temple, blocked up the passage by which he had entered, cleared out the marae, and kept the shark in it for the rest of his life, feeding him abundantly with fish and meat.

Indeed, in one bay the sharks were regularly fed by the priests, and the consequence was that they became quite familiar, and would swim to the beach to be fed with fish and pork. They would also accompany the canoes, knowing well that the natives always threw overboard some of the fish which they had caught, for the sake of propitiating the shark gods. The latter, however, were so little sensible of the kindness bestowed upon them, that had one of their worshippers fallen overboard they would have eaten him, in spite of all his propitiatory offerings.

Sometimes a living man has been elected to the rank of a god, and worshipped as such during his lifetime. This was done at Raiatea, the king, Tamatoa, having been reckoned among the gods by means of a series of ceremonies which might have been very appropriate in assigning him a place among the very worst and vilest of demons, but were singularly unsuitable to an apotheosis. After this ceremony, the king was consulted as an oracle, prayers and sacrifices were offered to him, and he was treated as reverently as if he had been Tane himself.

It is a most remarkable fact that Tamatoa became a Christian in his later life, and afforded most valuable information respecting the religious belief of the Society Islanders. He corroborated, as having been an eye-witness, the accounts that have been given of the astonishing deeds done by the heathen priests while in a state of inspiration. They have been seen to dash their hands against the ground with such violence that they imbedded the whole arm up to the shoulder. Captain Henry, the son of one of the missionaries, states that he has seen one of these priests plunge his arm into the solid earth as if it were water, and that he would perform the feat on any ground wherever he chanced to be.

“The infuriated priest, on that occasion, foamed at the mouth, distorted his eyeballs, convulsed his limbs, and uttered the most hideous shrieks and howlings. After he had seemingly buried his arm like a spear stuck suddenly in the ground, he held it there for a considerable time; then, drawing it out uninjured, he rushed toward the shore, and, laying hold upon a large canoe, which ordinarily required three or four men to launch, he shoved it before him with apparent ease, and sent it adrift.

“He afterward threw himself into the sea, wallowed about in it, and kept his head under water for a long time. When this act of the tragical pantomime was finished, he sat among the waves, and delivered his prophecies in very figurative and hyperbolical language, at the same time sufficiently ambiguous to be fulfilled in one of two senses, whatever might happen.”

Portable shrines of the gods were once used in the Society Islands, but so complete and rapid has been the demolition of everything connected with idolatry, that Mr. Bennett, who was eye-witness of many idolatrous practices, was only able to procure one specimen, which is now in the museum of the London Missionary Society.

In form it resembles a house, with sloping roof, and is about a yard in length. It is supported on four short legs, and underneath there is a round hole through which the idol was passed into its shrine, a door exactly fitting and closing the aperture. The idol which was in this shrine represented a female god greatly venerated by the people, because she was so very mischievous, and had killed thousands of people, gaining from her bloodthirsty propensities the name of Tii Vahine, or Queen Tii. The idol is a horribly repulsive example of the ugliness with which savages invariably invest their deities.

The shrine, with the idol within it, was hidden in a rock cave by priests of Tii Vahine when idolatry was overthrown by Christianity, and was not discovered for a considerable time, when it was brought from its place of concealment and sold.

CHAPTER CX. THE SOCIETY ISLANDS— Continued . HISTORY—WAR—FUNERALS—LEGENDS.

THE PRIESTS THE HISTORIANS OF THE SOCIETY ISLANDS — THE MARO, OR KING’S ROBE, AND ITS HISTORICAL VALUE — THE HEREDITARY TITLE OF THE KING — THE KING’S BEARER — ARCHITECTURE IN THE SOCIETY ISLANDS — TAHITAN WARFARE — RETENTIVE MEMORY, AND ITS USE IN WAR — BEHAVIOR OF THE VICTORS TOWARD THE VANQUISHED — NAVAL BATTLES AND MANŒUVRES — MILITARY ETIQUETTE — HUMAN SACRIFICE BEFORE BATTLES — CAPTAIN COOK’S ACCOUNT OF THE CEREMONY — FUNERALS AMONG THE TAHITANS — EMBALMING OF A CHIEF’S BODY — STRANGE DRESS OF THE CHIEF MOURNER — THE AREOI SOCIETY, AND THE INFLUENCE WHICH IT EXERTED ON THIS GROUP OF ISLANDS — LEGENDARY TALES OF THE AREOIS.

The priests performed the office of historians as well as of hierophants, every chief of consequence having in his household at least one of these men, who made it his business to chant on all great occasions the most important events which had happened in the country, and especially those which affected the family of his patron. Not only did he relate those events of which he had been a witness, but he also sang of the deeds of past days, the records of which had been transmitted to him by his predecessors.

The priests were, therefore, the only historians of the Society Islands; and, indeed, there was no other mode of delivering to each succeeding generation the traditions of the past. As, however, much of their accuracy depended on the memory of the historian, and as that memory was likely to fade by age, it naturally followed that the history of earlier times was considerably modified by each succeeding narrator. Tamatoa was himself a well-known chronicler, and could repeat a wonderful number of narratives, in which fact and fiction were mixed together in a manner that exactly resembled the semi-mythic history of ancient Greece and Rome.

These chroniclers, though they were unable to write, were not without some means whereby they could refresh their memories. Chief of these was the Maro, the sacred scarf of royalty. The word “Maro” signifies the simple girdle which the men wear by way of clothing, but that of the king is called, by way of pre-eminence, The Maro; and, like the crown of an emperor, is only worn when the kingly rank is conferred. When not in use, it is rolled up in native cloth so as to make a large bundle, and is only untied when it is wanted. When Captain Cook saw it he described it as being fifteen feet long, but when Mr. Bennett was in the Society Islands it measured twenty-one feet in length, the additional measurement being due to the coronation of successive kings. It is only six inches in width, and when worn is rolled round the body, so that the end flows far behind on the ground. It is covered with the precious red feathers, and to it is attached the needle with which it is worked. So sacred is the maro thought to be, that, according to the ideas of the natives, whenever a new stitch was taken the event was marked by peals of thunder.

The maro was never intended to be finished, but, according to the original projection, would receive an addition at the coronation of every new king, so that it would continue to increase in length as long as the kingly succession was kept up. In several respects it bears a great resemblance to the Bayeux tapestry. It is very long in proportion to its width, and the patterns described upon it are records of the time when the maro was woven, and act as aids to the memory of the professional historians, who celebrate in their songs the deeds of past days.

The manufacture of the maro was stopped in a very curious manner. After Tamatoa became a Christian, he was so horrified at the unspeakable iniquity of the ceremonies that took place at each lengthening of the maro that he determined to destroy the maro itself. Fortunately, instead of destroying it, he gave it up to his teachers, and it was sent, together with many specimens of the idolatrous arts of Polynesia, to the museum of the London Missionary Society. I may here mention that Tamatoa is the hereditary name of the king, like the Pharaoh of Egypt and the Finow of Tonga.

All the kings, or rather the principal chiefs, have the greatest idea of their dignity, and are regarded by their subjects almost as demigods. Like some of the African royalties, they are carried on men’s shoulders when they travel from one place to another by land, and when they go by sea they are said to fly and not to sail. There is a special language for the king, whose canoe is called the Rainbow, and whose house is termed the Cloud of Heaven. No one is allowed to stand above him: and this idea is so strongly impressed upon him that a great chief dislikes going into the cabin of an European ship, lest an inferior should tread on the deck over his head. The king even claims authority over the language. We speak in England familiarly of the king or queen’s English. In the Society Islands the language really does belong to the king, who invents and alters words according to his own caprice, and even strikes out of the language those words which he does not happen to like.

The power of the king being so absolute, it might be imagined that the house in which he lived would be far superior to those of his subjects. His power is, however, more real than apparent, and though he has despotic authority, he is lodged, clothed, and fed, scarcely better than any of his subjects, and not in the least better than the chiefs. His house is built in the same manner and of the same materials as those of his subjects. It is certainly larger, because it has to accommodate more persons; but in other respects it is in no way superior.

The houses of the Society Islands are, indeed, little more than thatched roofs supported on pillars about seven or eight feet in height, the pillars tapering from the base to the top, and not being quite upright, but sloping a little inward. The floor is generally covered with grass and mats, while to the rafters of the roof are hung baskets, bundles of cloth, and other property.

Warfare among the Society Islands differs little from the mode which is practised in many other parts of Polynesia, and therefore does not require a lengthened notice.

Formerly, when their weapons were the spear, the club, and the sling, the wars used to be very protracted and caused much bloodshed, but the later introduction of fire-arms has had its usual effect, and not only reduced the number of wars but the loss of life in battle.

Some of their spears were dreadful weapons, the worst of which seems to have been a sort of trident, something like an eel spear. The head of it was armed with three bones from the tail of the sting-ray. They were not fastened to the head of the spear, but only slipped into sockets, just tightly enough to hold them. When an enemy was struck with either of these points, it became detached from the spear, and, in consequence of its peculiarly barbed edges, kept working its way deeper and deeper into the body, so that certain death was the result of a wound with one of these spears.

The natives of the Society Islands also used the bone of the sting-ray for secret assassination. They watched the intended victim while he slept, and, by gently touching him with a feather, made him turn about until he was in a favorable position. The fatal dagger was then struck into the body, and the assassin made his escape, being sure that the wound must sooner or later be mortal.

The peculiar character of the people shows itself in other ways. They are most tenacious of memory in everything that has a personal interest to them, and are equally unwilling to forget an injury or a benefit. They will cherish a life-long vengeance against any one who has offended them, so that one man has been known to follow another from year to year, from one island to another, with the certainty and tenacity of the bloodhound, and never to cease from his quest until he has avenged himself upon his enemy. There is, however, a redeeming point in this trait of character, namely, that although it is mostly exercised for evil purposes, it sometimes takes the opposite course. Mr. Bennett mentions that on one occasion, after a battle, a chief of the victorious side knew that among the flying enemy was a man who had shown a kindness to him in a former war. Knowing the fate that would befall the man if he fell into the hands of the victors, he followed on the track of the fugitive, and after seeking his friend from cover to cover, and from bush to bush, he at last discovered him, took him to his own house, kept him there for a time, and then dismissed him in safety.

Cruelty toward the vanquished is one of the invariable accompaniments of savage warfare, and we cannot expect to find that the Society Islanders are more free from it than others. The only cannibalism of which they are guilty is in connection with war, and even on those occasions the victorious party only eat a small portion of the dead adversary’s body, in accordance with custom, and do not feast upon human flesh, as many of the Polynesians do.

They are, however, on some occasions very cruel to the captured or wounded enemies, absolutely tearing them to pieces by degrees, and taking care to avoid the vital parts, so as to prolong the agony of the sufferer as much as possible. Even Pomaré, before he became a Christian, was guilty of many abominable atrocities. He has been known to take the children of vanquished chiefs, run sinnet cords through the backs of their necks, and drag them about until they died of the torture.

Even when the enemy was dead, the victors could not be content without insulting the senseless corpse. “When a combatant had slain a distinguished adversary,” writes Mr. Bennett, “after the fray was over, the perishing carcass was left upon the field for a day or two. It was then dragged to the marae, when the victor and his friends would stand over it, and exult in the most savage manner over the corrupted mass.

“Each taking a fibrous wand of cocoa-nut leaf, tough as whalebone, in his hand, to employ as a drumstick, they would beat the body with these till they were weary; saying to it, ‘Aha! we have you now; your tongue fills your mouth, your eyes stand out of your head, and your face is swollen; so would it have been with us, had you prevailed.’ Then, after a pause, they would renew their impotent stripes and not less impotent taunts. ‘Now you are dead, you will no more plague us. We are revenged upon you; and so you would have revenged yourself on us, if you had been the strongest in battle.’ Again: ‘Aha! you will drink no more kava; you will kill no more men; you will disembowel no more of our wives and daughters. As we use you, you would have used us; but we are the conquerors, and we have our vengeance.’

“When they had tired themselves, and beaten the flesh of the corpse to a mummy, they broke the arms above the elbows, placed flowers within the hands, and, fastening a rope about the neck, they suspended the mangled remains on a tree, and danced with fiend-like exultation about it, laughing and shouting as the wind blew the dislocated limbs and the rent muscles to and fro.”

The canoe fights show some skill in manœuvres. The war canoes are double, with a platform laid across the bars, forming a sort of stage, on which the warriors stand to fight. The movements of the canoes are directed by one man, who tries to take the adversary at a disadvantage, and orders the vessel to advance or retreat as he thinks best, while the warriors are dancing on the platform, and exciting themselves to rage by frantic shouts, brandishing club and spear, and exchanging defiances with the enemy when near enough. As soon as one of them can take the other favorably, the canoes close, and the warriors from one try to board the other and kill its defenders.

The reserves receive and take care of the wounded, laying them in the bottom of the canoe, where they are safe from the weapons of the enemy, and in their turn take the place of those who are disabled, so that a constant succession of fresh warriors is continually coming to the front. When at last one party gets the better of the other, those of the vanquished side who are able to use their limbs leap overboard and try to save themselves by swimming. They have, indeed, no other alternative, for no quarter is ever given or expected, and if the lives of the vanquished be spared at the time, it is only that the unfortunate men may be tortured to death next day.

When Captain Cook visited the Society Islands, he found that all the decisive battles were fought by water, and that such a thing as a great battle on land was never thought of. Indeed, the chief strength of these insular people lies in their canoes, and in a sea fight a great number of them were usually engaged. In such a sea fight, whenever one party found themselves being worsted, they immediately made for the beach, drew their canoes ashore, jumped out, and made the best of their way to the hills, where they concealed themselves during the day, and at night slipped off to their own homes.

When a pitched battle of this kind is determined upon, it is fought out very fairly, and becomes a sort of general tournament. The two opposing chiefs arrange with each other as to the time and place for the battle. The whole of the day and night preceding the battle are occupied by both parties in feasting and dancing, evidently on the principle that, if they are to be killed on the morrow, they may as well enjoy themselves while they can. Before daybreak the canoes are launched and made ready for battle, and with the dawn the fight commences.

After the engagement is over, and the vanquished have run away, the victors go in great triumph to the maraes, where they return thanks to their gods, and offer to them the dead, the wounded, and the prisoners whom they have taken. The chief of the conquered party then opens negotiations with his successful opponent, and a treaty is arranged, in which peace is restored on certain conditions. These are often very hard, and force the vanquished to give up large tracts of land as well as to pay heavy fines in property. Sometimes a whole district changes masters, and, in one or two cases, an entire island has been added to the conquerors.

As human sacrifices have several times been mentioned, it will be as well to describe the circumstances under which they take place. We have already seen that in times of war the captured enemies are offered to the idols. There is a sort of excuse for this act, the idea being that, as the captives had sought the lives of the worshippers of the gods, their own lives should be sacrificed to them as an atonement for their presumption.

There are, however, other occasions on which such sacrifices are offered, and where the victim is selected by the chief and killed in cold blood. If, for example, the king or principal chief of an island or district should project a war against another, he generally sacrifices a man to his god in order to bespeak his aid against the enemy. One of these sacrifices was seen by Captain Cook in 1777. He did not witness the actual murder of the victim, who was killed, as usual, unawares, by a blow from a stone, but saw the body as it was prepared for offering, and was present at the curious ceremony which accompanied the sacrifice.

It appeared that Towha, the chief of his district, intended to make war against the island of Eimeo, and sent a message to his friend and relative Otoo that he had sacrificed a man, and wished for Otoo’s presence when the body was offered at the great marae of Attahooroo. Having previously doubted whether the usually mild and gentle Tahitans would really offer human sacrifices, Captain Cook asked permission to accompany Otoo, and accordingly went with him to the marae. The party accordingly embarked in their canoes, taking with them a miserable, half-starved dog, which was to form part of the sacrifice.

When they arrived at the landing-place, they found the body of the slain man already there, lying in a canoe which was half in and half out of the water, just in front of the marae. Otoo, his visitors, and the chiefs halted about ten yards from the body, while the rest of the people looked on from a distance.

“The ceremonies now began. One of the priests’ attendants brought a young plantain tree, and laid it down before Otoo. Another approached with a small tuft of red feathers, twisted on some fibres of the cocoa-nut husk, with which he touched one of the king’s feet, and then retired with it to his companions.

“One of the priests, seated at the marae, facing those that were upon the beach, now began a long prayer; and, at certain times, sent down young plantain trees, which were laid upon the sacrifice. During this prayer a man, who stood by the officiating priest, held in his hand two bundles, seemingly of cloth. In one of them, as we afterward found, was the royal maro; and the other, if I may be allowed the expression, was the ark of the Eatooa (i. e. the Atua, or god). As soon as the prayer was ended, the priests at the marae, with their attendants, went and sat down with those upon the beach, carrying with them the two bundles.

“Here they renewed their prayers; during which the plantain trees were taken, one by one, at different times, from off the sacrifice, which was partly wrapped up in cocoa leaves and small branches. It was now taken out of the canoe and laid upon the beach, with the feet to the sea. The priests placed themselves around it, some sitting and others standing; and one or more of them repeated sentences for about ten minutes. The dead body was now uncovered by removing the leaves and branches, and laid in a parallel direction by the sea-shore.

“One of the priests then, standing at the feet of it, pronounced a long prayer, in which he was at times joined by the others; each holding in his hand a tuft of red feathers. In the course of this prayer some hair was pulled off the head of the sacrifice, and the left eye taken out; both which were presented to Otoo, wrapped up in a green leaf. He did not, however, touch it, but gave to the man who presented it the tuft of feathers which he had received from Towha. This, with the hair and eye, was carried back to the priests.

“Soon after, Otoo sent to them another piece of feathers, which he had given me in the morning to keep in my pocket. During some part of this last ceremony, a kingfisher making a noise in the trees, Otoo turned to me, saying, ‘That is the Eatooa,’ and seemed to look upon it as a good omen.

“The body was then carried a little way, with its head toward the marae, and laid under a tree, near which were fixed three broad thin pieces of wood, differently but rudely carved. The bundles of cloth were laid on a part of the marae; and the tufts of red feathers were placed at the feet of the sacrifice, round which the priests took their stations; and we were now allowed to go as near as we pleased.

“He who seemed to be the chief priest sat at a small distance, and spoke for a quarter of an hour, but with different tones and gestures; so that he seemed often to expostulate with the dead person—to whom he constantly addressed himself—and sometimes asked several questions, seemingly with respect to the propriety of his having been killed. At other times he made several demands, as if the deceased either now had power himself, or interest with the divinity, to engage him to comply with such requests. Amongst which, we understood, he asked him to deliver Eimeo, Maheine its chief, the hogs, women, and other things of the island, into their hands,—which was indeed the express intention of the sacrifice. He then chanted a prayer, which lasted near half an hour, in a whining, melancholy tone, accompanied by two other priests, and in which Potatau and some others joined. In the course of this prayer some more hair was plucked by a priest from the head of the corpse, and put upon one of the bundles.

“After this, the chief priest prayed alone, holding in his hand the feathers which came from Towha. When he had finished, he gave them to another, who prayed in like manner. Then all the tufts of feathers were laid upon the bundles of cloth; which closed the ceremony at this place.

“The corpse was then carried up to the most conspicuous part of the marae, with the feathers, the two bundles of cloth, and the drums, the last of which beat slowly. The feathers and bundles were laid against the pile of stones, and the corpse at the foot of them. The priests having again seated themselves round it, renewed their prayers, while some of the attendants dug a hole about two feet deep, into which they threw the unhappy victim, and covered it over with earth and stones. While they were putting him into the grave a boy squeaked aloud, and Omai said to me that it was the Eatooa.

“During this time, a fire having been made, the dog before mentioned was produced, and killed, by twisting his neck, and suffocating him. The hair was singed off, and the entrails taken out and thrown into the fire, where they were left to consume. But the heart, liver, and kidneys were only roasted, by being laid on hot stones for a few minutes; and the body of the dog, after being besmeared with the blood, which had been collected in a cocoa-nut shell, and dried over the fire, was with the liver, &c., carried and laid down before the priests, who sat praying round the grave.

“They continued their ejaculations over the dog for some time, while two men at intervals beat on two drums very loud, and a boy screamed as before in a loud shrill voice three different times. This, as we were told, was to invite the Eatooa to feast on the banquet that they had prepared for him. As soon as the priests had ended their prayers, the carcass of the dog with what belonged to it were laid on a whatta, or scaffold, about six feet high, that stood close by, on which lay the remains of two other dogs, and of two pigs, which had lately been sacrificed, and at this time emitted an intolerable stench. This kept us at a greater distance than would otherwise have been required of us; for after the victim was removed from the seaside toward the marae we were allowed to approach as near as we pleased. Indeed, after that, neither seriousness nor attention were much observed by the spectators. When the dog was put upon the whatta, the priests and attendants gave a kind of shout, which closed the ceremonies for the present.”

The scene is well represented in illustration No. 1, on the opposite page. In the foreground is the canoe, in which lies the body of the slain victim, attended by two priests; while just above it on the shore is the dog that is intended to furnish the second portion of the offering. Just in front of the house are two platforms, on the taller of which lie the dogs and pigs that have already been sacrificed, and on the lower lies the embalmed body of the late king, which is brought out for inspection. In front of the bier are the drummers performing on their elaborately carved instruments. A portion of the marae is seen on the left hand of the illustration, and on it lie the skulls of the human sacrifices that have been offered on various occasions.

Next day the ceremonies were resumed; more pigs were killed, some gifts were laid upon the movable house in which the Atua (or god) was carried about, and a young plantain tree was plucked up and laid at the feet of the king.

The mysterious bundles of cloth which had been laid on the marae were then unrolled, and out of one of them was taken the sacred maro, or royal girdle, which has already been described. It was remarkable for the fact that a portion of the scarlet feathers with which the maro is decorated were sewed upon an English pennant which had been hoisted by Captain Wallis when he landed on the island, and left flying when he left it. The second bundle contained the idol to whom the sacrifices were made.

Another hog was then killed, and the entrails inspected, exactly after the manner employed by the old Roman augurs; and the ceremony ended with rolling up the Atua, together with a number of scarlet feathers, in the bundle of cloth from which it had been taken.

At the funerals of very great men human sacrifices are often made, and near the large whattas, or platforms, on which the pigs and other provisions are offered, there are numbers of human skulls, each a relic of a human sacrifice. The only redeeming point about these sacrifices is, that the victim is quite unconscious of his fate. He is struck to the ground suddenly by an assassin who comes stealthily upon him, and never feels the real bitterness of death, namely, the dread of the coming fate.

The bodies of great chiefs undergo a process by which they are preserved for a considerable time. Captain Cook saw the corpse of a chief who had been dead for several months, and whose body had suffered scarcely any apparent change. There was a slight contraction of the muscles and sinking of the eyes, but the body was otherwise perfect; and when the attendants on the corpse unrolled the cloth in which it was enveloped, the limbs were found to be nearly as pliant as in life.

This result is obtained by removing the whole of the interior of the body, supplying its place with cloth soaked in cocoa-nut oil, and anointing the whole body repeatedly with the same substance. The bodies are exposed to public view for some time; but the embalming only postpones the process of decay, and, sooner or later, decomposition does its work. At first the body is exposed for several hours daily, provided that there be no rain; but by degrees it is only shown at intervals, and at last is scarcely ever exhibited, except by request.

(1.) THE HUMAN SACRIFICE.
(See page 1076.)

(2.) CORPSE AND CHIEF MOURNER.
(See page 1079.)

There is a special building, called a tupapau, in which the bodies of chiefs are exhibited when lying in state. First, there is a tolerably large house, with a palisade around it, and within this house is the tupapau itself. It is made exactly like the little pent-houses that are built upon the larger canoes, and is profusely decorated with scarlet feathers, cloth, and other precious ornaments. Two men are attached to the tupapau, who watch over it night and day, attend to the proper arrangement of the cloth and feathers, receive the offerings of fruit and provisions that are constantly made, and prevent intruders from venturing within the palisades.

The second illustration on the 1077th page exhibits the manner in which the bodies of ordinary chiefs are laid out under the protection of a covered shed, as well as the extraordinary dress worn by the chief mourner. The dress is composed in the most ingenious manner of mother-of-pearl shell, feathers, bark cloth, and similar materials, and has a peculiarly startling appearance from the contrast between the glittering white of the pearl-shell and the dark feathers with which the shell is surrounded. Several of these extraordinary dresses have been brought to England, and may be seen in different collections.

Before leaving the Society Islands, it will be necessary to mention an extraordinary institution that in former times prevailed among them. It consisted of a society called the “Areois.” They were worshippers of the god Oro; and though they formed a single confraternity throughout all the Society group, each island furnished its own members.

Some writers have likened the society to that of Freemasonry; but no two institutions can be more utterly opposed than those of the Masonic and the Areoi societies—the one insisting on monotheism, while the other is based on idolatry; the one being an universal, and the other a local society; the one inculcating morality, and the other being formed for the express purpose of throwing aside the small relics of morality possessed by a native Polynesian.

It is not improbable, however, that on its first foundation the Areoi society possessed something of a religious nature. When Areois who had been converted to Christianity managed to shake off the dread with which they contemplated any reference to the mysteries of their society, they all agreed in the main points, though differing in details.

In the first place, the Areois believed in the immortality of the soul, and in the existence of a heaven suited to their own characters. Those who rose to high rank in the Areoi society were believed, after their death, to hold corresponding rank in their heaven, which they called by the name of Rohutu-noa-noa, or Fragrant Paradise. All those who entered were restored to the vigor and bloom of youth, no matter what might be their age; and in almost every respect the resemblance between the Polynesian Rohutu and the Mohammedan Paradise is close and almost startling.

The method by which this Paradise was to be gained was most extraordinary. Fanatics of an ordinary turn of mind believe that everlasting happiness hereafter is to be gained by self-denial and mortification of the body during the present life. The Areois, with an almost sublime audacity, held precisely the opposite view, and proclaimed both by words and deeds that a life of eternal enjoyment in the next world was to be obtained by leading a life of unbridled license in the present world.

In order to carry out this theory to the fullest extent, the Areois formed themselves into a society, and travelled about from one island to another, disseminating their peculiar opinions wherever they went, and gaining fresh recruits to their number in each island. On one occasion Captain Cook saw seventy canoes filled with Areois set off on an expedition to the different islands. Wherever they landed, they proceeded to the nearest marae, and offered a sacrifice of a sucking pig to the god who presided over it, this sacrifice being in the first place a thank-offering to the god for their safe landing, and in the next a notification that they wanted pigs for themselves.

Partly on account of the terror inspired by their numbers and unanimity, and partly on account of the spread of their very intelligible doctrines, the invitation always met with an immediate response, and great numbers of pigs, together with vegetable food, cloth, kava, and other luxuries were produced. A great feast was then held, during which the peculiar doctrines of the society were carried out to the full, and a scene ensued such as cannot be described.

Among the worst of their doctrines was that which declared them all to be celibates, because the god Oro was unmarried. Consequently, the existence of children among them could not be recognized, and as soon as a child was born, it was murdered, and the fact of its existence ignored. By a similarly convenient fiction, all Areois were presumed to be in the full vigor of human life. Consequently, the possibility of age and debility was ignored, and in order to prove the non-existence of either senility or sickness, any old or sick person was quietly buried alive. The victims were never apprized of their fate, as is the case in Fiji, but a grave was dug surreptitiously, the sick person was decoyed to it on some pretence or other, dropped into the grave, the earth flung on him, and stamped down almost before he had time for a remonstrance.

Sometimes, when provisions ran short, the Areois had a very strange method of supplying themselves. A party of them, led by some chief, whose rank was known by the marks tattooed on his body, would visit a house where they saw evidences of prosperity, and look about until they came on a little boy—an easy matter enough in a country where polygamy is practised. They would then take the child, and go through various ceremonies, by which they represented him as having been raised to kingly rank.

They would then simulate the utmost deference to the new king, place him on an elevated seat, prostrate themselves before him, and appeal to him as though he really held the kingly rank. “We are come to the king’s house, poor, naked, and hungry. We need raiment—give us that piece of cloth. We need food—give us that pig.” Accordingly, the father of the child was forced to fall in with their humor, and, in return for the honor conferred upon his house, to give them whatever they demanded.

The only redeeming point of the Areois was their value in keeping up the old historical records of the islands. The food and clothing which they obtained from the various people were repaid by the dramatic performances and recitations which they gave, and which debased as they were by the licentious element which permeated every section of the society, performed toward their local history the same part which the ancient mysteries performed toward the Christian religion. The Polynesians being unable to read or write, and having no mode of recording historical events except by tradition, these performances rendered as it were history visible, and enacted before the eyes of the illiterate people the deeds of days long gone by.

Sometimes the story was that of a celebrated ancestor, much on a par with the semi-mythical legends of ancient European and Asiatic history, and sometimes it took a graver cast, and narrated the deeds and powers of the native gods. For example, the legend of Taroa, the father of gods and men, was somewhat as follows:—

In ages long gone by, Taroa existed only in the form of a vast egg, and hung high in the firmament, inclosing in the shell the sun, moon, and stars. After floating in ether for ages, he thrust his hands through the shell, so that the light of the sun burst upon the universe and illumined the earth beneath him. And the earth was then small as it lay beneath him. Then Taroa saw the sands of the sea, and cried to them, “Sands, come up to me, and be my companions.” But the sands replied, “We belong to the earth and sea, O Taroa, and may not leave them. Come thou down to us.” Then he saw the rocks and cliffs, and cried to them, “Rocks come up to me, and be my companions.” But the rocks replied, “We are rooted in the earth, O Taroa, and may not leave it. Come thou to us.”

Then Taroa descended, and cast off his shell, which immediately added itself to the ground, and the earth was increased to its present dimensions, while the sun and moon shone above. Long did Taroa live on the earth which he peopled with men and women; and at last the time came when he should depart from it. He transformed himself into a large canoe, which was filled with islanders, when a great storm arose, and suddenly the canoe was filled with blood. The islanders with their calabashes baled out the blood, which ran to the east and west of the sea; and ever afterward the blood of Taroa is seen in the clouds which accompany the rising and setting sun, and, as of old tinges the waves with red.

When the canoe came to land, it was but the skeleton of Taroa, which was laid on the ground with its face downward, and from that time all the houses of the gods have been built on the model of Taroa’s skeleton, the thatched roofs representing the backbone and the posts the ribs.

Legends such as these are often transmitted from one reciter to another, and recited verbatim, being merely illustrated and exemplified by such poetical digressions as the mind of the narrator may suggest. With others, on the contrary, the orator has only the mere skeleton, and tells the story in the manner that seems him best.

CHAPTER CXI. THE SANDWICH ISLANDS. CLIMATE—DRESS—ORNAMENTS—WOMEN.

LOCALITY OF THE GROUP — CONFORMATION AND CLIMATE OF HAWAII — APPEARANCE AND DRESS OF THE MEN — FEATHER MANTLES AND HELMETS — SINGULAR RESEMBLANCE TO CLASSIC MODELS — APPEARANCE OF THE WOMEN — A HAWAIIAN BEAUTY — DRESS OF THE WOMEN — MODES OF WEARING THE HAIR — BRACELETS AND OTHER ORNAMENTS — FONDNESS FOR PIGS AND DOGS — OCCUPATIONS OF THE WOMEN — HOSPITALITY TO STRANGERS — FISH PONDS, AND MODE OF MAKING THEM — TREATMENT OF WOMEN — SEMI-AMPHIBIOUS NATURE OF THE SANDWICH ISLANDERS — INGENIOUS METHOD OF OBTAINING SOUNDINGS.

Considerably to the northward of the Society Islands lie the Sandwich Islands, so called by Captain Cook, in honor of the Earl of Sandwich. The entire group consists of eight inhabited islands, and a few which are too barren and rocky to maintain human beings. The largest and most important of them is Hawaii, or Owhyhee, as the word is spelt in Cook’s “Voyages.” It was on the shore of a bay on the western side of this island that Captain Cook was killed in 1779. Owing to the interchange of the letters l and r, which is so prevalent among the Polynesian languages, the name of this bay is sometimes spelt as Karakakooa, and sometimes as Kealakekua.

The capital city of the Sandwich Islands is not situated in Hawaii, but in Oahu, or Woahu, one of the smaller islands, and is called Honolulu. It rightly deserves the name of a city, because it is the seat of a bishopric. The climate of the Sandwich Islands is said to be the most charming in the world. The variation is exceedingly trifling, as near the sea the temperature is below that of sultry English summer-time, while on the coldest winter’s day the thermometer never sinks below 62° Fahr. Owing, however, to the mountainous nature of these islands, any one may live throughout the year in almost exactly the same temperature, by ascending into a cooler atmosphere when the weather is too hot, and descending into the warmer strata during the months of winter.

Adhering to the principle which has been followed in this work, I shall say but little of the present Europeanized condition of the natives of these islands, and confine myself as far as possible to the manners and customs of the people as they were before the white men had introduced their own mode of civilization. Even at the present day, however, the old savage character continually shows itself, and among the very people who seem to be most completely under the influence of civilization the original old heathenism exhibits itself when they are off their guard, or when they think themselves out of the ken of white men. It will be understood, therefore, that although the present tense may be used in the following pages, all descriptions apply to them as they were originally, and not to them as they are at the present day.

The men are tall, active and powerful, and in color are of an olive brown, the precise depth of tint varying much according to the exposure to the sun, so that the skins of the chiefs are much lighter than those of the commonalty. The hair is jet black, and not in the least woolly, being sometimes quite straight, and sometimes wavy. The face is mostly wide, and is a very handsome one, the only fault in it being a tendency to width across the nostrils.

The men all wear the maro or malo, i. e. the slight girdle of cloth which has already been mentioned, and having this, they consider themselves dressed for all purposes of decency. They also have a tappa, or bark-cloth garment, which is twisted round the waist, and falls below the knees, while the better class wear also a sort of mantle, to shelter their skin from the darkening sunbeams.

The great chiefs have also mantles made of a sort of network, into each mesh of which are interwoven the feathers of various birds, the most precious of them being that which supplies the yellow feathers. This is a little bird called Melithreptes pacifica. It is one of the honey-birds, and under each wing there is a single yellow feather, one inch in length. The late king, Kamehameha, had a cloak made of these feathers alone. It was four feet long, and eleven feet wide at the bottom. No less than nine successive kings died before this priceless mantle was finished.

The headdress of the chiefs is of so graceful and classical a form as absolutely to startle the spectator. It is a helmet made of wicker-work and covered with feathers, the shape being exactly that of the ancient Grecian helmet even to the elevated crest which runs over the top. One of these beautiful helmets is shown on the 1097th page. It is not intended as a protection for the head, the material being too fragile for such a purpose, but is simply a badge of rank and wealth. Mostly they are covered with scarlet and yellow feathers, disposed in bold bands or belts, and the wealth of the wearer may be known by the proportion which the yellow and scarlet feathers bear to each other.

Examples of these beautiful ornaments may be seen in several museums, where it is to be hoped that they will be kept from the destructive moths and beetles, inasmuch as they form the sole memorials of a time now passed away.

The birds which furnish these feathers are eagerly sought by the Sandwich Islanders, who have the same love of scarlet that distinguishes not only all Polynesians but all savages and children. The birds are usually caught by means of a tenacious substance much resembling our birdlime, and used in a similar manner by being smeared on twigs and poles, to which the birds are attracted by means of baits.

The natural taste in color is as good as that which displays itself in form, and although the brightest and most boldly contrasting colors are used by the Sandwich Islanders, they are used with such admirable judgment that they do not look gaudy, or even obtrusive.

The women, when young, are singularly beautiful, and retain their good looks longer than is usual among Polynesians. Like the other sex, however, they generally attain to great size in their latter years, those of the better sort being remarkable for their enormous corpulence. This development is probably owing, like that of the Kaffir chiefs, to the great quantity of porridge which they are continually eating. When young, however, they are exceedingly beautiful, their features having a peculiar charm of their own, and their forms being like those of the ancient Grecian statues. An American traveller, writing under the nom de plume of Haöle, i. e. foreigner, gives a most animated description of a native girl, in his interesting work on the Sandwich Islands, showing that the partial civilization to which the natives have been subjected has not destroyed their beauty of features nor symmetry of form.

“In truth to nature, it may be safely asserted that beauty is not confined merely to the saloon of the monarch, nor to the tapestried chambers of the patrician. It is more frequently found amid the lowlier walks of life, on the desert, or the distant isle of the ocean. In this instance I wish to be understood as speaking of physical beauty only. On leaving the shore-road to ascend the mountains for Halawa, I met just such a specimen as has often driven men mad, and whose possession has many a time paved the way to the subversion of empire on the part of monarchs.

“She was rather above the medium size of American women. Her finely chiselled chin, nose, and forehead were singularly Grecian. Her beautifully moulded neck and shoulders, looked as though they might have been borrowed from Juno. The development of her entire form was as perfect as nature could make it. She was arrayed in a single loose robe, beneath which a pretty little nude foot was just peeping out. Her hair and eyebrows were as glossy as a raven’s wing. Around her head was carelessly twined a wreath of the beautiful native ohelo flowers (Gaultheria penduliflorum). Her lips seemed fragrant with the odor of countless and untiring kisses. Her complexion was much fairer than the fairest of her countrywomen, and I was forced into the conclusion that she was the offshoot of some white father who had trampled on the seventh precept in the Decalogue, or taken to his embrace, by the marriage relation, some good-looking Hawaiian woman.

“But her eyes! I never shall forget those eyes! They retained something that spoke of an affection so deep, a spiritual existence so intense, a dreamy enchantment so inexpressibly beautiful, that they reminded one of the beautiful Greek girl Myrrha, in Byron’s tragedy of ‘Sardanapalus,’ whose love clung to the old monarch when the flame of the funeral pile formed their winding sheet.

“In no former period of my life had I ever raised my hat in the presence of beauty, but at this moment, and in such a presence, I took it off. I was entirely fascinated, charmed, spell-bound now. I stopped my horse; and there I sat, to take a fuller glance at the fair reality. And the girl stopped, and returned the glance, while a smile parted her lips, and partially revealed a set of teeth as white as snow, and of matchless perfection. I felt that smile to be an unsafe atmosphere for the nerves of a bachelor; so I bowed, replaced my hat, and passed on my way, feeling fully assured that nothing but the chisel of Praxiteles could have copied her exquisite charms. And as I gently moved past her, she exclaimed, in the vocabulary of her country ‘Love to you.’”

(1.) IDOL TANE RETURNING HOME.
(See page 1069.)

(2.) SANDWICH ISLAND WOMEN AND PIG.
(See page 1085.)

The same writer mentions in several other places the beauty of the young girls whom he saw in Hawaii. There was no reason for the surmise that the girl who impressed him so deeply was a half-caste, because, as has already been mentioned, people of the better class are much fairer than those of lower rank, and are scarcely so dark as the inhabitants of Southern Europe.

The dress of the Sandwich Islands women is much like that of the Tongans, and consists essentially of a wrapper of bark cloth passing round the waist and falling below the knees. It is often arranged so that the end may be thrown over the shoulders, and many of the better class of women have a separate piece of cloth which is used as a mantle. When young they wear no clothing at all.

The methods of wearing the hair are somewhat various. The women generally cut it behind, but allow it to grow to its full length on the rest of the head. The men sometimes divide the hair into a number of locks, and plait or twist each lock into a sort of tail about the thickness of a man’s finger. These tails are allowed to grow to their full length, and stream for some distance down the back. The length of tail seems to be much valued among these people, who are in the habit of adding to their length by supplementary additions of hair woven into their own locks. The hair is often stained of a reddish color by the use of lime, as is done in Fiji and other parts of Polynesia. Sometimes the men shave the whole of the hair on either side of the head, leaving only one crest of long hair to run from the forehead to the nape of the neck, just like the crests of the feather helmets.

Captain Cook remarks that the Sandwich Islanders stand almost alone among Polynesians in refusing to perforate their ears, and that they have no idea of wearing ornaments in them. They are fond of ornaments, some of which are worth a brief description. They have a sort of necklace made of black cord, doubled forty or fifty times, and supporting a piece of wood, shell, or bone cut into the form of a broad hook. Necklaces made of small shells strung together are also common, as are also necklaces of dried flowers.

Bracelets of various kinds are valued by the women. Some of these ornaments are made of hog’s teeth placed side by side, with the concave parts outward, and joined by a string running through the middle. Some of these bracelets are made entirely of the long curved tusks of boars, and are really handsome ornaments. Others are formed from pieces of black wood, fastened together in a similar manner, and being variegated by small pieces of hog’s teeth let into them.

The men sometimes wear on their heads tufts of feathers tied to slight sticks. The most valuable of these plumes are those which are made of the tail-feathers of the tropic bird. Others, which are not so valuable, are made of white dog’s hair. The sticks are sometimes two feet in length.

Tattooing is but slightly practised among the Sandwich Islanders, though some of them have the arms and chest decorated with lines and figures tolerably well executed.

Like many of the Polynesians, the Sandwich Islanders have an absurd liking for pigs and dogs, carrying them about and feeding them when young, as if they had been children. Even when the animals attain their full growth, they are petted to no small extent. The “Haöle” narrates an amusing example of the extreme tenderness which the Hawaiian women evince for these animals, and the artist has represented the description in engraving No. 2, on the preceding page. He was travelling through the island, and noticed a group of women sitting under the shade of a pandanus tree, and surrounding something in which they seemed to be greatly interested. On coming closer, he found that the object of their attention was an enormous hog.

The women were taking it to market, a task which usually devolves upon them, and had to drive the animal for a considerable distance over lofty mountains, a task which could not occupy them less than thirty-six hours. To produce the hog in good condition was evidently their principal object, and they would therefore hurry it as little as possible, coax it along, rather than drive it, by day, and sleep by its side at night. It so happened that the day was a very warm one, and the hog, which was in very good condition, was oppressed with its own fat, with the heat and the fatigue of the journey. Accordingly, the women had led their charge to a shady spot, taken off their only garments, soaked them in water, and spread them over the panting animal, which uttered occasional grunts of satisfaction at the coolness caused by the wet garments, and the continual fanning which the women kept up with leaves.

When the pig is of smaller size, and the market is near at hand, so that there is no danger the animal may get out of condition, a much simpler plan is followed, the legs of the pig being tied together, and a pole run between them, which is lifted on the shoulders of two or four men, according to the weight of the animal.

Although the Sandwich Islanders will eat dogs, pigs, and cats too, when they can afford themselves the luxury, they are so fond of them while living that a man will sooner resent an injury done to his dog or pig than to his child. When travelling, accompanied by their dogs, they treat the animals just like children, taking them in their arms, and carrying them over any rough or muddy places, lest perchance the poor animals should hurt or soil their feet. It is possible that this extraordinary predilection may arise from the fact that none of these animals are indigenous, but have been introduced by Europeans.

It will be seen that the women do not spend their lives in idleness. Indeed, though they are not treated with the harshness that too often falls to the lot of women in uncivilized countries, they do a very fair share of the work. The cooking, for example, is entirely their business, and they are as great adepts at procuring as at cooking food. For example, if a stranger should call at the house of a native, the wife is sure to come out, pass her hand over him, and inquire whether he is hungry. Should he reply in the affirmative, she or another girl runs out to one of the fish ponds, launches a small canoe, and in a very short space of time she has caught some fish, broiled them, cooked some taro, and laid them on plantain leaves before the guest.

These fish ponds are very common in Hawaii, and are mostly made by the women. They are formed by taking advantage of the coral beach, which has numerous small bays or inlets with comparatively narrow mouths. Across the mouths of these bays the natives pile pieces of coral rock so as to prevent any fish from escaping. They are deepened as occasion may require, and it is not an uncommon thing to see a number of women up to their waists in mud and water busily employed in cleaning out a fish pond, and evidently enjoying the work rather than thinking it a hardship. While they are thus at work on land, their husbands and brothers are equally hard at work on sea, catching the fish which are to be transferred to the pond.

The natives rely much for their supplies of food on these ponds, as fish forms a considerable portion of their diet, pork and fowls being too expensive to be considered anything but luxuries, and only to be eaten constantly by the rich. The ponds vary much in size, but are generally of considerable dimensions. Few of them cover less than an acre of ground, while others are a hundred times as large. One or two of the largest are very ancient, and may be considered as historical monuments, the coral blocks which shut them off from the sea being of such enormous size as to tell of the time when the kings or principal chiefs were absolute, and could command any amount of human labor.

Even at the present time the natives rely much on their fish ponds for their supplies of food, and the size of the pond is an invariable test of the rank and wealth of the owner. They are watched as carefully as game preserves in our own country, and suffer as much from poachers, who, however, seldom escape detection.

While, therefore, the women do their share of the work, their life is by no means a laborious one, because there is so little work to be done. The taro patch has to be prepared and cultivated, but this is not a very laborious task; the fish ponds have to be made and left in order, the cooking has to be done, and the bark cloth to be made. Of all these tasks the second is the hardest, and this is rather considered as an amusement than a labor, the women being so amphibious in their habits that to spend half the day in mud and water is no hardship to them, as is seen by the merry talk and laughter that accompany the work.

Mr. Bennett mentions one instance in which a woman was badly treated by her husband. Being in a state of intoxication, he ordered her to carry him on her back up one of the precipices with which these islands abound. In spite of the almost perpendicular rocks, which are in that spot so steep that the white visitors could barely climb up them without any burden at all, the woman undertook the task, and succeeded in reaching the summit in safety.

The semi-amphibious nature of the Sandwich Islanders has already been mentioned. The mode in which both sexes turn their aquatic powers into a means of amusement will be presently described, but we are now dealing with the work done by the women, and not with their amusements. There is a salt-water lake called Loki Nomilu, which was said by the natives to be the handiwork of the terrible fire-goddess Pele, who dug deep into the ground in search of fresh water, but was baffled by the sea finding a subterranean entrance, although the lake is many yards from the shore. Being angry with the sea for its misconduct she took her departure, and took up her abode in the crater of the great volcano of Hawaii, which is called by her name. There is little doubt that the lake in question is itself the crater of an extinct volcano. The “Haöle” went to visit this extraordinary lake, and gives the following account of the mode by which its actual depth was ascertained:—

“Having been informed that this lake was fathomless, I felt only more solicitous to test the mystery. There were no means, however, on the premises; and, two women excepted, the little village was temporarily deserted. There were several canoes on the shore, but the lake was much disturbed by a heavy north wind, so that they would have been rendered nearly useless. But I felt as though I could not abandon the expedition. The gentleman who accompanied me thither informed the women of my object in coming, and assured them I was extremely anxious to know the depth of the water in that lake, and that we would wait until some of the men returned from their fishing excursion.

“But one of them soon provided a remedy. She proposed swimming into the lake with a sounding-line to make the required measurement. Our remonstrance against such a measure was in vain, for she resolutely assured us it would be not only an easy performance, but afford her much satisfaction to have an opportunity of serving me. She procured a piece of wili-wili wood, exceedingly light, about six feet long, and as many inches in diameter. This she insisted on carrying to the north end of the lake, where, under the lee of the high hills, she launched the log of wood. After wading in until it was deep enough to swim, she placed the log firmly under her chest, keeping it there with one hand, and retaining the sounding-line with the other. In this position she struck down the lake, stopping at short intervals to let down the line, which she knotted at the surface of the water every time she found the bottom. This done, she would gather up her line, replace her log, and resume her course. And she pursued this plan until her task was done.

“It would be superfluous to say that this feat excited our admiration, or that we compensated her for her pains. It was the most novel expedition I had ever seen; nor could I fully realize it until I remembered that in these islands, as in other parts of Polynesia, and in the Caribbean Sea, the women and girls are the best swimmers. The Hawaiians are almost amphibious. Volumes might be written detailing their extraordinary feats in the water. It is owing to their frequent bathing that many of the women of Polynesia display such an exquisite contour.”

The woman who performed the feat was the mother of nine children, all of whom were living—an extraordinary event in the life of an Hawaiian woman, so many children perishing either by neglect, disease, or intentional violence.

CHAPTER CXII. THE SANDWICH ISLANDS— Concluded . WAR—SPORT—RELIGION.

WEAPONS OF THE SANDWICH ISLANDERS — KAMEHAMEHA AND THE SPEARS — TWO KINDS OF SLINGS — THE WOODEN DAGGER OR PAHÚA — THE KNIFE FOR CUTTING UP THE BODIES OF SLAIN ENEMIES — THE WAR MAT AND ITS USES — THE TOOTH BREASTPLATE — SUPPOSED CANNIBALISM OF THE SANDWICH ISLANDERS — VARIOUS GAMES — SURF SWIMMING — CHILDREN AND THE WATER — MASKED PADDLERS — BALL PLAY — CUP AND BALL — THE HIDDEN STONE — A BOXING MATCH IN THE SANDWICH ISLANDS — SLEDGING AND ITS DANGERS — RELIGION OF HAWAII — FEATHER AND WOODEN IDOLS.

Some of the weapons used by the Sandwich Islanders are rather curious.

In the first place they have the spear, which is made of a chestnut colored wood, which takes a high polish, and is usually barbed at the point and brought to a flattened point at the butt. They are exceedingly skilful in the use of this weapon, not only in throwing it, but in warding off the weapons that are flung at them. Kamehameha, the well-known king or chief, was celebrated for his skill with the spear. He used to stand with a spear in his right hand in front of six men, also armed with spears. At a given signal they flung their spears simultaneously at him, when he used to strike three aside with the spear in his right hand, and catch the other three in his left hand. Illustration No. 1, on the next page, shows the king performing this dangerous and remarkable feat.

These spears, which are intended to be thrown, are from six to eight feet in length, and are made to fly straight by being tapered gradually from the head to the butt. There is another kind of spear, which is used as a pike. This is from twelve to fifteen feet in length, and is not barbed.

The sling is another of the Sandwich weapons. It is of considerable length, and the receptacle for the stone is made of plaited matting. The stones are oval in shape, and are ground down for the express purpose, so that the slingers evidently possess much accuracy of aim. There is a modification of the sling, the use of which seems to be forgotten at the present day, and even in Captain Cook’s time was far from universal. The stone is cut of an oval shape, with a groove round it, much like a lady’s tatting-needle, and the cord is passed round the groove with a half-hitch, so that when the end of the sling is liberated the stone flies off. Some of these stones obtained by Captain Cook were made of hæmatite, or blood-stone, and were very heavy, weighing at least a pound. It was rather curious that, although there was little difficulty in purchasing the stones, which must have cost much trouble in making, it was not possible to persuade the natives to part with the cord by which they were flung.

Another of their weapons is the dagger, or pahúa, as the natives call it. The material of which it is made is a very hard wood, something like ebony, and it is shaped much like the ordinary steel dagger, except that it has no guard. It is about two feet in length, and is secured to the wrist by a cord passing through a hole at the end of the handle. Some of these daggers are still larger, and double-pointed, being held in the middle like the antelope-horn daggers of India. This weapon has a mournful interest from the fact that when Captain Cook was murdered his body was pierced with innumerable wounds mostly made by wooden daggers, though one of the natives had a dagger made of iron, which they snatched from each other’s hands in their eagerness to inflict fresh wounds.

(1.) KAMEHAMEHA AND THE SPEARS.
(See page 1088.)

(2.) MASKED ROWERS.
(See page 1095.)

On some occasions the Sandwich Islanders employ a weapon which much resembles the merai of the New Zealanders. It is a battledoor-shaped piece of wood, armed with shark’s teeth round the edges. Its primary use is that of a knife, and it is employed in cutting to pieces the bodies of foes that are slain in battle. Still, though it was originally intended as an implement and not as a weapon, it is of so formidable a character that it is often employed in the latter capacity. As far as can be ascertained, this knife is considered to be especially devoted to the one object of cutting up human bodies, and is never employed in any meaner work.

As to clubs, they are of various shapes, the natives having no special form, but carving them into any device that may suit them best, and using different kinds of wood for the purpose.

The defensive armor of the Sandwich Islanders is generally a thick mat, which is worn in time of war, and is sufficiently strong to save the wearer from the thrust of a spear or the stroke of a dagger, and can even greatly deaden the blow of a sling stone.

When Captain Cook was killed, the man who precipitated the attack was wearing his war mat, and, on threatening Captain Cook with a dagger in one hand and a stone in the other, the captain was obliged to fire at him in self-defence. Not wishing to kill, but only to wound and terrify his adversary, he fired a charge of shot, which was resisted by the war mat, so that the man escaped unhurt, his impunity encouraging the natives to proceed with their attack. Had Captain Cook fired the other barrel, which was loaded with ball, against which the war mat would have been no protection, it is probable that the natives would have been deterred from their attack, and that Captain Cook might have lived to complete the voyage of discovery.

One of the most curious examples of defensive armor is a breastplate made entirely of teeth, so arranged that they overlap each other just like the plates of scale armor. One of these curious breastplates is in the United Service Museum. Teeth hung in a similar fashion are employed as castanets, and are hung to the legs of dancers.

Warfare as originally practised by the Sandwich Islanders was scarcely deserving of the name, being little more than a series of desultory skirmishes. They usually began by practising in earnest the skill in avoiding spears which has already been mentioned as exhibited in sport. When the opposing parties met, one of the chiefs, clad in his feather helmet and cloak, advanced in front of his own men, totally unarmed, having nothing in his hand but a fan, and challenging the enemy to throw their spears at him. This they did, and by means of wonderful agility in leaping, stooping, and twisting his body, when the weapons could not be struck aside by the fan or caught in the left hand, he often contrived to escape with his life.

Though it was a piece of military etiquette that he should take no weapon into the field, he was at liberty to hurl back at his adversaries any of the spears which he could catch. Should one of the enemy’s spears bring him to the ground, or should he be successful in killing an adversary, there was an immediate struggle for the possession of the dead body, which is looked upon much as is a flag among ourselves, to be defended or captured at all risks, even of life.

This statement naturally brings us to the disposal of the bodies of the slain, and to the practice of cannibalism. That the latter practice existed to a certain degree cannot be denied, but it is equally certain that the practice was always exceptional, and that it was followed rather as a portion of military etiquette than as a means of indulging the appetite. As may be imagined, the higher the rank of a slain man the greater the desire to eat a portion, however small of his flesh; and this theory will account for the fact that the remains of Captain Cook which were rescued from the natives bore evident marks of fire.

It has often happened that cannibalism has been thought to exist on the strength of native evidence, which has afterward been found to have been misunderstood. A remarkable instance of such an error occurs in the account of Captain Cook’s voyages. In vol. ii. p. 209, there is an account of a native who was observed to carry with him a very small parcel carefully tied up with string. After resisting many solicitations, he allowed it to be opened, when there appeared a small piece of flesh about two inches long, “which to all appearance had been dried, but was now wet with salt water.” On being further pressed on the subject, the man admitted that it was human flesh, and, pointing to his own stomach, indicated the portion of the body from which it had been cut.

Nothing could be clearer than this account, but in vol. iii. p. 133, the whole of this evidence is shown to be utterly untrustworthy. It seems that almost every Sandwich Islander was in the habit of carrying about with him a small piece of hog’s flesh very highly salted, which he was accustomed to nibble occasionally as a delicacy, or by way of sauce when eating vegetable food. By pointing to his stomach the man merely used the conventional sign expressing the excellence of the food; and as to his statement that the flesh was that of a human being, he was so eagerly and closely questioned that, being a mere lad of sixteen or seventeen, he gave an affirmative answer to leading questions. As far as we can see, the Polynesian race is not given to cannibalism, while the Papuans are devoted to it.

We now come to the various games with which the Sandwich Islanders amuse themselves. Chief among them is the sport of surf-swimming. This is practised in several of the islands of Polynesia, but in none is it carried out to such perfection as in the Sandwich group. The following spirited account of this sport is given in Captain Cook’s Voyages:—

“Swimming is not only a necessary art, in which both the men and women are more expert than any people we had hitherto seen, but a favorite diversion amongst them. One particular mode in which they sometimes amused themselves with this exercise in Karakakooa Bay, appeared to us most perilous and extraordinary, and well deserving a distinct relation.

“The surf, which breaks on the coast round the bay, extends to the distance of about one hundred and fifty yards from the shore, within which space the surges of the sea, accumulating from the shallowness of the water, are dashed against the beach with prodigious violence. Whenever from stormy weather, or any extraordinary swell at sea, the impetuosity of the surf is increased to its utmost height, they choose that time for this amusement, which is performed in the following manner:—

“Twenty or thirty of the natives, taking each a long narrow board, rounded at the ends, set out together from the shore. The first wave they meet they plunge under, and, suffering it to roll over them, rise again beyond it, and make the best of their way by swimming out into the sea. The second wave is encountered in the same manner with the first; the great difficulty consisting in seizing the proper moment of diving under it, which, if missed, the person is caught by the surf, and driven back again with great violence; and all his dexterity is then required to prevent himself from being dashed against the rocks. As soon as they have gained, by these repeated efforts, the smooth water beyond the surf, they lay themselves at length on their board, and prepare for their return. As the surf consists of a number of waves, of which every third is remarked to be always much larger than the others, and to flow higher on the shore, the rest breaking in the intermediate space, their first object is to place themselves on the summit of the largest surge, by which they are driven along with amazing rapidity toward the shore.

“If by mistake they should place themselves on one of the smaller waves, which breaks up before they reach the land, or should not be able to keep their plank in a proper direction on the top of the swell, they are left exposed to the fury of the next, and, to avoid it, are obliged again to dive and regain the place from which they set out.

“Those who succeed in their object of reaching the shore have still the greatest danger to encounter. The coast being guarded by a chain of rocks, with here and there a small opening between them, they are obliged to steer their board through one of these, or, in case of failure, to quit it before they reach the rocks, and, plunging under the wave, make the best of their way back again. This is reckoned very disgraceful, and is also attended with the loss of the board, which I have often seen, with great terror, dashed to pieces at the very moment the islander quitted it. The boldness and address with which we saw them perform these difficult and dangerous manœuvres was altogether astonishing, and is scarcely to be credited.”

These swimmers used often to pass nearly a mile seaward, in order to enjoy the rapid motion of their return as long as possible. Both sexes and all ranks unite in it, and even the very chiefs themselves, who have attained to the corpulency which they so much admire, join in the game of surf-swimming with the meanest of their subjects. Some of the performers attain to a wonderful degree of skill, and, not content with lying on the board, sit, kneel, and even stand on it as they are hurled shoreward by the giant waves. The boards are of various sizes, according to the age and stature of the owner. For adults they are about six feet in length. They are slightly convex on both sides, and are kept very smooth—all surf-swimmers cherishing a pride in the condition of their boards, and taking care to keep them well polished and continually rubbed with cocoa-nut oil. The artist has finely represented on the following page the marvellous conquest of the sea by these islanders.

Such utter mastery of the waves can only be obtained by familiarity with the water from earliest childhood. A Sandwich Island child can swim as soon as it can walk, if not sooner, the mothers taking them from the breast, laying them on the surface of the water and encouraging them to kick about as if lying on their mats ashore. One writer mentions his encounter with an object which he took to be a very large frog, but which turned out to be a Kanaka (i. e. Sandwich Island) baby, which was lying on its back and disporting itself quite at its ease.

Indeed, in the mind of a Sandwich Islander there seems to be no connection between the ideas of water and danger, neither does it enter his imagination that any human being is unable to swim. Consequently, there have been several instances where white men have fallen into the water and have been almost drowned, though in the presence of the natives, simply because the idea that any one could be endangered by falling into the water never occurred to them.

SURF SWIMMING BY SANDWICH ISLANDERS.
(See page 1092.)

They are equally skilful in managing their canoes, and have a curious mode of extracting amusement out of them. A number of men will sometimes paddle a canoe after dressing themselves up in a most ludicrous fashion. They take large empty gourds, and put them over their heads, after cutting holes in them corresponding with the eyes and nose, so that the effect is not at all unlike that of a turnip lantern. To the upper part of the gourd is attached a bunch of slender green twigs, which look at a little distance like a plume of feathers, and to the lower part are suspended a number of narrow strips of cloth, looking like a long beard. Their appearance is shown in illustration No. 2, on the 1089th page.

In every case where these masks were worn, the wearers seemed exceedingly jovial, laughing, shouting, and playing all kinds of antics. It was suggested that these masks were in fact helmets, used to protect the wearers against the stones slung by their adversaries; but the whole demeanor of those who wore them was so completely that of mere masqueraders that the helmet theory seems quite untenable.

Ball play is a favorite sport with the Sandwich Islanders, and is carried on with infinite variations. Like the Tongans, they can play with five balls at once, throwing them from hand to hand, so that four of them are always in the air. The balls are extemporized on the spot, being made of green leaves rolled together, and bound with string.

They have a modification of this game, which very much resembles our cup and ball. They take a wooden stick, or handle, about a foot or eighteen inches long, and through one end of it they pass a peg of hard wood, some three inches in length, so that an inch or more projects on either side. They bring both ends of the peg to a sharp point, and the toy is then ready. Throwing up the ball with the left hand, they catch it on one of the pointed ends of the peg, and then jerk it into the air, and catch it again, reversing the stick so as to catch it upon the other end of the peg. This game they will keep up for a very long time without missing ball once.

Another amusement is very popular. Two players sit opposite each other, one having a stone and a piece of bark cloth, and the other a stick. The first player takes the bark cloth, spreads it on the ground, and with his right hand crumples it up into folds, while with the other he deposits the stone under the cloth. The peculiar character of the cloth causes the folds and wrinkles to remain unaltered, just as would be the case if a piece of thin paper were treated in the same way. The other player carefully examines the cloth, endeavoring to discover the spot under which the stone is concealed, and, when he has made up his mind, strikes at the stone with his stick. Should he hit it, he wins a large stake from his opponent; but in the very likely event of missing it he forfeits a small stake to the adversary. Great interest is taken in the game by the spectators, and heavy bets are laid on the two players.

They have many athletic amusements, such as bowls, spear throwing, stick darting, and similar sports and occasionally engage in the rougher sport of boxing. As may be seen from Captain Cook’s account, this sport is not carried on with such fury and pertinacity as in Tonga, the victory being gained on comparatively easy terms:—

“As we had not yet seen anything of their sports or athletic exercises, the natives, at the request of some of our officers, entertained us this evening with a boxing match. These games were much inferior, as well in point of solemnity and magnificence as in the skill and powers of the combatants, to what we had seen exhibited at the Friendly Islands; yet, as they differed in some particulars it may not be improper to give a short account of them.

“We found a vast concourse of people assembled on a level spot of ground, at a little distance from our tents. A long space was left vacant in the midst of them, at the upper end of which sat the judges, under three standards, from which hung slips of cloth of various colors, the skins of two wild geese, a few small birds, and bunches of feathers.

“When the sports were ready to begin, the signal was given by the judges, and immediately two combatants appeared. They came forward slowly, lifting up their feet very high behind, and drawing their hand along the soles. As they approached, they frequently eyed each other from head to foot in a contemptuous manner, casting several arch looks at the spectators, straining their muscles, and using a variety of affected gestures. Being advanced within reach of each other, they stood with both arms held out straight before their faces, at which part all their blows were aimed. They struck, in what appeared to our eyes an awkward manner, with a full swing of the arm; made no attempt to parry, but eluded their adversary’s attack by an inclination of the body or by retreating.

“The battle was quickly decided; for if either of them was knocked down, or even fell by accident, he was considered as vanquished, and the victor expressed his triumph by a variety of gestures, which usually excited, as was intended, a loud laugh among the spectators. He then waited for a second antagonist, and, if again victorious, for a third, till he was at last in his turn defeated.

“A singular rule observed in these combats is, that whilst any two are preparing to fight, a third person may step in, and choose either of them for his antagonist, when the other is obliged to withdraw. Sometimes three or four followed each other in this manner before the match was settled. When the combat proved longer than usual, or appeared too unequal, one of the chiefs stepped in, and ended it by putting a stick between the combatants. The same good humor was preserved throughout which we before so much admired in the Friendly Islanders. As these games were given at our desire we found it was universally expected that we should have borne our part in them; but our people, though much pressed by the natives, turned a deaf ear to their challenge, remembering full well the blows they got at the Friendly Islands.”

A sport which was formerly in great vogue in the Sandwich Islands is sledging, the sloping sides of the mountain ranges being pressed into the service of the players. The game is called holua, and is played in the following manner:—

Each player is furnished with a sledge, made of two narrow runners, varying from seven to eighteen feet in length, three inches deep, and rounded off at one end, just like the steel runner of a skate. These are placed side by side, not parallel, but slightly diverging, the space between the runners being about two inches at the tips, and five inches at the other end. They are connected together with cross-pieces of wood, and mostly covered with strong matting. The native name for the sledge is papa. In order to prepare a path on which the sledge can travel, the natives cut a narrow and shallow trench from the top of the mountain to the base, and even carry it for a mile or more on level ground. Before the sport is begun, the trench is laid with grass so as to make the path easier.

When the players have assembled at the top of the mountain, one of them takes the sledge in his hands, holding it in front of him, retreats a few paces, and then runs forward with all his speed, flings himself head foremost into the trench, and glides down it at a terrific pace, resting on his sledge. The rapidity with which a well-managed sledge will dash down the trench, is absolutely fearful, the incline being often at an angle of forty-five degrees. The art of balancing the narrow sledge is a very difficult one, and if a player should chance to lean too much to one side, or should guide his sledge out of the trench, it is scarcely possible for him to escape with his life. The sledge flies to pieces in a moment, the rider is hurled high in the air, and goes rolling down the steep hill, without any means of guiding or stopping himself.

The winner in this game is the player who travels the farthest along the trench, and so fascinating is the sport, that the natives have been known to stake the whole of their property on their skill. They staked their houses, their lands, their fruit trees, and their crops. Husbands staked their wives and children, and wives staked themselves. And after they had lost all that they had, or were likely to have, they staked their very bones, to be used after death in making fish hooks and arrow heads.

The religion of the Sandwich Islanders resembles so closely that of the Polynesians that little need be said about it. What worship they have is extorted by fear, and, in accordance with this principle, they make their idols as ugly as possible. There is a certain character about the idols of the Sandwich Islands which, like the carving of New Zealand, cannot be mistaken.

In order to show how completely this character is impressed upon the workmanship, I introduce upon the following page two specimens, one from the British Museum, and the other from my own collection. The former of these, No. 1, is made, like the feather helmets, of wicker-work, and is very much larger than any human head and neck. It is covered with the red and yellow feathers which have already been mentioned, and, from the mere price of the material, must have been, in the days in which it was made, a most costly and precious object.

The eyes are made of mother-of-pearl, and in the centre of each is set a black bead by way of pupil. The enormous teeth which beset the open mouth are simply the fangs, or canine teeth, of dogs. The top of the head is furnished with a crest, just like that of the feather helmet. In spite of the rudeness of form, the image possesses a certain force and vigor, which shows that the native who made it had some modicum of artistic power, which in this case expresses itself in outline, just as in the case of the feather cloak it is exemplified in color.

By way of contrast with this idol, we will now look at another specimen (No. 2, on same page), in which the artist has been obliged to renounce color, and trust entirely to outline; and it cannot be said that he has been unsuccessful. The head and body of this image are cut out of a white and very light wood, and have been covered with bark cloth. This cloth has been stained black, and the native artist has contrived to apply it with such perfection of manipulation that it fits closely to all the inequalities of the carving, and cannot even be seen until specially pointed out.

The head and neck are separate from the trunk, and carved out of a single piece of wood; and even the bold crest and its supporting rays are cut out of the same piece of wood. The teeth of the upper jaw are those of a human being; but those of the lower jaw are simply a row of the palatine teeth of some large fish, and are sixteen in number. They are flanked at each angle of the mouth by a human tooth. After the teeth have been inserted into the wood, the bark cloth has been applied, and is turned in at the roots of the teeth, so as to represent the gums. The eyes are simply oval pieces of mother-of-pearl.

SANDWICH ISLAND HELMET.
(See page 1082.)

(1.) FEATHER IDOL.
(See page 1096.)

Top Human teeth.
Lower Fish teeth.
Mouth larger.

(2.) WOODEN IDOL.
(See page 1096.)

It is rather remarkable that the strip of cloth which runs over the crest has not been stained black, like that which covers the head, face, and neck, but is nearly white, and of much stronger and coarser texture. The skill with which the maker has applied the cloth to the wood is really admirable. He has evidently soaked it until it was quite soft and tender, and by means of careful stretching and pressing has “coaxed” it over the various irregularities—such as the nose, eyes, and mouth—so that it fits as closely as if it were the real skin.

The neck is small, narrow, and scarcely worthy of the name, being in fact little more than a large peg, by which the head may be attached to the body when needed. In consequence of this arrangement, the position of the head can be altered at will, and the variety of expression gained by so simple an arrangement is scarcely credible.

The body of the idol is made of the same light wood as the head, and is also covered with the black bark cloth. There is a socket between the shoulders, into which the neck fits loosely. The arms are nothing more than bundles of rushes or reeds, tied with cloth; and each hand is furnished with six fingers, probably as a symbol of extraordinary power. The fingers are merely dogs’ teeth, the whiteness of which presents a curious contrast with the black head and body. There are no legs, nor even any indication of legs, the body being little more than a block of wood, with a hole at the top for the insertion of the neck, and a smaller hole at each shoulder for the insertion of the arms.

Whatever artistic power the maker possessed has been given to the head, and it must be acknowledged that he has carried out his idea most vigorously. The long dress worn by this idol is not stained black, like that which covers the face, head, and body, but is white, and without even a pattern.

For this interesting specimen I am indebted to E. Randell, Esq., who has furnished me with many of the objects which have been figured in this work.

CHAPTER CXIII. THE CAROLINE ARCHIPELAGO. DRESS—ARCHITECTURE—AMUSEMENTS—WAR. — THE PELEW ISLANDS.

DISCOVERY AND NAMING OF THE ISLANDS — THEIR GEOGRAPHICAL EXTENT — THE MARSHALL AND GILBERT GROUPS — INHABITANTS OF ROMANZOFF ISLAND — THE ISLAND OF BORNABI AND ITS INHABITANTS — TATTOOING AND HAIR DRESSING — A MAN OF FASHION IN BORNABI — ARCHITECTURE AND ANCIENT RUINS — LOVE OF COAST — THE PELEW ISLANDS — SHIPWRECK OF CAPTAIN WILSON — COMPLEXION AND GENERAL APPEARANCE OF THE NATIVES — THE TATTOO — CURIOUS COMBINATION OF NAKEDNESS AND MODESTY — USE OF THE BETEL-NUT — THE RUPACKS AND THE BONE BRACELET — MODE OF INVESTITURE — SPEAR THROWING — MODE OF CONDUCTING SEA FIGHTS — ARCHITECTURE OF THE PELEW ISLANDS — MANUFACTURE OF DOMESTIC IMPLEMENTS — DANCE OF THE WARRIORS — IDEA OF RELIGION — A FUNERAL IN THE PELEW ISLANDS — STORY OF LEE BOO.

Passing in a south-westerly direction from the Sandwich Islands we come to a very large group called the Caroline Archipelago. These islands were discovered—as far as is known—in 1526, by the Portuguese, who in those days were the most enterprising navigators in the world. About fifty years afterward they were visited by Drake, but they did not receive the name by which they are known until more than a hundred years after Drake’s voyage, when they were named by the Spanish the Carolines, in honor of Charles the Second, the then king of Spain.

These islands extend over a very considerable geographical range, a space of some fifty degrees intervening between the most easterly and westerly of them. Owing to the extensive range of these islands, there is considerable difference between the manners and customs of these natives, and even between their form and complexion. We will therefore take as examples some of the easterly, central, and western islands.

The most easterly of the group are those which are called the Marshall and Gilbert Islands, the former being those of the north and the latter those of the south. They are sometimes divided into the Eastern and Western Islands, the former being the Radick and the latter the Ralick chain, each group comprising about fifteen or sixteen islands.

These islands are all low in the water, being mostly of coralline structure, so that they are not visible from any great distance. In consequence of their lowness, they seem to have escaped the observation of voyagers until 1788, when they were discovered by Marshall and Gilbert, after whom they were named. As is usual in coral islands, the soil is but shallow, having been formed by the decomposition of vegetable matter thrown on the coral reefs by the waves. The vegetation is therefore scanty, and is mostly confined to bananas, cocoa-nut trees, bread-fruit—all of which thrive best on a low situation near water.

As a sample of the Marshall Islanders, I give a portrait of a man and woman of Romanzoff Island, on the next page. They are a rather fine race, taller than the generality of the Caroline Islanders, and possess tolerably good features. They use the tattoo with some profusion, both sexes appearing to be equally addicted to it. They are better clothed than many Polynesians, the men wearing a short mat round their waists, and the women being clad in a very fine and neatly-made mat, falling nearly to the feet. The hair is long, and naturally curling, and is worn long by both sexes. Earrings are in great request, and some of them, as may be seen by reference to the illustration, are enormously large.

(1.) ROMANZOFF ISLANDERS.
(See page 1100.)

(2.) DYAK WARRIOR AND DUSUM.
(See page 1112.)

From the structure of the island, it is evident that the present inhabitants are not aborigines, but came from other islands at no very remote period. They have kept up the nautical spirit to which they owe their presence on the island, and make long voyages from one island to another. Their canoes are well made, and are built of bread-fruit wood.

Bornabi is one of the largest and most important of these islands, being about seventy miles in circumference, and having a sufficient variety of soil to be very fertile. Instead of being as low-lying as some of these islands, it is of volcanic origin, shooting up to a considerable height in the middle, and surrounded by flat coral reefs.

In consequence of this structure, it affords excellent harborage, and has become a great place of resort for whaling vessels. Like some parts of America within the same zone, and having a somewhat similar contour, the island is a very wet one, so that the combined heat and moisture produce a wonderful fertility of vegetation. Even on the higher parts of the island, the fresh water nourishes various trees and shrubs, while on the coast the mangrove, which delights in salt water, absolutely grows into the sea, and, by its interlacing roots and branches forms a barrier which cannot be penetrated except through the apertures made by the mouths of rivers and creeks.

The inhabitants are of a fair average stature, the men being about five feet eight inches high, while the women are much shorter. They are, however, well proportioned, and not stumpy or clumsy, as is too often the case with the women of uncivilized races.

Like the Romanzoff Islanders, they tattoo themselves liberally, and both sexes wear their black hair very long, keeping it well oiled and carefully dressed, and, in the case of people of rank, adorning it with wreaths of flowers. They have the same odd passion for turmeric which is found in the Polynesian races generally, anointing themselves profusely with it, and thereby converting their naturally pleasing copper color into a repulsive yellow.

The men dress themselves very carefully, a Bornabi man of fashion spending a vast amount of time on his costume. He must not exhibit a vestige of hair on his face, but must painfully pluck out each individual hair by means of forceps made of a couple of cockle-shells, or a piece of tortoise-shell bent double. He must wear at least six aprons, one over the other. These aprons are made of strips of the cocoa-nut leaf bleached white and about two feet in length. He must have round his waist a belt or sash made of banana fibre, and dyed scarlet and yellow. He must have his necklaces, his head-band, and his scarlet tassels in his ears; and he finishes off his costume by a sort of parasol or sunshade made of leaves, which he ties round his head so as to preserve the face from the sun.

This elaborate toilet must be made several times daily, as every native bathes, oils, and paints his skin yellow at least three times every day. The dress of the women bears some resemblance to that of the men, except that, in lieu of the series of apron fringes they wear bark cloth fastened round the waist and reaching to the knee.

In architecture the people of Bornabi are superior to the generality of Polynesians. Like the Marquesans, they begin by building a platform of stones, some four or five feet in height, and upon this they erect the framework of the edifice. The spaces between the upright timbers are filled in with wicker-work, in which are left certain apertures that answer the purpose of windows. The floor is covered with the same kind of wicker-work, except a small space in the centre, in which the fireplace is made. The roof is thatched neatly with pandanus leaves. In all these particulars there is little distinction between the architecture of Bornabi and that of many other islands. The chief point of difference lies, however, in the fact that the timbers are squared, and that, instead of being merely lashed together, they are fastened by tenon and mortise.

It seems probable that the superiority of their architecture, more especially in the squaring of beams and the use of the mortise, is due not so much to themselves as to the remembrance of buildings erected by white men several centuries ago. Near one of the harbors are some ruined buildings, which are evidently not of savage architecture. They are built of cut stones, which have been imported from some other country, and are arranged in streets, looking as if they had formed a portion of a fortification. It has been conjectured that these buildings were the work of the Spanish buccaneers, who used, some centuries ago, to range these seas, and would have found such a harbor and fort invaluable to them.

As far as is known, the inhabitants of Bornabi keep almost entirely to the coast, and never visit the interior. It is certain that the cultivated grounds only extend for a very little distance inland, and, as all the energy of these islanders naturally takes a seaward direction, it is very probable that the natives speak truth when they say that they have never even visited the centre of their island.

The westernmost group of the Carolines is known by the name of the Pelew or Pallou Islands. They were discovered, in 1543, by Villabolos, but have been made known to us principally by means of Captain H. Wilson, who was wrecked there in 1783. The group consists of about twenty small islands, which are surrounded by a reef.

The inhabitants are of a dark copper color, well made, tall, and remarkable for their stately gait. They employ the tattoo in rather a curious manner, pricking the patterns thickly on their legs from the ankles to a few inches above the knees, so that they look as if their legs were darker in color than the rest of their bodies. They are cleanly in their habits, bathing frequently, and rubbing themselves with cocoa-nut oil, so as to give a soft and glossy appearance to the skin.

The hair of the head is fine and black, and is worn long by both sexes, being rolled up in a peculiar fashion close to the back of the head. That of the face and chin is mostly removed, being plucked out by tweezers, only a few men, remarkable for the strength and thickness of their beards, allowing them to grow. The men wear no clothing, not even the king himself having the least vestige of raiment, the tattoo being supposed to answer the purpose of dress.

So unacquainted with real clothing were they when Captain Wilson visited them, that they were utterly perplexed at the garments of the white men, lifting up the flaps of the coats, pinching the sleeves, and then comparing them with their own naked limbs, evidently fancying that these mysterious objects were the skin peculiar to the white man. They also took the blue veins on the seamen’s wrists for lines of tattooing, and asked to be allowed to see the whole of the arm, in order to find out whether the blue lines were continued beyond the wrist.

In spite, however, of the absence of dress the deportment of the sexes toward each other is perfectly modest. For example, the men and women will not bathe at the same spot, nor even go near a bathing-place of the opposite sex unless it be deserted. If a man is forced to pass near a women’s bathing-place, he is obliged, when he comes within a stipulated distance, to give a loud shout; and, if it be answered by a female voice, he must either pass by a circuitous route, or turn back and wait until the women have left the spot.

Their features are tolerably good, the nose rather prominent, and the mouth moderately large. They would look a tolerably handsome people but for their custom of chewing the betel-nut, which stains the mouth red and the teeth black. The chiefs and all the principal men are so devoted to the betel that they always carry with them a little basket containing the nuts, and a small bamboo vessel in which they keep the quicklime which is mixed with the betel when chewed.

Although they care nothing for dress, and comparatively little for ornament, the very great chiefs wear one decoration which is prized by them much as is the Garter in England, or the Golden Fleece in Spain. This is a bone bracelet, worn on the left wrist and denoting the very highest rank next to that of the king himself. Those who are privileged to wear it are called Rupacks, and, as will presently be seen, the rank is not necessarily hereditary, but is conferred at the pleasure of the king.

It seems strange to us that distinctions of rank should be thus sharply defined among a people like the Pelew Islanders, and that “naked savages” should have their various gradations of social position. That a definite scale of rank should exist at all is an evidence of some civilization, and that so complete a system should be found among these islanders appears a perfect enigma to those who have been accustomed to associate clothing and civilization as inseparable conditions. Yet here we have the singular fact that there is a distinct division of ranks into king, nobles, gentry, and peasantry; and that, although these ranks are perfectly well defined and acknowledged, not a man, from the almost despotic king to the lowest subject, wears the slightest article of clothing.

Not only are these distinctions jealously observed, but we find also that the nobles are divided into several ranks, as is the case in civilized lands, and that the highest rank is denoted by a symbolical badge. This badge is conferred only by the sovereign himself, and the investiture with the Rupack’s bone is conducted with a ceremonious solemnity that denotes the estimation in which it is held. So deeply are the Rupacks attached to this symbol of their rank, that a rebel Rupack, who had made war against the king, and was taken alive, resisted every attempt to deprive him of his bracelet, and did not part with it until he had sacrificed his life in its defence. In shape the bone bears a curious resemblance to the open jaws of a skate, and is probably made on that model.

The mode of investiture is a very ceremonious one, and is illustrated on the following page. The Rupacks are assembled together in a sort of chapter of their order, and the Rupack elect is seated at a little distance from them. The king, or a Rupack appointed by him, then takes the bracelet, and directs the candidate to throw a stone as far as he can. This is done in order to ascertain which hand he habitually uses, so that if he be a right-handed man the bracelet goes on the left wrist, and if a left-handed man on the right wrist.

(1.) INVESTITURE OF THE RUPACK.
(See page 1104.)

(2.) THE WARRIORS’ DANCE.
(See page 1108.)

A string is then tied to each finger of the hand; the strings are passed through the bracelet, which, together with the hand, is plentifully anointed with cocoa-nut oil. The principal Rupack then places himself behind the candidate, and holds him firmly by the shoulders, while another hauls at the strings. The king, in the meantime, squeezes together the fingers of the hand, and by degrees draws the bracelet firmly on the wrist, he then makes a speech to the new Rupack, telling him to polish the bracelet daily, and keep it bright; never to suffer its honor to be tarnished, and never to part from it but with his life.

Captain Wilson, who was himself invested with the Rupack’s bone, writes thus of the ceremony and its object:—“This mark of distinction is given and received in these regions as a reward of valor and fidelity, and held out as the prize of merit.

“In this light such public honors were originally considered, and still ought to be so, in every state, from Pelew to Britain. And while they continue to be thus regarded they will operate on the human passions—excite emulation, inspire courage, promote virtue, and challenge respect. The decoration, indeed, derives all its splendor from the combined ideas of the mind whilst viewing it; and the imagination is equally impressed with the same sentiment, whether the badge of honor be a strip of velvet tied round the knee, a tuft of riband and a cross dangling at the button-hole, a star embroidered on the coat, or a bone upon the arm.”

He might have added that the intrinsic value of the decoration bears no comparison with the honor which it denotes, and that the bone of the naked Pelew Islander, the laurel or parsley crown of the ancient warrior, or the Victoria Cross of the modern hero, are alike valueless and priceless. It is remarkable that the king does not wear the bone, so that he has no external sign to distinguish him from the meanest peasant.

The Pelew Islanders are not a very warlike people, and their weapons are, therefore, simple and few. They have two kinds of spears, one used as a missile, and the other as a pike. The missile spear is thrown by a very remarkable instrument, reminding the observer of the Australian wummerah, or throw-stick.

It consists of a piece of wood about two feet in length, and having a notch at one end. When the warrior wishes to throw his spear, he places the butt in the notch of the throwing-stick, and with his left hand bends the elastic bamboo shaft until it is nearly doubled. The hold of the left hand is then loosed; and the spear projects itself to a considerable distance by means of its own elasticity. To an European nothing can be more awkward than this mode of throwing the spear; but the Pelew Islanders can send the weapon to a considerable distance, and aim it well besides.

Even without the aid of the throwing-stick, they are no mean adepts at hurling the spear. When Lee Boo, the son of the king, was at Canton, some gentlemen who were skilled in spear throwing asked him to exhibit the manner in which his own people managed the weapon. He took the spear, and, not thinking that it was to be thrown, merely quivered and poised it according to the usual preliminaries. He was then requested to throw it at a gauze cage, with a bird painted on it. The cage was at such a distance that the gentlemen could seldom strike it. Lee Boo, however, took up the spear carelessly, poised it for a moment, hurled it, and not only hit the cage, but struck the bird through the head.

The Rupacks mostly carry swords and daggers. The former are made of a very heavy wood, and nearly three feet in length. They are inlaid with pieces of white shell, and are strong and heavy enough to kill a man with a single blow. The daggers are made of the tail-bone of the sting-ray, and, when not in use, are carried in a sheath made of a single joint of bamboo, just as is the case with the small knives of Borneo.

Land battles are seldom fought in these islands, the natives trusting chiefly to their canoes, which are of large size and well built. Their hulls are cut out of tree trunks, and then are carved, painted, and inlaid with the patient care which distinguishes savage art. When the king goes out in state, the canoes are further adorned with bunches of shells, strung on cords and hung to the bows and stern-posts. The out-rigger is used, and the sails are of the “latine” form. Despite, however, of the care bestowed upon their vessels, the Pelew Islanders are not good sailors, and seldom venture outside the chain of reefs which encircle their group of islands. Even within it when the sea ran at all high, they would not venture into their canoes.

In consequence of their mode of fighting, the capture of an enemy’s canoe is thought of much more consequence than the slaughter of his soldiers, and is looked upon much in the same light as we consider the capture of an enemy’s gun or flag. Therefore when one party finds that the battle is going against them, they turn their canoes landward, and drive them ashore with all their might, and, if possible, drag them so high on the beach that they cannot be floated without exposing the invaders to almost certain death.

The principal tool used in making the canoe is the adze, or axe. In form the weapon is almost identical with the Polynesian adzes which have been already described in this work. The blade is made of the thick and strong shell of the giant clam, and the most curious point of the instrument is that the head revolves in a groove, so that it can be used as an adze or an axe at pleasure. The Dyak boat builder has a precisely similar instrument, as will be seen in the course of a few pages.

Their smaller tools and implements—such as stone knives, comb, and string—they carry in the basket which holds their betel; and as they have no dress, and consequently no pockets, a man never walks to any distance from his home without carrying the basket with him.

The architecture of the Pelew Islanders is very good. The houses are raised about three feet from the ground by means of stone posts, upon which are laid the beams which support the flooring and side-posts. The walls are made of thick matting, which extends from post to post, and the floors are generally of plank, having an inch or so of space between the boards. Sometimes they are made of split bamboos, which become polished and very slippery by the constant tread of naked feet.

Each house has in the centre its fireplace, sunk lower than the flooring, and formed of stones and earth. The fire is kept burning all night, not for the purpose of warmth, but that the smoke may fill the house, and drive away mosquitoes. When the house is a very large one, and employed for the general use, there are two fireplaces, one at each end. Along the sides of the house are arranged certain apertures which answer equally the purposes of windows or doors, and are furnished with sliding shutters, by which they can be closed at pleasure. Each of these apertures is furnished with stepping stones, by means of which the inhabitants can enter or leave the house without having to clamber from the ground to the raised floor. The large houses are employed for public uses, the councils being held in front of them, or the people assembling in them for social talk, in which the women bear their full share. Some of these houses are from sixty to eighty feet in length.

Being a cleanly people, the Pelew Islanders keep their houses neatly swept, the broom being a bundle of cocoa-nut husks tied together. The vessels which contain fresh water are simply joints of the bamboo, the open ends of which are furnished with a sort of spout or lip, by means of which the water can be poured without danger of being spilt.

The cooking vessels are made of earthenware, and are mostly of an oval shape. They are not, however, very good potters, their pots and pans being rather fragile, and so badly burnt that the natives dare not put them at once on the fire, but set them first at a little distance, and, as they become warmer, bring them nearer, turning them continually, so as to heat each part equally.

When Captain Wilson was at the Pelew Islands, the king had a vessel of which he was very proud. It was carved out of a block of wood, plentifully inlaid with pieces of white shell, and, when the cover was upon it, formed a tolerably fair representation of a bird. This vessel held about nine gallons, and on occasions of great ceremony, was brought out and filled with sweet drink for the use of the king and his Rupacks.

Of the amusements of the Pelew Islanders Captain Wilson says little, and gives but a brief description of the very odd dance in which they delight. This description will be better understood by reference to the illustration on the 1105th page. “In the evening our people were entertained with a dance of the warriors, who were just then returned, which was performed in the following manner:—

“The dancers have a quantity of plantain leaves brought to them, which they split and shiver into the form of ribands. These they twine and fix round their heads, wrists, waists, ankles, and knees; and the leaves being of a yellowish hue, so prepared, have not an inelegant effect when applied to their dark copper skin. They make also bunches or tassels of the same, which they hold in their hands.

“When drawn out, they form themselves into circles of two or three deep, one within another. In general, an elderly man amongst them begins in a very solemn tone something like a song, or long sentence—for our countrymen could not discriminate which it was—and when he comes to a pause, or what we should call the end of a stanza, a chorus is struck up, and the dancers all join in concert, still continuing their figure.

“Their dancing does not so much consist in capering or agility as in a particular method they have of balancing themselves, and this frequently very low sideways, singing together all the while; during which they will flatten their circles, so as to bring themselves face to face to each other, lifting up the tassels they hold in their hands, and giving them a clashing or tremulous motion. After this there will be a sudden pause, and an exclamation from every one of ‘Weel!’ Then a new sentence or stanza is repeated, and danced to as before, and the same ceremony continued till every man who is engaged in the dance has in his turn had his repetition and chorus.”

As far as was ascertained by Captain Wilson, the Pelew Islanders have some notions of religion, and certainly believed in a life after death. They had several superstitions, one of which was that the wood of a certain tree was unlucky, and always brought harm wherever it was used. When Captain Wilson was building his new vessel, he used some planks of this tree, much to the dismay of the king, Abba Thulle, who begged him to remove them. Captain Wilson explained to him that as in his own country any kind of suitable wood was employed for ship building without producing disastrous results, the same impunity was to be expected in the Pelew Islands. As it happened, shortly after the obnoxious planks had been inserted, one of the carpenters fell from the side of the vessel, and hurt himself severely, thus confirming the natives in their belief.

Their funeral ceremonies are very short and simple, and even in one instance witnessed by Captain Wilson, when the son of the principal chief was buried, there was scarcely any ceremony. The corpse was wrapped up in mats, and borne by four men on a bier, no men except the actual bearers attending. A number of women followed the bier, and poured out loud lamentations as they walked. When they arrived at the place of burial, the body was laid in the grave, and the earth immediately filled in by the four bearers, while the women knelt round, and renewed their lamentations, marking as if they would tear up the body from the ground.

Next day, however, Raa Kook, the father of the deceased, went to the burial-place, and performed a curious ceremony. He took two old cocoa-nuts (young nuts being always gathered for consumption) and some red ochre, with which he drew transverse stripes across the nuts. He then laid the painted nuts by his side, and repeated, in an undertone, some words which were supposed to be an incantation or prayer of some kind. A bundle of betel leaves was treated in the same way, and the whole were then delivered to an old woman, who went with them toward the grave; but the precise termination of the ceremony was not ascertained.

On page 1107 mention was made of Lee Boo. As this young man was the first Pelew Islander who ever visited England, and was besides a very remarkable character, I will conclude this account with a short memoir of him.

He was the second son of the king, Abba Thulle, who was no common man, and well deserving of the power which he held. He possessed great energy, wonderful liberality of mind, and an innate nobility of disposition. The visit of the white men taught him their infinite superiority, and when Captain Wilson had built his new ship, and was about to start, Abba Thulle begged him to take Lee Boo to England, to have him instructed in the arts of civilization, and to send him back again so that he might be the teacher of his future people. The request was granted, and Lee Boo accompanied Captain Wilson to England, where he lived for five months, winning the esteem and affection of all whom he met, by his intelligent, modest, and affectionate nature. Unfortunately for his father’s hopes, he was attacked with small-pox, of which he died, his last wish being that all presents that been given him should be sent to his father. He died on Dec. 27, 1784, and was buried in Rotherhithe Church, where a tomb was erected to his memory by the India Company.

CHAPTER CXIV. BORNEO. THE DYAKS, THEIR APPEARANCE AND DRESS.

SUPPOSED ORIGIN OF THE DYAKS — NUMBER OF TRIBES — THE SEA AND LAND DYAKS — GENERAL APPEARANCE OF THE NATIVES — TATTOOING MOST PREVALENT AMONG THE LEAST CIVILIZED TRIBES — DRESS AND ORNAMENT — EXTRAORDINARY EARRINGS — FILING AND BLACKENING THE TEETH — A DYAK WARRIOR IN FULL DRESS — A DUSUM WARRIOR IN ORDINARY COSTUME — THE ILLINOAN PIRATES, THEIR ARMAMENTS AND FEROCITY — A SAGHAI DYAK AND HIS STRANGE HEADDRESS — STRENGTH AND ACTIVITY OF THE DYAKS — “BATANG” WALKING — AN OBLIGING DYAK — THEIR ABILITY TO PENETRATE JUNGLES — THE CHAWAT AND SARONG — A DYAK DANDY — DRESS OF THE WOMEN — THE BEDANG AND SLEEVELESS JACKET — THE BEAUTIFUL HAIR OF DYAK WOMEN — THE METALLIC BODICES — A SAIBAS GIRL IN FULL DRESS — DYAK BELLS — TREATMENT OF THE WOMEN.

With the exception of Australia, which may take rank as a continent, Borneo is the largest island in the world. It is situated in the tropics, the equator passing nearly through the centre of it, and forms the centre of the Indian Archipelago.

Until late years, scarcely anything was known of Borneo; but since the late Sir James Brooke accomplished his wonderful series of exploits against the piratical tribes that infested the coast for more than a thousand miles, and destroyed all commerce, the country has been tolerably explored, and the manners and customs of its inhabitants investigated. Following the plan on which this work has been formed, we will only concern ourselves about the natives of Borneo who live to a degree the life of savages, and only possess that amount of civilization which is compatible with savage existence.

Putting aside the Malay Mahometans who have settled in Borneo, we may roughly divide the native tribes into the Land and Sea Dyaks. The former of these divisions seldom go to sea, either for piracy or trade, and in this respect are very different from the Sea Dyaks, whose existence is essentially a naval one.

Mr. Brooke believes that the Land Dyaks have emigrated from a country in which they would be brought in contact with Hindooism, inasmuch as they possess sundry relics of that religion. “The remains of Hindooism found among them, such as stone-shaped bulls and other stone utensils, and the refusal among them to touch the flesh of cattle or deer—and so particular are they that they will fine a man for even spilling the blood of these animals on their premises; the name of their deity being Juwata—these testifying points support a fair conjecture that they must have gained a fair notion of Hindoo worship from people coming into the Kapuas River from the island of Java, which is only distant from some of the outstretching points of Borneo two hundred miles, and fair winds generally prevail between.”

In confirmation of this opinion, Mr. Brooke mentions that the expression, “in the days of the Hindoos,” was formerly employed when any ancient date was signified. There are about nine or ten branches of the Land Dyaks, each of which branches is divided into a considerable number of tribes. It is impossible to give the names and description of the individual tribes on account of their fluctuating character. The people are continually shifting their place in search of new lands for cultivation, and the result is that they quarrel with each other, fight, are dispersed, and thus form new tribes in the spots on which they settle.

It is thought that their number does not exceed forty thousand, many tribes of which have never been near the sea.

Next come the Sea Dyaks, a fairer, a finer, and a more interesting people. They are about three times as numerous as the Land Dyaks, and are at the present day much what the old sea-kings were in days gone by. They are essentially a nation of rovers, living by piracy, and carrying out to the fullest extent the abominable practice of head-hunting, of which we shall see something in the course of a few pages.

They are taller than the Land Dyaks, who seldom exceed five feet six inches in height, and much fairer in complexion. The skin of the Land Dyak is brown, whereas that of the Sea Dyak is many shades lighter, and has been compared to the color of a new saddle—a hue which admirably suits the well-developed forms of these people. They are very proud of their complexion, and the women are fond of an excuse for throwing off the jackets which they wear, in order to exhibit their smooth satiny skins, polished and shining as if of new bronze.

Their various customs in peace and war will be described in their proper places, and we will content ourselves at present with their appearance and dress.

The Dyaks, as a rule, are nearly beardless, and have a cast of countenance which might almost be called effeminate. Occasionally, however, a man does possess a few hairs on his upper lip, of which he is inordinately proud, and one or two instances have been known where a man has possessed a well-developed beard.

Tattooing is practised among many of the tribes, and prevails in inverse ratio to their civilization, those who are furthest from civilization being most profusely tattooed, and those who are brought in contact with it having almost entirely abandoned the practice. The men of some tribes are nearly covered with tattooed patterns, while those of other tribes have stars on their breasts and armlets and bracelets on their legs and arms. The Kanowit Dyaks, who belong to the great Malanau tribe, are tattooed from the breast to the knees with a pattern that has the effect of scale armor, and many of them tattoo their chins and chests so as to look as if they had real beards and moustaches. The tattoo of the women is often more elaborate than that of the men, as we shall presently see.

It is worthy of notice that, as a rule, the Sea Dyaks do not use the tattoo. They have an idea that it is a sign of cowardice, and are very much surprised that English sailors, whose courage they can but respect, will allow themselves to be tattooed with the anchors, true lovers’ knots, ships in full sail, entwined initials, and other figures with which a British sailor loves to disfigure himself. In consequence of this feeling many verbal skirmishes have been waged between the Sea Dyaks and the English seamen. The tribes among whom tattooing reaches its greatest development are mostly those of the Malaccan division, such as the Kanowits, who are mightily despised by the regular Land and Sea Dyaks, and are only tolerated by them as being the means of affording a constant supply of heads.

The Dyaks are exceedingly fertile in their invention of ear ornaments. Most savages content themselves with making one hole in the lobe of the ear, and often enlarge it so that a man’s hand could be passed through the orifice. But the Dyaks go much further in their ideas of adornment.

In common with other savages, they make an enormous hole in the lobe of the ear, increase it by inserting a series of gradually enlarged plugs, and drag it down as far as the shoulder by hanging leaden weights to it. But they also bore a series of holes all round the edge of the ear, and fill them with various ornaments. The favorite plan is, to have a series of brass rings, and to insert them in the holes of the ear, the smallest being at the top, and the lowest, which is large enough to be a bracelet, at the bottom. This decoration prevails chiefly among the Sea Dyaks, and there is a sort of proverb which warns the hearer to beware of a man who wears many earrings.

Often the Dyaks do not content themselves with wearing rings in their ears, but fill the apertures with such a miscellany of objects that they have been described as “châtelaines,” rather than earrings. One young man, the son of a chief, wore only one large ring in each ear, but from this ring depended a number of brass chains, to which were suspended various ornaments. To one ear were thus hung two boar’s tusks, one alligator’s tooth, part of a hornbill’s beak, three small brass rings, and two little bells.

Many of the men wear one large earring in the lobe, and bore a hole in the top of the ear, through which is passed a canine tooth of the tiger-cat.

These ornaments are only worn when the Dyak puts on his dress of ceremony, and at other times the holes in the ears are kept from closing by plugs of wood. And, as the effect of the brass is always to cause ulcerating sores, the ordinary appearance of a Dyak’s ears is not very pleasing. Some of them have a curious fashion of boring one hole at the top of the ear and another at the bottom, and tying to it a brass plate, to which are suspended the jingling ornaments of which these savages are so fond.

The Dyaks are so fully impressed with the idea that nature is meant to be improved by art, that they cannot even allow their teeth to retain their natural shape and color. As a general rule, the men file their front teeth into sharp points, while others improve upon nature still farther by scooping out the front face of each tooth and rendering it concave.

Having thus rendered the shape of the tooth as unlike its natural form as possible, the next process is evidently to change the color as completely as the shape, and to turn them from white to black. The habit of betel-eating has much to do with the darkening of the teeth, but besides, there is a mode by which the Dyaks deliberately stain their teeth black. The method by which the dye is produced and applied is well told by Mr. Boyle, in his “Adventures among the Dyaks”:—

“We made inquiries about the means employed for blackening the teeth, a custom which is universal in the far East. The old medicine man was finally persuaded to show us the process, and very curious it appeared.

“He produced from his stores a piece of dry wood of the kind called sinka: this was set on fire, and held over the blade of a parang (or sword), on which a few drops of water had been poured. As the stick blazed, a black sap oozed from it, and dropped upon the metal, where it mingled with the water, and in a few moments formed a pool of thick, jetty liquid. With this the teeth are stained in childhood, and one application, we are told, will suffice to preserve them black for ever, nor are there any means of removing the color.

“The process seems peculiar, because the wood from which exuded the sap appears to be as dry as dust, and because the dye will not affect any substance except the teeth, not even bone or horn. This is the more curious since some of the Malays file the enamel carefully from their teeth before applying the sinka. Many, indeed, file them to a point as sharp as a needle, as do some of the Dyak tribes.” The reader will remember that several of the West African tribes file their teeth in like manner.

Illustration No. 2, on the 1101st page, represents two Dyak warriors, one in full costume, and the other a Dusum Dyak in ordinary dress. The former of these men carries in his right hand the sumpitan, with its spear head, and the other rests on his wooden shield covered with tufts of human hair. His parang-ihlang or war sword is on his left side, with its tufts of human hair depending from the handle. His ankles, legs, and arms are covered with multitudes of brass rings, he wears a sort of jacket formed from the skin of the orang-outan, and on his head is a kind of coronal made from the feathers of the Argus pheasant. This figure is taken from a photograph.

The next figure represents a man in ordinary costume. He belongs to the tribe of Dusums, who live on the northern coast of Borneo, and who wear less clothing than any of the tribes of the island, their whole dress consisting of the chawat and a number of large metal rings round their necks and hips. The Dusum warriors wear their hair long, merely bound with a piece of cotton cloth, and their spears are as simple as their clothing, being nothing more than a metal head lashed to a shaft of bamboo.

In order to show at a glance the appearance of various tribes of Borneans, two more Dyaks are represented in the engraving No. 1 on the following page. The left-hand figure represents an Illinoan pirate. These men are found at Tampassook or Tampasuk as the name is sometimes spelt, a place on the north-western coast of Borneo, not very much above the island of Labuan.

The Illinoans possess many large and formidable war boats, which are armed in the bows with a very long gun, and have, after the fashion of Bornean boats, an upper deck, which serves as a platform for the combatants and a shelter for the rowers, who sit beneath. There is a small cabin astern for the captain, about the size of a dog kennel, but the boats have no other sleeping accommodation.

The paddles with which the rowers propel the vessel are shaped rather curiously, looking at a distance like mere sticks with flat discs of wood fastened to their ends. The boats are steered by an oar rudder at the starboard side of the stern, and each is furnished with a mast and huge sail, which can be raised in a few minutes, and struck in almost as many seconds. Although the Illinoans are wealthy tribes, and possess quantities of fire-arms, they are rather afraid to use these weapons, and trust in preference to the spear and parang.

The Illinoans were instrumental in the murder of two native chiefs who were friendly to the English, and who had been suspected of aiding the cession of Labuan. One of them, named Bud-ruddeen, a man of celebrity as a warrior, did not fall unavenged. When the enemy approached, he retired to his house, together with his favorite wife and his sister, neither of whom would leave him. By the aid of his followers, he fought desperately to the very last, until nearly all his men were killed, and he himself was dangerously wounded.

He then retired with his wife and sister into an inner chamber, while the enemy crowded into the house in search of him, and then, firing his pistol into a barrel of gunpowder which he had placed there in readiness, blew to pieces himself, his two relatives, and his enemies.

The other figure represents a Saghai Dyak.

This tribe lives on the south-eastern coast of Borneo, and is remarkable for the superb costumes of the men, who have about them an air of barbaric splendor, which they are exceedingly fond of displaying. Wearing, in common with all Dyaks, the chawat or waist cloth, they take a pride in adorning themselves with short tunics made of tiger or leopard skin, or rich and embroidered cloth; while on their heads they wear magnificent caps made of monkey-skin, and decorated with the beautiful feathers of the Argus pheasant, two of the largest feathers being placed so that one droops over each ear. All these Dyaks have a very singular profile, in consequence of their habit of filing the teeth and so reducing their bulk, those who have concave teeth presenting the most curious outline.

(1.) ILLINOAN PIRATE AND SAGHAI DYAK.
(See page 1112.)

(2.) DYAK WOMEN.
(See page 1118.)

Comparatively slight and feeble as the Dyaks look by the side of the stalwart and muscular European, their strength is really wonderful, and enables them to perform tasks which the powerful white man could not by any possibility achieve. On a journey, when an European has fallen from sheer fatigue, a Dyak has taken the burden with which the fallen man was laden, and added it to his own, without seeming to display any particular sense of having increased his own labor; and when the stranger, in spite of the relief, has lain down in absolute inability to move, a little wiry Dyak has picked him up, put him on his back, and proceeded on his journey with perfect ease.

The Dyaks are in the habit of crossing the swamps with which Borneo abounds by means of primitive bridges, called batangs. These are the very simplest form in which the principle of the bridge can be carried out. If the reader wishes to obtain a correct idea of a batang, he can do so easily enough. Two bamboo poles are driven into the ground so as to cross one another near the top, like an X with the lower limbs much developed. They are then lashed together at the intersection, just like the supports between which a modern rope dancer stretches his cord. At about thirty feet distance, another pair of poles are fixed in a similar way, and a horizontal bamboo laid upon them.

In fact, the whole apparatus looks just like a rope dancer’s apparatus, a bamboo taking the place of the rope. Beyond the second supports others are added and connected by horizontal bamboos as far as the marsh extends; and so fond are the natives of these very primitive bridges that they will make them a mile or more in length, and extend them over gorges of terrible depth.

To tread these extraordinary bridges is a task that would tax the powers of a professional rope dancer, and yet a Dyak has been known to take a heavy white man on his back, and carry him a mile or more over these slippery batangs, when, in many places, a false step would be certain destruction for both. He does not seem at all fatigued by this extraordinary feat of muscular power, but rather has a sort of boyish exultation in his strength, and a decided delight that he is able at all events in one respect to prove himself the superior of the white man, whom he regards with the most profound respect as a being of supernatural wisdom and power.

The Dyaks are able, in some astonishing manner, to penetrate with comparative ease through jungles which are absolutely impervious to Europeans. One of these men, while on the march with some English soldiers, exhibited his strength in a very unexpected manner. The path was a terrible one, all up and down steep and slippery hills, so that the Chinese coolies who accompanied the party first threw away their rice, and lastly sat down and wept like children. The English sergeant, a veteran, accustomed to hard marching both in China and India, broke down at the first hill, and declared his inability to move another step under the load which he carried. Mr. Brooke, who was in command of the party, asked one of the Dyaks to carry the sergeant’s burden, and promised him an additional piece of tobacco.

The man was delighted with the proposal, and accepted it. He was already carrying food for three weeks, his whole store of clothes, one twelve-pound shot, two twelve-pound cartridges, a double-barrelled gun, a hundred rounds of ball cartridge, and his own heavy sword and spear. Such a load as this, which would be almost too great even for a man walking on good roads, seemed a mere trifle to the agile Dyak, who went lightly and easily up and down paths which the foreigners could hardly traverse even without having to carry anything except their own weight.

So little, indeed, was he incommoded, that he strapped the whole of the sergeant’s kit on his back, and walked off as easily as if the whole load were but a feather weight. No one who has not actually traversed those paths can form an idea of the miseries attending the journey. The paths themselves are bad enough, but, in addition to the terribly severe labor of walking, the traveller has to endure mosquitoes, sandflies, intense heat at mid-day, and intense cold at night, thirst, wet, and every imaginable discomfort.

Yet the native seems quite easy in the journey, and gets over the ground in a manner that is absolutely exasperating to the Europeans who accompany him. He is able to push his way through prickly thickets and morasses in a way which seems almost impenetrable. Indeed, he says himself that it is impenetrable, and that he achieves these feats by means of certain charms which he carries about with him. On one occasion it happened that at the end of a hard five hours’ journey, a number of sketching materials and other necessaries had been forgotten, and a Dyak was sent to the boats to fetch them, being promised a pocket-knife for his trouble. He started about two P. M. and arrived with the parcels before sunset, having thus, in addition to his first journey with the travellers, and the heavy parcels which he had to carry, twice traversed the distance which had occupied them five hours in the transit.

When questioned about the manner in which he performed the journey, he said that it was owing to the virtues of a charm which he carried, and which he produced. It was a small misshapen horn, which he said that he had cut from the head of an antelope, and that its fellow horn was brass. He further offered to sell it for fifteen dollars, averring that its powers were unfailing, and that even any one who borrowed it was able to traverse the country at the same speed which he had exhibited.

The ordinary dress of the men is simple enough, consisting merely of the “chawat,” or slight strip of cloth, which is twisted round the loins in such a manner that one end falls in front and the other behind. The chawat is often very gaily colored. Sometimes the Dyak wears a sarong, or short petticoat of cotton cloth, which reaches from the waist to a little above the knees. It is simply a strip of cloth, with the two ends sewed together, and is almost large enough to encircle two ordinary men. When it is put on the wearer steps into it, draws it up to his waist, pulls it out in front as far as it will go and then doubles back the fold and turns the edges inward, in such a manner that it is held tight in its place, while the folds caused by its large diameter allow the limbs full play.

One of these chawats in my collection is woven in a sort of plaid pattern, the ground hue being a bright and rather peculiar red, and the cross-lines being nearly white. The texture is rather coarse, and the whole fabric has a stiffness which is characteristic of native fabrics made of this material.

Those young men who are proud of their personal appearance, and are able to afford the expense do not content themselves with the plain chawat, but adorn it with all kinds of strange decorations. One of these young dandies is well described by Mr. Boyle:—“The young man did not dress in Malay trousers like his father, probably because one pair alone of such articles existed in the house; but his chawat was parti-colored, and his ornaments numerous. He was about five feet four inches in height, very fair complexioned, and his face, though Tartar like in character, had a pleasant expression. From the elbow to the knuckles, both his arms were covered with rings of brass, and above the joint were two broad armlets of snowy shells, which contrasted admirably with his yellow-brown skin.

“But the marvel and glory of his array hung behind. To the end of his chawat was attached a long network of agate beads and bugles, which jingled merrily whenever he moved. Round his neck were strings of bright beads, and his knees were encircled by brazen wire. A profusion of dried scalps fluttered from the parang by his side; and in walking before us through the sunny glades of the jungle, his brazen gauntlet flashing in the light, and his beads of agate tinkling behind, he presented the very ideal of a barbaric dandy.”

One chief, desirous of outdoing his fellows, had taken a gong and beaten it out into a belt of solid metal a foot in width. In consequence of the extraordinary value which the Dyaks set upon gongs, this belt was a mark of wealth which no one could venture to challenge. Beside the chawat, the well-to-do man wears a sort of shawl mantle, much like a Scotch plaid, and capable of being disposed after as many different fashions. They display great taste in the graceful folds which they give to it, and seem to take a pride in the variety which they can produce by the different modes of folding this simple garment.

The women dress in a manner somewhat like that of the men; but, in lieu of the sarong, they mostly wear a rather longer petticoat, called a bedang. When obliged to go out in the sun, they also wear a jacket, without sleeves and open in front; but as this jacket hides the glossy brown skin on which they pride themselves, they generally lay it aside when in the house.

In youth they are remarkable for their slender and graceful forms; but, unfortunately, after a woman has passed the age of twenty, she begins to deteriorate, and at thirty is an old woman. The face is pleasing in expression, despite of the artificial means whereby the women do their best to make themselves hideous. The eyes are black, clear, and expressive, and the lashes singularly long. The nose is rather disposed to turn upward than downward, and the mouth is terribly disfigured with the continual chewing of betel and the mode in which the teeth are filed and blackened.

The chief point in a Dyak woman’s beauty is her hair, which is black, wonderfully thick, and shining, and so long that when allowed to flow over the back it nearly touches the ground. Of this ornament the women are inordinately vain, and, when engaged in conversation, are fond of flinging their shining tresses from side to side by coquettish tossings of the head. Unfortunately, the fever which is so prevalent in many parts of Borneo has the effect of bringing off all the hair, so that many a young girl is thus deprived of her chief ornament.

The women belonging to some of the tribes wear a most singular bodice, composed of bark and bamboo, and kept together by successive rings of brass wire, which form a strong and weighty bodice, to the lower part of which is attached the bedang, or petticoat.

Mr. Boyle seems to have taken a strong aversion to these bodices. “When a Dyak lover attempts to pass a tender arm round his sweetheart’s waist, instead of the soft flesh, he finds himself clasping a cuirass of solid metal. Nor is this all; for fashion ordains that the Dyak heiress shall invest her available means in the purchase of long gauntlets of twisted brass wire, reaching from the knuckles to the elbow; and if, in her turn, she encircles her lover’s neck with a responsive arm, the wretched man finds himself clasped by a horrible fetter, which draws a little bit of his flesh between each of its links, and pinches him fearfully. For these reasons, caresses are not common among Dyak lovers; after all, perhaps, they are only a habit.

“But, apart from their inconvenience, these brazen ornaments are decidedly tasteful and pretty. The ordinary color of a Dyak girl, when she does not stain her body with turmeric, is a dull brownish yellow, and the sparkling brass rings are a great relief to this complexion. They are not removed at night, nor, in fact, during the wearer’s lifetime, unless she outgrow them.”

More than once the possession of these strange ornaments has proved fatal to the wearer, the woman having fallen overboard from a canoe, and drowned by the enormous weight of her brass ornaments. In some parts of Borneo the girls are not content with their brass bodices, bracelets, and anklets, but must needs encircle their throats with the same material. They take a long piece of stout brass wire, and twist it spirally round their necks, so that the lower part of the coil rests on the shoulders, and the upper part comes just under the chin, causing the wearer to hold her head upright, and having a most inelegant and awkward effect.

The Kayan women are exceedingly fond of a peculiar bead which is of several colors, looking as if it were a black bead into which pieces of green, yellow, blue, and gray material had been carefully let. A rich woman will sometimes wear several strings of such beads just above the hips. The different strings are connected with each other so as to form a single ornament. For one such hip-lace (as Mr. St. John calls it) a woman has given property equal to thirty-five pounds of our money; and the same woman had several others for which she had given scarcely less, together with a great number of inferior value.

The Kayan women carry the tattoo to a great extent, and follow exactly the same plan as the Samoan warriors, i. e. being completely tattooed from the waist to the knees. They are very fond of this ornament, and are apt to wear their dress open at the side so as to exhibit it. When the women bathe, they think that the tattoo is quite sufficient dress, and at a little distance they really look as if they were wearing short trousers.

As has been already mentioned, the Sea Dyaks do not, as a rule, care for the tattoo, and in this respect the women follow the example of the men. They are, however, equally fond of ornament with their sisters of the land, and adorn themselves with most scrupulous care on festive occasions. Mr. Boyle gives an animated description of the gala-dress worn by the Saibas Dyak girls and women during a great feast given by the chief.

“Meanwhile the female portion of the community had been preparing for their part in the proceedings. At this moment they came from the interior of the house, and the stately magnificence of their appearance showed that time and labor had not been spared in arraying themselves for this great occasion. From the neck to the hips they were covered over with large agate beads; string of them was heaped on string, till many of the women were cuirassed an inch thick in solid stone before and behind.

“Upon their heads was placed a piece of bead-embroidered cloth, in which were arranged thin skewers of painted wood about five inches long: there were about twenty of these bits of wood disposed about their heads, and each was attached to the other by strings of brilliant glass beads. Five or six of these many-colored loops hung from each skewer, and they were entwined into a graceful network. The effect was very pretty, though barbarous, and the solemnity of the ceremonies was much enhanced by the stately uprightness which the women were compelled to observe in moving, on peril of disarrangement of this delicate structure.”

They also wear conical hats, made of split rattan. These hats are very light, and last for a wonderful time. A specimen was presented to me by a lady who had worn it for four years, and had certainly not treated it with any consideration. Yet it is as strong and good as ever, and the colors are as fresh and bright as when the hat was first made. The rattan has been split into very narrow strips, and stained red, yellow, and black, while some of the strips have had the natural color discharged, so as to make them nearly white.

The hat is fixed on the head by a broad loop of plaited palm leaf, which is fastened to the side. Hats made on this principle are prevalent throughout the whole Archipelago.

Among the ornaments which are worn by the Dyaks are the little bells which have already been mentioned as forming part of the appendages of an earring. These ornaments called “garunongs,” and mostly worn by the women on the edges of the bedang or petticoat, are almost exactly like our hawk-bells, being nothing more than little hollow spheres of brass or bronze about the size of a boy’s playing marble, with a small metal ball in the interior by way of a clapper, and a moderately wide slit at the bottom. To some of the bells the remarkable beads are attached. These bells keep up a musical chime or jingle as the wearer walks, and are therefore used in dances and on great occasions.

The general treatment of the Dyak women is good. They certainly have to work hard, but so have their husbands, and, as we shall presently see, they are not the abject slaves such as are too often found among savage nations, but maintain their share of influence in the family, and are perfectly capable of assisting themselves when the occasion requires it. They are accustomed to work in the fields, and the universal chopping-knife or parang is seldom out of their hands. The constant use of this weapon hardens their hands and often deforms the fingers.

When they come home from their work in the field, they have the heaviest portion of their work before them, their evening task being the husking and winnowing of the rice for supper and for the meals of the following day. The rice is first pounded in large troughs by means of long and heavy wooden poles, which are held perpendicularly, lifted up, and then allowed to fall on the grain, and, as a rule each trough occupies three women, who work for about half an hour. This pounding separates the husk from the grain, and the next process is to winnow the rice by means of a shovel and a fan.

The evening meal is then cooked and eaten, the children fed, the bronze dishes put away, and then the women can sit quietly in the veranda, and eat their betel in peace. Although this mode of life seems rather hard, and the husbands appear to be acting harshly toward their partners in letting them work in this manner while they sit in their houses, chew betel, and talk over the gossip of the day, there is really a very fair reciprocity of labor. While the wives have been working in the fields, the husbands have been fishing, and in so doing have repeatedly exposed their lives to danger, the rollers being at certain seasons of the year exceedingly dangerous. At Mukah, as at other places, the wives insist upon being furnished with fish by their husbands, and, in case the men should come home unsuccessful, the women fasten their doors and bar them out. Indeed, so long as the marriage holds good, the relation of husband and wife seems to be conducted in a manner similar to that which is so graphically depicted by Scott in his “Antiquary.”

In order to show the appearance of the Dyak women in their ordinary and gala costumes, two figures are introduced into illustration No. 2 on page 1113. One represents a Dyak girl before arraying herself in the mass of ornaments with which she loves to decorate herself on festivals. She wears, as usual, the bedang, or petticoat, which, if she be of ordinary condition, is made of cotton, but if she be rich, of silk. It is twisted round the waist in the manner practised by the men, but, in addition, is fastened to the brass belts which surround her waist. Her long glossy hair is flowing to the full extent, before the owner gathers up its massive tresses preparatory to adorning her head with the complicated decorations, of full dress.

The other figure represents her as she appears in all the glory of full gala costume. As far as absolute dress goes, she wears no more than she did before, the only alteration being that her bedang is the best which she has, and is sometimes beautifully embroidered. On her arms are several thick rings of brass, and the singularly uncomfortable brass gauntlet extends from the wrist to the elbow. Her neck and bust are nearly covered with the heavy agate beads, and on her head is the complicated cap, with its curious arrangement of wooden spikes and glass beads.

CHAPTER CXV. BORNEO— Continued . WAR.

DYAK WEAPONS — THE SUMPITAN, OR BLOW GUN — CONSTRUCTION OF THE WEAPON — THE INLAID OR METAL BUTT — THE SPEAR HEAD, OR BAYONET — THE SUMPIT ARROW — THE UPAS POISON AND ITS EFFECTS — DESCRIPTION OF THE TREE — THE QUIVER — THE PARANG, OR SWORD, AND ITS VARIETIES — THE PARANG-LATOK, AND ITS CURIOUS HANDLE — POWER OF ITS BLOW — TWO BLOWS OF AN EXECUTIONER — THE PARANG-IHLANG: ITS CURIOUSLY FORMED BLADE — AN AWKWARD WEAPON — POWER OF THE PARANG-IHLANG, AND ITS VALUE — THE SHEATH AND ITS ADDITIONAL KNIFE — DOUBLE-EDGED PARANG, WITH CHARMS — A SINGULAR ORNAMENT — THE KRIS AND ITS VARIETIES — ITS WAVED AND LAMINATED BLADE — EFFECT OF THE LIME JUICE — THE EXECUTIONER’S KRIS.

We now come to the subject of Warfare, which forms perhaps the most important branch of Dyak history. Whether the Dyaks belong to the Land or Sea division, they are always warlike, though the latter are fiercer, perhaps braver, and certainly more enterprising than the former. In order to understand the system by which they wage war, we must first examine their weapons. I will take that which is the most characteristic; namely, the sumpitan, or blow gun.

We have here a weapon, the like of which we have not seen in any country that we have hitherto investigated; namely, an instrument by means of which missiles are projected by means of compressed air. The principle on which the sumpitan acts is precisely similar to that of fire-arms, though the propelling power is obtained in a different and more simple manner. In fact, the sumpitan is nothing but the “pea-shooter” of boys, very much enlarged, and carrying an arrow instead of a pea or clay ball.

This curious weapon is about eight feet in length, and not quite an inch in diameter, and is bored with the greatest accuracy, a task that occupies a very long time, the wood being very hard, and the interior of the sumpitan smooth and even polished. It is not always made of the same wood, the specimens in my own collection being of different material, one of very dark and the other of very light wood. The surface is of equal thickness from end to end, and, as it generally has to enact the part of a spear as well as of a sumpitan, it is very strong and heavy.

One of these weapons, brought to England by the late Admiral Young, is of a beautiful colored wood, and is beautifully inlaid, both at the butt and the point, with metal. The last few inches of the butt are entirely made of metal, the weight of which causes the weapon to balance itself easily when held to the lips. The pattern of the inlaying may be seen in fig. 1, of the illustration entitled “Sumpitans,” on the 1122nd page.

The other sumpitan, fig. 2, is of a very dark, almost black wood, which is brightly polished on the exterior as well as in the interior, and is not inlaid. The butt, however, is encased with brass for five inches, the brass being very thick and heavy at the end, and deeply ridged, so as to look at a little distance as if it were a spiral brass wire coiled round the butt of the sumpitan.

At the tip of this weapon is a spear head, very thick, broad, and strong, sharply edged and pointed, and decorated with engraved patterns after the manner employed by Dyak smiths. It is firmly bound to the sumpitan by brass wire or rattan, and is an exact analogue of the bayonet, the spear head being fastened to the side of the weapon, and not interfering with the flight of the missile. The bore of the weapon is very small, not quite half an inch in diameter, and it is really wonderful that the maker could contrive to hollow it with the perfect precision which is necessary for the accurate flight of the arrow.

We next come to the missile which is projected through the sumpitan. This is a very tiny arrow, made of the thorn of the sago palm, about seven or eight inches long, equally thick from base to point, and not thicker than a large steel knitting-needle. In order to make it fit the bore so that it can be propelled by the breath, it is furnished at the butt with a conical piece of pith or soft wood, so that it exactly fits the bore. In some of the arrows, the cone is hollow, and a few of them are furnished with wing-like appendages along the shaft. As a rule, however, the solid cone is in most general use.

These arrows are so small that the wound which they inflict is in itself insignificant, and would not be sufficient to kill any animal larger than a rat. They are, however, converted into weapons of the most formidable character by being smeared at the tip with poison obtained from the upas-tree.

The reader is probably aware of the many tales that are told of this tree—how that it poisons the country for a mile round, and how that the deadly juice can only be obtained by means of condemned criminals, who earn their pardon in case they can bring off a bottle of the juice. Even in more recent days the upas-tree has not lost all its legends, and many persons still believe that actual contact with the tree or its leaves produces a sensation of faintness. This, however, is not the case; neither is the actual juice of the tree so deadly as is supposed.

A wound made by an arrow poisoned with upas juice is sure to be fatal, provided that the poison be quite fresh; but it loses its power very rapidly, and after it has been exposed to the air for two hours it is useless, and must be renewed. When fresh, it is fatal in a very short time, as was found by Mr. Johnson, who led an attack on the Kanowit Dyaks in 1859. He lost thirty men in the attack, every one of them being killed by the tiny sumpit arrow, and not one having a mark on him, except the little wound made by the arrow’s point.

Should the poison have been exposed to the air, the wounded man has a chance of recovery; and it has been found that a large dose of spirits, sucking the wound, and keeping the sufferer continually in motion will generally overcome the virulence of the poison. Indeed, the sumpit arrow seems to have much the same effect as the bite of the cobra, and the treatment which is efficacious for the snake bite answers equally well for the arrow wound.

The juice of the upas-tree is procured simply by boring a hole in the trunk, from which the juice issues in a white, cream-like state. It is received in little flasks made of bamboo, which are closed in the most careful manner, in order to exclude the air. One of these flasks in my possession is five inches in length, and about half an inch in diameter. One end is naturally closed by a knot, and the other is sealed with the most scrupulous care. First, a plug of soft wood has been inserted into the end, after the manner of a cork. Over the plug a lump of beeswax has been firmly kneaded, and over the wax a piece of membrane has been tied when wet. Although the upas juice is white when it first issues from the tree, it speedily becomes black when exposed to the air.

The upas-tree is called scientifically Antiaris toxicaria, and it belongs to the natural order Astocarpeæ, the best known species of which order is the well-known bread-fruit tree. All the plants of this order produce a white milky juice, which is always acrid and deleterious, and in many instances is exceedingly poisonous. Yet those parts of the plant, such as the fruit, in which the milk is replaced by sugar in the process of ripening, are not only harmless, but even nutritious. The tree grows to a considerable size, and the bark of the trunk has a reddish hue.

The reader will at once understand how formidable is this weapon. It is greatly to be dreaded even when the Dyak warriors are met in open battle, and in naval engagements the showers of poisoned arrows that are continually shot through the port-holes render the gunners’ task a most unpleasant one. But the sumpitan is much more to be dreaded by land than by sea; and when it is employed in bush warfare, the boldest soldier shrinks from the encounter. The Dyak who wields it lies hidden in the thick foliage, sure that, even in case of discovery, he can glide through the tangled thickets into a place of security. The sumpitan makes no report, and gives out no smoke as an indication of its position, but the deadly arrow flies silently on its errand, and the only intimation of the presence of an adversary is the slight tap with which the arrow strikes its mark.

The only disadvantage of the sumpitan is that its range is a short one, the light arrow being seldom used at a distance exceeding forty yards, though a man who is accustomed to its use can propel an arrow for seventy or eighty yards. At this distance, however, it is not to be dreaded, as its force is so expended that it can scarcely break the human skin. Some of these arrows have their heads made of the barbed bone of the sting-ray, which snaps off at a touch, and remains in the wound if the man tries to draw out the weapon. Others have separate heads made of wood, which become detached as soon as the shaft is pulled. The native name of the head is jowing.

(1.) PARANG LATOK.
(See page 1123.)

(2.) DYAK SUMPITANS.
(See page 1119.)

(3.) PARANG IHLANG.
(See page 1124.)

The Dyak generally carries thirty or forty of these arrows in a peculiar-shaped quiver. It is made of the ever useful bamboo, and is furnished with an appendage by which it can be stuck into the belt and carried at the side. This appendage is made of hard wood, and is lashed to the quiver by a broad belt of rattan, most beautifully plaited. The quiver is closed by a conical wooden cover, which is always secured by a string so that it shall not be lost. Some of the Dyak quivers are highly polished, covered with carvings, and are almost to be ranked with works of art. Many of these quivers have an inner case or lining of dried skin or membrane, so as to exclude the air, and preserve the poison of the arrow as long as possible.

When the Dyak uses the sumpitan, he holds the mouthpiece to his lips between the two first fingers of his left hand, while with his right he supports and aims the heavy weapon, which requires a strong as well as a practised man to direct it steadily.

The weapon which comes next in importance to the sumpitan is the parang or sword, of which there are several varieties. The Dyaks pride themselves greatly on their swords, and the excellence of their workmanship is so great that they have good reason for pride. Their forges are of excellent quality, and some of the tribes are able not only to forge their own weapons but to smelt their own iron.

The commonest of all the Dyak weapons is the sword called parang-latok, which is carried by every man and nearly every woman. It is used not only as a sword, but as an axe, and is indifferently employed for cutting through the jungle or cutting down the enemy. The shape of this sword is very peculiar, as may be seen from illustration No. 1, on the preceding page, which represents a specimen in my collection.

The blade is formed after a very curious pattern. Toward the hilt it is squared, and is in fact nothing but a square bar of steel nearly half an inch in thickness, and three quarters of an inch in width. From the hilt to the point the blade becomes gradually wider and thinner, so that the broad point, two inches in width, contains just the same amount of metal as the half-inch square hilt. It is evident that the sword is first forged into a square bar of equable size, and is then beaten out flatter and flatter toward the point.

The illustration shows that the blade of the sword is bent at a considerable angle toward the hilt. This curious shape, awkward as it is to an unaccustomed hand, forms the principal value of the sword. When the parang-latok is used for cutting down branches or chopping a path through the jungle, it is grasped at the squared portion of the blade, and is used just as we use the common bill-hook in this country. But when the object which is to be chopped lies on the ground, the parang is held by the handle, so that the angular shape allows the blade to be used with full force. It is the habit of holding the parang by the squared portion of the blade, that disfigures and even deforms the fingers of the women, as has already been mentioned on page 1118.

The ordinary parangs have no attempt at ornament upon them, but those of better construction are covered with patterns engraved upon the blade, of which we shall see some examples.

In war, this sword is a most formidable weapon. It is so heavy, weighing on an average two pounds, that a blow from it is sufficient to crush the skull or break the limb of a man, and, even if it had no edge, it would equal in efficacy the merai of the New Zealander. But the parang-latok has a very sharp edge, which is kept in the best order, and, when a blow is delivered with it, the very form of the weapon causes it to make the terrible “drawing cut,” the blade being drawn through the wound nearly from hilt to point. In consequence of this peculiarity, the wounds made by the parang-latok are very severe, and the natives pride themselves greatly on the depth of the wound which they can inflict.

One of the modes by which they try their skill is killing a pig with a single blow of a parang-latok, a good swordsman being able to sever the animal completely, and to drive the point of his weapon into the earth. If the reader has been accustomed to use the sword, he will see that to strike downward at an object so near the ground is by no means an easy task.

When an English swordsman performs the feat of severing a sheep at a single blow, he has several advantages which are denied to the Dyak. In the first place, the sheep is already dead, so that he can take his aim in quiet, whereas the pig is alive, so that the Dyak must aim his blow as he can. Then the sheep has been skinned and cleaned, so that the sword has not so much resistance to overcome. Lastly, the sheep is suspended, so that the swordsman can use the most effective blow, namely, “Cut 6,” i. e. a sweeping, horizontal cut from left to right, which can be delivered with the full swing of the arm.

Were it not for the peculiar form of the parang-latok the feat of severing a pig could not be accomplished, but the angular shape of the blade and its gradually increasing width combine the power of the drawing cut with the chopping force gained by the weight of the weapon.

The sheath of this parang is neatly made of two flat pieces of wood, neatly hollowed inside to receive the blade, and bound together in the most elaborate manner by a series of belts, twelve or fourteen in number. These belts are made of very narrow strips of dark rattan, and are twined into an endless four-plait. In my own specimen, there are thirteen of these belts. Attached to the upper end of the sheath is the cord by which the weapon is hung to the side. This cord is doubled, is made of scarlet and yellow cotton plaited square, and is ornamented at the ends with two large tassels, the strings of which are yellow tipped with scarlet tufts.

The parang-latok is more a Malayan than a Dyak weapon, but it is in favor with the Dyaks, and, as has been mentioned, has come into general use.

The Malays use it in execution, and are able to decapitate a man at a single blow, the executioner standing at his side and a little behind him. On one occasion, an executioner, who was distinguished for the skill with which he wielded a very heavy parang which he possessed, stood between two criminals as they knelt on the ground, and with a right and left hand blow struck off both their heads. The same man, who was one of the police, being annoyed by the howling of some dogs in the street, rushed out with his parang, and with one blow cut in two the first animal which he met.

We now come to another weapon, the parang-ihlang, which is one of the most extraordinary swords in the world, and more troublesome and even dangerous to strangers than can well be conceived. This is a smaller, shorter, and lighter weapon than the parang-latok. From point to hilt it measures nineteen inches, and in extreme breadth of blade is rather under an inch and a half. It weighs rather less than one pound six ounces, and altogether appears to be quite insignificant when compared with the parang-latok. We shall see, however, that in the hands of an experienced swordsman it is even superior to that weapon on account of a strange peculiarity in construction. The general shape of the blade of the parang-ihlang can be seen in illustration No. 3, on page 1122. It is very thick and heavy toward the hilt, where it is nearly squared, like the parang-latok, but becomes gradually thinner toward the point, which is finished off in a series of scooped patterns that look at a little distance as if the sword had been broken. The back is quite straight, and along it and on either side of the blade is a series of small patterns engraved with much neatness and freedom of execution.

But the most remarkable thing about the blade is, that instead of being nearly flat as are European sword blades, it is convex on one side, and concave on the other, as is shown at the section, fig. 5. Owing to this form, it can only be used for two cuts, one downward and one upward; and if used in the wrong direction, it flies off at an angle, and is nearly certain to inflict a wound on the man who wields it. These swords are made either for the right or left hand, so that a man who is not acquainted with the peculiarities of any parang is afraid to use it without a careful trial, lest he should make the wrong cut with it, and so wound himself.

Small and insignificant as this weapon looks, it is capable of inflicting the most dreadful wounds, the peculiar concavity of the blade aiding it in a most remarkable manner. Like the parang-latok, it is used as a chopper as well as a sword, and in experienced hands is a most effective tool. One man, described by Mr. Brooke, was a celebrated swordsman, and has been known to sever at a single blow a log of tolerably hard wood as thick as a man’s leg.

Even English officers have been so much impressed with the value of this weapon, that they have only carried the regulation sword for show, preferring the parang-ihlang for use. The Sea Dyaks, who have been already mentioned as essentially warriors, prefer this sword to any other weapon, though the real inventors and principal makers of it are the Kayans, who belong to the Malanau division of the Land Dyaks. As a rule, the ordinary Land Dyaks use the parang-ihlang but little, and when they do use it are apt to hurt themselves. Mr. Boyle mentions an instance where the eldest son of a chief had cut himself seriously on both shins through his incautious use of this weapon.

“The finest parangs,” writes Mr. Boyle, “or those esteemed so, are found in the graves of Kayan warriors, which are consequently rifled by Dyaks and Malays on every possible occasion. I have one, purchased at Kennowit, which I was told had been obtained from a sepulchre, three hundred years old—a rather improbable assertion, though I believe the weapon was really found in a Kayan grave, for it was strangely stained and rusted when I bought it.”

The Dyaks are very proud of the quality of their blades, and hold even the best European steel in utter contempt. It is said that their swords are made of old files, which are imported in large quantities; but, whatever may be the material, the temper of their blades is marvellously excellent. These parangs not only take a razor-like edge, but are exceedingly tough, and when used for bush-work beat the very best English implements. Mr. Boyle remarks, that whereas his own hunting-knives, which professed to be the finest steel possible, broke and gapped, the Dyak parangs were not in the least injured.

Such a blade as has been described is exceedingly valuable, even in its own country, and one of the best quality cannot be purchased under ten pounds sterling. It may be easily imagined that when a Dyak is fortunate enough to possess one of these valuable blades he will not be content with an ordinary handle and sheath, but will lavish upon his weapon all the powers of his native art. The handle, instead of being of simple wood, is of bone, carved deeply and boldly into patterns, and is always bent at right angles to the line of the blade. It is further ornamented by sundry tufts of human hair, dyed of various colors, of which deep red, yellow, and green are the favorites. The hilt is generally bound with brass wire, and, for a small-handed race like the Dyaks, affords an excellent hold. An European generally finds that the narrow handle is very awkward and cramped, and is not sufficient for his grasp.

The scabbard of this weapon is covered with ornaments. Instead of being a plain and simple sheath, like that of the parang-latok, it is made of a hard wood, of a dark, rich, mahogany color, which takes a very high polish. This is carved in elaborate and really artistic patterns, the carving being confined to the front of the scabbard.

In the middle, just under the carved part, is a piece of fur, and below the fur is a tuft of human hair dyed red. In most cases of swords made by uncivilized races, there is some danger to the hand in drawing them, the edge of the sword being apt to project between the two flat pieces of which the sheath is made. In order, however, to guard against such an accident, the maker of the parang-ihlang places a piece of rattan against each edge of the scabbard, so that the blade cannot by any possibility cut the fingers, even if the hand should grasp the sheath. The various parts of this sheath are bound together by six belts of plaited rattan and three belts of brass wire, plaited most beautifully, in that form which is known to sailors as the Turk’s head.

The belt by which the sword is attached to the wearer is made of rattan, cut into very narrow strips and plaited into thongs, three of which thongs are again plaited together to form the belt. On the opposite side of the scabbard is a second sheath, of the same length as that to which it is fastened, but small and cylindrical. This sheath is made of red and yellow cloth, is lined with bark, and is intended for the reception of a knife which is peculiar to the Dyaks. One of these knives maybe seen at fig. 3, in the illustration of the parang on page 1129. The handle of this knife is made of the same hard wood as that of which the sheath is formed. It is nearly cylindrical, about half an inch in diameter, and fourteen inches in length, the blade being short, pointed, and barely two inches in length. This curious knife is used by the Dyaks for splitting rattan, and similar purposes, the long handle being held under the left arm, while the rattan is drawn with both hands, across the edge of the blade.

The natives are singularly averse to parting with this knife. They will sell the sword, if a sufficient price be offered, but will always endeavor surreptitiously to withdraw the knife, so that, out of many parangs which have been brought to Europe, comparatively few have the knife attached to them. In one specimen in my collection, the weapon appears to be quite perfect, but, on withdrawing the knife from its sheath, it is seen that the Dyak has cleverly substituted a bladeless handle for the real knife.

Both the weapons which have been described were presented to me by C. T. C. Grant, Esq.

There is also in my collection a third kind of parang, which at first sight looks almost exactly like the old Roman sword. It is thick, massive, weighty, and at first sight looks more like an ancient than a modern weapon. On a closer examination, however, the peculiar Dyak workmanship is evident. Though it is not like the preceding weapon, convex on one side, and concave on the other, the two sides are entirely distinct. The blade is double-edged, very thick in the middle, and sloped off rather abruptly to the edge on either side.

The handle is only made of wood, but is profusely decorated with human hair of different colors and considerable length, and it is bound with a broad belt of plaited rattan. The sheath for the knife is entirely made of bark, and the knife itself is shown at fig. 2. Like the scabbard of the parang-ihlang already described, that of this weapon is richly carved, and adorned with fur and long tufts of human hair.

The belt by which it is suspended is made of rattan split very fine, and plaited so as to form a strap nearly an inch in width, and the sixth of an inch in thickness. It is rounded at the edges, and at the upper part it is ingeniously separated into two portions, so as to form a loop.

The chief peculiarity of this weapon lies in the number of charms which are attached to it. First come two teeth, and then there is a beautifully plaited little case, something like the cocoon of an insect, containing several little pieces of wood. Next comes a small bag of netted string, about an inch and a half in length, in which is a stone, and then come three little flattish baskets, with covers, which are empty. Fastened to the belt by several thongs is a curiously shaped piece of wood which I believe to be used for sharpening the edges of the sword, and to the end of the sheath is hung by a string of beads a feather, the quill of which has been carefully wrapped with red and black string.

This weapon is in all ways a most formidable one, and to European travellers is by far the best for practical purposes. The handle is rather larger than is the case with either of the preceding weapons; the blade has not that curvature which renders it so perilous a weapon in unpractised hands; it is double-edged, and either edge can be used with equal facility; and lastly, it possesses a point, which is not the case with the other forms of the sword.

One Dyak chief had an ornament attached to his sword of which he was exceedingly proud. It was an enormous tuft of hair, being nothing more nor less than the pigtails of ten Chinese whom he had killed, and whose hair he had fastened to the scabbard of his sword. This ornament must have been singularly inconvenient to him. There is in my collection an average specimen of a Chinese pigtail. It weighs nine ounces, so that the weight of the ten must rather exceed five pounds and a half, while the length is five feet, so that ten tufts of hair, each five feet in length, must have given the wearer an infinity of trouble as he walked.

The reader will already have noticed how the various forms of sword are used alike by the Malays and the Dyak tribes. There is another weapon, which, though strictly a Malay invention, is used by the Dyaks, and indeed, with some variations, throughout the whole of the Malay Archipelago. It is called the kris, sometimes, but wrongly, spelt creese, and is so common that any ordinary collection of weapons is sure to contain several specimens of the kris. It is remarkable for three points. In the first place, the handle is not set in a line with the blade, as in ordinary daggers, but is bent at a right angle; next, the blade is almost always waved in form, like the flaming sword with which the old painters armed the angels who kept the gates of Paradise; and thirdly, the blade is never smooth, but dull, rough, and indented with curved grooves much resembling in form the marks on a “browned” gun-barrel. By referring to the illustration “Kris” on page 1129, the reader will better understand its peculiarities.

There are few weapons which vary more in value, or in which the price set upon them is so apparently excessive. A first-rate blade, even without the handle and sheath, will cost from eighteen to twenty pounds, and an ordinary one can scarcely be purchased under two pounds. They have by no means the appearance of being valuable weapons, the steel of the blade being not only rough and corroded, but looking as if it were composed of successive laminæ which are on the point of being separated. This effect is produced by steeping the blade in lime juice, thus causing a partial corrosion of the metal, which is made of small pieces of steel twisted and welded together in such a manner as to produce exceeding toughness.

One of these weapons in my collection is worn away almost to a mere ribbon of steel by the action of the acid, and, strange as it may seem, weapons of this kind, which look much as if they were mere pieces of rusty iron-hooping, are the most valued by connoisseurs. The length of grain in this weapon is wonderful, the corrosion of the lime juice showing it in the most perfect manner. The long grooves can be traced from one end of the blade to the other, following the waved form of the narrower portion, and curling round in the wider part near the hilt, as if the whole of the blade had been forged out of steel wires laid parallel to each other and then welded together.

The lime juice takes off from the edge that razor-like smoothness which is so much admired in European blades, and gives it a ragged, saw-like appearance that is peculiar to the instrument. This edge, however, is a terrible one for penetration into human flesh, and answers the purpose even better than a plain and sharp edge could do.

The form of the kris is sufficient to tell the reader the mode of handling it, the weapon being thrust forward just as a man points with his extended forefinger, and not grasped according to the conventional ideas of painters. Spaniards, who are proverbially expert in the use of their long knives, hold and use them in nearly the same manner, laying the extended forefinger along the blade as a guide, and thrusting forward instead of striking downward. The average length of a kris blade is about a foot, but some are nearly as long as ordinary swords, while others are only six or seven inches in length.

Very great pride is taken in an old family kris, the owner regarding it with a veneration that is almost superstitious. Generally, the handle is quite plain, but the more wealthy have it made of gold, and encrusted with precious stones. This weapon is seldom used in war. It is carried more as the symbol of a gentleman than as a weapon to be used in actual fight, and plays the part that the sword used to play in the last century.

The kris is much used in executions, the weapon being one made expressly for the purpose, quite straight, thin, and narrow. In all cases it is used in the same manner, though there are some variations in detail. Generally, the man who is to suffer walks quietly and unbound to a chair, in which he seats himself, mostly solacing his last moments by chewing the betel-nut. His arms are then extended, and held by two men, while the executioner, standing behind him, places the point of the kris just above the left collar-bone, and strikes it downward into the heart, so that death is instantaneous.

In some places the execution kris is very narrow, thin, and sharp on both edges, like a lancet. The executioner takes a small tuft of cotton wool, and twists it lightly round the blade of the kris, just above the point. He then holds the cotton wool between the finger and thumb of his left hand, so as to keep the kris upright. After placing the point of the weapon on the right spot above the left collar-bone, he drives it downward into the heart with his right hand, and the man is dead. Still holding the cotton wool between the finger and thumb, he draws out the kris, and, as the point is withdrawn, presses the cotton wool into the small wound which it has made, so that the weapon is quite clean and bright, and not a drop of blood is allowed to be seen. There is no doubt that this mode of execution is as certain, swift and merciful as any that can be devised. It is equal in these respects to the guillotine, and has the great advantage of being absolutely bloodless, and requiring no scaffold or visible apparatus. A traveller might pass within two yards of the fatal spot, and not know that anything out of the ordinary way was being done.

Some of these weapons have been used for many successive generations, and are highly prized, some being valued at sums which to Europeans seem almost fabulous. One of these execution krises was shown at the Great Exhibition in London, but was lost, together with many other weapons of great value.

The spear is a weapon much favored by many Dyak tribes, but little employed by others, the spear head at the end of the sumpitan answering every practical purpose. In fact it is used, like the club of the Fiji Islander, as a summons to battle, and serves the same purpose as the fiery cross of the Scotch Highlands. This symbol is instantaneously obeyed, and, as it runs through a country with almost magical speed, a chief can raise a large force within a very short time. On one occasion, during the rajahship of Sir James Brooke, an incipient rebellion was ingeniously stopped by finding the “calling-out spear” as it lay hidden in a canoe, and taking possession of it. The people strenuously denied that such an article ever existed; but when it was taken from its hiding-place, the projected rising instantly collapsed.

CHAPTER CXVI. BORNEO— Continued . WAR— Concluded .

THE BORNEAN SHIELD, ITS USUAL SHAPE AND DECORATIONS — MODE OF USING IT — A CURIOUS SHIELD IN MY COLLECTION — HEAD HUNTING AND ITS ACCOMPANYING HORRORS — OBJECTS OF SIR JAMES BROOKE’S MISSION — HIS MODE OF SUPPRESSING THE PRACTICE — “OPENING MOURNING” — THE FISH SPEARING AND THE FEAST — VALUE OF HEADS — TREACHERY AND CUNNING — THE BAFFLED HEAD HUNTERS — DYEING AND PRESERVING THE HEADS — THE HEAD HOUSES — COURAGE IN WAR — STORMING A NATIVE FORT — A NAVAL BATTLE — TRAPS AND PITFALLS — MAKING PEACE.

By way of defensive weapons, the Dyaks use the shield, which is made of wood, and is generally of an oblong form. Like the parang, it is decorated with various ornaments, the chief of which are hair, beads, and feathers. The hair is made into flat tufts, and fastened at regular intervals all over the shield, as is seen in an illustration at the foot of next page, which represents a fine specimen in the magnificent collection of the late Mr. Christy. In the centre of this shield there is a rude and evidently conventional representation of the human face, the eye being circular, of very great size, and painted white in the centre. At the top and bottom of the shield are similar figures, but of smaller size. Some shields, which are now very seldom seen, have the entire human form painted on them, the legs issuing from the chest, and the neck being entirely dispensed with. The tufts of hair on this shield are black.

The mode of using the shield and sword is shown in their sword dances, and Mr. Brooke, who had great experience in the Dyak weapons, gives the following opinion of their value:—Sword dances with shields were going on. Each tribe has a peculiar step and code of its own; but as an attack and defence in earnest they all seemed to be equally ridiculous.

“However, in the event of an opponent using a shield, I feel convinced that an European could not stand against them, as they are able to crouch their bodies entirely behind it, and can spring immediately from such an attitude behind it without losing their balance. But without a shield a man with a rapier would be more than a match for any of them, unless, as is possible, a heavy Dyak weapon were to cut a light sword in two. This, however, no dexterous fencer would be likely to allow, and, after the first blow from a heavy weapon had fallen, the opponent would be at the mercy of a light swordsman.”

With due respect to the opinion of so competent an authority, I cannot but think that, even when furnished with this shield, the Dyak ought not to overcome a good fencer. The very fact that he is obliged to hold his shield before him, and consequently to stand either with his left side or at least his breast fronting his adversary, shows that he can have but a very short reach with his weapon, while his opponent, armed with a small sword, and using only the point, can remain entirely out of reach of the parang’s edge, while he himself is within easy distance of the Dyak, and ready to bring in the fatal point of his weapon at the slightest opening made by his opponent.

The reader may remember that the parang described on page 1125 has attached to it, among other ornaments, a single feather. This feather has been taken from the rhinoceros hornbill, a bird which the Dyaks hold in much respect, and which they will not eat, however hungry they may be. The quill feathers of the wing and tail are black, with a band of white, and by both Malays and Dyaks they are thought to possess certain virtues, and are used as talismans. The bird is considered to be an emblem of war, and for this reason the sword sheaths, shields, and cloaks worn in war time are decorated with its feathers; and the huge horny beak of the bird is scraped thin, polished, and made into earrings.

(1.) DYAK KRIS
(See page 1126.)

(2.) BORNESE SHIELD.
(See page 1131.)

(3.) PARANG WITH CHARMS.
(See page 1125.)

(4.) SPEAR.
(See page 1132.)

(5.) DYAK SHIELD
(See page 1128.)

I insert also on page 1129, a figure of a shield in my collection, which I believe to be of Bornean make, the materials and mode of employing them being evidently Bornean. In shape it exactly resembles the small shields used by horsemen in the early age of English history, and, small as it is, it forms a very efficient defence. It is twenty inches in length, and thirteen inches in width, and it is wielded by means of a separate handle, firmly lashed to the body of the shield by strips of rattan. The characteristic feature of the shield is the manner in which it is built up of a number of pieces, the whole, though merely bound together by rattan, being as firm as if it were cut out of one piece of wood.

If the reader will look at figure 2, which shows the back of the shield, he will see that it is made of four flat pieces of wood, which are laid side by side. These pieces are of a lightish colored wood, and are but slightly smoothed. The handle is cut from a separate piece of wood, which runs the whole length of the shield. As is usual with Bornean weapons, the handle is much too small for the grasp of an European.

The front of the shield is made of a single flat piece of wood, to which the others are lashed, or rather sewed, by means of rattan passing through holes. In order to hold all these cross-pieces more firmly together, a deep groove has been cut in a thick rattan, which has been bound round the shield so as to receive the edges of the wood in the groove, and has been sewed to them by rattan at regular intervals.

The shield is further strengthened by an upright piece of wood, which runs along the front, and to which the handle at the back is lashed by rattan, so that the handle and the corresponding piece in front actually strengthen the shield instead of being a strain upon it. The materials have been chosen with the eye for color which the Dyak usually possesses. The thin flat wooden plate which forms the front of the shield is nearly black, the central piece is yellowish white, and the rattans with which it is edged and sewed are of a bright yellow. The weight of the shield is exactly a pound and a half. Besides the centre ornament on the front, a section of the shield is also given, so as to show the form of the handle, and the slight curvature of the whole implement.

The perpetual feuds that rage among the Dyak tribes are mostly caused by the practice of “head hunting,” which is exactly analogous to the scalp hunting propensities of the North American tribes. Mr. Boyle has sketched the outlines of this horrid custom in a few nervous words, which will afterward be examined in detail. “The great tribes of Sakarrang and Saribas have never been more than nominally subject to the Malays of Kuching or Bruni, and Sir James Brooke is the first master whom they have really obeyed. Every year a cloud of murderous pirates issued from their rivers and swept the adjacent coasts. No man was safe by reason of his poverty or insignificance, for human heads were the booty sought by these rovers, and not wealth alone. Villages were attacked in the dead of the night, and every adult cut off; the women and grown girls were frequently slaughtered with the men, and children alone were preserved to be the slaves of the conquerors.

“Never was warfare so terrible as this. Head hunting, a fashion of comparatively modern growth, became a mania, which spread like a horrible disease over the whole land. No longer were the trophies regarded as proofs of individual valor; they became the indiscriminate property of the clan, and were valued for their number alone. Murder lurked in the jungle and on the river; the aged of the people were no longer safe among their own kindred, and corpses were secretly disinterred to increase the grisly store.

“Superstition soon added its ready impulse to the general movement. The aged warrior could not rest in his grave till his relations had taken a head in his name; the maiden disdained the weak-hearted suitor whose hand was not yet stained with some cowardly murder.

“Bitterly did the Malay Pangerans of Kuching regret the folly which had disseminated this frenzy. They themselves had fostered the bloodthirsty superstition in furtherance of their political ends, but it had grown beyond their control, and the country was one red field of battle and murder. Pretexts for war were neither sought nor expected; the possession of a human head, no matter how obtained, was the sole happiness coveted throughout the land.”

It was in order to stop this terrible custom that Sir James Brooke undertook his rule. The sultan of Bruni, in despair at the state of things, and utterly unable to check the increasing rage for head hunting, ceded the territory to him, hoping that the Englishman, with his small forces, would succeed where he himself with all his soldiers had failed. Although these tribes were nominally his subjects, they never thought of obeying him, and the only sign of their subjection was a small tribute very irregularly paid. The sultan was right in his conjecture, and we know how the Englishman, with his steady, unflinching rule, succeeded in abolishing head hunting as an acknowledged practice, and, by his system of inflicting heavy fines on any one who took a head, gradually and steadily put an end to the practice. For several years the Dyaks could not understand the prohibition, and the English rajah and his officers were continually pestered with requests from Dyaks to be allowed to go and take heads. An old man, for example, had lost his wife, and begged piteously to be allowed to take just one head, so that she might rest quietly in her grave. Then a young man would come, who had been rejected by a Dyak damsel, lay his case before the authorities, and beseech them to permit him to take a head, and so to win the hand of the disdainful lady. One man, after meeting with the usual refusal, proposed a compromise, and asked whether he might not go and take the head of a Pakarran, because Pakarrans really could not be considered as men. In fact, as Mr. Brooke well remarks, the Dyaks behaved just like children crying after sugar-plums. No plan could have been devised which was more effective than that which was carried out by the English rajah. Whenever a party of Dyaks started surreptitiously off on a head hunting expedition, a force was always despatched after them, in order to cut them off and bring them to justice, when they were fined heavily. If they succeeded in procuring heads, their trophies were taken away from them, and they were fined still more heavily. Those who refused to submit to the punishment were declared to be enemies to the government, and their houses were burnt down. Dyaks of more peaceful tribes were always employed in such expeditions, as, owing to the feuds which had existed for so long, they had been exasperated by the numerous murders which had been perpetrated by the more warlike tribes. The English rule, unlike that of the Malay sultan, was irrespective of persons, and the highest chiefs were punished as swiftly and surely as the lowest of the people. On one occasion, a quarrel arose between two parties of Dyaks, one of which, commanded by a chief named Jannah, was entirely in the wrong, having first trespassed on the property of the other party, and then got up a quarrel because they had hurt themselves against the spiked bamboos, which were planted by way of fences. In the fight that ensued Jannah himself shot the other chief; but he gained little by his act. As soon as the facts were known, Mr. Brooke sent a large force against him, and he was fined nearly two hundred pounds. He and his party took to the bush, but they were soon starved out, and had to submit. The other chiefs were delighted at the result, and were accustomed ever afterward to check those who wished to go head hunting by telling them to remember Jannah and his two hundred pounds. It is rather curious that this high-handed proceeding inspired Jannah with the greatest respect and affection for Mr. Brooke, for whom he afterward entertained a sincere friendship. He asserted that the three years subsequent to this episode in his life had been marked by very much better harvests than he had before obtained from his land, and attributed his prosperity to his friendship for the white man.

One ingenious portion of the system was, that a large share of the fines was distributed among chiefs who had abstained from head-hunting. This plan had a double effect; it proved to the Dyaks that they were not fined for the benefit of the English, and it induced them to be always on the look-out for those who were going to hunt after heads.

It has been mentioned that the heads are wanted to “open the mourning” after the death of any person. This phrase requires some little explanation. When a chief loses a relative, he closes some stream during the time of mourning. This is done by driving spears into the bank, on either side, and fastening bamboos to them across the stream. No one is allowed to pass this obstruction until the mourning is over, an event which cannot take place, according to Dyak custom, until a head had been obtained.

When he has brought home the required trophy, he leaves it at the head house to be prepared, while he makes ready for the feast with which a new head is received. He takes some plants, the juice of which has a stupifying quality, pounds them, and throws them into the river. The fish come floating to the surface, and are then captured by means of barbed spears, which are flung at them from the bank. The spears are very light, their shafts being made of bamboo, so that they always float, and enable the thrower to recover both the spear and the fish which it has struck. The spears and poles which closed the stream are removed in order to allow the fishermen to use their weapons, and thus, by the arrival of the coveted head, the stream is again thrown open.

One of these fish spears is shown on page 1129. It is five feet in length, and the shaft, which is three-quarters of an inch in diameter, is made of hollow bamboo, and is exceedingly light. The four prongs are made of iron, and very slightly barbed. Owing to the manner in which they are lashed to the shaft, they are very elastic, so that their slight barbs are perfectly capable of retaining the fish. With the natural love of ornament which distinguishes the Dyaks, the owner of this spear has decorated it with several broad belts of split rattan, plaited in a very artistic manner. One was placed just below the head of the spear, another was placed at the centre of gravity, so as to guide the hand at once to the “balance” of the weapon, and the third was near the butt. Of the three, however, only the central belt remained when the spear reached me.

Owing to the enormous demand for heads, quantity rather than quality was the chief requisite, so that at the time when Sir James Brooke undertook the task of putting down the practice of head hunting, no practical distinction was made between the head of a stalwart warrior and that of a tender girl. A head was a head; the body to which it belonged was of no consequence.

The rage for heads was so great that in one head house an Englishman, who happened to know something of comparative anatomy, espied a head which seemed scarcely human, and which, on examination, turned out to be that of an orang-outan. The proprietors of the head house at first indignantly denied that any imposture had been practised, and adhered to the human origin of the head. At last, however, they were obliged to yield to a certain degree, but they only said that the head in question was that of an Antu or goblin, which had infested the village for a considerable time, and had at last been killed.

One exception was made in the value of these trophies, the head of a white man being beyond all price, and being so valued that a Dyak who had obtained one would not place it in the common head house, but would build a special house to contain it. One of these Dyak warriors was seen exposing himself to great danger in his anxiety to secure a white man’s head. A boatman had been killed, and one of the Dyak murderers was observed dragging up the hill the body of the slain man, hacking with his knife at the neck so as to secure the head, regardless of the fact that he was likely to be shot in the endeavor.

As the possession of a head is the height of a Dyak’s ambition, it is not extraordinary that the natives should use all their powers of force or craft to secure the trophy. One example of treachery is narrated by Mr. Brooke (the present Rajah).

“Five years ago the Saribas Malays were living at the mouth of their river, and, with very few exceptions, were hostile to us. Still they were on friendly terms so far as gaining trade, and making use of the merchandise they could only get by communication with Sarawak. A party of five people, three men and two women, left Sakarrang to go to Saribas for the purpose of meeting some of their relatives. After they had been absent a considerable time, the news was brought back that they had been beheaded by Dyaks in the river.

“It happened thus: They met a boat’s crew of Dyaks while in Saribas, and spoke together, saying they were traders, and were also seeking for fish. When the Malays were leaving Saribas to return, the Dyak boat followed in their wake, entered this river together, and on the following day proceeded to carry out their sly and murderous design.

“In the morning they offered their swords for sale, and sold or exchanged one, suffering the Malays to make an exceedingly profitable bargain. They then proposed fishing with a hand net on the mud bank, and persuaded a Malay named Limin (who was well known, and considered a brave man) to separate from the others and cast the net. This was done, and for some time they were successful in bagging fish, and were going further and further from the boats.

“At length the net fouled on a stump at the bottom, and one of the Dyaks immediately took off his sword and dived down, as poor Limin thought, to clear it, but, instead of doing so, the wily rascal twisted it firmly round and round, came up to take breath, and then again dived, and again twisted it in various ways round the stumps; he then rose, and said he could not clear it, but asked Limin to try. Limin unsuspectingly took off his sword, dived, and, on approaching the surface breathless, the two Dyaks struck and decapitated him without a sound. They then took his head and returned to their boat.

“A third Malay was persuaded to administer some cure to a Dyak’s foot, which was bleeding slightly. While the Malay was leaning over and looking to the wound, one of them chopped off his head from behind. After this, the woman was decapitated. They lost one head, which tumbled into the water, but the other four, with all the property belonging to the Malay party, were taken and carried away to Sadok.”

On another occasion, a party of Dyaks in a canoe met a boat containing a man, his wife, and their young daughter. They stopped the boat, and offered betel-nut for sale. As soon as they came within reach, they drew their swords, struck off the woman’s head, and took the girl prisoner, but the father had just time to jump overboard and swim ashore.

This occurred in the Saribas River, and, strangely enough, the murderer, whose name was Sadji, nearly came in contact with Mr. Brooke, who had gone out expressly to check his head hunting propensities. Mr. Brooke passed him on the river, but, not being acquainted with him, did not arrest him. This, as was afterward learned, was fortunate for Sadji sat in the boat with his sword drawn, and if the captive girl had called for help, or if the English had shown any signs of arresting him, he would have struck off her head, jumped with it into the river, swum ashore, and escaped together with his followers through the jungle.

The same author gives another example of head hunting, which is a curious mixture of the terrible and the ludicrous. A young man named Achang was brought before Mr. Brooke in irons. He was only nineteen years of age, and yet he had gray hair, the natural color having vanished in consequence of his troubles. Some time previously, he had fallen in love with a young Dyak girl, who spurned all his advances because he had never taken a head, and so proved himself to be a warrior. She was evidently a girl of energy, for she proposed that he should go to the Saribas fort, and take the head of Bakir, the Dyak chief, or of the Tuan Hassan, i. e. Mr. Watson.

Being thus pressed, Achang, with another lad of his own age, set off for the fort, and on the way suffered the usual drawbacks of bad birds, bad dreams, and missing the path, so that when they came within sight of the fort they thought they had better change their plans. They determined on going to a Chinaman’s house under pretext of purchasing his goods, and taking his head while he was off his guard. When well cooked and dried, one head would do as well as another, and they thought that they would have no difficulty in passing off the Chinaman’s head for that of the white man.

Accordingly, they went to a Chinaman’s house, had their supper with him very amicably, and then retired to rest, after agreeing that at midnight they would strike the fatal blow. Now it happened that Achang overslept himself, and his friend thought that he might as well take advantage of his drowsiness, and secure the head for himself. Accordingly, at midnight, hideous yells were heard from the Chinaman’s house, and when the people rushed into the room, they found the unfortunate owner with his face gashed all down one side, the Dyak youth having missed his blow in his haste. The actual perpetrator escaped, but Achang was found still fast asleep, and was instantly put in irons.

Next day he was brought down to Sakarrang, with a chain round his waist, and on the way he was followed by a body of Dyaks, who were trying to bribe his keepers to let them take his head. They actually held an auction for his head as they went along, each bidding higher than the other, and the horrors of that twelve-mile march were such that the poor lad became gray before the next morning.

After all, Achang was really a most gentle and innocent lad, and was only following the habits of his country in obeying the behests of his mistress. He was kept in irons for about a month, and then released, after which he attached himself to the service of the white men, worked in the garden, and, as the saying is, made himself generally useful.

The heads are subjected to a sort of drying process, called “cooking,” which is tolerably effectual, but is far inferior to that which is employed by the New Zealanders, and, for a considerable time after the heads are cooked, they are very offensive to European nostrils, though Dyaks seem to be quite unconscious of the evil odor. They are always kept in the pangarangs, or head houses, which are very unlike the ordinary dwelling-houses of the Dyaks. A very good account of a head house is given by Mr. F. S. Marryat:—

“We were escorted, through a crowd of wandering Dyaks, to a house in the centre of the village, which was very different in construction from the others. It was perfectly round, and well ventilated by numerous port-holes in the roof, which was pointed. We ascended to the room above by means of a rough ladder, and when we entered, we were rather taken aback by finding that we were in the head house, as it is termed, and that the beams were lined with human heads, all hanging by a small line passed through the top of the skull.

“They were painted in the most fantastic and hideous manner. Pieces of wood painted to imitate the eyes were inserted in the sockets, and added not a little to their ghastly, grinning appearance. The strangest part of the story, and which added very much to the effect of the scene, was, that these skulls were perpetually moving to and fro, and knocking against each other. This, I presume, was occasioned by the different currents of air blowing in at the port-holes cut in the roof; but what with their continual motion, their nodding their chins when they hit each other, and their grinning teeth, they really appeared to be endowed with new life, and to be a very merry set of fellows.

“However, whatever might be the first impression occasioned by this very unusual sight, it very soon wore off, and we amused ourselves with their motions, which were not life, as Byron says; and in the course of the day we succeeded in making a very excellent dinner in company with these gentlemen, although we were none of us sufficiently Don Giovannistic to invite our friends above to supper.”

These head houses are, as we have just seen, the places wherein guests are received, and we can therefore understand that the natives of any village would have a pride in showing to their visitors the trophies won by themselves. One of these houses scantily furnished with heads would be held as a scandal to the village, so that the three emotions of pride, love, and sorrow have all their effect in aiding the custom of head hunting.

In these head houses, the unmarried men of the village sleep. The reason for this custom is two-fold. In the first place, the bachelors are kept out of mischief; and in the next, they are always ready with their arms at hand to turn out in defence of the village should it be attacked. In such expeditions, the head house is always the central object of attack, and by having the young warriors at hand the Dyaks ensure the security of their cherished trophies.

Some of the horrors of the head hunting custom are well described by Mr. St. John:—“About thirteen years ago, I heard the Natuna people give an account of a horrible transaction that took place in one of their islands. A party of Saribas Dyaks were cruising about among the little isles near, and had destroyed several women and many fishermen, when they were observed, toward evening, creeping into a deep and narrow inlet to remain during the night.

“The islanders quietly assembled and surprised their enemies, killing all but seven, who were taken prisoners—six men and one lad. The former they roasted over a slow fire, and they declared that the bold fellows died without uttering a cry of pain, but defying them to the last; the lad, who stood trembling by, uncertain of his fate, was sent back to the coast, with a message to his countrymen that, if ever they came there again, they would all be treated in the same way. This fearful warning was sufficient to deter their seeking heads again in that direction.

“Parties of two and three sometimes went away for months on an inland incursion, taking nothing with them but salt wrapped up in their waist-cloths, with which they seasoned the young shoots and leaves, and palm cabbages found in the forests; and when they returned home, they were as thin as scare-crows.

“It is this kind of cat-like warfare which causes them to be formidable enemies both to the Chinese and the Malays, who never felt themselves safe from a Dyak enemy. They have been known to keep watch in a well up to their chins in water, with a covering of a few leaves over their heads, to endeavor to cut off the first person who might come to draw water. At night they would drift down on a log, and cut the rattan cable of trading prahus, while others of their party would keep watch on the bank, knowing well where the stream would take the boat ashore; and when aground they kill the men and plunder the goods.”

In war Dyaks have often proved themselves to be valiant soldiers. Mr. Brooke relates that when he was attacking the fort of a hostile chief having with him a mixed force of Malays and Dyaks, the latter were; by far the better soldiers. The former advanced to thirty or forty yards of the house, i. e. just beyond the range of the Sumpitan arrows, which were being blown from the fort, and ensconced themselves behind trees and stumps, where they could fire without exposing themselves to the deadly darts. The Dyaks, however, dashed boldly at the house, clambering up the posts on which it was built, carrying their weapons with them, hacking at the breaches which had previously been made with shot, and trying to force their way into the fort.

At last, one Dyak succeeded in getting into the house, and remained there for about five minutes, when he was obliged to retreat and slide to the ground down the post. After much fighting, the Dyaks managed to set fire to the building at both ends, thus forcing the inmates to rush out among their enemies. Scarcely any of them escaped, some perishing in the flames, others being badly wounded, and the rest being taken prisoners.

The victorious Dyaks were mad with excitement, and rushed about with furious shouts, carrying heads in their hands, and insensible to the wounds which many of them had received. One lad came yelling by, having a head in one hand, and with the other holding on one side of his face. An enemy’s sword had nearly sliced off the whole of that side of his face, but he was almost unconscious of the fact, and his excitement prevented him from feeling any pain. In a few minutes, however, he fainted from loss of blood, and, in spite of the terrible wound which he had received, eventually recovered.

Sometimes the Dyaks are exceedingly cruel to their captives, not being content with merely taking their heads, but killing them slowly by torture. Generally, however, the competition for heads is so keen that a man who has overcome an enemy has no time for torturing him, and is obliged to content himself with getting off the head as fast as he can.

Some of these forts are most perilous places to attack. The approaches are guarded with “ranjows,” i. e. slips of bamboo sharpened at the end and stuck in the ground. Ranjows are troublesome enough on open ground, but when they are stuck among leaves, grass, and herbage, they become terrible weapons, and impede very effectually the advance of the attacking force.

Then the Dyaks set various ingenious traps. They place bent bows near the path, so constructed that as soon as a man comes opposite them, the string is liberated, and an arrow is tolerably sure to transfix both his legs. Sometimes they bend a young tree down, and lay a javelin, so that when the tree is freed, it strikes the end of the javelin and urges it onward with terrific violence, just like the mangonel of olden times. They dig numberless pitfalls of no very great size in depth, but each having a sharp bamboo stuck upright in the centre, so that any on who falls into the pit must inevitably be impaled.

The forts themselves have been much modified since the introduction of fire-arms, the stockades which surround them being made of the hardest wood, about two feet in thickness, and capable of resisting the fire of any small arms. In fact, nothing but artillery is of much use against one of these forts. Many of them are furnished with a sally-port through which, when the place becomes untenable, the defenders quietly escape, just as is done with the pahs of New Zealand.

The Sea Dyaks, as their name implies, are a maritime set of tribes, and fight chiefly in canoes. They have some ideas of tactics, and can arrange their canoes in regular array when they meet with an enemy. One of their favorite tactics is to conceal some of their larger boats, and then to send some small and badly-manned canoes forward to attack the enemy. They are, of course, soon repulsed, and obliged to retreat. The enemy, thinking himself victorious, follows them exultingly, and, as soon as he passes the spot where the larger canoes are hidden, he is attacked by them in the rear, while the smaller canoes, which have acted as decoys, turn and join in the onslaught. The rivers are almost invariably chosen for this kind of attack, the overhanging branches of trees and the dense foliage of the bank affording excellent hiding-places for the canoes. An illustration of a “Canoe fight” is given on page 1139.

When peace is declared, or when people desire to renew friendship to each other, they declare themselves friends by a ceremony which is identical in principle with that which is practised in many parts of Africa, each of the contracting parties partaking of the blood of the other. Sometimes the blood is actually drunk, but generally it is taken by mixing it with tobacco and smoking it. Mr. St. John, in his “Forests of the Far East,” describes this ceremony with much force:—

“Siñganding sent on board to request me to become his brother by going through the sacred custom of imbibing each other’s blood. I say imbibing, because it is either mixed with water and drunk, or else it is placed within a native cigar, and drawn in with the smoke. I agreed to do so, and the following day was fixed for the ceremony, which is called Berbiang by the Kayans, Bersabibah by the Borneans.

“I landed with our party of Malays, and after a preliminary talk, to give time for the population to assemble, the affair commenced. We sat in the broad veranda of a long house, surrounded by hundreds of men, women, and children, all looking eagerly at the white stranger who was about to enter their tribe. Stripping my left arm, Kum-Lia took a small piece of wood shaped like a knife-blade, and, slightly piercing the skin, brought the blood to the surface; this he carefully scraped off. Then one of my Malays drew blood in the same way from Siñganding, and a small cigarette being produced, the blood on the wooden blade was spread on the tobacco.

“A chief then arose, and, walking to an open place, looked forth upon the river, and invoked their god and all the spirits of good and evil to be witness of this tie of brotherhood. The cigarette was then lighted, and each of us took several puffs, and the ceremony was concluded. I was glad to find that they had chosen the form of inhaling the blood in smoke, as to have swallowed even a drop would have been unpleasant, though the disgust would only arise from the imagination.

“They sometimes vary the custom, though the variation may be confined to the Kiniahs, who live further up the river, and are intermarried with the Kayans. There a pig is brought and placed between the two who are to be joined in brotherhood. A chief offers an invocation to the gods, and marks with a lighted brand the pig’s shoulder. The beast is then killed, and, after an exchange of jackets, a sword is thrust into the wound, and the two are marked with the blood of the pig.”

The stranger thus admitted into membership with the Kayans is called Niau, or friend, and in some cases the experiment proves to be successful. Generally, however, the honor, such as it is, is greater than the profit, the Kayans assuming that their newly-admitted member ought to make plenty of rich presents to his tribe, in order to show his sense of the privileges that have been conferred upon him.

CHAPTER CXVII. BORNEO— Continued . SOCIAL LIFE.

MARRIAGE AMONG THE DYAKS — COURTSHIP, ACCEPTANCE OR REJECTION — A SIBUYAN WEDDING — CURIOUS DOMESTIC ARRANGEMENTS — PRIDE OF BIRTH — STATE OF MORALITY — FACILITIES OF DIVORCE — JEALOUSY, AND ITS RESULTS — HOW TO TREAT A RIVAL — FORBIDDEN DEGREES — SPORTS AND GAMES — BEE HUNTING — THE BORNEAN SWING — TRIALS OF STRENGTH AND EQUILIBRIUM — TRICKS WITH STRING — COCK FIGHTING — THE SWORD DANCE — A DYAK WAR DANCE WITH HEADS — THE CAT-O’-NINE TAILS — DYAK FESTIVALS — STRANGE COOKERY — THE DURIAN FRUIT — THE NATIONAL DRINK, ITS ODOR AND TASTE — HABIT OF INTOXICATION — A DYAK CIRCE — STOUT DRINKERS AND STRONG HEADS — THE FORCE OF RIDICULE.

Passing from war to peace, we will begin with marriage as practised among the Dyaks.

In some parts of the country marriage is a very simple business, the two parties living together as long as they like each other, and separating if either feels dissatisfied. In any case, as we shall see, the facilities for divorce are extreme, and the bonds of matrimony are worn with marvellous looseness.

The reader cannot but have remembered the singular coincidence that often exists between customs of savage and of civilized life.

Among the Sinambau Dyaks there is a mode of courtship which still prevails in some parts of Europe, though it is generally falling into disuse. A young Sinambau Dyak, when struck with the charms of a girl, shows his preference in various ways, such as helping her in her daily labor, carrying home her load of wood for her, and making her such presents as are in his power to give.

After he has carried on these attentions for some time, he thinks that he may proceed to a more explicit declaration. At night, when the family is supposed to be asleep, he quietly slides back the bolt of the door, steals to the spot where his beloved is sleeping under her mosquito curtains, and gently awakes her. He always brings with him an abundant supply of betel-nut and sirih leaf, and the two sit talking together throughout the greater part of the night. It cannot be expected that the parents of the girl, who sleep in the same room, should be wholly ignorant of the proceeding, but they are conventionally supposed to be so, and if they approve of the young man they take no notice, while if they do not, they use their influence with the girl to induce her to dismiss him.

The mode of rejection is in keeping with the rest of the proceedings. Should the girl dislike the too adventurous suitor, she declines accepting the betel-nut, and merely asks him to blow up the fire or light the lamp, a request which is tantamount to instant dismissal.

When the marriage takes place a feast is made, and then the parties are made man and wife without any more ceremony. It is very seldom that the young couple begin housekeeping on their own account, and, as a general rule, the bridegroom enters the household of his father-in-law, or, at all events, of some of his wife’s relations, and so becomes one of the family, laboring for the common stock, and taking his share when the head of the household dies. Occasionally this plan is reversed, and when the bride is one of a large family of brothers and sisters, or if the bridegroom is the sole support of his parents, she accompanies her husband, and becomes part of his household.

The ceremony of marriage among the Sibuyan Dyaks of Lundu is worthy of notice. The artist has given an admirable representation of this unique ceremony on the following page. Two bars of iron are laid on the ground in the spot appointed for the ceremony, and the young couple are brought from opposite ends of the village. The first part of the ceremony consists in seating them on the bars of iron, as token that the blessings of their married life are to be as strong as iron. The priest gives to each of the pair a cigar and some betel-nut and sirih leaf, which they hold in their hand until the next part of the ceremony is completed. Taking two fowls in his hands, the priest waves them over the heads of the couple, and, in the course of a long address, invokes every blessing upon them. He then solemnly knocks their heads together three times, after which the bridegroom places the betel-nut in the mouth of his bride, and inserts the cheroot between her lips, she afterward doing the same by him, this ceremony being the public acknowledgment of accepting each other as husband and wife.

After they have thus declared their acceptance of each other, the fowls are killed, and their blood received in two cups, the color of the blood being carefully inspected by the priest, and its hue being held as an omen of the future well-being or misery of the newly married pair. One of the feasts which will presently be described closes the ceremonies.

It has already been mentioned that in most cases the bridegroom enters the family of his wife. But in any case he is bound to honor the father of his wife even above his own father. The young husband may never even pronounce the name of his father-in-law, he may not eat from the same dish, drink from the same cup, or rest on the same mat.

Among another tribe of Dyaks, the Balaus of Lingga, the ceremonies of marriage are rather different. By way of a propitiatory offering, the mother of the bridegroom gives to the relatives of the bride some domestic utensil, such as a plate or a basin, and three days afterward the very simple ceremony is performed.

The bridegroom’s mother takes a quantity of the areca-nut prepared for chewing, divides it into three portions, places them in a basket, and sets them on a sort of altar in front of the bride’s house. The friends of both parties then assemble, and chew the nuts while they discuss the future prospects of the young couple, and they decide as to the amount of fine which the husband shall pay to his wife in case he separates from her after she is a mother, or when she is likely to be so. In fact, in their own rough-and-ready way, these Dyaks have contrived to organize a tolerably complete code of marriage settlements, which, in consequence of the very easy system of divorce, is absolutely necessary for the protection of the women.

These Sea Dyaks of Lingga have, in common with all the sea tribes, the greatest pride of birth; and if a girl were to listen to the addresses of a man of much inferior rank, her parents would prohibit the match. In one such case the two lovers fled into the jungle, poisoned themselves with the juice of the tuba plant, and were found dead next morning in each other’s arms. So full are they of their family pride, that they look upon any mixture of their noble blood as a dire disgrace, and this is carried to so great an extent that, although within their own degree their morals are of the laxest order, the men would scorn an intrigue with a woman of low condition.

The Dyaks of Sibuyan are remarkable for the superiority of their morals when compared with the generality of the Dyak tribes, believing that immorality is an offence against the higher powers, and that, if a girl becomes a mother before she is married, she angers the deities of the tribe, who show their wrath by visitations upon the whole of the tribe. If, therefore, such a case be discovered, both the erring lovers are heavily fined, and a pig is sacrificed in order to avert the anger of the offended deities. Nor do the delinquents always escape the fine even after the sacrifice of the pig, for every one who was smitten with sickness, or met with an accident, within a month of the sacrifice, has a claim on them for damages, as having been the cause of the misfortune, while, if any one has died, the survivors claim compensation for the loss of their relative.

The reader will remember that the young people of both sexes live with their parents, contributing their labor to the common stock, and being therefore incapable of possessing property of their own. In consequence of this arrangement, the fines which are levied upon the lovers practically fall upon the parents, who therefore take care to look after their daughters, while the young men are partly kept out of mischief by being obliged to sleep together at the head house.

The Dyaks of the Batang Lupar are more lax in their notion of morality than the Sibuyans, and it is seldom that a girl is married until she is likely to become a mother. When this is the case, the lover marries her as a matter of course, but in those cases where a man denies his complicity, and the girl is unable to prove it, she is so bitterly scorned and reproached by her kindred that she generally runs away from the village. Some such delinquents have been known to take poison in order to escape the contempt of their relatives and acquaintances. They are thought to have brought such a disgrace on their family, that the parents sacrifice a pig to the higher powers, and wash the door of the house with its blood, in order to propitiate the offended deities.

(1.) A CANOE FIGHT.
(See page 1136.)

(2.) A DYAK WEDDING.
(See page 1138.)

When the pair are married, they almost invariably remain faithful to each other. There is, however, small credit to them for it, inasmuch as they can be divorced on the slightest pretext. An evil omen in the night, such as a “bad bird,” will frighten both parties so much that they will separate by mutual consent on the next day. Mr. St. John mentions that many men and women are married seven or eight times before they finally fix upon a partner with whom they mean to spend the rest of their lives, and as an example of the exceeding facility for divorce which exists among the Dyaks, states that he saw a young girl of seventeen who had already had three husbands.

Still, it is very seldom that married couples part after they are parents; and if they do so, the family of the women expect a heavy fine from the fickle husband. Now and then, a married pair are really so attached to each other that they do not like to part, even when they hear the voice of a “bad bird.” In such a case they avert the anger of the superior powers by sacrificing a pig, and are then able to remain together without fear. It often happens that a man and wife quarrel, and divorce themselves. After a while, however, they begin to think that they have made a mistake, and are allowed to renew their matrimonial relations without any ceremony or fresh rites of marriage.

Mr. St. John mentions a curious case of jealousy after a divorce, and its consequences.

The Pañgeran Mumein took a Murout girl, and paid her father as a marriage portion a heavy weight of brass guns—a curious sort of currency which is much valued by the Dyaks, and perfectly useless for any practical purposes. He left her for some time, and then, after she had borne him a child, repudiated her, telling her father that he did not want her any more, unless she liked to follow him to Brunei. This, however, the girl refused to do, so the Pañgeran made her father refund the brass guns, and besides pay a fine of double the amount, as a penalty for not allowing the girl to go to Brunei, where he meant to have sold her as a slave. The father paid the fine, and was told that the girl might then go where she liked, and marry whom she chose, as was only just after the previous event.

Accordingly, some little time afterward, she did marry one of her countrymen, whereupon the Pañgeran flew into a fit of jealousy, and ordered the head man or Orang-Kaya of the village to seize them and bring them to him. The Orang-Kaya was afraid, and hid himself, so that the Pañgeran had to employ the Bisayas, who captured the husband and brought him to their employer. The unfortunate man was then tied up to the Orang-Kaya’s landing place, and the Pañgeran cut him to pieces with his own hand, finishing by making a present of his head to the Gadong Murut Dyaks. Having thus wreaked his vengeance on the man who excited his jealousy, he allowed the girl and her father to go unharmed. Dyak history is full of similar tales.

Jealousy is by no means confined to the men, the women being far more jealous of the men than they of their wives, and with good reason. There is a tacit law that, whenever a wife detects her husband in flirting, she may beat her rival to her heart’s content, provided that she use nothing except a stick, and, if the woman be married, her husband may beat the disturber of his domestic peace, if he can. The usual result of discovery in such cases is, that the man goes off into the bush under the pretext of head hunting, and stays there until he thinks his wife’s anger has cooled down. If he is fortunate enough to return with a head, his success as a warrior ensures a condonation for his shortcomings as a husband.

The Dyaks have a code of forbidden degrees for marriages, differing slightly in the various tribes, but tolerably uniform on the whole. Marriage with first cousins is not permitted, they being looked upon as brother and sister; neither, as a general rule, is an uncle allowed to marry his niece. To this latter rule, however, there are exceptions. Marriage with a deceased wife’s sister is almost universally permitted, and, in fact, encouraged, provided that the parents of the woman approve of the match, because in that case all the children belong to one family.

Of sport, as we understand the word, the Dyaks have no idea, though they possess all the capabilities for it, being active, daring, and quick sighted. All these characteristics are shown in the mode by which they supply themselves with honey. They do not keep hives in or near their houses, but seldom fail to see a bees’ nest in a tree, though the unaccustomed eyes of an European can see nothing of the bees at the great height at which the nests are usually found.

Sometimes the stem of the tree rises for a hundred feet without a branch, and is from fifteen to twenty-five feet in circumference. The Dyaks, however, ascend such a tree with ease. They bore holes in the trunk of the tree as high as they can reach, and drive into them wooden pegs rather more than a foot in length. A stout rattan or a bamboo is then driven into the ground, and the ends of the wooden pegs are lashed to it so as to form a sort of ladder, of which the bamboo forms one side, and the trunk of the tree the other. On this slender ladder they ascend, drive in more pegs, and lash them to the bamboo, adding one bamboo after another until the nest is reached.

Nothing looks more insecure than this primitive ladder, which sways fearfully as the man ascends, the rattan lashings cracking and creaking as if the whole structure were coming to pieces. It is, however, perfectly adapted for its purpose, and, armed with a flaming torch, the almost naked Dyak ascends, and fearlessly takes the nest, which he lowers down by means of a rattan.

The nest is generally attacked at night, the Dyaks saying the bees always fly after the sparks that fall from the torch, believing them to be the enemy that is disturbing the nest, the man himself escaping unhurt. Some of the tribes have another plan, and before they ascend the tree light beneath it a large fire in which they throw a quantity of green branches. The smoke from these branches drives the bees out of their nest, and stupefies them for a time, so that the combs can be taken without danger.

Of games which are, in fact, an imitation of war, the Dyaks are equally ignorant, and, although so warlike a people, they do not wrestle, nor box, nor race. It would be expected that a people who trust so much to the sword would exercise with sham weapons, for the purpose of accustoming themselves to the proper management of the sword and shield. This, however, they never do, thinking that all such exercises are unlucky.

They have one game which somewhat resembles our swing, but which partakes in some degree of the nature of a religious ceremony. A strong derrick is erected some forty or fifty feet high, and to this is suspended a stout single rattan, which reaches within a few feet of the ground. The derrick is strengthened by rattan stays lashed to a neighboring tree. The end of the rattan is formed into a large loop.

At some distance from the derrick, just where the end of the rattan describes its circle, a slight bamboo stage is erected. One of the swingers mounts on the stage, draws the rattan to him by means of a string, places his foot in the loop, and swings off with as much impetus as he can give himself. As he returns, another leaps on the swing, and sometimes two at a time will do so, until ten or twelve are all swinging away at the same time. Of course, they cannot all put their feet in the loop, but content themselves with clinging to the arms and legs of those who have done so. As they swing, they strike up a monotonous song, which sounds like a dirge. It is, however, merely an invocation to the deities for a plentiful harvest and a good fishing season. As may be imagined, they often get bad falls from those swings.

The boys and youths have a game which is familiar to all gymnasts. The two competitors sit opposite each other on the ground, the soles of their feet being placed in contact. They then grasp a short stick, and each tries to pull the other on his face or to raise him off the ground. There is also a game which bears a close resemblance to our “prisoners’ base,” twenty or thirty players joining in the game; and there is another game, which is very much like the “cock fighting” of English school-boys. The players stand on one foot, holding the other foot in one hand and try to upset each other, or at least to make their antagonists put both feet to the ground.

In “cat’s cradle” they are wonderful proficients. Mr. Wallace thought that he could instruct them in the game but found that they knew much more about it than he did. They were acquainted with all the mysteries of the English modification of the game, and produced a vast number of additional changes from the string. Indeed, the Dyaks can do almost anything with a piece of string, and they could well instruct our own conjurors in this branch of legerdemain.

Cock fighting is an amusement of which the Dyaks are very fond, though they do not indulge in that amusement with the reckless enthusiasm of the Malays. Mr. St. John writes of the birds used for this purpose: “We did not see more than a few of these birds in Dyak houses, but since they are usually kept, when not in training or exercise, closely wrapped in linen bands and hung on nails in a dry place, they might easily escape our notice.

“Not having the fear of police magistrates and Humane Society prosecutions before our eyes, we assisted at one or two brief combats, evidently mere trial matches to assist the calculations of the ‘bookmakers,’ by testing each bird’s pluck and skill. When this object was attained by a few minutes’ struggle, held with much secrecy in the veranda by the gray light of early morning, the cocks were picked up before any injury was inflicted, and carefully swathed in their bandages, from the midst of which they soothed their ruffled feelings with an occasional crow of defiance.”

Allusion has already been made to the feasts held by the Dyaks on several occasions, and it is only on such festivities that the men ever use their weapons in sham fight. Even in those cases, they do not so employ them by way of practising themselves, but merely because they form part of the movements of the dance. In one of these dances, described by Mr. Keppel, two swords are laid on a mat in the middle of the room, and two men advance toward them from opposite sides, waving their arms, revolving on their toes, and performing various manœuvres with their legs.

As soon as they come to the mat, they suddenly stoop, seize the swords, and go through the movements of actual combat, crossing swords, advancing, retiring, cutting at each other, kneeling at one moment as if to collect force, and then springing up with renewed energy. Both dancers have previously studied and practised the various movements, each of which they make simultaneously.

Sometimes the sword dance is performed with the shield as well as the sword, and of this dance Mr. Marryat has written so graphic an account that his own words must be used. The guests were asked if they wished for a specimen of the war dance.

“Having expressed our wishes in the affirmative, the music struck up; it consisted of gongs and tom-toms. The Malay gong, which the Dyaks also make use of, is like the Javanese, thick with a broad rim, and very different from the gong of the Chinese. Instead of the clanging noise of the latter, it gives out a muffled sound of a deep tone. The gong and tom-tom are used by the Dyaks and Malays in war, and for signals at night, and the Dyaks procure them from the Malays. I said that the music struck up, for, rude as the instruments were, they modulate the sound, and keep time so admirably, that it was anything but inharmonious.

“A space was now cleared in the centre of the house, and two of the oldest warriors stepped into it. They were dressed in turbans, long loose jackets, sashes round their waists descending to their feet, and small bells were attached to their ankles. They commenced by first shaking hands with the rajah, and then with all the Europeans present, thereby giving us to understand, as was explained to us, that the dance was to be considered only as a spectacle, and not to be taken in its literal sense, as preparatory to an attack upon us, a view of the case in which we fully coincided with them.

“This ceremony being over, they rushed into the centre and gave a most unearthly scream, then poising themselves on one foot they described a circle with the other, at the same time extending their arms like the wings of a bird, and then meeting their hands, clapping them and keeping time with the music. After a little while the music became louder, and suddenly our ears were pierced with the whole of the natives present joining in the hideous war cry. Then the motions and the screams of the dancers became more violent, and everything was working up to a state of excitement by which even we were influenced.

“Suddenly a very unpleasant odor pervaded the room, already too warm from the numbers it contained. Involuntarily we held our noses, wondering what might be the cause, when we perceived that one of the warriors had stepped into the centre, and suspended round the shoulders of each dancer a human head in a wide-meshed basket of rattan. These heads had been taken in the late Sakarran business, and were therefore but a fortnight old. They were encased in a wide network of rattan, and were ornamented with beads. Their stench was intolerable, although, as we discovered upon after-examination, when they were suspended against the wall, they had been partially baked, and were quite black. The teeth and hair were quite perfect, the features somewhat shrunk, and they were altogether very fair specimens of pickled heads; but our worthy friends required a lesson from the New Zealanders in the art of preserving.

“The appearance of the heads was a sign for the music to play louder, for the war cry of the natives to be more energetic, and for the screams of the dancers to be more piercing. Their motions now became more rapid, and the excitement in proportion. Their eyes glistened with unwonted brightness, the perspiration dropped down their faces; and thus did yelling, dancing, gongs, and tom-toms become more rapid and more violent every minute, till the dancing warriors were ready to drop. A farewell yell, with emphasis, was given by the surrounding warriors; immediately the music ceased, the dancers disappeared, and the tumultuous excitement and noise were succeeded by a dead silence.

“Such was the excitement communicated, that when it was all over we ourselves remained for some time panting to recover our breath. Again we lighted our cheroots, and smoked for awhile the pipe of peace.

“A quarter of an hour elapsed, and the preparations were made for another martial dance. This was performed by two of the Rajah’s sons, the same young men I have previously made mention of. They came forward each having on his arm one of the large Dyak shields, and in the centre of the cleared space were two long swords lying on the floor. The ceremony of shaking hands, as described, preparatory to the former dance, was gone through; the music then struck up, and they entered the arena.

“At first they confined themselves to evolutions of defence, springing from one side to the other with wonderful quickness, keeping their shields in front of them, falling on one knee, and performing various feats of agility. After a short time, they each seized a sword and then the display was very remarkable, and proved what ugly customers they must be in single conflict. Blows in every direction, feints of every description, were made by both, but invariably received upon the shield. Cumbrous as these shields were, no opening was left; retreating, pursuing, dodging, and striking, the body was never exposed.

“Occasionally, during this performance, the war cry was given by the surrounding warriors, but the combatants held their peace; in fact, they could not afford to open their mouths, lest an opening should be made. It was a most masterly performance, and we were delighted with it.”

A rather curious dance was witnessed by Mr. Boyle at a feast of which an account will presently be given. First two chiefs each took a sword, and began a maniacal sort of dance, which was intended to be very imposing, but only succeeded in being very ludicrous, owing to the fact that both were too much intoxicated to preserve their balance, and, being of opposite tempers in their cups, one was merry and the other was sulky.

After this performance was over, a tall chief stepped forward with a whip, much like a cat-o’-nine-tails, another produced a human head, and the two began to chase each other round the veranda of the building. Presently, the chief with the head stopped, and with one foot in the air began to pirouette slowly, while he swung the head backward and forward, the chief with the whip lashing vigorously at the spectators, and laughing derisively at each cut.

After a while these performers became too tired to proceed without refreshment, and their place was taken by four or five others carrying blocks of wood having a feather at each end. The foreign guests took these objects to represent canoes, but were told that they were rhinoceros hornbills, and were thought by all competent judges to be fine works of art. Suddenly a number of gongs were beaten, and over the mass of human beings arose swords, heads, rhinoceros hornbills, and cat-o’-nine-tails in profusion, the Dyaks being for the time half mad with excitement.

It was remarkable that in this wild scene no harm was done, no blow was struck in anger, and no quarrel took place. Decorum was maintained throughout the whole of the festival, though not one of the revellers was sober, and then, as Mr. Boyle remarks, “a scene which, according to all precedent, should have been disgusting, turned out to be pleasantly amusing.”

This feast was a very good example of a Dyak revel. It was given by the chief Gasing, who was gorgeously attired for the occasion in an old consular uniform coat, covered with gold lace, the top of a dragoon’s helmet tied on his head with a handkerchief, a brass regimental breastplate on his forehead, and a plated tureen cover on his breast. This tureen cover, by the way, was the most valued of Gasing’s possessions, and one which was madly envied by all the neighboring chiefs. Being a tall, thin man, the effect of his naked, lean, yellow legs, appearing from beneath all this splendor, was remarkable.

He had prepared his long house carefully for the festival. He had erected a bamboo railing on the edge of the veranda, as a necessary precaution against accidents, for the veranda was at a considerable height from the ground, and the guests are all expected to be very unsteady on their feet, even if they can stand at all. From the top of the rail to the eaves of the veranda he had thrown a quantity of cloths, so as to allow the chiefs who sat under them to be sheltered from the rays of the sun.

For this festival Gasing had been making preparations for months past, half-starving himself in order to collect the requisite amount of provisions, and being likely to find himself rather deeply in debt before the preparations were completed. Unfortunately for the English guests, the smell of Dyak cookery is anything but agreeable, and one of their favorite articles of food, the fruit called the durian, exhales a most intolerable odor, so that, if they had not been furnished with plenty of tobacco, they would have been obliged to retire from the scene.

The Dyaks roast fowls without removing the feathers, tear them joint from joint, and so eat them. They have a most extraordinary liking for viands in a nearly putrid state, such as fish or molluscs in a very advanced state of decomposition, eggs black from age, and rotten fruit, the chief being the durian, which smells like all the other dishes put together, but with a sort of peculiar fragrance of its own. Even foreigners have learned to like the durian, but they have not found that it acclimatizes them to the bad eggs, burnt feathers, and very high fish.

This very remarkable fruit is about as large as a cocoa-nut, slightly oval, and is covered with a thick, tough skin, armed with sharp, short, and stout spines, the bases of which touch each other. The skin is so strong, that even when it falls, as it always does when ripe, from a considerable height, it does not break, and the spines are so sharp and hard, that, if a durian falls on a man, it inflicts a very severe wound, and causes great loss of blood.

When possible it is eaten fresh, as it falls ripe from the tree, but it is often cooked while still green, and, when especially plentiful, is preserved in jars by means of salt. In this state its natural odor is very greatly increased, and the very opening of a jar of preserved durians is enough to drive a stranger to the country out of the room.

Mr. Wallace gives a very interesting account of the durian, mentioning that, although for some time the odor of the fruit completely deterred him from tasting it, he once found a ripe durian just fallen from the tree, overcame his repugnance to the fruit, tried it, ate it, and became from that moment a confirmed durian eater. The following passage contains his description of the peculiar flavor of the durian:—

“The five cells are satiny white within, and are each filled with an oval mass of cream-colored pulp, embedded in which are two or three seeds about the size of chestnuts. This pulp is the eatable part, and its consistence and flavor are indescribable. A rich, butter-like custard, highly flavored with almonds, gives the best general idea of it, but intermingled with it come wafts of flavor that call to mind cream cheese, onion sauce, brown sherry, and other incongruities.

“Then there is a rich glutinous smoothness in the pulp which nothing else possesses, but which adds to its delicacy. It is neither acid, nor sweet, nor juicy, yet one feels the want of none of these qualities, for it is perfect as it is. It produces no nausea or other bad effect, and the more you eat of it the less you feel inclined to stop. In fact, to eat durians is a new sensation, worth a voyage to the East to experience.”

Mr. Wallace, in summing up the merits of the various fruits with which we are acquainted, says that if he had to fix on two only, which would represent the very perfection of flavor and refreshing qualities, he would choose the durian and the orange, which he terms the king and queen of fruits.

Their national drink, called “tuak,” is worthily matched with the viands. It is in color like thin milk, and its odor has been forcibly compared to that of five hundred negroes drunk in a slave-pen. The same traveller, having fortified his palate with the strongest tobacco, drank some of the liquid in honor of his host, and gives a very vivid description of its flavor. When first taken into the mouth, it gives the idea of cocoa-nut milk gone very sour, and holding in solution a considerable quantity of brown sugar and old cheese. When it is swallowed, the victim is conscious of a suffocating sensation, as if the liquid were thickened with starch and a great quantity of the strongest cayenne pepper, the general effect produced on the novice being comparable to nothing but a very bad attack of sea sickness.

Strange to say, this abominable liquid retains the strongest hold on three millions of human beings, who can conceive no greater luxury than the privilege of drinking it without stint. At their feasts it is kept in huge bathing jars, and is handed about in all kinds of vessels, which are continually emptied and sent back to be replenished, so that a continual stream of full and empty vessels passes from and to the large jars.

Even if the warriors who are invited to the festival were to feel inclined to sobriety, they would be forced to drink by the women, who seem to think themselves bound to make every man completely intoxicated. “No Delilah of Europe better knows her power to make a fool of a strong man than one of these Dyak syrens, nor is more inclined to exert her fascinations.

“The presence of the female element was soon felt in the noise and confusion, which absolutely seemed to increase. Several of the girls were so charming as to excuse the infatuation of their victims, and I need scarcely say that the prettiest were the most culpable. But ugly or beautiful, old or young, all instantly employed their most cunning arts in enticing the bravest and most famous warriors to drink and drink again.

“We saw a little beauty seat herself lovingly beside a tall fellow with a simple face and honest eyes, whom she coaxed to toast her from a large jar which she offered to his lips, until he fairly fell backward upon the floor. This satisfactory conclusion attained, his tormentor, who, we heard, was affianced to him, ran screaming with laughter to bring seven other wretches as mischievous as herself to jeer at the vanquished lover. Raising her hopes to sport of a higher order, she shortly after brought her jar to the spot where we sat, in the hope, no doubt, of beguiling the white men into the same condition as her other admirers; but in Europe we are accustomed to run the gauntlet of more dangerous fascinations, and she relinquished the attempt in despair.”

Mr. St. John mentions that the men are in no way behind the women in their efforts to seduce their guests to intoxication, and it is their greatest pride to have as much tuak drunk as possible, to drink their own share and remain comparatively sober, while all their guests are laid prostrate and insensible. In fact, if we substitute punch and port for tuak, and an open veranda for a closed dining-room, there is little difference between the hospitality of the present Dyak chief and that of the average English squire of the last century.

A chief, for example, who prides himself on his strong head, will sit before a huge jar of tuak, and pledge every one around. For every one whom he serves he drinks one cup himself, and it is his ambition to keep his seat after all his companions are insensible. Of course, it is impossible that any man can drink an equal amount with ten or twelve others, and it is most likely that he forces the tuak on them so fast that they are soon rendered incapable of seeing whether their host drinks or not. They are very proud of being fresh on the following morning, and boast that although their guests, who belonged to another tribe, had severe headaches, they themselves suffered nothing at all.

It is partly by means of appealing to this pride that the girls are able to make the men drink to the extent which has been mentioned, and they derive so much amusement from exercising their power that they lose no opportunity that falls in their way, and essay their blandishments even when there is no definite feast.

Once, when Mr. St. John had travelled from the Sibuyan Dyaks to the Bukars, he and his guides were received, as usual, in the head house. While the English guests were making their toilet, two young Dyak girls came very gently up the ladder and slipped into the chamber. Now the head house is, as the reader may remember, the bachelors’ hall, and consequently the girls had no business there. So, pretending not to see them, the white men proceeded with their toilets, and quietly watched their proceedings.

The two girls, after glancing cautiously at the strangers, and thinking themselves unobserved, made their way to the Dyak guides, each having in her hands a vast bowl of fresh tuak, which they offered to the visitors. The young men, knowing their object, declined to drink, and thereby drew on themselves a battery of mixed blandishments and reproaches. Above all, they were entreated not to inflict on the girls the shame of refusing their gift, and making them take it back, to be laughed at by all their friends.

Cajolery, honied words, and caresses having been resisted, they tried the effect of ridicule, and their taunts succeeded where their coaxings failed. “What!” said they, “are the Sibuyans so weak-headed as to be afraid of drinking Bukar tuak?” This touched the visitors on a very tender point. The Sibuyans specially pride themselves on the strength of their heads and of their tuak, and a refusal to drink was thus made tantamount to a confession of inferiority in both respects. So they raised the huge bowls to their lips, and were allowed no peace until they had drained the last drops, when their tempters ran away laughing, knowing that in a very short time their two victims would be senseless.

It is a most extraordinary thing that the Dyak women, most of whom do not drink at all, and very few drink even moderately, take such a delight in forcing the men into intoxication. The young girls are the most successful temptresses. They take advantage of their youth and beauty, and employ all their fascinations to inveigle the men into drinking. No man is safe from them.

Their brothers, friends, and even their betrothed, fall, as we have seen, victims to their blandishments. They will make up to perfect strangers, get up a flirtation, and lavish all their enchantments upon them like Circe of old, until they have reduced their helpless admirers to a state little better than that of the mythological swine. Even after the men have sunk on the ground, and are incapable of raising the cup to their lips, the women think their task not quite completed, and pour the tuak down the throats of the helpless men. In the “Dyak Feast,” which the artist has so finely drawn on the opposite page, the appeal and dresses of these Eastern syrens are illustrated.

Yet, although on such occasions they give themselves over to utter drunkenness, the Dyaks are a sober race, and except at these feasts, or when beset by women, they are singularly temperate, the betel-nut supplying the place of all intoxicating liquor.

A DYAK FEAST.
(See pages 1145, 1146.)

CHAPTER CXVIII. BORNEO— Continued . ARCHITECTURE—MANUFACTURES.

AERIAL HOUSES — THE LONG HOUSE AND ITS ARRANGEMENTS — THE ORANG-KAYA’S ROOM — STRUCTURE OF THE FLOORING — REASONS FOR THE DYAK ARCHITECTURE — THE NIPA PALM AND ITS USES — THE ATAPS — SALT AND SUGAR MANUFACTURE — ERECTION OF THE FIRST POST — VARIOUS MODES OF PROCURING FIRE — CONSTRUCTION OF THE DYAK BRIDGE — A NARROW ESCAPE — MANUFACTURES — THE ADZE AXE OF THE DYAKS — ITS ANALOGY WITH THE BANYAI AXE — SMELTING AND FORGING IRON — BASKET MAKING — THE DYAK MAT — SPLITTING THE RATTAN — THE BORNEAN KNIFE, AND MODE OF USING IT — THE SACRED JARS AND THEIR PROPERTIES.

The architecture of the Dyaks is very peculiar. The reader may find a Dyak village represented on page 1153.

In the first place, the houses are all built on posts, some of them twenty feet in height, and the mode of access to them is by climbing up a notched pole, which answers the purpose of a ladder. The chief dwelling in every village, and indeed practically the village itself, is the long house, which is of wonderfully large dimensions. One of these houses, measured by Mr. St. John, was more than five hundred and thirty feet long, and was inhabited by nearly five hundred people.

Throughout the entire length of the house runs the broad veranda or common room, which is open to all the members, and at the side are rooms partitioned off for the different families, as many as sixty or seventy such rooms being sometimes seen in one long house. Although the veranda is common ground to all the tribe, and in it the members go through their various sedentary occupations, each family occupies by tacit consent the portion of the veranda opposite their own rooms.

These rooms are strictly private, and none except the members of the family, or their intimate friends, would think of entering them. The chief or Orang-kaya of the long house has a much larger room than the others, and the space in front of his room is considered to be devoted to the use of the lesser chiefs and councillors, and, although free to all the inhabitants, is frequented almost entirely by the old men and warriors of known courage.

One of the rooms inhabited by the Orang-kaya was visited by Mr. Boyle, and was not an attractive apartment. On each side of the entrance there was a piece of furniture somewhat resembling an old English plate-rack, upon the lower shelf of which was placed a flat stone. In spite of the heat, which was terrific, a large fire was burning on the stone, and on the range above were wood, rice, pots, and other utensils. There was no chimney to the house, but a sort of flap in the roof was lifted up, and kept open by a notched stick. This flap answered both for window and chimney, and when it was closed the room was in total darkness, beside being at once filled with smoke.

The height of the chamber was barely seven feet, and the space was rendered still more limited by the weapons, girdles, mats, mosquito curtains, strings of boars’ tusks, aprons, and other property, that hung from the rafters. The sides were adorned with a quantity of English and Dutch crockery, each piece being in a separate rattan basket and suspended from the wall. The house being an old one, the smell was abominable; and the Orang-kaya’s chamber was, on the whole, a singularly uncomfortable residence.

A number of fire-places, varying according to the population of the house, are arranged along the veranda, and, as a general rule, one of the primitive ladders already mentioned is placed at either end, so that when a visitor enters the house, he sees throughout its entire length, the range of his eye being only interrupted by the posts, which after supporting the floor pass upward and serve also to support the roof. Outside this veranda extends another, called the outer veranda. It has no roof, and is exposed to the blazing sunbeams. It is used, not as a habitation, but as a kind of storehouse and drying ground.

As the flooring is made of bamboo, the Dyaks can easily, if they choose, keep the interior of their rooms clean. This, however, they seldom choose to do, limiting their cleanliness to the simple process of sweeping any offal through the floor so as to fall under the house. They never think of removing it after it has fallen, so that by degrees the heaps of refuse become higher and higher, and gradually diminish the distance between the floor of the house and the soil beneath. In some of the older houses, these heaps of rubbish have increased to such an extent that when the pigs are grubbing in them their backs touch the bamboo flooring of the house.

The reason for building the Dyak houses on piles are several, the chief being that such a house acts as a fort in case of attack. The custom of building on piles is universal, but only those tribes that are liable to invasion employ piles of the height which have been mentioned. This mode of architecture also protects the inhabitants from floods and from the intrusion of reptiles. The Dyaks do not use the bow and arrow, and before they learned the use of fire-arms, a house built on piles some twenty or thirty feet in height made a very secure fort, which could not be fired, and which exposed the storming party to certain and heavy loss. Even since the English have taken up their residence in Borneo, some of these houses, belonging to revolted chiefs, have given great trouble before they could be taken, artillery appearing to be the only weapon to which they at once succumb.

The piles are made of the hardest iron-wood, and are very thick, much thicker than is needed for the support of the house. The reason for this strength and thickness is, that in case of attack, the assailing party dash under the house, protecting themselves from missiles by a canoe which they turn keel upward, and hold over their heads while they chop at the posts, so as to bring the house and its defenders down together. If the posts are but moderately stout, they will sometimes succeed; but if they are very thick and strong, the defenders can remove part of the floor, and throw on the attacking party weights sufficiently heavy to break through their roof and kill them.

It is probable that the custom of building houses on piles is partly derived from the Malay fashion of erecting buildings over the water. The Dyaks copied this plan, and became so used to it that when they built inland they still continued the practice. The same theory accounts for the habit already mentioned of throwing all kinds of offal through the open bamboo flooring. This custom was cleanly enough when the houses were built over the water, but became a source of utter pollution when they were erected on land, and the offal was allowed to accumulate below, undisturbed except by the dogs and pigs.

Most of these houses are built rather high up the rivers, especially upon the tributary streams; and booms, composed of bamboos and rattans, are fastened across the stream below them, so as to hinder the advance of the enemy’s canoes. The thatch, as well as a considerable portion of the material, is obtained from the nipa palm, a tree which to the Borneans is almost a necessity of existence, and supplies a vast number of their wants. It grows in large numbers at the water’s edge; its huge leaves, fifteen or twenty feet in length, projecting like the fronds of vast ferns.

When dried, the leaves are woven into a sort of matted fabric called “ataps,” which is used sometimes as thatch, sometimes as the indispensable covering of boats, and sometimes even as walls of houses, the mats being fastened from post to post. By the use of these ataps certain portions of the roof can be raised on sticks in trap-door fashion, so as to answer the double purpose of admitting light and securing ventilation.

Various other mats are made of the nipa palm leaf, and so are hats and similar articles. The entire leaf is often used in canoes as an extemporized sail, the leaf being fastened upright, and driving the boat onward at a very fair pace. Besides these uses the nipa leaves, when young, are dressed as vegetables, and are both agreeable and nutritious, and the fine inner leaves, when dried, are rolled round tobacco so as to form cigars.

From the root and stem a coarse sugar is made, which is used for all general purposes; for, although the sugar-cane grows magnificently in Borneo, the natives only consider it in the light of a sweetmeat. It seems rather strange that sugar and salt should be extracted from the same plant, but such is really the case, and salt-making is one of the principal occupations of some of the tribes.

They gather great quantities of the nipa root, and burn them. The ashes are then swept together, and thrown into shallow pans half filled with water, so that the salt is dissolved and remains in the water, while the charcoal and woody particles float at the surface, and can be skimmed off. When the water is clear, the pans are placed over the fire and the water driven off by evaporation, after which the salt, which remains on the bottom and sides of the pans, is scraped off. It is of a coarse and decidedly bitter character, but it is much liked by the natives, and even the European settlers soon become accustomed to it. Salt is imported largely from Siam, but the Borneans prefer that of their own manufacture for home use, reserving the Siamese salt for preserving fish.

The nipa and the mangrove grow in similar localities and on the same streams, and are useful to those who are engaged in ascending rivers, as they know that the water is always shallow where the mangrove grows, and deep near the nipa.

In the olden times, when a long house was projected, the erection of the first post was always accompanied by a human sacrifice, precisely as has been mentioned of several other parts of the world. Mr. St. John saw one of these houses where a human sacrifice had been made. A deep hole was dug in the ground, and the huge post, which, as the reader may remember, is cut from the trunk of the hardest and heaviest wood which can be found, was suspended over it by rattan lashings. A girl was laid at the bottom of the hole, and at a given signal the lashings were cut, permitting the post to drop into the hole, and crush the girl to atoms.

The same traveller saw a ceremony among the Quop Dyaks, which showed that the principle of sacrifice still remained, though the victim was of a different character. The builder wanted to raise a flag-staff near his house, and proceeded on exactly the same plan. The excavation was made, the pole was suspended by a rattan, but, instead of a human being, a fowl was bound and laid at the bottom of the hole, so as to be crushed to death when the lashings were cut.

These houses are often approached by bridges, which are very curious structures, so apparently fragile that they seem unable to sustain the weight of a human being, and of so slight a character that to traverse them seems to imply the skill of a rope dancer. As these houses are often built on the side of a steep hill, a pole is laid from the platform to the hill, and, if it be a tolerably long one, supported by several rattan ropes fastened to trees. A very slight bamboo handrail is fastened a little above it, and the bridge is considered as complete.

One of these simple bridges is shown in illustration No. 2, on the 1153d page, which gives a good idea of the height of the house and its general style of architecture. Near the foreground is a man engaged in making fire by means of twirling one stick upon another, precisely as is done by the Kaffirs and other savage tribes. There is, however, one improvement on the usual mode. Instead of merely causing a pointed stick to revolve upon another, the Dyaks use instead of the lower stick a thick slab of very dry wood, with a deep groove cut on one side of it, and a small hole on the other, bored down to the groove.

When the Dyak wishes to procure fire, he places the wooden slab on the ground with the groove undermost, and inserts his pointed stick in the little hole and twirls it rapidly between his hands. The revolution of the stick soon causes a current of air to pass through the groove, and in consequence the fire is rapidly blown up as soon as the wood is heated to the proper extent. In consequence of this arrangement, much labor is saved, as the firemaker is not obliged to stop at intervals to blow upon the just kindled dust which collects in the little hole around the firestick. Some tribes merely cut two cross grooves on the lower piece of wood, and insert the point of the firestick at their intersection.

The Saribas and Sakarrang Dyaks have a very remarkable instrument for obtaining fire, called by them “besi-api.” It consists of a metal tube, about three inches in length, with a piston working nearly air-tight in it. A piece of dry stuff by way of tinder is introduced into the tube, the piston rod is slapped smartly down and withdrawn with a jerk, when the tinder is seen to be on fire. Europeans find that to manage the besi-api is as difficult a task as to procure fire by two sticks. The reader may remember that a machine of similar construction is sold at the philosophical instrument makers, and that a piece of German tinder is lighted by the sudden compression of the air.

Another form of the besi-api is thus described by Mr. Boyle:—“Among some of the Dyak tribes there is a manner of striking fire much more extraordinary. The instrument used is a slender cube of lead, which fits tightly in a case of bamboo. The top of the cube is hollowed into a cup, and when fire is required this cup is filled with tinder, the leaden piston is held upright in the left hand, the bamboo case is thrust sharply down over it, as quickly withdrawn, and the tinder is found to be lighted. The natives say that no metal but lead will produce the effect.”

The same traveller gives an account of another mode of obtaining fire:—“Another interesting phenomenon these natives showed us, which, though no doubt easily explained on scientific principles, appeared very remarkable. As we sat in the veranda my cheroot went out, and I asked one of the Dyaks squatted at our side to give me a light.

“He took from his box of bamboo a piece of pitcher and a little tinder; put the latter upon the pitcher and held it under his thumb, struck sharply against the bamboo, and instantly offered me the tinder lighted. Several times subsequently we watched them obtain fire by this means, but failed to make out a reasonable theory for the result.”

Even rivers are bridged over in the same simple, but really efficacious manner, as the approaches to the houses. The mountain streams alternate greatly in depth and rapidity, and it is no uncommon occurrence for a heavy rain to raise a river some forty feet in its deep and rocky channel, and even after a single heavy shower the fords are rendered impassable. In consequence of this uncertainty, the Dyaks throw across the chasms such bridges as are described by Mr. St. John:—

“How light and elegant do these suspension-bridges look! One, in particular, I will attempt to describe. It was a broad part of the stream, and two fine old trees hung over the water opposite to each other. Long bamboos lashed together formed the main portion, and were fastened by smaller ones to the branches above; railings on either side were added to give greater strength and security, yet the whole affair appeared so flimsy, and was so far above the stream, that when we saw a woman and child pass over it we drew our breath until they were safe on the other side. And yet we knew that they were secure.

“I have often passed over them myself; they are of the width of one bamboo, but the side railings give one confidence. Accidents do happen from carelessly allowing the rattan lashings to rot. Once, when pressed for time, I was passing rapidly across with many men following close behind me, when it began to sway most unpleasantly, and crack! crack! was heard as several of the supports gave way. Most of my men were fortunately not near the centre, and relieved the bridge of their weight by clinging to the branches, otherwise those who were with me in the middle would have been precipitated on the rocks below. After that, we always passed singly over such neglected bridges.”

The domestic manufactures of the Dyaks are of a very high order, and display a wonderful amount of artistic taste. The mode of building canoes has already been mentioned, but the principal tool of the canoe maker is too curious to be passed over. The implement in question is singularly ingenious, combining within itself a number of qualifications. The general appearance of it can be seen by reference to the illustration, which is drawn from a specimen presented to me by C. T. C. Grant, Esq.

It is apparently a most insignificant tool, hardly worthy the hands of a child; and yet, when wielded by a Dyak, it produces the most remarkable results. The handle is only ten inches in length, and the blade measures barely an inch and a quarter across the widest part. The handle is made of two portions, united with a strong lashing of rattan, backed up by cement, The lower portion, which is curved exactly like the hilts of the Dyak swords, is made of a soft and light wood, while the upper part, which carries the head, is made of a hard, strong, and moderately elastic wood.

ADZE-AXE.

The head is made of iron, mostly imported, and is in all probability formed on the model of a stone implement that was formerly in use. As the reader may see, it is fastened to the wood by rattan, exactly as the stone heads of the Polynesian axes are held in their places by lashings of plaited sinnet.

But here the resemblance ends. The head of the Polynesian axe is immovable, whereas the essence of the Bornean axe is that the head can be shifted at will, by taking it out of the rattan lashing, reversing and replacing it, so that it forms an axe or an adze, as the user desires. The reader may remember that the Banyai tribe of Southern Africa have an axe made on a similar principle, though in their case the reversal is accomplished by cutting holes at right angles to each other, through which the shank of the iron head can be passed. (See p. 364, figs. 4, 5.)

With this tiny instrument the Dyaks not only shape their planks, but cut down the largest trees with a rapidity that an English workman could scarcely equal, in spite of the superiority of his axe. They have a very curious method of clearing away timber from a space of ground. They first cut away all the underwood with their parangs, or choppers, and then, with their little axes, cut the larger trees rather more than half through, leaving the largest to the last. This tree is then felled, and, as all the trees are bound together with rattans and other creepers, it brings down all the others in its fall.

(1.) A DYAK VILLAGE.
(See page 1149.)

(2.) A DYAK HOUSE.
(See page 1151.)

Although the iron which the Dyaks use is mostly imported, they are capable of smelting their own metal by a very simple process. By way of a crucible, they dig a small pit in the ground, and perforate the sides with holes, through which currents of air can be passed by means of the native bellows. Charcoal is first placed in the pit, and then the ore, well broken, is laid on the charcoal; and so the Dyak workmen proceed to fill the pit with alternate layers of charcoal and ore. A light is then introduced by means of a hole, the bellows are worked, and in a short time the metal is smelted. Although each man is generally capable of making his own tools on a pinch, there is generally a man in each village who is a professional blacksmith, and makes his living by forging spear heads and parang blades, as well as by keeping the weapons of the villagers in repair.

The basket work of the Dyaks is exceedingly good, color as well as form being studied in the manufacture. The basket called tambok is made of the nipa palm leaf, cut into strips not quite the twelfth of an inch wide, and stained alternately yellow and red. These are interwoven so as to produce a considerable variety of pattern, somewhat resembling that which is used in the sarongs and other woven fabrics. These patterns are nearly all combinations of the square, the zigzag, and the diamond; the last form, however, being nothing more than the square turned diagonally.

Although made in cylindrical form, the tambok is slightly squared by means of four strips of hard red wood, which are tightly fastened to the basket by rattan lashing. The bottom of the basket is squared in a similar manner, so as to flatten it and enable it to stand upright, and is defended by thicker strips of wood than those which run up the sides. The lid is guarded by two cross-strips of wood, and both the lid and the top of the basket are strengthened by two similar strips bound firmly round their edges. This basket is exceedingly light, elastic, strong, easily carried, and fully warrants the estimation in which it is held. Tamboks are made of almost all sizes, and are extensively used by the Dyaks, the Malays, and the European colonists.

Mats of various kinds are made by this ingenious people. One of these mats, which is in my possession, is a wonderful specimen of Dyak work. It is nine feet long and five wide, and is made of rattan, cut into very narrow strips—not wider, indeed, than those of the enlarged patterns of the tambok basket. These strips are interwoven with such skill as to form an intricate and artistic pattern. The centre of the mat is occupied by a number of spiral patterns, two inches in diameter, the spiral being produced by extensions of the zigzag already mentioned.

Around the spirals are three distinct borders, each with a definite pattern, and the whole is edged by a sort of selvage, which gives strength to the fabric, and prevents it from being torn. This kind of mat is exceedingly durable, the specimen in question having been long used in Borneo, then brought over to England, and employed as a floor-cloth; and, although cut in one or two places by chair-legs, is on the whole as firm as when it was made. As the rattan has not been dyed, the color of the mat is a pale yellow; but the pattern comes out with wonderful distinctness, just as is the case with good English table linen.

Like all uncivilized people, the Dyaks never hurry themselves about their manufactures. Time is no object to them; there is none of the competition which hurries European workmen through life. The women, who make these beautiful mats, go about their work in a very leisurely way, interweaving the slender rattan strips with infinite care, and certainly producing work that is thorough and sound.

The rattan is split in rather a curious manner. On account of the direction and length of its fibre, it will split almost ad infinitum into perfectly straight strips of very great length, so that the only difficulty is to cut the slips of precisely the same width. The knives with which this task is performed are rather peculiar. One of them has already been described on page 1125, as an appendage to the Bornean sword; but there is another which is so remarkable that it deserves a separate description.

The handle is bent at an angle like that of the parang-latok, described and figured on the page to which reference was just made. In order to produce this effect, the handle is made of two pieces of wood, the ends of which are bevelled off, so that when they are placed together they produce the angular form which is desired. The two pieces are fitted very neatly together, and the joint is strengthened by a thick coating of cement. The handle is further ornamented by having a long piece of brass wire coiled tightly round it, and is finished off at the end with the same kind of cement as that which is used at the joint.

Not only does the handle resemble that of the parang, but there is a great resemblance between the blades of the sword and the knife. The blade of this knife has been forged out of a square bar of steel, which has been first flattened, and then beaten out into the slightly curved form which is so largely used throughout the whole of this part of the world.

As is the case with the sword knife already described, this implement is used by putting the handle under the left arm and holding the blade firmly in front of the body, while both hands are at liberty to press the end of the rattan against the edge of the knife, and so to split it into as many strips as are needed. In spite of the comparative roughness of the manufacture, which dispenses with a finish and polish, the knife can take a very fine edge; and my own specimen, after having suffered rather rough usage, is so sharp that I have just mended a pen with it, and cut a piece of note paper edgewise. The blade of this knife is eleven inches in length.

In order to preserve the sharpness of the edge, the Dyak carries the knife in a sheath made simply of a small joint of bamboo, closed at the lower end of the natural knot, and carefully wrapped at each end with rattan to prevent it from splitting.

The cotton fabrics are entirely made by the women, from the preparation of the thread to the weaving of the stuff. They beat out the cotton with small sticks, and, by means of a rude sort of wheel, spin it out into thread very rapidly. They cannot compete with the English manufacturer in fineness of thread, but in durability there is no comparison between the two, the Dyak thread being stronger than that made in England, and the dye with which it is stained being so permanent that no fabric wears so well as that which is of native manufacture.

Although we can hardly rank the Dyak jars among native manufactures, they play so important a part in the domestic life of these tribes that they cannot be passed over without some notice.

The Dyaks have no real currency, and can scarcely be made to understand it. They perfectly comprehend direct barter, but the secondary barter by means of a circulating medium is, as a rule, beyond an ordinary Dyak. He will take some goods to the market for the purpose of exchanging them for some article which he wants; but he has no idea of selling his goods for money, and buying with that money the needed article.

The reader may remember that brass guns have already been mentioned as a sort of currency. These are nothing more or less than cannon of various sizes, which are valued by weight, and form a sort of standard by which prices are measured, like the English pound or the French franc. They are bored to carry balls from one to two pounds weight, and, though regarded chiefly in the light of money, are serviceable weapons, and can throw a ball to a considerable distance. There is an advantage about this kind of currency. It is not easily stolen, and outside the chiefs’ houses may be seen rows of brass guns lying on the ground unmounted and owing their safety to their weight.

There is also a second standard of value among the Dyaks. This is the Jar, an institution which, I believe, is unique. These jars are of earthenware, and as far as can be judged by appearance, must have been of Chinese manufacture. They are of different descriptions, and vary greatly in value. The commonest jars, called Naga or Dragon jars, are worth about seven or eight pounds, and derive their name from figures of dragons rudely scrawled on them. They are about two feet in height. The Rusa jar, which is next higher in value, is worth from ten to fifteen pounds, according to its quality, and is known by the figures of the Rusa deer which are drawn upon it.

But the most costly is the Gusi, which is worth almost any sum that the owner chooses to demand for it. The Gusi jar is neither large nor pretty. It is of a dark olive green color, and about two feet in height. These jars are very scarce, and are considered as being worth on an average about five hundred pounds. Seven or eight hundred pounds have been paid for a Gusi jar, and there have been one or two so valuable that many thousands pounds have been offered and refused for them.

Mr. St. John mentions a jar of this kind belonging to the Sultan of Brunei, which derived its chief value from the fact that it spoke on certain great occasions. For example, the Sultan declared that on the night before his wife died the jar uttered hollow moaning sounds, and that it never failed to apprize him of any coming misfortune by wailing pitifully. This jar is kept in the women’s apartments, and is always covered with gold brocade, except when wanted for consultation, or to exhibit its medicinal properties. Water poured into a Gusi jar is thought by the Dyaks and by the Malays to be the best possible medicine for all kinds of diseases, and, when sprinkled over the fields, to be a certain means of procuring a good crop. As the people are willing to pay highly for this medicated water, there is some reason for the enormous cost of these jars.

One of them is said to possess a quality which belongs to itself. It increased everything that was put into it. If, for example, it were half filled with rice in the evening it would be nearly full in the morning; and if water was poured into it, a few hours would increase the depth of water by several inches. It is remarkable that the art of making these jars is lost. The Chinese, admirable imitators as they are, have always failed when they have endeavored to palm off upon a Dyak a jar manufactured by themselves.

CHAPTER CXIX. BORNEO— Concluded . RELIGION—OMENS—FUNERALS.

THE STATE OF RELIGION AMONG THE DYAKS — THEIR BELIEF IN A SUPREME BEING — THE VARIOUS SUBORDINATE GODS — THE ANTUS, AND THEIR FORMS — CATCHING A RUNAWAY SOUL — THE BUAU AND HIS NATURE — ORIGIN OF LAND LEECHES — CHARMS, AND THEIR VALUE — OMENS — THE GOOD AND EVIL BIRDS — A SIMPLE CAUSE OF DIVORCE — THE ENCHANTED LEAF — THE ORDEALS OF DIVING, BOILING WATER, SALT, AND SNAILS — THE ENCHANTED WATER — A CURIOUS CEREMONY — DYAK FUNERALS — THE OFFICE OF SEXTON.

The religion of the Dyaks is a very difficult subject, as the people themselves seem to have an exceedingly vague idea of it, and to be rather unwilling to impart the little knowledge which they have. It is tolerably clear that they have an idea of a Supreme Being, whom they call by different names, according to their tribes; the Sea Dyaks, for example, calling him Batara, and the land Dyaks Tapa. Next to the Supreme, by whom mankind was created, were some very powerful though inferior deities, such as Tenabi, who made the earth and the lower animals; Iang, who taught religion to the Dyaks, and still inspires them with holiness; and Jirong, the lord of life and death.

Besides those chief deities there are innumerable Antus or minor gods, which correspond in some degree to the fauns and satyrs of the ancients. They are called by many names, and as, according to Dyak ideas, there is scarcely a square rod of forest that does not contain its Antu, the people live as it were in a world peopled with supernatural beings. Some of them even declare that they have seen the Antus, the chief distinction of whom seems to be that they have no heads, the neck being terminated in a sharp point. They are capable of assuming the form of a human being or of any animal at will, but always without heads, so that they can be at once recognized.

The story of one of these Antu-seers is a very strange one. He declared that he saw a squirrel in a tree, threw a spear at it, and brought it to the ground. When he went to pick it up, it suddenly rose, faced him, and changed itself into a dog. The dog walked a few paces, changed again into a human being, and sat slowly down on the trunk of a fallen tree. The body of the spectre was parti-colored, and instead of a head it had a pointed neck.

The Dyak ran off in terror, and was immediately smitten with a violent fever, his soul having been drawn from the body by the Antu, and about to journey toward the spirit world. The doctor, however, went off to the spot where the Antu appeared, captured the fugitive soul, brought it back, and restored it to the body by means of the invisible hole in the head through which the Antu had summoned it. Next morning the fever was gone, and the man was quite well.

They tell another story of one of these inimical beings, who are supposed to be ghosts of persons killed in battle, and called Buaus. A Buau pounced upon a woman named Temunyan during her husband’s absence, carried her off, and by his magic arts fixed her against a rock from which she could not move. When the husband returned, he went in search of his wife, and, having found her, concocted a scheme by which the Buau was induced to release her. By stratagem the husband contrived to destroy the Buau, and took his wife home.

She had, however, scarcely reached her home when she gave birth to a horrible being, of which the Buau was the father. Her husband instantly chopped it into a thousand pieces with his parang, and flung it into the jungle, when each fragment took life, and assumed the blood-sucking character of the demon parent. And thus the Buau was the original parent of land-leeches.

In order to propitiate these beings, the Dyaks are in the habit of making offerings of food, drink, and flowers to them before they undertake any great task, mostly putting the food into dishes or baskets, and laying it in the jungle for the use of the Antus.

Satisfied apparently with the multitude of their deities, the Dyaks possess no idols, a fact which is really remarkable, as showing the character of their minds. Charms, however, they have in plenty, and place the greatest reliance on them. Some charms are credited as rendering the wearer invulnerable, and it is likely that those attached to the parang described on page 1125 are of that character.

Mr. St. John mentions an amusing example of the value set upon these charms. There was a chief of very high rank, who possessed some exceedingly potent charms, which had been in his family for many generations, and had been handed down from father to son. They consisted of two round pebbles, one flat pebble, a little stone which had been found in a banana, and some sand. All these valuables were sewed up together and fastened to a string, by which they could be attached to the waist in times of peril.

Unfortunately, the chief lent these charms to a man who lost them, and was sued by the aggrieved owner before the English court. He gained his case, but was nearly as much dissatisfied with the court as with the defendant, inasmuch as he estimated the value of the charms at a Rusa jar, i. e. about thirty dollars, or seven pounds, whereas the value set on them by the court, and paid by the defendant, was fivepence.

Allusion has been already made to the birds on which the Dyaks so much rely as omens. These are three in number, the Kushah, the Kariak, and the Katupung. When a Dyak is about to start on an expedition, he goes to the place near the village where the feasting sheds are built, and there waits until he hears the cry of one of these birds. Should either the kushah or the katupung cry in the front, or on either side, and not be answered, the omen is bad, and the man gives up his expedition. It is a good sign, however, if the bird should first cry on one side and then be answered on the other. The most important bird is the kariak. If the cry of the kariak be heard on the right, the omen is good; if on the left, it is doubtful. But if the cry be heard behind the diviner, the omen is as bad as it can be, and portends at least sickness, if not death.

The Dyaks scarcely engage in any undertaking without consulting the birds, whom they believe to be half Dyaks, all birds having proceeded from the union of an Antu with a Dyak woman.

Mr. Brooke, in treating of this subject, has the following forcible remarks:—“Some of our party of Dyaks had proceeded, but most were yet behind, and will be sweeping down for the next week or more. Many go through the forms of their forefathers in listening to the sounds of omens; but the ceremony is now very curtailed, compared with what it was a few years ago, when I have known a chief live in a hut for six weeks, partly waiting for the twittering of birds to be in a proper direction, and partly detained by his followers. Besides, the whole way in advancing, their dreams are religiously interpreted and adhered to; but, as in all such matters, interpretations are liable to a double construction. The finale is, that inclination, or often fear, is most powerful. A fearful heart produces a disagreeable dream, or a bad omen in imagined sounds from birds or deer, and this always makes a force return. But they often loiter about so long, that the enemy gains intelligence of their intended attack, and is on the alert.

“However absurdly these omens lead the human race, they steadily continue to follow and believe in such practices. Faith predominates, and hugs huge wonders, and tenaciously lives in the minds of the ignorant. Some of the Dyaks are somewhat shaken in the belief in hereditary omens, and a few follow the Malay custom of using a particular day, which has a strange effect on European imaginations. The white man who commands the force is supposed to have an express bird and lucky charm to guide him onward; and to these the Dyaks trust considerably. ‘You are our bird, we follow you.’ I well know the names, and can distinguish the sounds of their birds, and the different hands on which the good and bad omens are interpreted.

“The effect of these signs on myself was often very marked, and no Dyak could feel an adverse omen more than myself when away in the jungle, surrounded by these superstitious people. Still, I could sympathize with the multitude, and the difficulty lay in the question, whether any influence would be sufficient to counteract such phantoms. It must not be thought I ever attempted to lead the Dyaks to believe that I was the owner of charms and such absurdities, which could not have lasted above a season, and could never be successful for a length of time. A maias’ (orang-outan’s) head was hanging in my room, and this they thought to be my director to successful expeditions.”

The cries of various animals are all interpreted by the Dyaks, those which have evil significations far outnumbering the good-omened cries. The worst of all omens is the cry of a deer, which will make a Dyak abandon any project on which he is engaged, no matter how deeply his heart may be set on it.

On one occasion, a Dyak had married a young girl for whom he had a very strong attachment, which was returned. On the third day after the marriage, the English missionary entered the head house and was surprised to see the young husband sitting in it hard at work on some brass wire. This was a very strong circumstance, as the head house is tenanted only by the bachelors. The missionary naturally asked him what he was doing there, and what had become of his wife, to which he answered sorrowfully that he had no wife, a deer having cried on the preceding night, so that they were obliged to dissolve the marriage at once.

“But,” said his interrogator, “are you not sorry for this?”

“Very sorry!”

“What are you doing with the wire?”

“Making ornaments for the girl whom I want for my new wife.”

It seems that the belief in the Antus is so ingrained in the minds of the Dyaks, that whenever any one meets with an accident, some Antu or other is presumed to have been the author of the injury, and to require appeasal. Mr. Brooke mentions that he once found the leaf of a palm tree folded in a peculiar manner, lying near his house. This was an offering to the Antu, because a man had fallen down there and injured himself.

The leaf was supposed to be possessed by the Antu, who would avenge himself if his leaf were disturbed by causing the arm of the offender to swell. However, Mr. Brooke picked up the leaf and threw it away, and within two days his arm became swollen and inflamed, and remained in that state for nearly a fortnight afterward.

In connection with this subject must be mentioned the ordeals by which disputes are often settled. These are of various kinds, but the favorite plan is the ordeal of diving. The two disputants are taken to the river and wade into the water up to the chin. At a given signal they plunge beneath the surface, and the one who can remain longest under water wins the case. There was a very curious instance of such an ordeal where the honor of a family was involved. The daughter of a chief was found to have disgraced herself, and laid the blame upon a young man of rank. He, however, utterly contradicted her story, and at last the dispute was brought to an end by the ordeal of diving. The young chief won his cause, and the result was that the offending girl had to leave the village, and her father was deserted by his followers, so that he was also obliged to seek another home.

Then there is the salt ordeal. Each litigant is provided with a lump of salt of precisely the same weight, and he whose salt retains its shape longest in water is held to be the winner. There is also the boiling-water test, which is exactly the same as that which was practised in England in former days, the hand being dipped into the hot liquid, and coming out uninjured if the appellant be innocent. Lastly, there is the snail ordeal. Each party takes a snail and puts it on a plate, and lime juice is poured over them, when the snail that first moves is considered to have indicated that its owner is in the wrong.

The reader may remember that the Dyaks are in the habit of purchasing water that has been poured into the sacred jars, and sprinkling it over their fields by way of ensuring fertility. They believe that water which has touched the person of a white man will have the same effect, especially if he be a man of some rank. So as soon as English officers arrive at a Dyak village, the natives have a custom of seizing them, pulling off their shoes and stockings, and washing their feet, the water being preserved as an infallible charm for promoting the growth of their crops.

They carry this principle to an extent which to us seems exceedingly disgusting. Long bamboos filled with dressed rice are brought to the visitors, who are requested to spit in them. The rice thus medicated is distributed among the assembled crowd, who press eagerly round, each attempting to secure a portion of the health-giving food. Some of the more cunning among the people try to secure a second and some a third supply, and Mr. St. John mentions an instance when one horrid old woman managed to be helped six times.

The same traveller mentions that the blood of fowls is thought to be a very powerful charm, and the Dyaks have a ceremony connected with the shedding of blood which is almost identical with the Jewish Passover. (See Exod. xii. 22.) A festival had been given in honor of the visitors. Their feet had been washed, and the water put aside. Their rice had been duly medicated, and the Orang-kaya began some curious ceremonies, flinging rice out of the windows, and accompanying the act with a prayer for fertility to the fields and prosperity to the village. He was evidently repeating a well-learned lesson, and it was ascertained that the words which he used were not understood by himself, so that we find among the Dyaks the relics of an expired language, the few remnants of which are preserved by religion, just as is the case with the inhabitants of New Zealand and other islands.

This portion of the ceremony being ended a sort of sacred dance was performed, the Orang-kaya and the elders going successively to the white visitors, passing their hands over their arms, and going off in a slow, measured tread, “moving their arms and hands in unison with their feet until they reached the end of the house, and came back to where we sat. Then came another pressure of the palm, a few more passes to draw virtue out of us, another yell, and off they went again—at one time there were at least a hundred dancing.

“For three nights we had had little sleep, on account of these ceremonies, but at length, notwithstanding clash of gong and beat of drum, we sank back in our beds, and were soon fast asleep. In perhaps a couple of hours I awoke, my companion was still sleeping uneasily, the din was deafening, and I sat up to look around.

“Unfortunate moment! I was instantly seized by the hands of two priests, and led up to the Orang-kaya, who was himself cutting a fowl’s throat. He wanted Captain Brooke to perform the following ceremony, but I objected to his being awakened, and offered to do it for him. I was taken to the very end of the house, and the bleeding fowl put in my hands. Holding him by his legs I had to strike the lintel of the doors, sprinkling a little blood over each. When this was over, I had to wave the fowl over the heads of the women and wish them fertility; over the children, and wish them health; over all the people, and wish them prosperity; out of the window, and invoke good crops for them.”

Funerals among the Dyaks differ slightly in the various tribes. The common people are buried or even burned with scarcely any ceremony, but the bodies of chiefs and their relatives are treated with a whole series of rites.

As soon as a chief dies, the corpse is dressed in his finest clothes, every ornament that he possessed is hung upon him, and his favorite swords and other weapons are laid by his side. The body is then placed on an elevated platform, and is watched and tended as if the dead man were still alive, food, drink, tobacco, and sirih being continually offered him, and the air kept cool by constant fanning. The men assemble on one side of the corpse, and the women on the other, and romp with each other as if the occasion were of a joyful rather than a sorrowful character. These games are continued until the corpse is far gone in decomposition, when it is placed in a coffin made of a hollowed tree trunk, and buried in a grave which must not be more than five feet deep.

Knowing the customs of the people, the Malays are apt to rifle the graves of dead chiefs, for the sake of obtaining the swords and other valuables that are buried with them. Formerly, after the body was laid in the grave, the sword, a jar or two, clothes, ornaments, and a female slave were placed in a canoe, the woman being firmly chained to it. When the tide was ebbing the boat was sent adrift, and was supposed to supply the spirit of the departed with all the goods that were on board. This custom, however, has been long discontinued, as the Dyaks found that the canoe and its contents almost invariably fell into the hands of the Malays, who thus procured slaves without paying for them, and enriched themselves besides with the swords, gold, and clothing.

The sexton’s office is hereditary, and whenever the line fails the Dyaks have great difficulty in finding some one who will not only take the office upon himself, but must also entail it upon his descendants. The office, however, is a very lucrative one, varying from a rupee to two dollars, a sum of money which can procure for a Dyak all the necessaries and most of the luxuries of life for several weeks.

The Kayan Dyaks do not bury their dead, but place the body in a very stout coffin made of a hollowed tree, and elevate it on two stout carved posts, with woodwork projecting from each corner, like the roofs of Siamese houses.

CHAPTER CXX. TIERRA DEL FUEGO. APPEARANCE—ARCHITECTURE—MANUFACTURES.

POSITION OF THE COUNTRY AND SIGNIFICATION OF THE NAME — CONFORMATION OF THE LAND AND ITS ANIMAL AND VEGETABLE LIFE — APPEARANCE OF THE FUEGIANS — ERRONEOUS IDEAS CONCERNING THEM — COLOR, COSTUME, AND MODE OF WEARING THE HAIR — INDIFFERENCE TO DRESS — PAINT AND ORNAMENTS — FUEGIAN ARCHITECTURE — THE POINTED AND ROUNDED HUTS — THE SPEAR AND ITS HEAD — BOWS AND ARROWS — STONE THROWING — WONDERFUL STRENGTH OF THE FUEGIANS — SKILL WITH THE SLING — STUDY OF PARTICULAR WEAPONS — FOOD OF THE FUEGIANS — ANGLING WITHOUT HOOKS — THE DOGS, FISHERS AND BIRD CATCHERS — THE DOG RESPECTED BY THE FUEGIANS — CANNIBALISM — THE TREE FUNGUS — CANOES — THE LARGE AND SMALL CANOES, AND THEIR USES — SHIFTING QUARTERS AND TRANSPORTING CANOES — COOKERY — GENERAL TEMPERAMENT OF THE FUEGIANS — JEMMY BUTTON — FUEGIAN GOVERNMENT.

At the extreme southern point of America is a large island, or rather a collection of islands separated by very narrow armlets of the sea. It is separated from the mainland by the strange tortuous Magellan’s Strait, which is in no place wide enough to permit a ship to be out of sight of land, and in some points is exceedingly narrow. As Magellan sailed through this channel by night, he saw that the southern shore was studded with innumerable fires, and he therefore called the country Tierra del Fuego, or Land of Fire. These fires were probably beacons lighted by the natives in order to warn each other of the approach of strangers, to whom the Fuegians have at times evinced the most bitter hostility, while at others they have been kind and hospitable in their way.

The country is a singularly unpromising one, and Tierra del Fuego on the south and the Esquimaux country on the north seem to be exactly the lands in which human beings could not live. Yet both are populated, and the natives of both extremities of this vast continent are fully impressed with the superiority of their country over all others.

Tierra del Fuego is, as its proximity to the South Pole infers, a miserably cold country, and even in the summer time the place is so cold that in comparison England would seem to be quite a tropical island. In consequence of this extreme cold neither animal nor vegetable life can be luxuriant. The forests are small, and the trees short, stumpy, and ceasing to exist at all at some fifteen hundred feet above the level of the sea. There is a sort of evergreen beech (Fagus betuloides).

There is only one redeeming point in the climate of Tierra del Fuego. The mosquito that haunts alike the hottest and coldest countries, and equally a terror in tropical and Arctic America, cannot live in Tierra del Fuego, the damp, as well as the cold, being fatal to it. Indeed, there are very few insects in this strange land, and reptiles are altogether absent.

Absence of vegetable life naturally results in absence of animal life, the herbivorous animals being starved out for want of their proper food, and the carnivora being equally unable to live, as finding no animals on which to feed. Man being omnivorous, has a slightly better chance of living, but even he could not multiply and fill the country when food is so limited, provided he were limited to the land, but, as he is master of the waters as well as of the earth, he can draw his living from the sea and rivers when the land refuses to supply him with food. Such is the case with the Fuegians, who are essentially people of the sea and its shore, and who draw nearly the whole of their subsistence from its waters, as we shall see in a future page.

Perhaps in consequence of the scantiness, the irregularity, and the quality of their food, the Fuegians are a very short race of men, often shorter than the average Bosjesman of Southern Africa, and even lower in the social scale. They ought not to be called dwarfs, as is too often the case, their bodies being tolerably proportioned, and their figures not stunted, but simply smaller than the average of Europeans, while the muscular development of the upper part of the body is really wonderful. As a rule, the average height of the Fuegian men is about five feet, and that of the women four feet six inches. In some parts of the islands there are natives of much larger size, but these are evidently immigrants from the adjacent country of Patagonia, where the stature is as much above the average of Europeans as that of the Fuegians is below it.

The color of the natives is a dark coppery brown, the reddish hue being only perceptible in spots where they happen accidentally to be clean. The limbs are generally slight, so that the knees and elbows seem to be disproportionately large, and their heads are covered with masses of black hair, that possesses no curl, and falls in long, wild tangled locks over their shoulders. The men are almost entirely beardless.

An illustration on the opposite page of a Fuegian man and woman gives a correct representation of the ugliness of feature and want of intelligence which characterize this people.

Both sexes allow their hair to run to its full length, except over the forehead, where it is roughly cut with a shell to prevent it from falling into the eyes. The people have a strange superstitious reverence for hair, and that portion which is cut off is deposited in a basket, and afterward carefully disposed of. Once, when the captain had snipped off a little hair from a Fuegian’s head, he found that he had given great offence, and was obliged to restore the severed hair and put away the scissors before the angry feelings of the native could be smoothed. On another occasion, the only mode of pacifying the offended native was by restoring the lock of hair, together with a similar lock from the head of the white man. The cut hair is generally burned.

Captain King’s account of the Fuegian women is not attractive.

“The hair of the women is longer, less coarse, and certainly cleaner than that of the men. It is combed with the jaw of a porpoise, but neither plaited nor tied; and none is cut away, except from over their eyes. They are short, with bodies largely out of proportion to their height; their features, especially those of the old, are scarcely less disagreeable than the repulsive ones of the men. About four feet and some inches is the stature of these she-Fuegians, by courtesy called women. They never walk upright; a stooping posture and awkward movement is their natural gait. They may be fit mates for such uncouth men; but to civilized people their appearance is disgusting. Very few exceptions were noticed.

“The color of the women is similar to that of the men. As they are just as much exposed, and do harder work, this is a natural consequence. Besides, while children they run about quite naked, picking up shell-fish, carrying wood, or bringing water. In the color of the older people there is a tinge of yellow, which is not noticed in the middle-aged or young.”

As is the case with many savage tribes, the teeth of the Fuegians are ground down to an almost flat surface. This is most conspicuous in the front teeth. There is little apparent distinction between the canine and the incisor teeth, both being ground down to such an extent that the only remains of the enamel are on the sides, and, as Captain King graphically remarks, “the front teeth are solid, and often flat-topped like those of a horse eight years old ... the interior substance of each tooth is then seen as plainly in proportion to its size as that of a horse.”

The mouth is large, and very coarsely formed, and as there is not a vestige of beard its full ugliness is shown to the best advantage.

One of the strangest phenomena connected with the Fuegians is their lack of clothing. In a climate so cold that in the middle of summer people have been frozen to death at no great elevation above the level of the sea, it might well be imagined that the natives would follow the same course as that adopted by the Esquimaux, and make for themselves garments out of the thickest and warmest furs that can be procured.

They might do so if they chose. In some parts of their country they have the thick-woolled guanaco (probably an importation from the mainland), and in others are deer and foxes, not to mention the dogs which they keep in a domesticated state. Besides, there are few furs warmer than those of the seal, and seals of various kinds abound on the Fuegian coasts, some, such as the sea-lion, being of very large size. Then there are various water birds, whose skins would make dresses equally light and warm, such as the penguin, the duck, the albatross, and the like.

(1.) FUEGIANS.
(See page 1162.)

(2.) PATAGONIANS.
(See page 1173.)

It is evident, therefore, that if the Fuegian is not warmly and thickly clothed, it is not from want of material, and that he is naked not from necessity but choice. And he chooses nudity, neither sex wearing any description of clothes except a piece of seal or deer skin about eighteen inches square hung over one shoulder. No other covering is worn except this patch of skin, which is shifted about from one side of the body to the other according to the direction of the wind, the Fuegian appearing to be perfectly indifferent to frost, rain, or snow. For example, a Fuegian mother has been seen with her child in her arms, wearing nothing but the little patch of seal-skin on the windward side, and yet standing unconcernedly in the snow, which not only fell on her naked shoulder, but was heaped between her child and her breast, neither mother nor infant seeming to be more than ordinarily cold. During mild weather, or when the Fuegian is paddling or otherwise engaged in work, he thinks that even the piece of seal-skin is too much for him, and throws it off.

Though careless about clothing, he is not indifferent to ornament, and decorates his copper-colored body in various ways. He uses paint in profusion, generally laying on a white ground made of a chalky clay, and drawing patterns upon it of black or dull brick-red. The black is simply charcoal reduced to powder. He likes necklaces, which are mostly white, and are made of the teeth of fishes and seals, or of pieces of bone. Ornaments of the same character are worn upon the wrists and ankles, so that, although the Fuegian has no clothes, he has plenty of savage jewelry.

Both sexes keep their long, straggling locks out of their eyes by means of a small fillet made of sinews, or the hair of the guanaco, twined round the forehead. Feathers and similar ornaments are stuck into this fillet; but if they be white, the spectator must be on his guard, for white down and feathers on the head are signs of war. Red, on the contrary, denotes peace; so that these people entirely reverse the symbolism of color which is accepted almost over the entire world. Sometimes a native may be seen so covered with black paint that the coppery color of the skin is entirely lost, and the complexion is as black as that of a negro. This is a sign of mourning, and is used on the death of a relation or friend.

The houses of the Fuegians are as simple as their dress, and practically are little but rude shelters from the wind. Any boy can make a Fuegian house in half an hour. He has only to cut a number of long branches, sharpen the thicker ends, and stick them into the ground, so as to occupy seven-eighths or so of a circle. Let him then tie the sticks together at the top, and the framework of the house is completed. The walls and roof are made by twisting smaller boughs among the uprights and throwing long coarse grass on them, and the entire furniture of the hut is comprised in a few armfuls of the same grass thrown on the ground.

The opening at the side is always made in the direction opposite the wind, and there is no attempt at a door; so that, in fact, as has been said, the Fuegian’s only idea of a house is a shelter from the wind, so that the natives have no idea of a home or even of a dwelling-place. This is the form of hut used by the Tekeenika tribes of south-eastern Fuegia. A Fuegian settlement, with houses and surrounding scenery, is well represented on the 1169th page.

That which is generally employed in other parts of Fuegia is even more simple. It is barely half the height of the Tekeenika hut, and looks something like a large bee-hive. It seldom, if ever, exceeds five feet in height, but, as the earth is scraped away within, another foot in height is given to the interior. It is made simply by digging a circular hole a foot or so in depth, planting green boughs around the excavation, bending them over, and tying their tops together. Upon this rude framework are fastened bunches of grass, sheets of bark, and skins; so that, on the whole, a habitation is formed which is equal in point of accommodation to a gipsy’s tent. These huts vary much in diameter, though not in height; for, while a number of huts are from four to five feet in height, their diameter will vary from six to twenty feet.

The Fuegians are a quarrelsome people, and the different tribes are constantly at war with each other; and, although they can scarcely be divided into definite tribes, the spirit of local jealousy is sufficiently strong within them to keep the inhabitants of one district at perpetual feud with those of another. The conformation of the country aids this feeling of jealousy, the land being divided by numerous ravines, armlets of the sea, and precipitous mountains; but, fortunately for the Fuegians, this very structure prevents destruction in war, although it encourages the ill-feeling which leads to war; and the battles of the Fuegians are, at the best, nothing but detached skirmishes, without producing the least political effect.

Their weapons are the bow and arrow, the spear, and the sling. These weapons are primarily intended for hunting, and are much more used for killing seals, guanacos, deer, fish, and birds than in slaying men. In the use of them the Fuegians are wonderfully expert. Capt. Parker Snow mentions a case where a number of Fuegians had assembled in their canoes round his vessel. A large fish happened to pass, whereupon the natives instantly speared it, and pitched it on board the ship.

The shafts of the spears sometimes reach the length of ten feet, and, instead of being rounded, as is mostly the case with spear shafts, are octagonal. The heads are made of bone, about seven inches in length, and have a single barb about four inches from the point. The Patagonians use a very similar weapon, as we shall presently see. There is another kind of spear head, which has a whole row of small barbs down one side. This weapon is used as a javelin, and is thrown with great force and accuracy, the native grasping it near the middle, poising for a moment, so as to look along it, and then hurling it.

The bow and arrow are mostly used for killing birds, the arrows being made of hard wood, about two feet long. They are headed with pieces of flint or obsidian, which are merely stuck in a notch at the end of the arrow, so that, when the shaft is withdrawn, the head remains in the wound. The bow is strung with twisted sinews. Birds are also killed by stones, some thrown by hand, and others with the sling, the wonderful strength of these strange people enabling them to use their missiles with terrible effect.

Although not tall, the Fuegians are very thick-set and enormously powerful. One of them, named by the sailors York Minster, was a match in point of muscular strength for any two of the men belonging to the ship. The women are as strong as the men. On one occasion, when three Fuegians, a man and two women, had treacherously attacked a white sailor, and were trying to beat out his brains with stones, they were interrupted, and the sailor rescued. The man was shot. One of the women tried to conceal herself under the bank, and the other was seized by the captain and his coxswain, who tried to pinion her arms. She struggled and fought so stoutly that they could scarcely achieve their object, and had no idea that they were contending with a woman until they heard some one announce the sex of their captive. As to the other woman, who was the oldest of the party, she clung so tightly to the bank that two of the strongest sailors could scarcely remove her.

The fate of the man was very curious, and illustrates the reckless, not to say senseless, courage of these people. He was mortally wounded, and fell back for a moment, allowing the maltreated sailor to escape. However, he instantly recovered himself, and, snatching stones from the bed of the stream in which he was standing, began to hurl them with astounding force and quickness. He used both hands, and flung stones with such truth of aim that the first struck the master, smashed his powder-horn to pieces, and nearly knocked him down. The two next were hurled at the heads of the nearest seamen, who just escaped by stooping as the missiles were thrown. All this passed in a second or two, and with an attempt to hurl a fourth stone the man fell dead.

Some time before this event the sailors had been astonished at the stone-throwing powers of the Fuegians, who nearly struck them with stones thrown by hand when they thought themselves even beyond musket shot. They generally carry a store of pebbles ready for use in the corner of their little skin mantles.

The sling is made of a cup of seal or guanaco skin, to which are attached two cords similar in material to the bow-strings, thus combining apparent delicacy with great strength. The cords of the sling are more than three feet in length. The skill which the Fuegians possess with this weapon is worthy of the reputation attained by the Balearic islanders. Captain King has seen them strike with a sling-stone a cap placed on a stump at fifty or sixty yards’ distance, and on one occasion he witnessed a really wonderful display of dexterity. He asked a Fuegian to show him the use of the weapon. The man immediately picked up a stone about as large as a pigeon’s egg, placed it in the sling, and pointed to a canoe as his mark. He then turned his back, and flung the stone in exactly the opposite direction, so that it struck the trunk of a tree, and rebounded to the canoe. The men seem to think the sling a necessity of life, and it is very seldom that a Fuegian is seen without it either hung over his neck or tied round his waist.

It is rather a curious fact that the Fuegians always devote themselves to one particular weapon. One, for example, will be pre-eminent in the use of the bow, another will excel in throwing stones with the hand, and a third will give all his energies to the sling. Yet, although each man selects some particular arm in the use of which he excels, they all are tolerable masters of the other weapons, and it sometimes happens that a Fuegian crosses over to the Patagonian coast, procures the singular weapon called the “bolas,” of which the reader will learn more presently, and becomes almost as expert in its use as the man from whom he obtained it.

As for the food of the Fuegians, it is, as I have already mentioned, chiefly drawn from the sea. He is an excellent fisherman, and manages to capture his prey without even a hook. He ties a bait on the end of the line, dangles it before the fish, and gradually coaxes it toward the surface of the water. He then allows it to bite, and, before it can detach its teeth from the bait, jerks it out of the water with his right hand, while with the left he catches or strikes it into the canoe. It is evident that by this manner of angling it is impossible to catch fish of any great size. As soon as he has caught the fish, the Fuegian opens it by the simple plan of biting a piece out of its under surface, cleans it, and hangs it on a stick.

Molluscs, especially the mussels and limpets which are found on the sea-shores, form a very considerable portion of the Fuegian’s diet; and it is a curious fact that these natives never throw the empty shells about, but carefully lay them in heaps. They are especially careful not to throw them back into the sea, thinking that the molluscs would take warning by seeing the shells of their comrades, and would forsake the coast. Every woman is furnished with a short pointed stick of hard wood, with which she knocks the limpets off the rocks.

There is a very large species of mussel found on these shores, which is particularly useful to the Fuegian, who employs its shell as a knife. These tools are made in a very simple manner. The Fuegian first knocks off the original edge of the shell, which is brittle and rather fragile, and, by grinding it against the rocks, produces a new edge, which is sharp enough to cut wood and even bone.

By means of the spear and arrows, the Fuegian contrives even to capture seals and sea-otters, but the pursuit in which he shows his greatest ingenuity is the capture of fish by means of dogs. These dogs are little, fox-like looking dogs, which appear utterly incapable of aiding their masters in hunting. Yet they are singularly intelligent in their own way, and have learned a most curious fashion of taking fish. When a shoal of fish approaches the land, the dogs swim out and enclose them, splashing and diving until they drive the shoal into a net, or into some creek when the water is sufficiently shallow for the spear and arrow to be used. The dogs are also taught to catch the birds while sleeping. They creep up to the birds quietly, pounce upon them, carry them to their masters, and return for more, and all so silently that the birds around are not disturbed.

These animals are regarded with very mingled feelings. The Fuegian neglects them and illtreats them, scarcely ever taking the trouble to feed them, so that if they depended on the food given them by their masters they would starve. However, their aquatic training gives them the power of foraging for themselves, and, when not required by their masters, they can catch fish on their own account. They are odd, sharp nosed, bushy tailed animals, with large, pointed, erect ears, and usually with dark rough hair, though a few among them have the fur nearly white. They are watchful and faithful to their masters, and the sight of a stranger, much more of a clothed stranger, sets them barking furiously.

Although the Fuegian neglects his dog, he has a great respect and even affection for the animal. It often happens that the mussels and limpets fail, that the weather is too tempestuous for fishing, and that in consequence the people are reduced to the brink of starvation. It might be presumed that, having their dogs at hand, they would avail themselves of so obvious a source of food. This, however, they never do, except when reduced to the last extremity, and, instead of eating their dogs, they eat their old women, who, as they think, are worn out and can do no good, while the dogs, if suffered to live, will assist in catching fish and guanacos.

When they have determined on killing an old woman, they put a quantity of green wood on their fire, so as to cause a thick, suffocating smoke, and in this smoke they hold the poor creature’s head until she is stifled. Unless there is very great distress, the women eat the upper part of the victim and the men the lower, the trunk being thrown into the sea.

Several species of echinus, or sea urchins, are eaten by the Fuegians, who dive for them and bring them to the surface, in spite of the sharp prickles with which the entire surface is beset.

The Fuegian’s great feast, however, takes place when a whale is stranded on the shore. All the people within reach flock to the spot, while fleets of canoes surround the stranded monster, and its body is covered with little copper-colored men carving away the blubber with their shell knives. Each cuts as much as he can get, and when he has torn and carved off a large piece of blubber, he makes a hole in the middle, puts his head through the aperture, and thus leaves his hands free to carry more of the dainty food. Besides this animal food, the Fuegian eats a remarkable kind of fungus, which is found on the antarctic beech, the tree which has already been mentioned. Mr. Webster gives the following description of it:—

“The antarctic beech is the common and prevailing tree. It is an elegant evergreen. It grows to the height of thirty or forty feet, with a girth of from three to five feet, and sometimes, doubling these dimensions, it forms a majestic tree. In December it puts forth a profusion of blossoms, with anthers of bright pink, large and pendent. This evergreen beech frequently has round the upper part of the trunk, or on some of the larger branches, large clusters of globular fungi of a bright orange color. Each fungus is about the size of a small apple, of a soft pulpy nature, with a smooth yellow skin. As it approaches maturity it becomes cellular and latticed on its surface, and when it drops from the tree, dries, and shrivels into a brown mass resembling a morel.

“The Fuegians eat this fungus with avidity. The gelatinous mass is pale, without taste or odor; at the part in contact with the tree are two germs or processes. From twenty to thirty of these fungi are clustered together, and encircle the tree. They form a very conspicuous object, and wherever they are attached they produce a hard knot, or woody tumor, of considerable density. I did not observe them on any other tree than the evergreen beech.”

Passing so much of his time on the sea, the Fuegian needs a boat of some kind, and, debased as he is in many points, he is capable of constructing a vessel that answers every purpose he requires. There are several kinds of Fuegian canoes. The simplest form is made of the bark of a sort of birch, and is in fact formed much like the primitive canoes of the Australians. It is a single sheet of bark stripped from the tree, and tied firmly together at each end. Several sticks placed crosswise in the middle serve to keep it open; and if any part has a tendency to bulge in the opposite direction, a skin thong is passed across the boat and keeps it in shape. The ends of the canoe, as well as any cracks or holes in the bark, are caulked with dry rushes and a pitchy resin procured from trees.

Like the Australian, the Fuegian carries fire in these tiny canoes, placing a lump of clay in the bottom of the boat, building the fire on it, and so being able to remain at sea for a considerable time, cooking and eating the fish as fast as he catches them. Such a boat as this, however, is too frail to be taken far from land, or indeed to be used at all when the weather is tempestuous. Moreover, it only holds one or two persons, and is therefore unfitted for many purposes for which a Fuegian requires a canoe. A much larger and better kind of canoe is therefore made, which has the useful property of being made in separate parts so that the canoe can be taken to pieces, and the various portions carried overland to any spot where the canoe may be wanted. Such a vessel as this is about fifteen feet in length and a yard in width, and, being very buoyant, is capable of holding a whole family, together with their house, and weapons, and utensils. It is considerably raised both at the bow and the stern, and the various pieces of which it is made are sewed together with thongs of raw hide.

The very character of a Fuegian’s life shows that he must, to a certain degree, be a nomad. He never cultivates the soil, he never builds a real house, he never stores up food for the future, and so it necessarily follows that when he has eaten all the mussels, limpets, oysters, and fungi in one spot, he must move to another. And, the demands of hunger being imperious, he cannot wait, but, even if the weather be too stormy to allow him to take his canoe from one part of the coast to another, he is still forced to go, and has therefore hit upon the ingenious plan of taking his canoe to pieces, and making the journey by land and not by sea. An illustration on the following page shows him shifting quarters.

All he has to do in this case is to unlace the hide thongs that lash the canoe together, take it to pieces, and give each piece to some member of the family to carry, the strongest taking the most cumbrous pieces, such as the side and bottom planks, while the smaller portions are borne by the children. When the snow lies deep, the smaller canoe is generally used as a sledge, on which the heavier articles are placed. As to the hut, in some cases the Fuegians carry the upright rods with them; but they often do not trouble themselves with the burden, but leave the hut to perish, and cut down fresh sticks when they arrive at the spot on which they mean to settle for a time.

The Fuegians are good fire makers, and do not go through the troublesome process of rubbing two sticks upon each other. They have learned the value of iron pyrites (the same mineral which was used in the “wheel-lock” fire-arm of Elizabeth’s time), and obtain it from the mountains of their islands. The tinder is made either of a dried fungus or moss, and when the pyrites and a pebble are struck together by a skilful hand, a spark is produced of sufficient intensity to set fire to the tinder. As soon as the spark has taken hold of the tinder, the Fuegian blows it until it spreads, and then wraps it up in a ball of dry grass. He rapidly whirls the grass ball round his head, when the dry foliage bursts into flames, and the fire is complete.

Still, the process of fire making is not a very easy one, and the Fuegians never use their pyrites except when forced to do so, preferring to keep a fire always lighted, and to carry a firestick with them when they travel. Fire is, indeed, a necessary of life to the Fuegians, not so much for cooking as for warming purposes. Those who have visited them say that the natives always look cold and shivering, as indeed they are likely to do, considering that they wear no clothes, and that even in their houses they can but obtain a very partial shelter from the elements.

Their cookery is of the rudest description, and generally consists in putting the food into the hot ashes, and allowing it to remain there until it is sufficiently done for their taste—or, in other words, until it is fairly warmed through. Cooking in vessels of any kind is unknown to them, and the first lessons given them in cooking mussels in a tin pan were scarcely more successful than those in sewing, when the women invariably made a hole in the stuff with the needle, pulled the thread out of the eye, and then insinuated it through the hole made by the needle. They were repeatedly taught the use of the eye in carrying the thread, but to little purpose, as they invariably returned to the old fashion which they had learned with a fish-bone and fibre of sinew.

(1.) A FUEGIAN SETTLEMENT.
(See page 1165.)

(2.) FUEGIANS SHIFTING QUARTERS.
(See page 1168.)

Though so constantly in the water, the Fuegians have not the most distant idea of washing themselves. Such a notion never occurs to them, and when Europeans first came among them, the sight of a man washing his face seemed to them so irresistibly ludicrous that they burst into shouts of laughter. In consequence of this utter neglect of cleanliness, and the habit of bedaubing themselves with grease and clay, they are very offensive to the nostrils, and any one who wishes to cultivate an acquaintance with them must make up his mind to a singular variety of evil odors. Moreover, they swarm with parasites, and, as they will persist in demonstrating friendly feelings by embracing their guest with a succession of violently affectionate hugs, the cautious visitor provides himself either with an oil-skin suit, or with some very old clothes, which he can give away to the natives as soon as he regains his vessel.

Although the Fuegians are often ill-disposed toward strangers, and indeed have murdered many boats’ crews, Captain Parker Snow contrived to be on very friendly terms with them, going on shore and visiting them in their huts, so as to place himself entirely in their power, and allowing them to come on board his ship. He was fortunate in obtaining the services of a native, called Jemmy Button, who had been partially educated in England, with the hope that he might civilize his countrymen. However, as mostly happened in such cases, he was soon stripped of all his goods; and when Captain Snow visited Tierra del Fuego, twenty-three years afterward, he found Jemmy Button as naked and dirty as any of his countrymen, as were his wife and daughter.

The man, however, retained much of his knowledge of English, a few words of which he had engrafted upon his native language. When first he arrived on board, the English words came with difficulty; but he soon recovered his fluency, and had not forgotten his manners, touching his forehead as he stepped on the quarter-deck, and making his bow in sailor fashion when he addressed the captain, to the entire consternation of the sailors, who could not understand an absolutely naked savage speaking English, and being as well-mannered as themselves.

The faculty of acquiring language is singularly developed in the Fuegian. Generally, the inhabitants of one country find great difficulty in mastering the pronunciation, and especially the intonation, of a foreign land; but a Fuegian can repeat almost any sentence after hearing it once, though of course he has not the slightest idea of its meaning.

A very absurd example of this curious facility of tongue occurred to some sailors who went ashore, and taught the natives to drink coffee. One of the Fuegians, after drinking his coffee, contrived to conceal the tin pot, with the intention of stealing it. The sailor demanded the restoration of his property, and was greatly annoyed that every word which he uttered was instantly repeated by the Fuegian. Thinking at last, that the man must be mocking him, and forgetting for the instant that he did not understand one word of English, the sailor assumed a menacing attitude, and bawled out, “You copper-colored rascal, where is my tin pot?” The Fuegian, nowise disconcerted, assumed precisely the same attitude, and exclaimed in exactly the same manner, “You copper-colored rascal, where is my tin pot?” As it turned out, “the copper-colored rascal” had the pot tucked under his arm.

The natives evidently seemed to think that their white visitors were very foolish for failing to comprehend their language, and tried to make them understand by bawling at the top of their voice. On one or two occasions, when a number of them came on board, they much annoyed Captain Snow by the noise which they made, until a bright thought struck him. He snatched up a speaking trumpet, and bellowed at his visitors through it with such a stunning effect that their voices dropped into respectful silence, and they began to laugh at the manner in which they had been out-bawled by a single man.

As far as can be ascertained, the Fuegians have no form of government. They live in small communities, not worthy of the name of tribes, and having no particular leader, except that the oldest man among them, so long as he retains his strength, is looked up to as a sort of authority. Their ideas of religion appear to be as ill-defined as those of government, the only representative of religion being the conjuror, who, however, exercises but very slight influence upon his fellow countrymen.

CHAPTER CXXI. THE PATAGONIANS. APPEARANCE—WEAPONS—HORSEMANSHIP.

POSITION OF PATAGONIA — STATURE OF THE INHABITANTS — SIGNIFICATION OF THE NAME — HORSE FURNITURE — THE STIRRUP AND BOOT — AN INGENIOUS SPUR — THE GIRTH AND ITS CONSTRUCTION — PRIMITIVE BUCKLES — THE BRIDLE AND ITS ACCOMPANYING WHIP — THE PATAGONIAN AND SPANISH BITS — SIZE AND STRENGTH OF THEIR HORSES — HORSE-RACING — THE BOLAS, THEIR CONSTRUCTION, AND DIFFERENT VARIETIES OF FORM — WAR IN PATAGONIA-THE SPARE HORSES AND THEIR USE — THE RETURN FROM BATTLE — A HUNTING EXPEDITION — CHASING THE GUANACO — A TERRIFIED HERD — THE DISADVANTAGE OF CURIOSITY — DECOY GUANACOS — PARTRIDGE CATCHING — THE POWER OF FASCINATION.

Separated from Tierra del Fuego by a strait so narrow that in certain spots human beings might converse across the water, is the land called Patagonia.

It derives this now familiar title from a nickname given to the inhabitants by Magellan’s sailors. As we shall presently see when treating of their costume, the Patagonians wear a sort of gaiter to protect their ankles against thorns. These gaiters are made of the furry skin of the guanaco, the long hair spreading out on either side of the foot. The sailors, ever ready to ridicule any custom new to them, remarked this conspicuous part of the dress, and nicknamed the natives Patagones, i. e. duck-feet, a name which has ever since adhered to them, and even been applied to their country.

The narrow armlet of sea, to which reference has been made, divides two lands utterly opposed to each other, and inhabited by people totally distinct in appearance and habits. Tierra del Fuego has scarcely a level spot in it, but is composed of even set ravines clothed with trees, and precipitous, snow-clad mountains. Patagonia, on the contrary, abounds in vast level plains, unfertile and without a tree on them.

The human inhabitants of these countries are as different as the lands themselves, the Fuegians being below the average height, and the Patagonians above it. Yet, just as the Fuegian is not such an absolute dwarf, as has often been stated, the Patagonian is not such an absolute giant, a regiment of English Lifeguards being as tall as an equal number of Patagonians. It is true that if a Patagonian regiment of picked men were raised they would overtop even the Guardsmen, but the old tales about an average of seven or even eight feet are unworthy of credit. Some of the older voyagers even attribute to the Patagonians a much loftier stature, saying that some of them were twelve feet in height, and that when one of them stood with his legs apart, an ordinary man could walk between them without stooping.

The color of the Patagonians is somewhat like that of the Fuegians, being a dark copper brown, the reddish hue coming out well on any part of the skin that happens to be less dirty than others. The hair is coarse, long and black, and is allowed to hang loosely about their faces, being merely kept out of their eyes by a small fillet of guanaco hair. There is scarcely any eyebrow, a deficiency which always gives an unpleasant expression to the eyes, and indeed, even in the old men, the face is almost devoid of hair. The face is roundish, the width being increased by the great projection of the cheek-bones, and the chin is rather broad and prominent. The small, restless eyes, are black, as is the hair, and rather hidden under the prominent brows. The nose is narrow between the eyes, but the nostrils are broad and fleshy. The mouth is large, and the lips rather thick, but altogether the face is not a bad one. The illustration on the 1163d page, of a Patagonian man and woman furnishes a striking contrast with the Fuegians, their neighbors.

The dress of the Patagonians is simple, but sufficient, and in this respect they form a great contrast to the absolutely naked Fuegians of the opposite shores. The chief part of the costume consists of a large mantle made of guanaco skins. The guanaco is, as the reader may possibly be aware, one of the llama tribe, and is about the size of a deer. It is covered with a thick woolly coat, the long hair of which is valuable, not only to the Patagonians, but to Europeans, by whom it is made into various fabrics.

It is very plentiful in this country, fortunately for the Patagonians, to whom the guanaco is the very staff of life, the creature that supplies him with food, clothes, and dwelling. Sometimes it is seen in great droves of several hundreds in number, but it generally associates in smaller herds of twenty or thirty individuals. It is a shy animal, as well it may be, considering the many foes that are always ready to fall upon it; and as it is swift as well as shy, great skill is required in capturing it, as will presently be seen.

The guanaco-skin mantle is very large, and when folded round the body and clasped by the arms, falls as low as the feet; and when a tall Patagonian is seen in this mantle, which adds apparently to his height, he presents a very imposing appearance. Generally, the mantle is confined round the waist by a belt, so that when the wearer chooses, he can throw off the upper part of it, his hands remaining at liberty for action. Under the mantle he wears a small apron.

Next come the curious gaiters, which have been already mentioned. At first sight they look like boots reaching from the knee downward, but when examined more closely, they are seen to be devoid of sole, having only a strap that passes under the middle of the foot, so that the heel and toes and great part of the sole are left unprotected. The reason of this structure is, that the Patagonian is nearly always on horseback, and the toe is made to project beyond the gaiter in order to be placed in the stirrup, which is very small and triangular.

As the Patagonians are so devoted to horsemanship no sketch of this people would be adequate without an account of their horse accoutrements. I have a complete set in my possession. The saddle is made of four pieces of wood, firmly lashed together with raw-hide thongs, and both the front and back of the saddle are alike. From the sides depend the stirrups, which are appended to leathern thongs, and are made in a very simple manner. A hole is made at each end of a stout leathern strap, and a short piece of stick about half an inch in diameter is thrust through them, being retained in its place by a groove near each end. The strap being attached by its middle to the thongs which act as stirrup-leathers, the article is complete.

As the space between the grooves is rather less than three inches, it necessarily follows that the Patagonian horseman can only insert his great toe in the stirrup. This, however, is sufficient hold for him, as he is an admirable though careless looking rider, the greater part of his life, from childhood upward, having been spent on horseback.

The spur is as primitive as the stirrup, and exactly resembles in principle the prick-spurs of the ancient knights. It consists of two pieces of stick, exactly like those employed for the stirrups, and two short straps of cowhide. A hole is made at each end of the strap, and the sticks are pushed through them, being held in their places, like those of the stirrups, by a groove cut half an inch from their ends, so that the two sticks are held parallel to each other.

To the upper ends of each stick a leathern thong is applied, and these thongs, being tied over the instep, hold the spur in its place. At the other ends of the sticks holes are bored, into each of which a sharp iron spike is inserted. In my own specimen, the maker has been economical of his iron, and has only inserted spikes in one of the sticks, so that when the spurs are worn with the spiked stick inward, they are quite as effective as if both sticks were armed. Still, the hole for the reception of the spikes has been bored in all the sticks, and there is no doubt that the Patagonian who made the spurs would have inserted the spikes at some time or other.

The spur is worn as follows: The armed sticks come on either side of the foot, the strap which is next to the spiked ends goes round the heel, the other strap passes under the hollow of the foot, and the hide thongs are tied over the instep. Such a spur as this is not only an effective but a cruel instrument, really as bad as the huge metal spurs, with rowels four inches in diameter, which the Gauchos wear. It is impossible to see this simple form of spur without recalling the old story of “Sandford and Merton,” and referring to the adventure of Tommy Merton, who, on being forbidden to use spurs, stuck pins into the heels of his boots, and was run away with in consequence.

The girth is a singularly ingenious piece of work. The strength of the girth itself is prodigious. At first sight it looks as if it were a single broad belt of leather, but a nearer inspection shows that it is made of twenty-two separate cords, each about the eighth of an inch in thickness, laid side by side, and united at intervals by several rows of similar cords of strings. Each of these cords is made of two strands of raw hide, probably that of guanaco, and looks as strong as ordinary catgut. Buckles are unknown to the Patagonian, who has invented in their stead a mode of tightening the girth by passing straps through holes, hauling upon them, and fastening off the ends.

The bit and bridle are equally ingenious. It consists of a squared bar of iron four and a half inches long, the ends of which are passed through holes in doubled pieces of hide, and hammered when cold into a sort of rivet-like shape, so as to retain the leather in its place. To the lower part of the leathers are attached a couple of stout thongs, which are passed under the lower jaw of the horse, and then tied, so that they keep the bit in its place, and at the same time act as a sort of curb.

To the upper part of the leathers are fixed the long plaited thongs which are used as reins, and which seem strong enough to hold an elephant, much more a horse. The Patagonian uses no separate whip, but has a long double strap of stout hide, which is fixed to the junction of the reins, so that there is no danger of losing it.

This is the ordinary bit of a Patagonian hunter, but those who can obtain it like to use the cruel Spanish bit, which they fit up in their own way with thongs of plaited hide. One of these bits is shown in illustration No. 4 on the following page. The principal distinguishing point about these bits is the large iron ring, which passes over the horse’s jaw, and gives to the rider a leverage so powerful that he could break the jaw of any horse without making any very great exertion. By the use of this bit, the horse is soon taught to stop almost suddenly, to wheel in a very limited area, and to perform the various evolutions which are needed in carrying out the pursuit in which the Patagonian depends for much of his livelihood.

The reins which are attached to this bit are of enormous strength, and are plaited in a square form, so that no amount of pulling which any horse could accomplish would endanger them. The whip is attached to these reins like that of the last mentioned apparatus, but is more severe, thicker, and heavier, and is made of a long and broad belt of hide, cut into four strips, which are plaited together, flat and narrow strips about four inches long answering as the lash. It will be seen that the Patagonian is by no means merciful to his beast, but that he uses a bit, spur, and whip which are, though so simple in appearance, more severe in practice than those which have a far more formidable aspect.

The horses which he rides are descended from those which were introduced by the Spaniards, and which have multiplied so rapidly as almost to deserve the name of indigenous animals. They are of no great size, being under fifteen hands high, and belonging to that well-known mustang breed which is more celebrated for strength and endurance than for aspect, qualities which are indispensable in an animal that has to carry so heavy a rider after creatures so fleet as the guanaco or the rhea.

The Patagonians are fond of racing, but never make their courses longer than a quarter of a mile. The reason for these short races is, that their horses are not required to run for any length of time at full speed, but to make quick and sudden dashes, so as to enable the rider to reach his prey, and hurl the singular missiles with which he is armed.

There is yet an article needed to complete the equipment of a Patagonian. This is the celebrated “bolas,” a weapon which looks almost contemptible, but in practised hands is exceptionably formidable. It consists of two or sometimes three balls at the end of hide thongs. The form most in use is that which is represented in illustration No. 3 on the next page. The native name for the two-ball bolas is somai, and that for the three-ball weapon is achico.

The first point in making the bolas is to procure the proper balls, and the second to prepare the proper rope to which they are fastened. The ordinary balls are made of stone, and are nearly as large as cricket balls. They are made by the women, who pass much of their time in supplying the men with these necessaries of life. To cut and grind one of these stones is a good day’s work, even for an accomplished workwoman.

A still more valuable ball is made of iron, which has the advantage of being so much heavier than stone that the ball is considerably smaller, and therefore experiences less resistance from the air, a quality which is of the first consequence in a missile weapon. The most valuable are those which are made of copper, as is the case with the specimen from which the illustration is taken. Each of these balls weighs eighteen ounces, in spite of its small size, so that the weapon is a very formidable one.

The thong to which the balls are attached is nine feet in length, and is made in the following manner: two pairs of thongs of raw hide are cut, and, while they are still fresh and wet, each pair is twisted together so as to form a two-stranded rope. These ropes are again twisted into one, so that the aggregate strength of the four is enormous.

Round each of the balls is then laid a circular piece of guanaco hide, with holes bored all round the edge. The ends of the thongs being passed through the holes and laced tightly, the raw hide is drawn over the balls, and encloses them in a sort of pocket, as is seen by the enlarged figure in the illustration. This specimen is one of the three-ball weapons. In this case a third thong five feet six inches in length has been twisted, one end fastened to a ball, and the other interlaced with the strands of the first thong exactly at its centre. We have now the three-ball bolas, which is made in such a manner that, when the thongs are grasped at their points of junction, two of the balls hang at equal depths from the hand, and the third is just a foot below them.

(1.) STIRRUPS AND SPURS.
(See page 1196.)

(2.) LASSOS.
(See page 1197.)

(3.) PATAGONIAN BOLAS.
(See page 1174.)

leather plait

(4.) SPANISH BIT AND PATAGONIAN FITTINGS.
(See page 1174.)

The bolas is to the Patagonian what the kris is to the Malay, the boomerang to the Australian, the lasso to the Gaucho, the club to the Fijian, and the bow to the Andamaner. From early childhood upward no Patagonian is without this weapon, which seems to him an absolute necessity of existence. Generally he carries it twisted round his waist, like an officer’s sash of the olden days, the balls dangling at the side like the tassels of the sash.

It is, however, coiled on the body with such consummate skill that it can be cast loose with a turn of the hand, the eye being fixed on the object of attack, and in a moment the Patagonian is fully armed. Putting aside warfare, which in Patagonia is scarcely known, the tribes, or rather the families, not being strong enough to wage real war upon each other, the so-called battles are unworthy of any name except that of skirmishes, which among themselves seem to do no great harm, however formidable they may be to opponents who happen to be unacquainted with the mode of fighting practised by the Patagonians.

For example, a dozen trained riflemen, on foot, who could thoroughly depend on each other, would overmatch ten times their number of mounted Patagonians, who, every whit as brave as themselves, are ignorant of discipline, and fight every man for his own hand.

Let the riflemen once allow the Patagonians to come within thirty yards, and they would be annihilated; but as long as the foe could be kept out of throwing distance, they are comparatively harmless.

When a Patagonian intends to attack either a human enemy, or some animal of chase, or even, as often happens, some wild beast or bird, he slips the ever-ready bolas from his waist, grasps the thongs at their point of union, drives his primitive spurs into the flanks of his rough-coated steed, and dashes off at full gallop, whirling the bolas round his head by a dexterous movement of his flexible wrist.

As soon as he comes within throwing distance, which materially varies according to the strength of the thrower and the structure of the bolas, he hurls his singular weapon with unerring skill. No sooner does it leave his hand than the centrifugal force causes the balls to diverge, and they fly round and round in the air with a motion exactly resembling that which an English street acrobat imparts to a couple of padded balls at the ends of a string, when he wants to clear the ground.

Urged by the stalwart arm of the Patagonian, the bolas flies straight to its mark, and no sooner does it strike it, than the impetus communicated to the balls causes the thongs to twist round the unfortunate victim, and bring him at once to a halt. Indeed, should a man be struck by the bolas, he may congratulate himself if in three minutes afterwards he finds himself alive, neither having been strangled by the cords twisting round his neck, nor brained by the heavy balls coming in contact with his skull.

The skill which the Patagonians attain is really marvellous. At any distance short of fifty yards a victim marked is a victim slain. So terrific is the gripe of the bolas thong, that Europeans who have been struck with it have been found to suffer from weals as well marked as if they had been made by the stroke of a “cow-hide” whip upon the bare flesh.

An excellent description of the various kinds of bolas is given by Captain King:—

“Sometimes two balls, each of which has a cord about a yard in length, are fastened to the thong of the larger set. This is to entangle the victim more effectually. They do not try to strike objects with these balls, but endeavor to throw them so that the thong shall hit a prominent part; and then, of course, the balls swing round in different directions, and the thongs become so ‘laid up’ (or twisted), that struggling only makes the captive more secure.

“They can throw them so dexterously as to fasten a man to his horse, or catch a horse without harming him. If an animal is to be caught without being thrown down suddenly—an inevitable consequence of these balls swinging round his legs while at full speed—a somai is thrown upon his neck. The two balls hang down, and perplex him so much by dangling about his fore-legs that his speed is much checked, and another set of balls or a lasso may be used to secure without throwing him down. The lasso is not much used, so adroit, are they with the balls.

“A formidable missile weapon is the single ball, called by the Spaniards ‘bola perdida.’ This is similar to the other in size and substance, but attached to a slighter rope about a yard long. Whirling this ball, about a pound in weight, with the utmost swiftness around their heads, they dash it at their adversary with almost the force of a shot. At close quarters it is used, with a shorter scope of cord, as an efficient head-breaker. Several of these original and not trifling offensive weapons are kept in readiness by each individual, and many a Spaniard, armed with steel and gunpowder, has acknowledged their effect.”

The raids which are dignified by the name of warfare are more for plunder than conquest, inasmuch as the Patagonian cares nothing for territory, of which he has enough and to spare, and almost nothing for military fame. Sometimes he wants plunder; sometimes he means to make a hunting expedition into a district held by another tribe; and sometimes he prepares a short campaign against an inimical tribe in revenge for a real or fancied insult.

When preparing for such an excursion, or while expecting the attack of another tribe, the Patagonians keep themselves in constant preparation for war. They put on three of their thickest mantles in order to deaden the blow of the bolas, or withstand the point of the spear and arrow. These mantles are not wrapped round them in the ordinary fashion of peace, but are worn like ponchos, the head being thrust through a hole in the middle. The innermost mantle is of guanaco skin, with the hairy side inward, while the others are simple leather, without hair, the place of which is taken by paint. Their heads are guarded by conical caps, made of hide, and often adorned by a tuft of feathers from the rhea.

Those who are wealthy enough purchase a sort of armor composed of a thick hide tunic, with a high collar and short sleeves, and a hat or helmet made of double bull’s hide. This garment is very heavy and clumsy, but it will resist every weapon except bullets, and will make even the blow of the “bola perdida” fall harmless. Those who are too poor to possess a horse, and are obliged to fight on foot, carry shields made of several layers of hide sewed together.

Sometimes they come unexpectedly upon enemies, and a skirmish is the immediate result. In this case they mostly fling aside their cumbrous mantles, and fight without any clothing except the girdle and their spurs. When they make expeditions against inimical districts, they take spare horses with them, one of which is intended to bear the plunder as they return, and to take its share in carrying the warrior to battle. As soon as the Patagonian finds that his weight is beginning to tell upon the horse which he rides, he vaults upon the other without checking them in their gallop, and thus makes sure of a fresh and unwearied horse upon going into action. The second horse is afterward used for the conveyance of slaves, skins, weapons, and other booty.

As they return, they fling off the cumbrous armor of coats and mantles, and ride, according to their fashion, naked to the waist, the innermost mantle being retained in its place by a leathern thong, which acts as a belt. In some of these expeditions a whole troop of loose horses is driven in front of the warriors, and when a man feels his own horse becoming wearied, he rides alongside one of the loose horses, shifts the bit, and leaps on the fresh animal, not troubling himself about the saddle.

When the Patagonian goes out hunting, he carries no weapon except the bolas and a knife, the latter being considered rather as a tool than a weapon. Should he see a herd of guanacos, he makes silently toward them, imitating the cry of the young one in distress, and doing all in his power to attract the animals. Anything very strange is sure to attract them, just as it attracts cows, which are horribly afraid of the new object, but, victims of a sort of fascination, are led nearer and nearer by a spirit of curiosity, for which they pay with their lives. When a small herd—say six or eight—of guanacos is seen, they can generally be enticed within range of the bolas by a hunter on foot, who steals as near them as he can manage to do without alarming them, and then plays various antics, such as lying on his back and kicking his legs in the air, tying a strip of hide or a bunch of feathers to a stick, and waving it about. The inquisitive creatures seem unable to resist the promptings of their curiosity, and, though they are really afraid of the strange object, come closer and closer, until the hunter is able to hurl the terrible bolas at them.

When, however, the herd is a large one, the guanacos are much more timid, and, until the introduction of the horse, the Patagonians could seldom do much with them. Now, however, the possession of the horse, together with their knowledge of the guanaco’s disposition, enables them to capture and kill great numbers of the animals.

In this mode of chase the Patagonians make use of two characteristics which belong to the guanaco. In the first place, it is a hill-loving animal, and when pursued, or even afraid of pursuit, leaves the plains and makes for some eminence. Like all gregarious animals, the guanacos invariably have sentinels posted on the most elevated points, and trust their safety to their watchfulness, the squeal of alarm being instantly followed by the flight of the herd. Knowing this peculiarity, the hunters are sure that if a herd of guanacos be in the plain, and a hill be near them, the animals will be almost certain to take to it.

The second characteristic is, that the guanacos, when thrown into confusion, entirely lose their presence of mind, running a few steps in one way and then a few steps in another, being quite unable to fix upon any definite plan of escape.

A large party of hunters, sometimes nearly a hundred in number, arm themselves with their long, light, cane-shafted spears, called chuzos, summon their dogs, and set off toward the spot where a herd of guanacos is known to be. Having fixed upon some grassy hill, half of the hunters push forward and take up a position on the further side, while the others drive the guanacos gently toward their well-known grazing place.

PATAGONIANS HUNTING GAME.
(See page 1181.)

As soon as the animals are fairly on the hill, the hunters spread out so as to enclose them in a semicircle, and then dash forward, driving the herd up the hill. The detached band on the other side, as soon as they hear the shouts, spread themselves out in a similar manner, the two bodies completely surrounding the hill, so that when the guanacos reach the summit they find themselves environed by enemies.

After the usual custom in such cases, the guanacos lose all presence of mind, some running one way, some another, mutually hindering each other’s escape, so that the hunters are able to pierce with their long spears the finest animals, and thus secure in a very short space of time so great a number, that they are amply supplied with skins and meat.

Although they carry the spear on these occasions, they are not without the bolas, it being used for capturing the young guanacos, which are kept in a domesticated state like sheep. Now and then a guanaco, which possesses more sense than its comrades, takes a line of its own, and dashes through the circle of its enemies. Still it has but little chance of escaping, for round the circle of horsemen there is another circle of men on foot, accompanied by dogs. As soon as a guanaco breaks through the first circle, it is instantly seized by the dogs, which terrify it to such an extent that it is unable to move, and neither tries to escape nor resist.

On the preceding page is a spirited engraving which represents Patagonian scenery, and the natives in their favorite pursuit of hunting game. The hot chase, the flying bolas, the bewildered guanacos are vividly pictured.

The young guanacos which have been mentioned as being domesticated are not solely intended to furnish food, or even bred merely for the sake of their skins. They are employed for the sake of decoying the adult animals. Taking the young guanaco to the feeding grounds, the hunter ties it to a bush, and then conceals himself behind it. By imitating the mother’s cry, he induces the captive to utter the plaintive bleating sound by which a young one calls for its mother. This is a sound which the adult guanacos cannot resist, and as soon as they come within twenty yards or so of the bush, the bolas is launched, and the animal at which it is aimed falls to the ground, enveloped in the fatal coils.

The power of the bolas is eminently shown in the chase of the rhea, or American ostrich. This bird is as swift and wary as the true African ostrich, and, but for the bolas, the hunters would scarcely be able to secure it. In the chase of this bird the Patagonians employ the same device which is used in capturing the guanacos. They know that the rhea shares with the guanaco the tendency to become confused and uncertain in its movements when it is pressed simultaneously from opposite directions. They therefore try to surround the herd and converge upon it, or, at all events, two or three of them attack it from opposite quarters, driving it first one way and then another, so that the bird becomes so perplexed that it cannot make up its mind to run in one direction, and escape its foes by its superior speed, but allows them to come within range of the bolas, when its fate is sealed.

The hunters also know that, in common with all the ostrich tribe, and, indeed, with many wild animal of chase, the rhea always runs against the wind. It is therefore easy for them to ascertain the direction which the bird will take, and by sending two or three horsemen several miles windward the retreat of the bird is easily cut off. The Patagonian can even kill the little cavies with the bolas, so accurate is his aim.

The reader may easily imagine that such a weapon as this would be serviceable in warfare. When the Patagonian uses it in battle, he does not always fling it, apparently because he does not like to deprive himself of his weapon. Sometimes he dashes alongside of a foe, and throws one of the balls at him, just as if he were throwing a stone, retaining the other ball in his hand, so as to recover the weapon after the blow has sped. When the Patagonian carries the three-ball bolas, which has already been described, he uses the third ball, which, as may be remembered, is attached to the longest thong, as an English robber uses his “life-preserver,” or an American his “slung-shot.”

Another mode of procuring game is practised by the Patagonians, and is identical with that which is used by the North Africans in taking the partridge, the South Africans in killing the bustard, as well as by the inhabitants of other parts of the earth. There is a sort of partridge which is common on the plains, and is called the Pampas partridge. Its scientific name is Nothuria major. The weapon, or rather implement, required for this sport is a very simple one. It is nothing more than a light reed, some eight feet in length, at the end of which is a noose composed of a strip cut from the side of a long feather. This noose has sufficient pliability to be drawn tight when pulled and sufficient elasticity to keep itself open.

Furnished with this implement, the Patagonian looks out for a partridge on the ground and, when he finds one, begins riding round and round it in an ever decreasing circle. The bird is much perplexed by this conduct, and, instead of flying away, it simply crouches closely to the ground. By degrees, the young hunter—this sport being only practised by boys—comes so close to the bird that he slips the noose over its neck, and, before it can spread its wings for flight, jerks it into the air.

An expert bird catcher will secure three or four birds in an hour by this curious mode of hunting, which may be pursued on foot as well as on horseback. The only drawback to it lies in the very limited time during which it can be attempted. It has been found that, if the shadow of the hunter should fall upon the partridge, the bird seems to shake off the strange feeling which paralyzes its energies, and flies away before it can be captured. Consequently, the sport can only be pursued so long as the sun is toward the meridian; and as soon as the shadows lengthen sufficiently to throw them on the bird, the young hunter abandons his sport. All practical naturalists are aware of the alarm caused by a shadow falling on some animal which they are watching or trying to capture; and entomologists in particular have learned that, to approach most insects, it is necessary to keep the insect between themselves and the sun.

As to the strange sort of fascination which forces the bird to crouch instead of flying away, it exists in very many birds, of which the domestic poultry or any of the common cage-birds are familiar examples. Any one who is accustomed to deal with these birds can take one, stand it or lay it on a table, go away, and return after an absence of hours, knowing that the bird will not dare to move. During the time that I kept and bred canaries, I used to free them from the dreaded red mite by sprinkling insect powder under their feathers, laying them on a piece of paper covered with insect powder, and leaving them there for an hour or two, until the powder had destroyed all the parasites.

CHAPTER CXXIII. THE PATAGONIANS— Concluded . DOMESTIC LIFE.

PATAGONIAN MARRIAGE — APPEAL OF A SUITOR — REJECTION OF THE OFFER, AND RESULT OF THE NEGOTIATION — CURIOUS MODE OF SMOKING — PRESCRIPTION FOR A SICK CHILD — PATAGONIANS AT HOME — NATIVE COOKERY — PATAGONIAN ARCHITECTURE — TREATMENT OF WOMEN, CHILDREN, AND SLAVES — MODE OF GOVERNMENT — POWER OF THE CACIQUE — NOTIONS OF RELIGION — OFFERINGS AND LIBATIONS — FUNERALS IN PATAGONIA — SECLUSION OF WIDOWS — VISITS OF CONDOLENCE.

We will now glance at the domestic life of the Patagonians, if the word “domestic” can be rightly applied to people who have no settled home or domus.

How marriage is conducted among them is described by Captain Bourne, who was kept a prisoner for a considerable time, and had every opportunity of studying their manners and customs. It appeared that in the house of the chief to whom he belonged there was a daughter—a widow, with a young child. One evening, the tramp of many feet was heard on the outside of the hut, together with the mutterings of voices. Presently, one voice was heard louder than the rest, evidently addressed to some one within the hut. It was the voice of a suitor come to ask the hand of the young widow. The chief scornfully refused the offer, saying that he was not worthy to be her husband, having no horses or other property. The man admitted that at the present time he did not happen to have any horses, but that he was a remarkably good thief, and that, if the lady would only accept him, he would steal horses, catch guanacos, and give her plenty of grease.

These overtures being rejected as contemptuously as the last, the suitor addressed himself to the lady, who was very willing to accept him, and entirely yielded when he repeatedly promised to bring home plenty of grease for her. She then besought her father to listen to the suitor’s application, but was angrily refused. Her mother then tried to pacify the angry father, saying that the young man might fulfil his promises, catch plenty of horses, and become a great chief.

This was too much for the old man. He jumped up in a towering passion, seized the cradle in which his little grandchild was lying, flung it out of the hut, snatched up every article which his daughter possessed, threw them after the cradle, and then ordered her to follow her goods. This was exactly what she wanted; so, accompanied by her mother, she left the hut, and was joined by her intended husband.

A curious mode of smoking is practised among the Patagonians, which somewhat resembles that which is used by the Damaras, as recorded on a preceding page.

When one of these smoking parties is organized, the guests assemble together, sometimes in a hut, and sometimes in the open air. They gravely seat themselves in a circle, round a vessel of water,—sometimes an ox-horn stuck in the ground, and sometimes a sort of basin made of raw hide. All being assembled, one of them takes a stone pipe, and fills it with a mixture of tobacco and the shavings of some yellow wood.

The pipe being prepared, all the company lie flat on their faces, with their mantles drawn up to the top of their heads. The pipe is then lighted and passed round, each drawing into his lungs as much smoke as he can swallow, and retains it as long as he can exist without breathing. As soon as the smoke is expelled, the men begin a series of groanings and gruntings, which become louder and louder, until they are absolutely deafening. By degrees they die away; and when quiet has been restored, each takes a draught of water, sits silently for a space, and then slowly rises and moves away.

Captain Bourne is of opinion that this ceremony has in it something of a religious element. The groaning and grunting might be due to the tobacco, or the substance which is mixed with it, but the sounds seemed to him to be louder and more emphatic than they would have been if entirely involuntary; and the breathings, writhings, and other accompaniments, the profound gravity, and the abstinence from speech, all appeared to have some religious signification.

The same traveller gives a very amusing account of a visit paid by a Patagonian physician to the hut of a chief. The party were just preparing to shift their quarters, after the Patagonian fashion, when one of the daughters came in, carrying a child who was crying loudly, and who was supposed in consequence to be very ill. The journey was stopped, and a messenger despatched for the wise man, who soon came, and brought with him his magic medicines, rolled up in two pieces of skin.

These were laid on the ground, and the doctor squatted by the side of them, fixing a steady gaze on the child, who presently ceased crying. Encouraged by this success, the wise man ordered a clay plaster to be applied. This was done. Some yellow clay was brought, moistened until it was like paint, and with this substance the child was anointed from head to foot. The clay seemed to have but little good effect, for the child began to cry as badly as ever.

The two mysterious packages were now untied, and out of one the doctor took a bunch of rhea sinews, and from the other a rattle. The doctor then fingered all the sinews successively, muttering something in a very low tone of voice, and after he had muttered for some five minutes or so, he seized his rattle and shook it violently. He next sat in front of the patient, and stared at him as he had done before. After an interval of silent staring, he turned to the chief and asked whether he did not think that the child was better. A nod and a grunt expressed assent, and the mother on being asked the same question gave a similar response.

The same process was then repeated—the silent stare, the painting with clay, the lingering of the sinews, the muttering of inaudible words, the shaking of the rattle, and the concluding stare. The treatment of the patient was then considered to be complete. The chief gave the doctor two pipefuls of tobacco by way of fee. This was received gratefully by the man of skill, who gave his rattle a final shake by way of expressing his appreciation of the chief’s liberality, and went his way. As soon as he had gone, the child resumed its crying, but the parents were satisfied that it was better, and, as Captain Bourne testifies, it soon became quite composed, and throve well afterward.

The general mode of life among the Patagonians is not particularly alluring to persons of civilized habits, if we may judge from the graphic picture drawn by Captain Bourne:—

“A few dry sticks and a bunch of dry grass were brought; mine host drew from a convenient repository a brass tinder-box with a stone and a piece of steel, and soon produced a blaze that brilliantly illuminated the scene. By its light I was enabled to survey the first specimen of Patagonian architecture that had blessed my vision. It was constructed in a ‘pointed’ style, though not very aspiring, consisting of a row of stakes about eight feet high, each terminating in a crutch or fork, with a pole laid across them; two parallel rows of stakes on either side about two feet high, with similar terminations and a similar horizontal fixture; and a covering composed of skins of the guanaco sewed together with the sinews of the ostrich, the only thread used by the people. This covering is thrown over the framework and fastened by stakes driven through it into the ground. For purposes of ventilation, some interstices are left; but these again are half closed by skins attached to the outside, so that the air from without and the smoke from within (in default of a chimney) must insinuate themselves through these apertures in great quantities.

“In truth, my first survey was rather hurried; the first cheerful gleam had scarcely set my eyes on the look-out, when I was fain to shut them against an intolerable smoke. In no long time I felt as bacon, if conscious, might be supposed to feel in the process of curing. No lapse of time was sufficient to reconcile the eyes, nostrils, and lungs to the nuisance. Often have I been more than half strangled by it, and compelled to lie with my face to the ground as the only endurable position. ‘Talk that is worse than a smoky house’ must be something out of date, or Shakespeare’s imagination never comprehended anything so detestable as a Patagonian hut. The chief and his numerous household, however, seemed to enjoy immense satisfaction, and jabbered and grunted and played their antics and exchanged grimaces as complacently as if they breathed a highly exhilarating atmosphere.

“My meditations and observations were shortly interrupted by preparations for a meal. The chiefs better-half—or rather fifth-part, for he had four wives—superintended the culinary operations, which were as rude and simple as the hut where they were carried on. And now my fancy began to conjure up visions of the beef, fowls, and eggs, the promise of which had lured my men from the boat, had proved stronger than suggestions of prudence, and had made me a prisoner. But these dainties, if they existed anywhere within the chief’s jurisdiction, were just at present reserved.

“The old hag threw down from the top of one of the stakes that supported the tent the quarter of some animal, whether dog or guanaco was past imagining. She slashed right and left with an old copper knife with might and main, till it was divided into several pieces. Then taking a number of crotched sticks about two feet long, and sharpened at the points, she inserted the forked ends into pieces of the meat, and drove the opposite points into the ground near the fire, which, though sufficient to smoke and comfortably warm the mess, was too feeble to roast it. At all events, time was too precious, or their unsophisticated appetites were too craving, to wait for such an operation, and the raw morsels were quickly snatched from the smoke, torn into bits by their dirty hands, and thrown upon the ground before us.

“The Indians seized them with avidity, and tossed a bit to me; but what could I do with it? I should have no appetite for the dinner of an alderman at such a time and place, but as for tasting meat that came in such a questionable shape, there was no bringing my teeth or resolution to it. While eyeing it with ill-suppressed disgust, I observed the savages, like a horde of half-starved dogs, devouring their portions with the greatest relish, seizing the fragment with their fine white teeth, giving every sign of enjoyment, except what one is accustomed to see in human beings.

“The old chief remarked the slight I was putting upon his hospitality. ‘Why don’t you eat, man? This meat very good to eat—very good to eat. Eat, man, eat.’

“Seeing him so much excited, and not knowing what deeds might follow his words if I refused, I thought it expedient to try to ‘eat what was set before me, asking no questions,’—thinking, moreover, that if there were any evil spirit in it that the fire had failed to expel, it could not possibly have resisted the smoke. So, being sorely divided between aversion to the strange flesh and fear of showing it, I forced a morsel into my mouth. Its taste was by no means as offensive as its appearance, and I swallowed it with less disgust than I had feared. This was my first meal with the savages, and a sample of many others, though better viands afterward varied their monotony now and then.”

It is most probable that the meat which was so rapidly cooked and eaten was that of the guanaco. The Patagonians are in no way fastidious as to their diet, and eat almost every animal which they kill, whether it be guanaco, rhea, or cavy. They have a repugnance to the flesh of dogs, though they cannot, like the Fuegians, be accused of eating the flesh of human beings rather than that of dogs.

Their chief dainty is the flesh of a young mare, and it is rather curious that these strange people will not, if they can help themselves, eat that of a horse, unless it be disabled by an accident. They are fond of the fat of mares and rheas, separating it from the flesh by boiling, and pouring it into bladders, much as lard is treated in this country. Yet the fat obtained from the guanaco is not stored like that of the mare and rhea, but is eaten raw. As is the case with the Fuegians, the Patagonians obtain a considerable amount of food from the seashore, great quantities of limpets, mussels, and similar creatures being gathered by the women and children.

Besides animal food, vegetables are consumed, though rather sparingly, by the Patagonians. Two roots form part of their ordinary diet. One is called “tus,” and looks something like a yam or potato. It is bulbous, and when cleaned and properly cooked bears a strong resemblance to a baked potato. The second root is called “chalas,” and is a long, slender root, scarcely so thick as an ordinary pencil.

It is rather remarkable that the Patagonians do not seem to have invented any intoxicating drink. They soon learn to appreciate rum and other spirits, and will intoxicate themselves whenever they can procure the means, but they obtain all fermented and distilled liquors from the white traders, and not from their own manufacture. They have a sort of cooling drink made of the juice of barberries mixed with water, but it is drunk in its natural state, and is not fermented.

The dwellings of the Patagonians are worthy of a brief description, inasmuch as they show the distinction between the Patagonian and Fuegian ideas of architecture. The reader will remember that the principal portion of the Fuegian hut consists of sticks and branches, whereas the Patagonian only uses the sticks and poles by way of a framework whereupon he can spread his tent of skins.

These huts, called by the Spanish “toldos,” and by the Patagonians “cows,” are of variable dimensions. Generally they are little more than sloping sheds, six or seven feet high in front, and only two feet high at the back. The length of each toldo is about twelve feet, and its width about nine feet. As east winds are hardly ever known in Patagonia, the opening of the hut is always to the east, the skin covering of this simple tent being impervious to wind and rain. A Patagonian village, showing the form of these huts, is represented on the 1187th page.

This is the ordinary kind of dwelling, but in some places a much larger description of hut is erected for the chief or the medicine man. These houses are gabled, being eight feet or so in height in the middle, and sloping on either side to the wall, which is five feet or so in height. Huts of this kind are nearly square, their depth rather exceeding their length.

The sleeping accommodation of these habitations is very simple, and consists of skins, which are spread on the floor. Other skins rolled up are laid along the side of the hut, and serve as pillows, the children lying in a corner by themselves, and the dogs sleeping at the feet of their owners. Those children who are unable to walk are laid in simple cradles made of square pieces of guanaco skin, hung hammockwise by four ends to the rafters of the hut.

During the daytime the infants are kept, or rather packed, in cradles made of flat pieces of board, over which some pliable sticks are bent in a semicircular form. The child is placed between two pieces of guanaco skin, fastened in the cradle, and can then be carried about without trouble. Even when the family is shifting quarters, the cradle can be hung on the saddle-bow of the mother’s horse, the little occupant being perfectly contented with its situation.

It might seem from this statement that children are treated with neglect. Such, however, is not the case, the Patagonians being remarkable for their parental affection, and being much more inclined to spoil their children by over-indulgence than to behave unkindly toward them. Indeed, when a Patagonian chief wishes to change his quarters, and the people do not wish to part with him, they take one of his children, indulge it in every way, and declare that he must leave it behind him. The affectionate parent cannot bring himself either to leave his child, or to deprive it of the society of those who are kind to it, and in consequence he remains with his people.

The condition of the women is a very tolerable one. They certainly have to work hard all their lives unless their husband be rich enough to purchase slaves, or be fortunate enough to procure them by a raid on some other tribe. Many such slaves are obtained from the Fuegians, who do not scruple even to sell their own relatives when they can procure a good price for them. Even the wives of the chief men are not exempt from labor unless their husbands happen to possess slaves.

Generally the wives are faithful to their husbands, but there are cases where the woman has thought herself ill-treated, and has betaken herself to another protector. Should he be an inferior, the aggrieved husband makes him pay for his offence; but if a superior, he is obliged to put up with his loss. Generally, however, the husband and wife live happily together, and the husband thinks it a point of honor to take his wife’s part if she should fall into a dispute, no matter whether she be right or wrong. He will scold her severely in private, and even inflict corporal punishment on her, for involving him in such a dispute, but he will make a point of upholding her in public.

The mode of punishment of the Patagonians is rather variable, but is generally a modification of the patriarchal system. The heads of families or tribes possess hereditary rank, and take the lead in all important events of peace or war. Their power is, however, not very great, and they are not able to raise taxes, nor enforce compulsory labor without payment. These chiefs, or caciques, as they are termed, can, if they choose, refuse the rank, and many do so, preferring to become subjects of some other cacique to the trouble and responsibility which accompany the post.

According to Falkner, “the cacique has the power of protecting as many as apply to him; of composing or silencing any difference; or delivering over the offending party to be punished with death, without being accountable for it. In these respects his will is the law. He is generally too apt to take bribes, delivering up his vassals, and even his relations, when well paid for it.

“According to his orders the Indians encamp, march, or travel from one place to another to hunt or to make war. He frequently summons them to his tent, and harangues them upon their behavior, the exigencies of the time, the injuries they have received, the measures to be taken, &c. In these harangues he always extols his own prowess and personal merit. When eloquent he is greatly esteemed; and when a cacique is not endowed with that accomplishment, he generally has an orator who supplies his place.”

The religion of the Patagonian is a polytheism, the natives believing that there are great numbers of deities, some good and some evil. Each family is under the guardianship of one of the good deities, and all the members of that family join him when they die. Beside these gods there are subordinate demons, good to their own friends, but bad toward all others, so that on the whole the bad predominates in them. They are called by the name of Valichu.

Yet among some of the Patagonian tribes there is even an approach to personal religion. It has been thought that the Patagonians are totally destitute of such religion. This, however, is certainly not the case, as even our limited knowledge of these people, their language, and their habits shows that, even though they may not possess any definite system of religion, they are still impressed with the idea of some Being infinitely greater than themselves, who knows everything that they do. Thus they believe in an omniscient Being; and such a belief as this, limited and imperfect though it may be, is yet a step toward true religion.

(1.) PATAGONIAN VILLAGE.
(See page 1185.)

(2.) PATAGONIAN BURIAL GROUND.
(See page 1189.)

To this unknown Being they return thanks when they have obtained a supply of food after long famine, so that we find them acknowledging that the great Being, who knows all their deeds, watches over them, and is the Giver of all good things. When, for example, they have procured a seal after having been half-starved for months, they assemble round a fire, and the oldest man present cuts for each person a piece of the seal, uttering over each portion a sort of prayer, and looking upward in devotion to the unseen God, who had sent them meat in their need. Undisciplined as are the Patagonians, totally unaccustomed to self-denial, and mad with hunger, not one of them will touch the food until this invocation has been repeated.

The mode of burial among the Patagonians varies in detail according to the particular tribe, but there is a general resemblance in the ceremonies throughout the country. When a man dies, his body is wrapped in his best mantle, placed on his favorite horse, and conveyed to the place of burial, where a square pit has already been dug, some six feet in depth and two or three feet in width. In this pit the body of the deceased is placed in a sitting position, his bolas, spears, and other property laid beside him, and the pit is then covered with branches, on which a quantity of earth is thrown. The horse is next sacrificed. It is held at the grave by one man, while another kills it by a blow on the head from the bolas, and the skin is then removed, stuffed, and supported at the grave on four posts. At the grave of a cacique four horses are sacrificed. The clothing which is not buried with the deceased is burned, and a feast on the body of the horse closes the proceedings. On page 1187 the reader may find an engraving of a Patagonian burial ground.

The widows are obliged to remain in a state of the strictest privacy for an entire year, keeping themselves within their huts, never mixing in society, and not even showing themselves unless absolutely obliged to do so. They must blacken themselves with soot, and not eat the flesh of the guanaco, the mare, or the rhea. Should a woman break the rule of seclusion, and be detected in an intrigue, she would at once lose her life at the hands of her dead husband’s relations.

Among some of the tribes the tomb is periodically opened, and the skeleton of the deceased, which has been prepared with the greatest care, is washed and clothed in new robes. This office belongs to an old matron, who is specially selected for the task, which becomes in process of time a long and tedious one, as the warriors are placed side by side in the grave, each year gradually adding to the number of those who have to be washed and clothed annually.

Among some of the tribes the skeletons are prepared by laying the bodies on platforms woven from canes and twigs, and during the time that is occupied in cleaning and bleaching the skeleton the platform is guarded by the friends of the dead man, draped in long mantles, and bearing spears or staves with which they strike the ground, while they sing mournful strains in order to drive away the Valichus or spirits, who may possibly be well disposed toward the dead man, but are more likely to be unfriendly.

Should the deceased have been a wealthy man, many visits of condolence are paid to the relatives, the mourners weeping loudly, and pricking their arms and legs with thorns in order to prove their affection by the effusion of their blood. For these tokens of respect they are rewarded with beads, brass ornaments, and other presents; and it need scarcely be said that the sorrow felt for the deceased and the sympathy excited for his friends depend very much on the amount of property at the disposal of the relatives.

CHAPTER CXXIV. THE ARAUCANIANS. DRESS—ETIQUETTE—GOVERNMENT.

DIVISION OF THE NATION INTO TRIBES — THE MAPUCHÉS — PECULIAR STRUCTURE OF THE HEAD — THE CHERIPA, PONCHO, AND BOOTS — MODE OF SHAVING — DRESSING THE HAIR — THE “PULLING HAIR” FIGHT — DRESS OF THE WOMEN — THE ENORMOUS BREASTPIN — SINGULAR USE OF THIMBLES — ELABORATE HEADDRESS — PAINT — EXHIBITION OF FEMALE VANITY — DRESS OF THE CHILDREN — ARCHITECTURE OF THE ARAUCANIANS — THE CHIEF’S HOUSE AND ITS FURNITURE — LONG HOUSE OF THE MAPUCHÉS — NUMBER OF FIRES — CODE OF ETIQUETTE — THE SPEECH OF CEREMONY — VALUE OF ORATORY — DEMAND OF TRIBUTE — MODE OF GOVERNMENT — THE GRAND TOQUI — THE COUNCILS OF PEACE AND WAR.

Passing northward from Patagonia, and taking a westerly direction, we come to the Araucanian nation. This title was given to them by the Spaniards, just as was the name of Patagonians to their southern neighbors, and, although it is an incorrect one, it has been accepted for so many years that it cannot be conveniently exchanged for the more correct designation.

The aborigines of Chili and a part of the territory now occupied by the Argentine Republic were formerly one great people, extending over a very considerable portion of the land, and necessarily modified in manners and customs by the influence of climate and geographical position. Their general title was Alapu-ché, or People of the Land, but they were separated into three great divisions, namely, Pehuen-ché, or People of the East; Mara-ché, or People of the West; and Huili-ché, or Far-off People, being those nearest to the Patagonians. Passing over the wars with the Spaniards, as foreign to the object of this work, we will describe the Mapuchés, or People of the Country, as they call themselves.

These people are rather below the middle height, strong, thick-set, broad-chested, and much inferior in point of form to the North American tribes. The head is narrow, and low in front, broad and high behind, and the back of the head falls in almost a direct line with the nape of the neck, a peculiarity by which an Araucanian may almost invariably be distinguished. The foot is as remarkable as the head. It is very short and broad, and rises straight from the toes to the ankle with scarcely any curve, so as to produce a very high but very clumsy looking instep.

The ordinary dress of the Mapuché men is mostly composed of two garments, namely, the “cheripa” (pronounced chĕreepah) and the poncho. The cheripa is a sort of compromise between a kilt and trousers. It is a piece of stuff, mostly cotton, which is fastened to the back of a girdle, passed between the legs, drawn up in front there, and tucked then into the girdle. The poncho is nothing but a large circular piece of stuff, with a hole in the centre, through which the head passes. It is exactly similar in principle to the cloak of Polynesia, and is at once a primitive, efficient, and graceful robe, assuming with every change of attitude folds which delight the eye of an artist.

Beside the poncho and cheripa, the Mapuché generally wears a pair of boots, similar to those of the Patagonians, and made of similar materials, the skin from the hind legs of a horse being drawn over the foot while still fresh, so that it moulds itself to the leg of the wearer. As with the Patagonians, it is open in front, so as to allow the two first toes to pass through and grasp the small triangular stirrup. The elaborate horse-accoutrements in which the Mapuchés delight will be described when we come to the manners and customs of the people. Men of rank wear woollen bracelets and anklets as marks of their superior position.

Like most of the Araucanian tribes, the Mapuchés have but little beard, and what they have they eradicate after the usual fashion of savages, plucking out the individual hairs instead of shaving. Mr. R. E. Smith had the opportunity of seeing the operation performed:—“At one house where we stopped I saw an Indian, who at first sight seemed to be a white man, from the fact that his beard was grown as though unshaven for a week. He looked red and blotched, and was continually raising his hand to some part of his face, wearing all the while an expression of patient endurance. A close scrutiny showed that he was engaged in shaving.

“These Indians pull out or nip off the beard with small steel tweezers. This instrument was originally, as the Mapuché name signifies, a clam shell, but, by intercourse with the whites, they have been able to procure a more elegant article. Every dandy carries his tweezers hanging from his neck, and at leisure moments amuses himself by smoothing his face to the taste of his painted mistress. The arguments they use in defence of their treatment of the beard are precisely those used by shavelings the world over.”

They do not content themselves with merely removing the hair from the chin, cheeks, and upper lip, but pull out the eyelashes and eyebrows, substituting instead of the latter a slender curved line of black paint. They say that the presence of the eyelashes hinders them in the pursuit of bee hunting, a sport of which they are very fond, and on which they pride themselves greatly. Some of the younger warriors have allowed a very slight fringe of hair to remain on the upper lip, but the older chiefs think that it is an innovation on the ancient customs, and discountenance it as far as they can.

The hair of the head is cut short at the top, but is allowed to grow long at the sides, in order that it may be easily grasped, just as the North American tribes leave one long lock on the crown of the head so as to assist the enemy who slays them in getting off the scalp.

When two lads quarrel, they settle the dispute with a fight, which is conducted, not by blows with the fist or with a weapon, but by pulling the hair. “Let us pull hair, if you are not afraid,” cries one of the disputants to the other. The challenge is never refused. Off goes the poncho, if they happen to be wearing it, the cheripa is tucked tightly into the belt, the combatants allow each other to take a fair grasp of the long locks, and the struggle begins. Each tries to twist the head of his opponent so as to bring him to the ground, and when he has once fallen, they loosen their grasp, rub the backs of their heads, take a fresh grasp, and repeat the struggle until one of them yields. The combat over, all animosity vanishes, and they are good friends again.

The dress of the women is, like that of the men, composed of two garments, though they are differently put on. One is an enlarged cheripa, and made of the same material. It is first wrapped round the body close under the arms, and then pinned together over each shoulder, so that the arms are left bare. It is confined at the waist by a very broad belt, and falls nearly to the ankle. This alone is a very sufficient dress, but over it is thrown a second piece of stuff which acts as a shawl or mantle, being fastened in front with a pin having a most enormously flat head, about the size of a cheese plate. Sometimes the head is globular, but the flat form is the favorite, and it is adorned with engraved figures. The cloth is mostly of native manufacture, and is either black or a very dark indigo blue.

Like that of the men, the hair of the women is divided into two long tails, one of which hangs over each shoulder. The tails are wound round with spiral strings of blue beads, and their ends are connected by a string of twelve or fourteen brass thimbles, which hang side by side, like a peal of bells. Besides these ornaments, the women wear a sort of cap, made entirely of beads, and falling over the back of the head as far as the shoulders. Its lower edge is decorated with a row of brass thimbles, like that which connects the two queues of the hair. This elaborate headdress is only worn on great occasions, while ordinarily the queues are wound round the head, the two ends projecting in front like horns, a fillet, usually studded with beads, being employed to keep the hair in its place. These peculiarities of dress are shown in the illustration of a Mapuché family on page 1201.

Ornaments are worn according to the wealth of the owners. Strings of beads, silver dollars, and brass thimbles are hung in profusion round the neck, which is further decorated with a collar made of leather and inlaid with silver. Wide bracelets and anklets are also worn, similar to those of the men, but made of variously colored beads instead of wool.

Paint is worn by both sexes, but chiefly by the women, and is anything but ornamental. It is invariably of two colors, red and black, which are mixed with grease, so that they can be applied and removed at pleasure. The usual plan is to have a broad red belt from ear to ear, taking in the cheeks, eyelids, and nose, the lower edge of the belt being sometimes edged and scalloped with black. The eyelids and lashes are also edged with black, and a thin line of the same hue takes the place of the eyebrows, which are all removed except a very fine row of hairs in the centre. Some of the women further decorate their faces by spots of black paint. The women are exceedingly proud of these ornaments; and an amusing instance of their vanity is related by Mr. Smith:—“Our conversation turned upon female dress; and, without intending any disparagement to our fair entertainers, we compared them to the women whom we had seen at the house of Chancay. The women, who were at work near by, did not understand half-a-dozen words of Spanish; but, with that intuitive perception which belongs to the sex, they were not long in discovering that our conversation related to themselves and their dresses.

“Immediately they held a council of war; and, entering the house, they presently returned, each with a bag of trinkets. There were coverings for the head and breast, composed of strings of beads of all colors and designs, with brass thimbles and silver coins. There were rings and pendants for ears and nose; bracelets and anklets, collars and breastpins of colossal proportions. These were held up for our admiration; and that we might more fully realize their wealth, the ladies proceeded to deck themselves with all their finery. They were at the same time jabbering at the top of their lungs, praising their own superiority to all other women, and appealing to us for a confirmation of their own good opinions.

“Finally, the belle of the lot, having ornamented her head, breast, and arms to their fullest capacity, stepped in advance of the others, and, raising her dress as high as the knee, displayed to our astonished gaze a remarkably well-rounded piece of flesh and blood. Patting the calf with honest pride, and turning it about for our inspection, she hung it round with beads, adjusted the many-colored anklets, and, snapping her fingers contemptuously, poured out a perfect torrent of Mapuché.

“Unfortunately, there was no one near to interpret this language; but from her action, and the frequent repetition of the name ‘Chancay,’ we gathered her meaning to be pretty much that, in whatever else the wives of Chancay might excel, she would defy them or any one else to produce a finer leg than the one in question.”

The dress of the children is simple enough. As long as they are infants, and not able to walk, they are tightly rolled up in bandages, so as to be unable to move. In this helpless condition they are put into bamboo cradles, and hung up on pegs driven into the walls of the house, or laid in baskets suspended from the roof, so that they can be swung about by a cord tied to the cradle. The infants are perfect models of behavior, never crying, and allowing themselves to be hung on pegs without betraying any signs of life, except the movement of the eyes. As soon as they can walk, they are allowed to run about without the incumbrance of any clothing, which is not worn until they become boys and girls of seven or eight years old.

The architecture of the Araucanians is very simple, but differs slightly according to the district, and the position of the owner of the house. The ordinary house of a common man is a mere hut, built of wicker-work, about twelve feet by ten, carelessly made, and ill calculated to withstand the elements. On a wet day the rain pours into the hut on all sides, a circumstance which has its advantages to counterbalance its discomforts. On rainy days all cooking has to be done within the house, which would be absolutely unbearable if the apertures which let the rain in did not let the smoke out. At night, moreover, these huts are overcrowded with sleepers.

In one of these huts there were three rude bedsteads, for the accommodation of two married couples and a pair of grown-up girls, while on the ground lay sixteen or seventeen young men and children, packed together like herrings in a barrel. Moreover, a whole troop of dogs came sneaking into the house as soon as the inmates closed their eyes; so that within this limited space some thirty living beings were contained during the night. It is evident that, if the hut had been weather-proof, the whole party would have been suffocated before the morning.

A better kind of habitation, visited by Mr. Smith, deserved the name of house. It was rectangular instead of rounded, and measured thirty feet in length by fifteen in breadth. In the middle of the roof was a hole, by way of chimney, the fire being made directly beneath it. There was no window, the hole and the door being the only apertures for the admission of light and air.

There was only one room, though a sort of loft was made in the roof. This was used as a storehouse, where sacks of beans and similar luxuries were kept. As might be supposed, the whole upper part of the house was thickly encrusted with soot. One of the corners was partitioned off with a sort of wicker-work wall, and served as a granary, in which the wheat was stored.

From the sooty, cobwebbed rafters hung bunches of maize, pumpkins, joints of meat, nets full of potatoes, strings of capsicum pods, and similar articles; while earthenware pots, dishes, and spears were scattered in profusion over the floor. In the middle of all these articles hung two long lances, with their points toward the door; but, although their heads were protected by being stuck into lumps of fat, they were rusty, and had evidently been long out of use.

Two of the corners were occupied with the ordinary bedstead of the country, i. e. a framework of cane, with a bull’s hide stretched tightly over it; and near the beds hung the stock of finery belonging to the owner, namely, spurs, stirrups, and bits, all of solid silver, belonging to the men, and breastpins, necklaces, earrings, strings of thimbles, and other adornments of the women. The usual basket cradle, containing a swathed baby, was suspended from one of the rafters.

The house of a cacique, or chief, is very much larger than either of those which have been described, and somewhat resembles the “long house” of Borneo. One of these houses, belonging to a cacique named Ayllal, looked at a distance something between a very long boat and a haystack. Its height was about fifteen feet, its width thirty, and its length about one hundred and forty.

The middle of the house was common to all the inhabitants, but the sides were partitioned off so as to form a series of chambers, each of which belonged to a married son of the proprietor, or to one of his own wives. In cases where the family is not a very large one, each wife has her own fireplace; but when the number of families under one roof is considerable, one fire is common to two or three of them. In Ayllal’s house there were six fireplaces, and over each was a hole in the roof. The fireplaces are nothing more than a few stones, so arranged that the pots can be kept clear of the burning wood; and, as the ashes are allowed to accumulate where they fall, or to be blown about by every current of air, it is evident that the interior of such a house is not a model of cleanliness.

In consequence of the custom of appropriating a separate fire to each wife, the one is conventionally accepted as a metaphor for the other. It is not considered polite to ask a man how many wives he has, but etiquette permits any one to ask another how many fires he burns. In front of the door hangs a cross-bar, beyond which no one ventures to pass without a special invitation, unless he be an inmate of the house, or an intimate friend of the family.

The Mapuchés exhibit in perfection that curious mixture of the savage and the gentleman that is so often found among uncivilized people. They have a most elaborate code of etiquette, which to a stranger is often irksome, on account of the time which is consumed in going through the requisite formalities. When two persons meet, it is necessary that they should go through a set course of complimentary remarks, the omission of which, except between relatives or very intimate friends, would be held as an unpardonable offence. Let us take Mr. E. R. Smith’s account of the ceremonial:—

“If the guest be a stranger, the host begins by addressing him with ‘I do not know you, brother,’ or ‘I have never seen you before.’ Thereupon the stranger mentions his own name and residence, and goes on to ask the host about himself, his health, and that of his father, mother, wives, and children; about his lands, crops, cattle, and flocks: the chiefs of the district, the neighbors, their wives, children, crops, &c., are next inquired about; and whether there have been any disturbances, diseases, deaths, or accidents.

“If the responses given are favorable, the questioner goes on to express his happiness, and moralizes to the effect that health, wealth, and friendship are great blessings, for which God should be thanked. If, on the contrary, the answers should convey bad news, he condoles with the afflicted, and philosophizes that misfortunes should be borne with equanimity, since men cannot always avoid evil. The guest having finished, the host commences in turn to ask all the same questions, making such comments as the answers received may demand.

“This formality occupies ten or fifteen minutes. The questions and answers are recited (by rote) in a low monotonous voice, with a sing-song tone, not unlike the saying of the rosary or the chanting of friars. At the end of each sentence, if the last word end with a vowel, the voice is raised to a shout; but should the final letter be a consonant, it is rounded off with a nasal grunt. The listener expresses his satisfaction occasionally by a sound between a grunt and a groan, or indicates surprise by a long-drawn “Hué!” With these exceptions, he never interrupts until the speaker has given notice, by a peculiar cadence of the voice, that he has said his say. During this palaver, the speakers often do not look at each other, and frequently even sit with their backs turned to one another.”

As soon as etiquette has been satisfied by these formalities, the speakers assume their ordinary tone of voice, and converse freely on subjects respecting which they really take an interest.

Oratory is highly valued by the Mapuchés, and should a young man have some power of speech, and train it into eloquence, he is on the high road to distinction, and will probably end by becoming a chief, though originally of inferior rank. Such young men are always eagerly sought by the chiefs as their messengers, inasmuch as etiquette requires that such messengers should not only possess a retentive memory, so as to insure, the transmission of the message correctly, but should also be fluent of speech and choice of diction, the latter being a point in which the Mapuchés are exceedingly fastidious.

A young man who shows himself to be a proficient in these three requisites is sure to be taken into the service of an important chief, and indeed he knows his own value too well to damage his prospects by serving any except a man of very high rank. Acting as messenger, he practically becomes a sort of ambassador, on whom the reputation of his principal is reflected, and by associating with the chief men, and speaking at their assemblies, he soon gains for himself that importance which was formerly only accorded to his official capacity. Men of this stamp have frequently become the masters of those whom they formerly served, their abilities having raised them to their appropriate station.

To a stranger the eloquence of these men is utterly unintelligible. They deliver their message in a sort of monotone, varied with inflections, but without the least spirit or action. In fact, they very much resemble schoolboys reciting a piece of poetry which they have learned by rote without taking the trouble to understand it. Yet the Mapuchés are held entranced during the delivery of such a discourse by an accomplished orator, the purity of whose diction excites the respectful admiration of his hearers.

Etiquette is so highly valued among the Araucanians that on one occasion an English gentleman nearly lost his life by neglecting a ceremonial. It seems that every chief, no matter how petty may be his domain, expects that every stranger who passes through his territory shall pay him a tribute. The amount of the tribute is of little consequence, so that something is given as an acknowledgment of rank.

Being new to the country, the gentleman in question was passing through the territory of a chief, when he was stopped and asked for tribute, a demand which he refused to pay, on the ground that he was only a traveller and not a trader. Thereupon a young man leaped into a cabin, brought out a trumpet made of a horn, and blew a blast upon it. The signal was answered in all directions, and from every side there poured in a number of mounted and armed warriors. The traveller was not daunted, in spite of the martial array, cocked his pistols, and awaited the attack, when his guide ran up to him, and begged him to give them something, if it were only a pocket-handkerchief.

The traveller saw at once, from the smallness of the suggested present, that it was a mere question of etiquette, and munificently presented the chief with a jack-knife. Enmity at once gave way to enthusiastic friendship. The old chief was quite overcome by the splendor of the gift, swore eternal friendship with the traveller, and sent a guard of honor to accompany him for several miles on his way.

We naturally come to the mode of government employed by the Araucanians.

The four great divisions are subdivided into provinces, and these into smaller districts, each of which is presided over by a chief, who exercises a kind of patriarchal authority over his clansmen. He is the judge and arbiter of the clan, and there is no appeal from his decision. Yet he levies no taxes, and cannot force even the lowest of his people to work for him. He can require the services of the men for war or for business of state, but there his authority ends. No land can be sold except by the chief, to whom it is by a sort of legal fiction supposed to belong, and even he cannot sell it to any except a native Araucanian, under penalty of death.

All these chiefs, or caciques, as they are often called, are considered to be equals in point of rank, and independent of each other, though one is chosen on account of his personal abilities to be the head chief of the district, but merely as primus inter pares. The office of chief is generally but not always hereditary. It mostly descends to the eldest son, but the actual holder of the office may bequeath it even to one who belongs to another family. Should a chief die without sons, brother, or a recognized successor, the people have the power of electing a chief for themselves, and it is on such occasions as these that the eloquent messengers lately described find their opportunity of being raised to the rank of cacique.

Up to this point the details of the government are simple enough. We now have to consider a most singular arrangement, unlike that of any other known nation. From the head chiefs of the various districts one is chosen as the Toqui, or head of the province, and these Toquis form the supreme council by whom the affairs of the nation are managed. From among them one is selected as president of the council, and is called by a title which signifies the Grand Toqui. He is the highest personage in the state. He can summon councils whenever he sees occasion, he watches over the welfare of the state, lays before his colleagues any information that he considers important, and on special occasions he can act on his own authority.

When Mr. E. R. Smith travelled in Araucania, the Grand Toqui was an old chief named Mañin, who seems to have been worthy of the position which he held. Mañin Hueno (“the Grass of Heaven”), as he was called by his compatriots, or Mañin Bueno (“Mañin the Good”), as the Chilenos termed him, was a very old man, his age being estimated as falling little short of a century, though his general bearing was such that he might have been taken for little more than sixty. His long black hair was but slightly sprinkled with silver, his eye retained its brightness, and his mien its uprightness; and though his many years had diminished his strength, they had not affected his intellect.

He was held in the very highest respect, as indeed was due to his acknowledged wisdom, by means of which war had many a time been averted. Yet he was not a rich man, and in point of wealth the greater number of the lesser chiefs were far richer than Mañin Hueno. His only marks of wealth were the solid silver horse accoutrements—but even these were not worth fifty pounds of our money; while his apparel was of the simplest kind, a red and yellow handkerchief tied round his head being the most costly article of his apparel.

When a council of Toquis is assembled, the members generally endeavor to outshine each other in the magnificence of their appointments; and after the day’s labor is over, they join in a general debauch, which sometimes lasts for the whole of the next day, and prevents the councillors from resuming their business until they have become sufficiently sober.

Now comes the curious part of Araucanian government. The Supreme Council treats only of the internal management of the nation, and is technically called the Council of Peace. As soon as war is declared, the Council of Peace falls into abeyance, and its place is taken by the Council of War. This is headed by the Toqui of War, who, as long as the war lasts, has unlimited power, except over life. He appoints the officers, settles the number of warriors required, orders a conscription to be set in operation in each district, and lays upon each cacique the duty of levying a certain number of men, and raising a certain amount of supplies. As soon as peace is concluded, he and all his council retire from office, and the Council of Peace reassumes its sway.

CHAPTER CXXV. THE ARAUCANIANS— Continued . DOMESTIC LIFE.

LOVE OF THE HORSE — THE STIRRUP, BIT, AND SPUR OF THE ARAUCANIANS — MODE OF FASTENING THE SPUR ON THE HEEL — TRAINING OF THE HORSES — VALUE OF THE HORSE ACCOUTREMENTS — HATRED OF SHAMS — LOVE FOR SILVER AND CARELESSNESS OF GOLD — HOW THE ARAUCANIANS RIDE — THE BOLAS OR LAQUI, AND THE LASSO — MODE OF MAKING AND THROWING THE LASSO — CAPTURE OF A SAVAGE BULL — COURAGE OF THE ARAUCANIANS — THEIR SUCCESSFUL STRUGGLE FOR LIBERTY — CAREER OF A YOUNG HERO — MARRIAGE AMONG THE ARAUCANIANS — ABDUCTION OF THE BRIDE — RECONCILIATION WITH THE PARENTS — ARAUCANIAN COOKERY — PREPARING NACHI, CHICA, AND MUDAI — THRESHING CORN.

We now come to the ordinary life of the Araucanians.

Like the American tribes in general, they have become wonderful adepts in the use of the horse, the climate, the natives, and the horse seeming to agree with each other in a way which is really remarkable, considering that the animal is of comparatively late introduction into America. Unlike the Patagonians, they pride themselves on the massive solidity of the accoutrements with which they bedizen their horses; and, although they care little about the individual animals, and are rather hard masters to them, they bedeck the horses in the most lavish manner.

Their saddles are made very much after the fashion employed by the Patagonians, being little more than rude wooden frames. A few skins are laid on the back of the horse, the saddle is placed on them, a saddle cloth of thick leather is thrown over it, and the whole apparatus is complete. The bridle is made, like that of the Patagonians, of twisted hide, or sometimes of a number of strips of horse-skin plaited together, a few threads of silver being mingled with them. The bit is generally the ordinary Spanish bit, with its cruelly powerful arrangement of curb and ring.

The stirrups are generally nothing more than a piece of cane twisted into a triangular form, and hung to the saddle by leathern cords; but the wealthy Araucanians pride themselves in having these articles of solid silver. The shape of these stirrups varies in some degree, the usual form resembling that of the English stirrup, but very much larger and heavier, the sides being from one to two inches wide, and pierced in ornamental patterns, while the cross-bar on which the foot rests is fully two inches in width.

The form of stirrup to which they are most partial resembles the other, as far as the side pieces are concerned; but the foot-bar is developed into a large plate of silver, which comes over the front of the stirrup, and protects the toes and instep from the thorns which are plentiful in the country. The back of this plate projects behind in a sharp point, which is used as a spur.

About the spurs themselves the Araucanian is very fastidious. They are of enormous size, and armed with rowels measuring from two to three inches in diameter, and sometimes even exceeding that measurement. It may be imagined that spurs of this size, which are exceedingly weighty, must be buckled on the feet very tightly, so as to keep them in their places.

This, however, is not the case. On the contrary, the strap by which they are fastened is quite loose, so that when the wearer walks the rowels trail on the ground, and when he is mounted they hang nearly perpendicularly from his heels. The Araucanian cares little for the impediment in walking, as he never walks twenty yards if he can help himself; while the position of the spurs when he is mounted is a real necessity. An illustration of stirrups and spurs is given on the 1175th page.

The horses are never more than half trained. They are taught to wheel within a very small circle, to stop suddenly and throw themselves on their haunches, and to dash off at full gallop; but that is the extent of their accomplishments. Many of them are young, spirited, and nervous steeds, and if, in the course of the struggles for victory which they occasionally attempt, the spurs were to come against their sides, they would be greatly alarmed, and their struggles would only be increased. But as the spurs hang down almost below the rider’s feet, they swing clear of the horse’s flanks, while at any time, if they are needed for use, the wearer has only to bend his feet, which brings them into position.

The Araucanians have a very wholesome contempt for shams, and will have nothing that has any pretence about it. The poorest peasant, who can only afford an iron spur, or possibly not even a spur of any kind, would scorn to wear either spur or stirrups of plated metal, or of any imitation of silver, however good.

They are so fastidious in this matter that they will not use articles that have been made abroad; and even if a spur is made of solid silver in imitation of their own patterns, they will be nearly certain to reject it, the workmanship being sure to betray itself to their experienced eyes. A high polish always excites their suspicions, inasmuch as the native artificers are incapable of imparting it. All these articles are made from the silver currency of the country, and the wealthy Araucanian always carries with him a pair of balances, and a number of dollars which serve as standard weights.

It may be imagined that the purchase of a pair of spurs or stirrups is a matter of importance with these people. The buyer sits in silence on the ground, takes the spurs, and examines every part with the minutest attention, scrutinizing every joint, smelling the metal, tasting it, and ringing it, in order to judge whether it has been debased by the mixture of any inferior material. Not only spurs and stirrups, but pendants for the bridle, and ornaments for the headstalls and saddles, are made of silver; so that the accoutrements of a wealthy Araucanian will sometimes be worth a hundred and fifty pounds, merely as silver, without regard to the value of the workmanship.

The men who make these highly prized ornaments use the very rudest of tools, and their workshops are but rough hovels, quite out of keeping with the barbaric magnificence of their wares. Sometimes the artificer makes the ornaments for sale; but in the case of large articles, such as spurs or stirrups, which weigh several pounds, and consume a great number of dollars, he prefers to wait for the order, and make the required article out of the bag of dollars with which it is accompanied.

It is remarkable that the Araucanians, fond as they are of silver, will have nothing to do with gold. Besides these horse accoutrements, they wear earrings, breastpins, and other ornaments of silver, but none of gold. Some travellers think that their reason for the rejection of gold is their wish to conceal its presence in the country from the knowledge of the foreigner, remembering that it was the cause of the disastrous war with the Spanish invader. The real cause is, probably, that it cannot be procured in sufficient quantities without more labor than they choose to bestow, and that they have not learned to work gold as they do silver.

The Araucanians are admirable riders, though their seat would not please an European riding master. They depend entirely on balance for retaining their seat, and seem rather to hang on the horse’s back than to hold by any grip of the knee. Indeed, a stranger to the country always thinks that an Araucanian rider is on the point of being thrown, so loose is his seat, whereas the very idea that he can by any possibility be thrown never enters his mind. He and his horse seem one being, actuated by one mind. A traveller once saw a horse take fright, and leap sideways from the object of terror. He thought that the rider must be flung by the suddenness of the movement; but, to all appearance, the man took fright and shied at the same moment with his horse.

The Araucanians use the bolas in common with their southern neighbors, the Patagonians, and are never seen without the “laqui,” as they term the weapon, hanging at their waists. Some of them have a way of leaving one of the balls without its covering of leather, saying that the covered bolas is used when they fight with friends, but the bare bolas when they fight with an enemy.

They also use the lasso, that terrible weapon which extends over so vast a territory, and which supersedes the bolas as it proceeds northward.

This terrible weapon is simple enough in principle, being nothing more than a leathern rope, forty feet in length, with a noose at the end. As, however, the construction is rather ingenious, I have given an illustration on the 1175th page, taken from specimens in my possession. Fig. 1 shows the lasso coiled through the strap by which it is attached to the saddle of the rider. It is made of a number of thongs of raw hide, plaited into a round rope, about three-eighths of an inch in diameter; so that, although it appears very slender, it really possesses enormous strength, and an elephant could scarcely break it. This part of the rope is shown at fig. 5.

For the last ten feet of its length the rope is much thicker, is composed of more strips of hide, and is plaited into a square form. At the extreme end the various strands are plaited round an iron ring, as seen at fig. 4. Through this ring the lasso passes, so as to form a running noose. The change from the round to the square plait is seen at fig. 3, and fig. 2 shows the peculiar knot which keeps the lasso from slipping from the saddle.

Fig. 6 shows the end of another sort of lasso, made of the silk-grass fibre, i. e. the long fibres from the leaves of a species of agave. These fibres are wonderfully strong, and the lasso is remarkable, not only for its strength, but its elasticity. Instead of an iron ring being placed at the end, the rope is brought round so as to form a loop, the interior of which is lined with stout leather, and the exterior adorned with colored wools.

When the lasso is to be used, the thrower takes the ring in his left hand, and the lasso in the right, and separates his arms so as to make a running noose nearly six feet in length. Grasping the ring and the cord with his left hand, he slips his right hand along the rope so as to double it, and there holds it. When he throws it, he whirls it round his head until the noose becomes quite circular, and then hurls it at the object, throwing after it the remainder of the rope, which has hung in coils on his left arm. As it passes through the air, the noose becomes gradually smaller, so that the thrower can always graduate the diameter of the noose to the object which it is intended to secure.

The skill with which they fling this noose is wonderful, as may be seen from Mr. Smith’s account of a struggle with an infuriated bull:—

“The capture of a particular animal from a herd, within a range of pasture utterly unbounded except by mountains and rivers, is often difficult, and gives rise to many exciting cases and ludicrous scenes. Even when taken, the captives are not easy of management, their attachment for old associates manifesting itself in frequent attempts to return.

“One particular bull gave great trouble. He was a noble fellow, of spotless white,—such an one as bore the beautiful Europa through the waters of the Phœnician deep, or such an one as might be worshipped on the shores of the Ganges.

“After a long time he was lassoed, and the horseman, who had literally taken the bull by the horns, started off complacently to lead him to the place of gathering. But his bullship did not take the going as a matter of course; for, with a mad bellow, he charged upon his captor, who, seeing a very formidable pair of horns dashing toward him, started at full gallop, still holding fast the lasso, which he in vain tried to keep taut. The horse was jaded, and old Whitey was fast gaining. Another Indian bounded forward, and, dexterously throwing his lasso, caught the unoccupied horn, bringing up the prisoner with a round turn.

“The bull was not yet conquered. After plunging, pawing, bellowing, and tossing for a while, he changed his tactics. Making a rush and a feint at one of his annoyers, he wheeled about suddenly, and nearly succeeded in catching the other on his horns. Things were becoming more complicated than ever, when, as the infuriated animal stood head down, with his tail stuck out at an angle of fifty-five degrees, a third horseman came to the attack, and, whirling his lasso with a jerk, caught the caudal extremity in a running knot.

“Thus the two men at the sides were safe, provided that the man behind kept his lasso strained. But a question in the rule of three now arose. If three men catch a bull, one by each horn, and one by the tail, and all pull in different directions, which way can the bull go?

“No one seemed able to work out the answer; but Katrilas was a man ready for all emergencies, and, dismounting, he started to the assistance of his companions, armed with a long lance and an old poncho. Running before the bull, he threw the poncho on the ground, a few paces in front, the man behind slackened a little, and the bellowing captive made a desperate plunge at the red cloth. A jerk on the tail stopped further progress, till Katrilas, picking up the poncho on the tip of the lance, tossed it several yards in advance. There was another slackening, another plunge, another jerk, and so on, until the ‘critter’ was brought to the desired spot.

“The next trouble was to loose the captive. Sundry scientific pulls brought him to the ground, and Katrilas, springing forward, stripped the lassos from his horns. But another remained on the tail. That no one would venture to untie, for the bull had risen, and stood glaring frantically around. An Indian, unsheathing his long knife, ran full tilt at the extended tail, and with one blow severed the greater part of that useful member from the body.

“The last was literally the ‘unkindest cut of all.’ The poor brute was fairly conquered. He stood with head hanging, eyes glaring, the tongue lolling from his frothing mouth, his once spotless coat defiled with foam and dirt, while the drip, drip, drip, of the warm blood upon his heels rendered the abjectness of his misery complete.”

That the Araucanians are a courageous race is evident from their struggles with the Spaniards. Though vanquished again and again by the superior arms and discipline of the Spaniards, they were never conquered, and when repulsed, only retired to gather fresh forces. Toqui after Toqui fell in the struggle, the most remarkable of these warriors being a mere youth named Lautaro, who was unanimously elected to the post in consequence of his conduct when the Araucanians attacked the Spaniards at Tucapel. He was a captive and a servant in the family of Valdivia, when the place was attacked. The Spanish musketry told so terribly upon the Araucanians, that they were on the point of retreating, when Lautaro dashed forward, rallied his countrymen, and led them to the attack with such spirit that the whole Spanish force was destroyed with the exception of two, who escaped to Concepcion with the news of the defeat. Valdivia himself was captured, and it is said that Lautaro desired to save the life of his former master, when an old chief seized an axe and dashed out the brains of the captive general.

Foreseeing that General F. de Villa Gran, who was at Concepcion, would march at once to avenge the destruction of Tucapel, Lautaro assembled the troops, pushed forward, and concealed half of them in the sides of a defile through which the road led, while the other half were also concealed at the summit of the mountain. The battle began in the defile, and, after causing great destruction among the enemy, the Araucanians had to retire.

Fancying that the enemy were beaten, the Spaniards pressed on, and arriving wearied at the summit, found a second and fresh army opposed to them. They fought with the utmost courage, and their artillery nearly turned the day in their favor, when Lautaro told off one of his bravest officers with orders to capture the cannon, while he attacked Villa Gran on the flank. So furiously was the charge made, that the guns were taken, and the Spaniards had to retreat, Villa Gran barely escaping with his life.

When they entered the pass through which they had come, they found the outlet blocked with fallen trees, and the sides filled with warriors, whom the far-seeing Lautaro had despatched for that purpose at the beginning of the conflict. The slaughter was terrific, and only a few of the Spaniards escaped, led by Villa Gran, who at last forced his way through the barriers.

Lautaro showed his splendid generalship, by pushing on at once to the headquarters at Concepcion, which he took, pillaged, and burned. Orders were received from Lima to rebuild Concepcion, and no sooner was it done than Lautaro captured and burned it again. He then conceived the bold project of attacking Santiago itself, and in a wonderfully short time appeared before the place.

Here he committed his only error in generalship. He had to pass through the territory of the Purumancians, who had become allies of the Spaniards, thinking them invincible. Lautaro should have remembered that the late defeats must have altered the opinions of the Purumancians, who could have been easily induced to act against their former allies. But his indignation at their treachery was so great, that he stopped to ravage their territory and destroy their crops.

Villa Gran, who was then the governor of Santiago, knew his enemy well, and employed the time in fortifying the city, which would have fallen at once had Lautaro pushed on without stopping to punish his traitorous countrymen. Three times Villa Gran sent a force against the Araucanians, the last being commanded by his own son, but all were routed and driven back.

At last Villa Gran, stung by these repeated defeats, determined himself to conduct an expedition against his foes, and with a mixed force of Spaniards and Purumancians came stealthily upon the Araucanian camp. Born general though he was, Lautaro did not know the use of outposts, and the consequence was, that Villa Gran surprised his camp, and as he rushed to the front to rally his followers, he was pierced by a dart flung by one of the Purumancians, and fell dead on the spot.

Thus fell Lautaro, a youth worthy to be named with the greatest heroes of antiquity. Chosen commander at the age of seventeen, he opposed for two years the best soldiers of Europe, armed with infinitely superior weapons, and accustomed to military discipline. Though a mere boy, he displayed a military skill and a fertility of resource worthy of the most accomplished generals, and by sheer force of intellect and courage won every battle except that in which he fell.

A nation which could produce men such as Lautaro, or the troops who fought and conquered under his command, is evidently capable of great things, and, at all events, worthy of the liberty which it won from the Spaniards, and which has never again been threatened.

Marriage among the Araucanians is an odd mixture of ceremonies. Theoretically, the bridegroom is supposed to steal his wife against her own will and in opposition to the wishes of her parents; practically, he buys her from her parents, who have long looked upon their daughter as a valuable article, to be sold to the first purchaser who will give a sufficient price.

Sometimes the match is one of affection, the two young people understanding each other perfectly well. Music is the usual mode by which an Araucanian expresses his feelings, and the usual instrument is the jews-harp. The Mapuché lover is never seen without his jews-harp hanging from his neck, tied upon a little block of wood to prevent it from being injured, and decorated with strings of many-colored beads. Furnished with this indispensable instrument, the lover seats himself at a little distance from the object of his choice, and produces a series of most dolorous sounds, his glances and gestures denoting the individual for whom they are meant.

After a little while, the lover thinks that he had better proceed to the marriage. Should he be a wealthy man, he has no trouble in the matter; but if not, he goes among his friends and asks contributions from them. One gives an ox, another a horse, another a pair of silver spurs, and so on. It is a point of honor to make these contributions, and equally so to return them at some time or other, even if the intending bridegroom has to wait until in his turn he can sell his eldest girl.

The next process is, that the friends of the young man assemble, all mounted on their best horses, and proceed in a body to the house of the girl’s father. Five or six of the best speakers dismount and ask permission for the marriage, extolling to the utmost the merits of the bridegroom, and expatiating on the happiness of his daughter in being married to such a man. The father, treating the matter as gravely as if he had not done exactly the same thing himself, makes a speech in his turn.

All this ceremony is intended to give time to the young man to hunt for his intended bride, and, until he has found her, they will go on with their speeches. As soon as the young man discovers the girl, he seizes her and drags her to the door, while on her part she screams and shrieks for protection. At the sound of her voice all the women turn out, armed with sticks, stones, and any other weapons which come to hand, and rush to her help. The friends of the bridegroom in their turn run to help their friend, and for some time there is a furious combat, none of the men escaping without some sharp bruises, and the girl screaming at the top of her voice.

At last the bridegroom dashes at the girl, seizes her as he can, by the hand, the hair, or the heels, as the case may be, drags her to his horse, leaps on its back, pulls her up after him, and dashes off at full speed, followed by his friends. The relatives of the girl go off in pursuit, but are constantly checked by the friends of the bridegroom, who keep them back until he has dashed into the forest with his bride. They halt at the skirts of the forest, wait until the sounds of the girl’s screams and the galloping of the horse have died away, and then disperse. This Araucanian ceremony of marriage is represented on the following page.

The young couple are now left alone until they emerge from the wood on the second day after the abduction, when they are supposed to be man and wife. That all the fighting and screaming are a mere farce is evident from the fact that, if a man should offer himself who is not acceptable to the parents of the girl, and should proceed to carry her off, one of her relatives blows the horn of alarm, as has already been mentioned, and all the male relations turn out and drive off the intruder. Sometimes, however, he succeeds in gaining the bush before he is caught, and in that case the marriage holds good.

Some few days after the marriage, the friends call on the newly-married couple, and bring the contributions which they had promised. The whole party then proceed to the house of the girl’s father, and offer him these goods, which are taken as if they were merely offerings, and not the price for which the girl was sold. Being satisfied with the presents, he expresses himself pleased with the marriage, and congratulates the young couple and their friends.

But the mother is not so easily to be satisfied. With her it is a point of honor that she is not satisfied, but, on the contrary, is highly outraged at the abduction of her child. So she will neither speak to nor look at the bridegroom, but sits down with her back turned to him.

Now comes a difficult point. She is bound, in accordance with the laws of hospitality, to entertain the guests, and as the offending son-in-law is the most important person, he must be consulted first. So she addresses the bride, “My daughter, ask your husband if he is hungry.” The conversation thus begun is carried on in a similar manner, and ends with an entertainment on which the mother of the bride exhausts all her culinary knowledge. Sometimes the husband never addresses his mother-in-law for years, except with her back turned to him, or with a fence intervening between them. The reader may remember that a similar custom is followed by the Kaffir tribes of Southern Africa. See page 88.

The cookery of the Araucanians is at first anything but agreeable to European taste.

Mutton is largely consumed in the country, and is killed, dressed, and cooked in a speedy and simple manner. The sheep being hung by its hind legs to a tree, its throat is cut, and the blood is received into a bowl and mixed with salt, in which state it is thought to be a very great delicacy. The sheep is then opened, and the whole of the interior removed to be cleaned and cooked, this being held as the best part of the animal. The skin is then removed, the body is split along the spine from head to tail, and each half is transfixed with a stick, and set over the fire.

The greatest delicacy, however, that can be placed before a guest is called “nachi.” The mode of preparing this dish is a good example of the total disregard of inflicting pain which is common to all uncivilized people.

(1.) ARAUCANIAN MARRIAGE.
(See page 1200.)

(2.) MAPUCHÉ FAMILY.
(See page 1191.)

A sheep is hung up by the fore-legs, a quantity of cayenne pepper and salt is mixed in a bowl, and the throat of the sheep is cut so as to open the windpipe, down which the operator stuffs the salt and pepper as fast as he can. He then draws out the jugular vein, cuts it, and turns the end into the severed windpipe, down which the blood flows, so as to mix with the pepper and salt, and carry them into the lungs. The unfortunate sheep swells up and dies in horrible agony, which is totally disregarded by the spectators, not from intentional cruelty, but utter want of thought. The sheep is then opened, and the lungs are found distended with a mixture of salt, pepper, and blood. This is the nachi, which is served up by being cut in slices and handed to the guests while still warm.

There are two national drinks, namely, chica and mudai. The former is a sort of cider, and prepared as follows. A sheepskin is laid on the ground, with the woolly side downward, and a ponchoful of green apples is emptied on it. Two or three men sit round it armed with switches, with which they beat the apples, and in a short time convert them into a pulp. Water is next poured upon them, and the chica is ready for use. The men take up large handfuls of the pulp, and squeeze them into jars, this being all the preparation which the chica receives.

This drink is at first hated by foreigners, and afterward liked by them. See, for example, two extracts from the journal of the same traveller. “After riding for a long time in the hot sun without meeting any running stream, we spied a farmhouse in the distance, and, going to it asked for a glass of water.

“‘There is not a drop of water within a mile of the house,’ said an old woman who came to the door, ‘but we can give you some chica de manzanos (cider) that is very nice,’ producing at the word a huge glass of a green, muddy liquid. To call it vinegar would be too high a compliment, and to add that it was flavored with gall would convey no adequate idea of this abominable stuff, which had been made from the very greenest of green apples. One mouthful sufficed for me, and my first impressions of chica de manzanos were not favorable; but our guide tossed it off with infinite relish.”

This description was written immediately after entering the country for the first time. Here is another description of the same liquid. After describing the mode of its manufacture, he proceeds to say: “Such cider is somewhat coffee colored, and rather sour, but I soon became fond of it, especially with the addition of a little toasted meal, which makes it much more palatable.”

Mudai is a drink which resembles almost exactly the kava of Polynesia, and is prepared in the same manner, meal being substituted for the kava root. A bushel or so of wheat is slowly boiled for several hours, after which the decoction is strained off and set to cool. In order to hasten fermentation, a quantity of meal is masticated and added to the liquid. The effect is very rapid, and when fermentation has fairly begun, the mudai is fit for use, and is strained off into jars. It has a muddy look, but possesses a pleasant and slightly acid flavor, which is very agreeable in a hot country if the mode of preparation be not known.

Wheat is prepared in a rather peculiar, not to say poetical and romantic, manner. The sickle is not employed, but the ears are plucked by hand. The wheat gatherers separate themselves into pairs, a young man and a girl taking a basket between them, and walking slowly through the cornfield. As they pass along, they gather the ears, rubbing them on the back of their companion’s hand, so that the ripe grains fall into the basket. They accompany the light toil with songs, which mostly treat of love, and as the tendency of each pair is naturally to diverge from the others, it happens that in this way is originated many a love-match, which afterward finds its issue in the marriage ceremonies above described.

This plan is, however, only employed when corn has to be gathered and threshed on a small scale. When a large quantity is prepared the horse is brought into requisition, the ears being thrown into a circular shallow pit, round and round which six or seven horsemen urge their steeds, shouting and yelling as if mad. When they think that the grain is sufficiently released from the ears, they leap out of the ring, and a number of women and children enter, who sweep up the corn and chaff to the edge of the ring with bunches of twigs which serve as brooms.

This operation, however, is a very imperfect one, and before the corn can be taken to the mill a further husking has to be performed. This is done by placing the wheat in shallow wooden dishes, getting into them barefooted, and keeping up a sort of shuffling dance, throwing up the grain with each foot alternately, and rubbing it with the other.

The winnowing is simply accomplished by flinging the wheat into the air, so that the chaff is blown away by the wind. As to the grinding, it is exactly similar to that mode which is practised by the Kaffirs, the women placing the corn on the top of a flat, sloping stone, and rubbing it with another stone shaped like a rolling-pin. The mill being placed on a sheepskin, the meal falls upon the skin as it is ground. This is very hard work indeed, and even the skilled Araucanians are bathed in perspiration before they have ground enough corn for a meal.

CHAPTER CXXVI. THE ARAUCANIANS— Concluded . GAMES AND SOCIAL CUSTOMS.

THE GAME OF PELICAN, AND ITS CLOSE RESEMBLANCE TO HOCKEY — AVAS, OR THE EIGHT BEANS GAME — MANUFACTURES — MAKING BROTHERHOOD, AND EXCHANGING NAMES — AN IRRUPTION OF NEW RELATIVES — STATE OF THE HEALING ART — THE MACHIS OR DOCTORS — THEIR MODE OF WORKING CURES — A WEIRD-LIKE SCENE — THE FEMALE DOCTOR AT HER INCANTATION — FEAR OF ALLOWING THE NAME TO BE KNOWN — BELIEF IN OMENS — THE LUCKY BIRDS — HUMAN SACRIFICE — FUNERAL OF A CHIEF.

The games of the Araucanians are tolerably numerous, and one or two of them resemble some of our own games. There is one, for example, called Pelican, which is almost identical with the well-known game of hockey. An animated description of this game is given by Mr. E. R. Smith:—

“Early in the morning we saw a number of boys engaged upon the fine lawn in front of the house in planting out twigs at short intervals, thus forming an alley about forty feet wide, and some three hundred long. They were preparing for a game of Pelican. Others were blowing a long horn (formed by the insertion of a cow’s horn in a hollow cane), to the tones of which came back answering notes, as though a rival band were approaching over the hills. The night before, we had heard the same challenge to the neighboring youths, and the same echoing reply, but more faint and distant. At last the enemy were seen emerging from the woods; a shout of welcome arose; there were many salutations, a ‘big talk,’ and all put themselves in readiness for the great trial of skill.

“The game of Pelican ... is played with a small wooden ball, propelled along the ground by sticks curved at the lower end. The two sides have their bases at opposite extremities of the alley. The ball is placed in a hole half-way between the bases, and over it two boys are stationed, while the other players are scattered along the alley, each armed with a stick. When all is ready, the two boys strike their sticks together in the air, and commence a struggle for the ball, each striving to knock it toward the opposite party.

“The object of every one is to drive the ball through his opponent’s base, or, in defence of his own, to knock it sideways beyond the bordering line of twigs, in which case the trial is put down as drawn, and recommences. Each game is duly notched on a stick, and the party first tallying a certain number gains the victory.

“There was much shouting and shuffling, many a cracked shin and an occasional tumble, but the greatest goodwill reigned throughout. Some thirty players were engaged in the game, mostly naked, with the exception of a poncho about the loins. I was much disappointed with their physical development, which was not as I expected to see. They struck me as inferior to the laboring classes in Chili, both in muscle and symmetry, though possessing the same general features. Neither was their playing remarkable either for skill or activity; and if they were a fair sample, it would be an easy matter to select from many of our schools or colleges a party of young men more than a match for the same number of picked Araucanians, even at their own national game of Pelican.”

When the sun is too high to allow this game to proceed, the players generally abandon it in favor of another game called Avas. This is purely a game of chance. It is played with eight beans, each having a mark on one side, and ten sticks, which are used in reckoning the game. Spreading a poncho on the ground, the players sit at opposite sides, and each in turn takes the beans, shakes them in his hands, and flings them on the poncho. For each bean that falls with the marked side upward one point is scored, a hundred completing the game.

The interest displayed in this game is extraordinary. The players shout to the beans, talk to them, kiss them, press them to their breasts, and rub them on the ground, imploring them to send good luck to themselves, and evil fortune to their antagonists, and treating them exactly as if they were living creatures. At this game they stake all the property that they can muster, and ponchos, bolas, lassos, knives, ornaments, and dollars when they can be got, change hands with great rapidity amid the excited yells of the players and spectators. At this game the Araucanians frequently lose every article of property which they possess, and it is not at all uncommon to see a well-dressed and well-armed player go disconsolately home without his weapons, his ornaments, and his clothes, except a ragged cheripa.

The fate of prisoners of war often depends on the turn of a bean, and sometimes, when the national council have been unable to decide on a subject, they have settled the point by the result of a game at avas. Even the pelican game has sometimes been entrusted with the decision of a knotty point of policy.

The manufactures of the Araucanians are but few. The art of the silversmith has already been described, as has also that of the bolas maker, while the manufacture of the lasso will be described in another place. The native cloths are made of cotton or wool, and are woven in very rude looms. The principal dye employed by the Araucanians is indigo, and the bright scarlet patterns which are introduced into the best cloths are obtained by interweaving threads unravelled from European manufactures.

Among their social customs, the mode of making brotherhood ought to be mentioned, inasmuch as it resembles in some respects that which has already been described as practised in the Malay Archipelago and in Africa, and in others. The ceremony is called Lacu, and is performed after the following manner.

One individual is selected from the family into which the honored guest is to be received, and to him a present is made. He then fetches a lamb, kills it, cuts it into two pieces, and boils one-half of the animal. The meat is then placed in a huge wooden bowl, and brought to the new brother in Lacu, who is supposed to eat the whole of it, and if he should leave a single mouthful would grievously insult the family into which he was to be received.

Fortunately, he is allowed by the laws of etiquette to take advantage of the adage, qui facit per alium facit per se; and though he cannot by any possibility consume half a lamb, he is allowed to eat as much as he can manage and to distribute the remainder among the family, who are only too happy to take their share in fulfilling the required conditions. From that time the two Lacus exchange names.

Mr. E. R. Smith went through the ceremony of Lacu, and became a member of the Mapuché tribe, under the name of Nam-culan, an abbreviation of Namcu-Lanquen, i. e. Eaglet of the Sea. Sometime afterward he found that his relations were strangely numerous.

“After the usual meal, the usual distribution of presents was made, and as the family was small we were just congratulating ourselves on escaping cheaply, when in sauntered a neighbor, who was presented as my brother. He had hardly settled down to the enjoyment of his share of the booty, when in dropped a blear-eyed old woman, who proved to be my aunt. Next followed a stately dowager, fair, fat, and forty, radiant with paint and silver ornaments, looking as innocent as though she had dropped in by the merest accident in the world. She was my sister, and so it went on until we began to think that our host’s relations were innumerable.”

The Araucanians know a little about medicine, and much more about surgery, though the mixture of superstition with practice lessens the former, and the absence of a written language hinders the latter. Their medicines are almost entirely vegetable, the chief of which is the well-known sarsaparilla root. Bleeding is performed by means of sharp flakes of obsidian, which are sharper than any knife of native manufacture, and blisters are in great favor.

The Mapuché mode of blistering is the very simple one of the actual cautery, and is performed by means of a moxa made of dried pith. This material is rolled up in little balls and applied to the skin, where it is allowed to remain until entirely consumed, being pressed down so as to ensure its full effect. This is horribly painful, but in spite of that drawback—perhaps in consequence of it—is very much in favor with the people.

Beside these material medicines they have others of a different character, which are employed when the disease is beyond the reach of their simple medicines. The wise men who practise this advanced system of healing are but few in number, and are called by the title of Machi, their mode of practice receiving the name of machilun.

Going on the principle that a disease which cannot be expelled by medicine must be caused by an evil spirit, the Machi proceeds to drive it out after his own fashion. The hut is cleared of inhabitants, and the patient laid on his back in the middle of the floor. The Machi, having in the meanwhile removed nearly the whole of his clothes, and made himself as horrible as he can by paint, enters the dwelling, taking with him his magic drum, i. e. a wooden bowl with a cover of sheepskin strained tightly over it. After examining the patient, the Machi begins a long-drawn monotonous incantation, accompanied by continual beating of the drum, until he has worked himself up to a pitch of frenzy, and falls backward on the ground, with breast jerking convulsively, eyes rolling, and mouth foaming.

As soon as he falls, a number of young men, who have been waiting close to the hut, leap on their horses, and dash at full speed round the house, yelling defiantly, waving lighted torches over their heads, and brandishing their long lances by way of frightening the evil spirit, and warning him not to come near the place again. Like the Machi, they are all nearly naked, and painted in the most hideous fashion, so as to strike terror, not only into the spirit that has possession of the man, but into those who are hovering round the house, and trying to gain admission. In the first engraving on the next page the artist has furnished a strange, weird scene, illustrating the Mapuché mode of healing the sick.

After a while the Machi recovers from his trance, and then announces the seat and immediate cause of the malady. For the latter he carefully searches the patient, and after a time produces it in the shape of a spider, a toad, a stone, an arrow head, or similar object. Were he to do more than this, no harm would accrue, and if the patient should recover no harm is done.

But, should he die, the Machi is forced by public opinion to declare that the evil spirit has been sent to the dead man by means of witchcraft.

The body is opened, the gall removed, and placed in the wooden bowl of the magic drum, where it undergoes a series of incantations. After they are over, it is put into a closely covered pot and placed on the fire until it is dried up. The sign of witchcraft is a stone found at the bottom of the pot, and it is needless to say that such a stone is never wanting. By means of this proof of witchcraft, the Machi again throws himself into a trance, in the course of which he designates the culprit who has caused the illness of the deceased.

No one ever disbelieves a Machi, and the relatives of the dead man seek out the accused and murder him. It naturally follows that the Machis are too prone to abuse this terrible power of their position by accusing persons against whom they have enmity, or whom they have been bribed to condemn. No counter proof is admitted in the face of a Machi’s accusation; and if the alleged culprit should be in another district, the cacique is requested to deliver him up to justice. The unfortunate wretch is sure to suffer torture for the sake of extracting a confession of his guilt, and, whether he confess or not, he is sure to be killed; so that a wise man admits his guilt at once, and thereby escapes the tortures which he would otherwise have suffered.

Sometimes, though rarely, the Machi is a woman. In this case she assumes the male dress, mimics as far as she can the masculine tone of voice and mode of walking, and is always a very disagreeable individual, being mostly crabbed, ill-tempered, petulant, and irritable.

As the Machi always operates at night, the scene is most wild and picturesque, as may be seen from the account of Mr. E. R. Smith, who witnessed (at a distance) the operations of a female Machi.

“One of the neighbors was dangerously ill, and during the night there was a grand machilun performed by the grand exorcist, the medicine woman of Boroa herself. I wished to be present, but Sancho would not listen to the proposal, insisting that we might expose ourselves to violence by appearing to interfere with this witch, whose hatred of the whites and influence over the natives were alike unbounded.

“The night was black and threatening, well suited to her machinations. We could plainly hear the monotonous tap of the Indian drum, and the discordant song occasionally rising with the frenzy of the moment into a shrill scream, then sinking to a low, guttural cadence, while all else was hushed for very dread of the unhallowed rites. Suddenly the singing stopped, and there was a long silence, broken by the eruption of a troop of naked savages rushing round the house on horse and afoot, brandishing fiercely lance, and sword, and burning fagot and blazing torch, and making night hideous with their demoniac cries. The frightened dogs howled in dismal concert, and again all was still. The evil spirit had been cast out and driven away. It only remained for the sick man to recover or die.”

The witch who presided over this extraordinary scene was a mestizo, i. e. a half-breed between the negro and the native. She was a singularly unprepossessing personage, hideously ugly, and turning her ugliness of features to account by her shrewdness of intellect. Ugliness is not, however, a necessary accompaniment of this particular caste. There is now before me a photograph of a young mestizo woman, whose features, although they partake somewhat of the negro character, are good and intelligent, her color is comparatively pale, and her hair retains the length and thickness of the Araucanian, together with a crispness which has been inherited from the negro race.

(1.) MAPUCHÉ MEDICINE.
(See page 1206.)

(2.) MAPUCHÉ FUNERAL.
(See page 1210.)

Like many other uncivilized nations, the Araucanians have a great objection to allow a stranger to learn their names, thinking that by means of such knowledge the wizards may be able to practise upon them. When they are brought into contact with the white man, and are asked their names, the Araucanians flatly deny that they have any. They will take service under him, and allow him to call them by any name that he likes, but their own name they will never tell, nor do they like even to invent one on the spur of the moment. The reader will doubtless recall many similar instances that have been recorded in the course of this work. They have a similar objection to their portraits being taken, thinking that the possessor will be able to exercise magical influence upon them by means of the simulated features.

This terror has been increased by the use of books by the white travellers. Nothing is more inexplicable to an Araucanian than to see a white man, evidently ignorant of the language, refer to a book and then say the word which he wants. How such a mystery can be achieved is beyond his comprehension, and he regards the book and its owner as equally supernatural beings.

In one case, an Indian of more than usually inquisitive mind pointed to various objects, in order to see whether his white visitor could find out their names by looking at a book. Being convinced that the feat really was performed, he peered into the book, vainly trying to detect some resemblance between the word and the object which it signified. As he did not gain much information from his eyes, his white friend pointed out the word, on which he laid his hand as if to feel it. Just at that moment, a slight breeze ruffled the leaves of the book. The man drew back as if a snake had bitten him. The mysterious voice of the white man’s oracle had spoken to him, and, what was worse, upon his left hand. He said nothing, but silently withdrew, and, wrapping his poncho round his head, sat for several hours without speaking a word.

In consequence of this superstition, a traveller dares not use his note book openly. He is obliged to write his remarks surreptitiously, and, so great is the fear inspired by the very fact of writing, that even if the traveller be out of sight for any lengthened time, the people are nervous and suspicious.

The Araucanians have a firm belief in omens, and will address prayers after their own fashion to any of the creatures that are supposed to have supernatural power. On one occasion, when Mr. E. R. Smith was travelling with his native friends, one of the mules fell and broke its back. This was a sinister omen, and the Araucanians were correspondingly depressed at it. Fortunately, an omen so good followed it that their fears were dispelled and confidence restored.

The reader may remember that Mr. Smith had just exchanged names with a Mapuché lad, and was called Namcu-lanquen, i. e. Eaglet of the Sea. Just after the unlucky mule had injured itself, a sea eagle rose suddenly from its perch, circled around the party, and sailed off southward. This was indeed a fortunate omen. In the first place, the bird was the emblem of the white man who had recently become a Mapuché, and in the next, the eagle was on the right hand of the travellers.

The native guide Trauque put spurs to his horse, dashed forward at full gallop, shouting and yelling with excitement at the piece of good fortune that had befallen them. Presently he halted, and addressed a prayer to the eagle: “O Namcu! Great being! Look not upon us with thy left but with thy right eye, for thou knowest that we are poor! Watch over our children and brothers; and grant us happiness, and allow us to return in safety from our journey.”

Every circumstance combined to make the omen propitious. The Namcu is the being most venerated by the Araucanians, who think that it is a sort of heavenly messenger in direct communication with the Superior Being. The reader will doubtless be struck with the coincidence between the bird divinations of the Araucanians and those of the Dyaks of Borneo, as well as by their identity with the auguries of ancient Greece and Rome.

With the exception of the wise men above mentioned, the Araucanians have no priests, and as a necessary consequence they have no temples and no religious ceremonies. There is a general though vague belief in a good and evil principle, which may be manifested by a host of inferior deities or demons. They have not even an idol, nor is there any definite system of worship, the only prayers which a native makes being invocations such as that which has just been described as made to the eagle.

Sacrifices are made at their great national councils. An animal is killed, its blood is poured on the ground as a libation, and the heart, laid on a green branch, is borne round the assembly, accompanied with dances and songs. The flesh is then cooked and eaten, and the bones collected and thrown into the nearest river, so that they shall not be polluted by being eaten by the dogs.

Sometimes in war time, a prisoner is sacrificed. He is placed on a horse whose tail and ears have been cropped by way of deriding the rider, and is thus taken to the place of execution. Here he dismounts, and is forced to dig a hole, into which he throws a number of sticks, calling each after the name of some celebrated warrior of his tribe. He is then made to fill up the hole, thus symbolically burying the fame of his countrymen, and as soon as he has done so, his brains are dashed out with a club, care being taken to inflict as little damage as possible on the skull.

As soon as he falls, the heart is torn from the breast and handed to the Toqui, who sucks a few drops of the blood, and passes it to his officers, who follow his example. The large bones of the arms and legs are made into flutes, the head is placed on a spear and carried round in triumph, and the skull is made into a drinking-cup to be used at the principal feasts. Such a sacrifice, however, is not to be considered as an act of worship, but merely as a mode of propitiating the manes of deceased warriors.

The similitude between the bird omens of the ancient Greeks and Romans and those of modern Araucanians has already been mentioned. There is another semi-religious practice which also recalls the customs of classic times, namely, the making of libations and offerings of food at every meal. When the Araucanian takes his broth or wine, he pours a few drops upon the ground as a thank offering to the higher powers, and with the same motive he scatters around a few morsels of food.

The mode of burial differs slightly according to the locality and the tribe.

When a Mapuché chief dies, the body is exposed on an open bier for several days, during which time the friends and neighbors pay their respects and offer their condolence to the family. On the day of the funeral a procession is formed, led by a company of young men on horseback, who dash forward at full speed to the place of interment. After them the body, borne by the principal relatives, and behind them come the women, who wail aloud and fill the air with their cries of sorrow. Last of all comes a woman who scatters ashes on the ground, so that the deceased may not return by the path along which he was borne. The illustration No. 2, on page 1207, represents this part of a Mapuché funeral.

The body is then bound with the knees to the breast, and lowered into the grave, with the face toward the west, the direction of the Mapuché spirit-land. The saddle, bit, spurs, and stirrups of the deceased are laid by his side, together with some provisions for the journey, a few beads, and a piece of money, and the grave is then filled up. As, however, the horse accoutrements of a chief are of silver, and exceedingly valuable, they are represented by wooden copies, which are supposed to serve the purposes of the deceased as well as the more costly articles, which become the property of his successors.

At the head of the grave is planted the dead man’s lance, the steel head of which is replaced by a wooden imitation. It is also necessary that a horse should be provided for the dead chief, and this is done by sacrificing his favorite steed, and hanging its skin over the grave by means of a pole placed across two forked props. Mr. E. R. Smith shrewdly remarks that in all probability the deceased would be put off with a wooden horse to ride, were it not that the Mapuchés are exceedingly fond of horseflesh, and take the opportunity of holding a great banquet on the flesh of the slaughtered animal, the skin and spirit going to the share of the dead man.

Such ceremonies as these are only for a chief, a common man not being supposed to need a horse, and consequently being buried with slight and simple ceremonies. For the funerals of women the rites are of a similar character, the chief distinction being that, instead of the saddle and weapons, some cooking vessels, a distaff, and similar objects are laid in the grave.

Some travellers have asserted that when a powerful chief dies, his favorite wife is also killed and placed in the tomb with him. This statement is, however, very doubtful, and was flatly contradicted by every one of whom Mr. Smith inquired. The Mapuchés seem to have a vague notion that the dead are able to return to earth and watch over the living; and when the dark thunder-clouds lower over the distant Cordilleras, they imagine that the deceased warriors of their tribe are chasing away the invisible foes of their country, and utter loud shouts of encouragement to the supernatural warriors.

In some parts of the Mapuché territory the graves are surrounded with a rude fence of upright boards, from the midst of which rises the long quivering lance with its slight pennon fluttering in the wind. (See background of illustration).

The Huilyichés, however, have a much more elaborate mode of decorating the graves of their chiefs, resembling in some degree that which is employed by the New Zealanders. Figures supposed to represent the deceased chief and his wives are set round the grave, just as the New Zealanders plant their “tikis” round the graves of their friends. (See page 861.)

One such memorial, seen by Mr. Smith, had a very singular, not to say ludicrous, appearance. Each figure was cut out of a huge log of wood, some ten or twelve feet in height. In the middle stood the chief himself, wearing no clothing, but having a hat on his head and a sword in his hand. Round him were stationed his wives, equally without clothing, the great object of the artist being to leave no doubt which is the chief and which are his wives, without troubling himself as to details of drapery. Rude as these figures are, only very few natives can carve them, and these sculptors make a large income by the exercise of their skill. Each figure is purchased with a fat ox, or even at a higher price, according to its size and the amount of labor bestowed upon it, and no grandee can be considered as buried respectably unless the grave be decorated with a figure of the deceased.

CHAPTER CXXVII. THE GRAN CHACO. APPEARANCE—WEAPONS—CHARACTER.

THE GRAN CHACO AND ITS INHABITANTS — THEIR LOVE OF FREEDOM — CONTRAST OF THE TWO RACES IN SOUTH AMERICA — THE VARIOUS TRIBES IN THE COUNTRY — APPEARANCE OF THE INHABITANTS — ERADICATION OF THE EYEBROWS AND EYELASHES — HAIR DRESSING — COSTUME OF THE SEXES — EQUESTRIAN HABITS — THE NAKED MAN ON THE NAKED HORSE — WEAPONS — THE MACANA CLUB, AND MODE OF USING IT — THE LONG SPEAR — CURIOUS ARMOR — THE FOOT-BOW — ATTACKING A VILLAGE — HUTS OF THE GRAN CHACO INDIANS — CROSSING A RIVER — CHARACTER OF THE PEOPLE.

To the east of the Araucanian territory, and extending to the Paraguay and Panama rivers, lies a tract of mountain country, of indeterminate northern and southern boundaries, called the Gran Chaco. This great district is inhabited by a series of tribes who deserve a short notice.

Not the least remarkable point in their history is the manner in which they have preserved the freedom of their own land, despite the attacks of various white nations. Both the Spaniards and the Portuguese have, at different times, seized on a few positions in the Gran Chaco, but have not been able to retain them except on the indefinite western frontier line. On the east, where the great Paraguay River forms the natural boundary, the native is left unmolested in his freedom.

In the eloquent words of Captain Mayne Reid: “On its eastern side, coinciding almost with a meridian of longitude, the Indian of the Gran Chaco does not roam; the well-settled provinces of Corrientes, and the dictatorial government of Paraguay, presenting a firmer front of resistance. But neither does the colonist of these countries think of crossing to the western bank of the boundary river to form an establishment there.

“He dares not even set his foot upon the Chaco. For a thousand miles, up and down, the two races, European and American, hold the opposite banks of this great stream. They gaze across at each other—the one from the portico of his-well-built mansion, or perhaps from the street of his town—the other standing by his humble ‘toldo,’ or mat-covered tent, more probably on the back of his half-wild horse, reined up for a moment on some projecting promontory that commands a view of the river. And thus have these two races gazed at each other for three centuries, with little other intercourse passing between them than that of a deadly hostility.”

As the territory of the Gran Chaco is very extensive, being about three times as large as that of Great Britain, and extends north and south through eleven degrees of latitude, it naturally follows that the tribes which inhabit it differ from each other in many details, those of the warm north and cold south being in many points strongly contrasted with each other. Still, there are many points of similarity, and these we will select in the following brief account of the Gran Chaco tribe, omitting, from want of space, those wherein they differ from each other.

In the first place, the aborigines of the Gran Chaco are of a much paler complexion than those of the more northern tribes, known from their color by the name of Red Men, and more nearly resemble the rich olive of the inhabitants of Southern Europe. The nose is rather aquiline, the mouth well formed, the cheek-bones high, and the eyes and hair jetty black. The latter is singularly abundant, and though coarse and without curl is smooth and glossy when properly dressed.

The men have but little beard, and the scanty hairs which grow upon the chin and face they completely eradicate, using for that purpose a pair of shells until they are rich enough to purchase iron tweezers. Even the eyebrows and lashes are pulled out, the natives saying that they only hinder the sight, and comparing those who wear them to the ostrich—i. e. the rhea, or American ostrich, which is plentiful in their country.

To an European, the loss of these appendages to the eyes has a very unsightly effect; but the native takes a very different view of the case, and looks upon a countenance wherein the eyebrows and lashes are permitted to grow much as a gentleman of George the Second’s time would have regarded a head which was decorated by its own hair, and a face from which the beard and moustache had not been removed.

The masculine mode of dressing the hair has some resemblance to that which is practised by the warlike tribes of Northern America. The hair is shaved from the forehead, as well as from a band extending behind the head from one ear to the other. The remainder is allowed to grow to its full length, and carefully cherished and tended.

The Gran Chaco Indians only use paint upon great occasions, when they decorate themselves as fantastically as any savage tribe can do; but, as a rule, their faces and bodies are allowed to retain their normal olive hue. Neither do the men use the tattoo, this being restricted to the women, who mark themselves with a variety of patterns upon their arms, cheeks, and breasts, each having a line of blue dots extending from the corner of each eye to the ears, and a pattern of some kind upon her forehead.

The dress of these people is very simple. In warm and fine weather, it consists merely of a piece of cotton or woollen fabric, woven in the brightest hues of red, white, and blue. It is little more than a mere strip of cloth, and in this respect the dress of the women scarcely differs from that of the men. In cold and stormy weather, both sexes wear a warm cloak made of the skin of the jaguar, or, if so valuable a material cannot be obtained, of that of the nutria, or South American otter. Earrings are worn by both sexes; but the hideous ornaments which so many savage tribes wear in their lips and noses are utterly unknown to them.

The Gran Chaco Indian is essentially a horseman, and no inhabitants of America have made more use of the horse than he has. He differs, however, from those which have been already mentioned in one important particular. He utterly despises the costly spurs, stirrups, and headstalls which have been described in the account of the Araucanians, and, almost naked himself, he rides upon an entirely naked horse. He uses no saddle, no stirrups, and no bit, guiding his steed by voice and touch, and not by the power of the iron curb. The only representative of a bridle is a slight rope of plaited hide passed round the lower jaw of the horse.

The weapons of the Gran Chaco Indian are very few. He carries the bolas and lasso, but cares little for them in war, preferring, as his most efficient weapon, his spear. This instrument is sometimes fifteen feet in length, and in the hands of a skilful rider, mounted upon a perfectly trained steed, is a most formidable instrument of war. The warrior uses his spear, not only for battle, but as a means for mounting his horse. He stands on the right hand of the animal, places the butt of the spear upon the ground, and, using the shaft as a leaping pole, swings himself upon the back of the horse with scarcely an effort.

A rather peculiar club is also used by these people. This weapon is called “macana,” and exists throughout a very large portion of Southern America. It seldom exceeds two feet in length, and in form somewhat resembles a square dice box, being smaller in the middle, and increasing in diameter to each end. It is used both as a missile, and as a hand weapon, and when used is held by the middle. The young warriors pride themselves on the force and accuracy with which they hurl this instrument, and during their leisure time vie with each other in throwing it at a mark. The specimen which is shown in the illustration was presented to me by H. Bernau, Esq., together with several other weapons and implements of South America.

THE MACANA.

Sometimes the macana is armed with a cylindrical piece of hard stone, which projects from one end like the blade of an axe. It is fastened into the wood by a very ingenious process. Having fixed upon a young branch which he thinks will make a good club, the Indian bores a hole in it, and hammers into the hole the stone cylinder which has been previously prepared. He then allows it to remain for two or three years, by which time the wood has grown over the stone, and become so firmly imbedded that it will break to pieces rather than be loosened by any amount of violence.

Another of these weapons in my collection is remarkable for the slight but elaborate carvings with which it is covered, leaving only a small space in the centre devoid of ornament. The patterns are scratched rather than cut, so that they cannot properly be seen unless the weapon is turned from side to side, so as to ensure the light falling properly upon it; but the extreme hardness of the wood makes them retain their integrity in spite of rough usage. The tree from which these clubs are made is one of those which are popularly called iron-wood, on account of the hardness and weight of the timber. It belongs to the guaiacums. The Spaniards call the tree by a name which signifies “axe-breaker.”

The strangest part of war as waged by these natives is, that when they fight with each other they adopt an elaborate system of defensive armor, while they discard everything of the kind when they match themselves against the fire-arms of the whites, knowing that the shield and costume which will guard them against the club and the spear are useless against a bullet.

The armor is of a most cumbersome description, and looks nearly as awkward as that which is worn by the soldiers of Begharmi. (See page 638.)

First of all, the warrior puts on a coat made from the skin of the jaguar, dressed so as to remain soft even after being wetted. Over this dress he wears a complete suit of armor, made from the thick and hard hide of the tapir. Not only the body armor, but the helmet and shield are made of this material, which is capable of resisting the stroke of the lance or the point of the arrow. It interferes, however, with the right management of the horse, and it is very doubtful whether its defensive powers compensate for its exceeding clumsiness. Still, it may have a moral effect upon the enemy; and there is no denying that it gives the warrior a more formidable appearance than he would possess if he rode without armor. To add to the ferocity of his aspect, he employs paint on these occasions, and with scarlet and black pigment makes himself absolutely hideous.

When he goes to attack a village inhabited by white men, he does so in a very ingenious manner. Usually he fights exclusively on horseback, being so admirable a rider that he can even stand on the withers of his horse when at full speed, and feeling himself out of his element when dismounted. But when he has to attack so formidable an enemy as the white man, he begins after a different fashion. He takes with him an enormous bow, far too strong to be drawn in the usual manner, and a number of long arrows. Dismounting at some distance from the village, he creeps to some spot within range of his arrows, and then prepares for action.

He begins by wrapping a quantity of cotton wool round the arrows just behind the head, and when he has treated them all in this way, he strikes a light and sets fire to the cotton wool on one of the arrows. Lying on his back, he holds the bow with the toes of both feet, and, laying the blazing arrow in its place, he is able to use both his hands to draw the powerful weapon. He shoots with a wonderfully good aim and great rapidity, so that when a number of Indians surround a village, and pour their fiery missiles into it from all directions, the houses are sure to take fire.

In the midst of the confusion caused by the flames that arise on all sides, the warriors leap on their horses, dash at the village, kill all whom they can reach, carry off as much plunder as possible, and then gallop back to their own districts, where no one dares to follow.

Retaliation is never feared, as the Gran Chaco Indians have no fixed habitation, and nothing that can be called even a village. The hut or rather tent of these people is a very simple affair. Two upright posts are driven firmly into the earth, and another is laid horizontally across them. Over the horizontal pole is hung a large mat, the ends of which are pegged to the ground, and the tent is then complete. The mat is made of the epidermis of young palm leaves. In order to prevent water from flooding the tent in rainy weather, a trench is dug around it. The only furniture is the hammock in which the inhabitant sleeps, and in fine weather, this is much more often slung between two palm trees than between the upright posts of the tent. In fact, the only use of the tent is as a shelter in rainy weather, the whole of the life being passed in the open air.

As may be imagined from this mode of life, the Gran Chaco Indian is essentially a rover, passing from one part of the country to another when game begins to be scarce in that district which he temporarily inhabits. Illustration No. 1, on the 1218th page shows the manner in which a community of these natives cross rivers. Swimming with perfect ease themselves, they merely with one hand guide their horses in the water without caring to get on their backs, while with the other hand they paddle themselves across the stream, or hold the spear with its light burden of ornaments.

ARROWS AND ARROW-CAP.
(See page 1229.)

The children and household goods are conveyed easily enough. Square boats or tubs made of bull’s hide are launched, and in them are placed the children, the puppies, of which there are always plenty, and the heavier goods, such as the kettles and cooking vessels. A rope is tied to the “pelota,” as this primitive boat is called, and the cargo is towed across the stream either by being attached to the tail of a horse, or held in the mouth of a good swimmer. The lighter articles, such as dress and ornaments, are fastened to the head of the spear, which is held upright, so as to keep them out of the water.

The dogs which have just been mentioned are extremely useful to the Gran Chaco Indians, who employ them in the chase. They give but little trouble to their masters, living for the most part in holes which they scratch in the ground, and feeding contentedly on the offal and scraps of food, which in an uncivilized community are more than scanty. Without the dogs the hunter could scarcely bring to bay the jaguar, the peccary, and similar animals, which are so annoyed by the perpetual and noisy attacks of the little curs that they stop in their flight in order to revenge themselves, and so give the hunter time to come up with them.

Although so essentially a warrior, and living much upon the proceeds of his plunder, the Gran Chaco Indian is in one respect far superior to the North American tribes. He does not torture the prisoners whom he takes in war, and the women and children he treats kindly, and adopts into his own tribe.

CHAPTER CXXVIII. THE MUNDURUCÚS. MANUFACTURES—SOCIAL CUSTOMS.

POSITION AND NUMBER OF THE MUNDURUCÚ TRIBE — THEIR GENERAL APPEARANCE — MODE OF TATTOOING — SKILL IN FEATHER WORKING — FEATHER SCEPTRES AND APRONS — HEAD PRESERVING — THE TRIUMPHAL FEAST AND WARRIOR’S PRIDE — TRAINING OF THE WARRIOR — THE ORDEAL OF THE “GLOVES” — INTELLIGENCE OF THE MUNDURUCÚS — THE HEALING ART — ENCHANTED CIGARS — COLLECTING SARSAPARILLA — THE GUARANA TEA — THE PARICA SNUFF AND ITS OPERATION — THE SNUFF TUBE — COOKERY AMONG THE MUNDURUCÚS.

The largest, most warlike, and most powerful of the Amazonian tribes is that which is known by the name of Mundurucú.

Formerly, they used to inhabit the country on the southern bank of the great Amazon River; but since their long and valiant struggle with the Portuguese, they have moved considerably southward, having conceded to their new allies the more northern portion of their territory. Since that time, they have been on very good terms with Europeans, and a white man of any nation is sure to find a welcome when he comes among the Mundurucús. This feeling does not extend to the negroes and mulattoes, the dark skin arousing the anger of the Mundurucú as a white skin excites his friendship.

The color of the Mundurucús is warm coppery brown; their hair is thick, black, and straight, and with the men is cut short, except a long fringe, which is allowed to hang over the forehead. Their features are good, the lips being thin, the forehead tolerably high and arched, and the general contour of the face oval. Unfortunately, they disfigure themselves by a tattoo which is just as elaborate as that of the Marquesans, but without its elegance.

The Mundurucú seems to have no idea of a curved or scroll-like pattern, and contents himself with tracing straight lines and angles. One favorite plan is, to cover the whole body with a sort of trellis-like pattern, the lines crossing each other diagonally in some, and at right angles in others. One man, seen by Mr. Bates, had a large black patch on the centre of his face, covering the bottom of the nose and mouth, while his body was decorated with a blue checkered pattern, and his arms and legs with stripes.

At first it seems strange how the people can draw the lines with such regularity. It is managed, however, easily enough by means of the peculiar form of the tattooing instrument. This, instead of being very small and made of bone, is of considerable size, and is in fact a comb made of the sharp thorns of the pupunha palm set side by side. With this instrument there is no difficulty in producing straight lines, as all that the operator has to do is to lay the points of the comb on the skin, tap it sharply until a row of little holes is made, and then rub into the wounds the charcoal pigment.

Besides the tattoo, they use paint in profusion, and adorn themselves with lovely ornaments made of the feathers of the macaw, the toucan, and other native birds. There are other tribes which use similar decorations, specimens of which we shall presently see. They are perhaps the best savage feather workers in the world, displaying an amount of artistic taste which is really astonishing. Their feather sceptres are beautiful specimens of native art. They are about three feet in length and three inches in diameter, and are made by fastening on a wooden rod the beautiful white and yellow feathers from the breast of the toucan. At the top, the sceptre expands into a wide plume, composed of the long tail-feathers of the trogons, macaws, and other birds. In order to preserve these sceptres in their full beauty, they are kept in cylindrical bamboo cases until they are wanted. These decorations are only used on festival days, which are determined by the will of the Tushaúa or chief of the tribe. On these occasions the women prepare great quantities of “tarobá,” which is exactly the same as the mudai of the Araucanians, and they go on drinking, singing, and dancing until all the liquor is exhausted.

The illustration No. 7 on page 1231, gives some idea of the mode of feather working, and the kind of pattern employed by the Amazonian aborigines, though the plain black and white can give no idea of the gorgeous coloring and artistic arrangement of the hues. For this reason, I have been obliged to limit the illustrations of the elaborate feather work of these natives, and only to give a few examples, where form, as well as color, is exemplified.

The body of this apron is made of cotton strings, plaited into a netting, so close that it resembles a woven fabric, while they are allowed at the upper part to be loose, and parallel to each other. Beginning at the bottom of the apron, we have first a row of jetty black feathers, upon which is a tolerably broad band of bright yellow. The ground-work of the rest of the apron as far as the base strings is made of scarlet feathers, crossed by two narrow yellow bands, and the curious double pattern in the middle is yellow above and blue below. The sides and top are edged by a belt of black monkey fur.

Among the upper edge of the base strings are a number of the elytra or wing cases of the gorgeous Buprestis beetle. They are loosely strung in a row by their bases, and not only look splendid when the light of the sun shines on them, but rattle at every movement, so as to keep time to the steps of the dancers, for whom such ornaments are chiefly made. These wing cases are used also for children’s rattles.

Like many other warlike savages, the Mundurucús perpetuate the memory of valiant deeds by preserving a trophy of the slain enemy. Indeed, this is the only way in which it is possible to preserve the accounts of their valor, and the Mundurucús follow in this respect the example of the Dyaks, by cutting off and preserving the head of the dead man. When a Mundurucú has been fortunate enough to kill an enemy, he cuts off the head with his bamboo knife, removes the brain, soaks the whole head in a bitter vegetable oil, called “andiroba,” and dries it over a fire or in the sun. When it is quite dry, he puts false eyes into the empty orbits, combs, parts, and plaits the hair, and decorates it with brilliant feathers, and lastly passes a string through the tongue, by means of which it can be suspended to the beams of the malocca or council-house, where it remains except on festival days. When, however, the chief gives orders for a feast, the proud owner of the head arrays himself in his most magnificent suit of feathers, fetches his prize from the malocca, fixes it upon the point of his spear, and parades himself before his companions in all the glory of an acknowledged brave.

One of these preserved heads is shown on page 203, drawn from a specimen in the possession of A. Franks, Esq., of the British Museum. In order to show the ordinary kind of feather headdress which is worn by the Mundurucús, a portrait of a chief is also given on the same page, so that the contrast between the living and preserved head is well marked.

The value which a Mundurucú attaches to this trophy is simply inestimable. As none except acknowledged warriors are allowed to contend against the enemy, the fact of possessing a head proves that the owner has passed triumphantly through the dreadful ordeal of the gloves. It is very remarkable that we find two totally distinct races of men, the Malay and the Mongol, possessing exactly the same custom, and reckoning the possession of a head as the chief object in life.

It is quite impossible that the Dyak of Borneo and the Mundurucú of Central Southern America could have been geographically connected, and we must infer that the custom took its rise from the love of approbation inherent in human nature. In all countries, whether civilized or not, renown as a warrior is one of the chief objects of ambition. In civilized countries, where a literature exists, this renown is spread and conserved by means of the pen; but in uncivilized lands, some tangible proof of success in war must be required. In this head the necessary proof is obtained, for its existence shows that the owner has killed some man or other, and the form or absence of the tattoo is a proof that the slain man was an enemy and not a friend.

The successful warriors are so proud of their heads that they will often remove them temporarily from the malocca, and place them on the fence which surrounds their crops, so that the women, who are working in the field, may be cheered by the sight of their relative’s trophies. Of late years, either this custom has fallen into abeyance, or the people are unwilling to exhibit their trophies to a white man, for Mr. Bates, who spent so much time with them, never even saw a preserved head, or could hear of one being used.

Like many other natives, the Mundurucús have to pass through a horribly painful ordeal before they can be admitted into the rank of men. There is a strange, weird-like character about the whole proceeding.

The reader must know that South America possesses a great number of ants, many of which sting most horribly. There is, for example, the muniri ant, a great black insect, as large as a wasp and with as venomous a sting. Then there is the fire ant, whose bite is just like a redhot needle piercing the flesh, together with many others. These ants are made the instruments by which the courage of the lad is tested.

(1.) GRAN CHACO INDIANS ON THE MOVE.
(See page 1213.)

(2.) THE GLOVE DANCE OF THE MUNDURUCÚS.
(See page 1219.)

On the appointed day, the candidate for manhood and the privilege of a warrior, goes to the council-house, accompanied by his friends, who sing and beat drums to encourage him. The old men then proceed to the test. They take two bamboo tubes, closed at one end and open at the other, and place in each tube or “glove” a number of the fiercest ants of the country. Into these tubes the wretched lad thrusts his arms, and has them tied, so that they cannot fall off. The drummers and singers then strike up, and the candidate joins in the song.

Accompanied by the band and his friends, he is taken round the village, and made to execute a dance and a song in front of every house, the least symptom of suffering being fatal to his admission among the men. In spite of the agony which he endures—an agony which increases continually as the venom from the stings circulates through his frame—the lad sings and dances as if he were doing so from sheer joy, and so makes the round of the village. At last he comes in front of the chief’s tent, where he sings his song for the last time, and is admitted by acclamation to be a man. His friends crowd round to offer their congratulations, but he dashes through them all, tears off the gloves of torture, and plunges into the nearest stream, to cool his throbbing arms.

This fearful test of manhood, called “The glove dance,” is represented on page 1218.

The Mundurucús seem to be an intelligent race of savages, as may be seen from Mr. Bates’s account of the interest which they displayed in a book of illustrations.

“To amuse the Tushaúa, I fetched from the canoe the two volumes of Knight’s ‘Pictorial Museum of Animated Nature.’ The engravings quite took his fancy, and he called his wives, of whom, as I afterward heard from Aracú, he had three or four, to look at them: one of them was a handsome girl, decorated with necklace and bracelets of blue beads. In a short time others left their work, and I then had a crowd of women and children around me, who all displayed unusual curiosity for Indians.

“It was no light task to go through the whole of the illustrations, but they would not allow me to miss a page, making me turn back when I tried to skip. The pictures of the elephants, camels, orang-outangs, and tigers seemed most to astonish them, but they were interested in almost everything, down even to the shells and insects. They recognized the portraits of the most striking birds and mammals which are found in their own country; the jaguar, howling monkey, parrots, trogons, and toucans.

“The elephant was settled to be a large kind of tapir; but they made but few remarks, and those in the Mundurucú language, of which I understood only two or three words. Their way of expressing surprise was a clicking sound made with the teeth, similar to the one we ourselves use, or a subdued exclamation, Hm! Hm!

“Before I finished, from fifty to sixty had assembled; there was no pushing, or rudeness, the grown-up women letting the young girls and children stand before them, and all behaved in the most quiet and orderly manner possible.”

Like other savage tribes the Mundurucús place great faith in their medicine men, or “pajes,” as they are termed. These men are supposed to exercise a power over evil spirits, especially those which cause sickness, and which take the visible form of a worm or some such creature.

When a Mundurucú is ill, he sends for the paje, who goes through the gesticulations common to all the tribe of medicine men, until he has fixed upon some spot wherein the evil spirit has located itself. He then makes a huge cigar, by wrapping tobacco in folds of tanari, i. e. the inner bark of a tree, which is separated into layers and then beaten out like the bark cloth of Polynesia. Several trees, especially the monkey-root tree (Lecythis ollaria), furnish the tanari, the best being able to furnish a hundred layers from one piece of bark.

The smoke from the cigar is blown for some time upon the seat of the malady, and after a while the paje applies his lips to the spot, and sucks violently, producing out of his mouth the worm which has done the mischief. On one occasion, when a paje had operated on a child for a headache, a white man contrived to get possession of the “worm,” which turned out to be nothing but a long white air-root of some plant.

These people have, however, some genuine medicines. In the first place, they know the use of sarsaparilla root, and gather it in large quantities for the market. The root, or rather the rhizome, of a species of Smilax is the well-known sarsaparilla of commerce.

The natives collect it during the rainy season, when the roots can be easily torn out of the wet earth. After washing the roots carefully, the gatherers store them under shelter until they are quite dry, and then make them up into bundles of uniform size, for the convenience of packing. These bundles are rather more than three feet in length, and about five inches in diameter. They are tied up very tightly with the sipo, a kind of creeper, and sold to the traders.

Another medicine known to them is the guarana. It is made from the seeds of a climbing plant belonging to the genus Paullinia. The seeds are roasted in their envelopes, and then taken out and pounded between two stones. The powder is mixed with water so as to form a stiff paste, which is moulded into squares and left to dry. When used, the vegetable brick is scraped into water, about a teaspoonful going to the pint, and the medicine is complete. It has a stimulating effect on the system. Like strong tea, it repels sleep, but is so valuable in the intermittent fever of the country that in the Brazilian settlements it obtains a very high price.

There is another very remarkable medicine, which, though not used by the pure Mundurucú tribe, is in great favor with the Cuparis, a sub-tribe of the same nation. This is a sort of snuff, called paricá, which is prepared and used after the following manner. The seeds of a species of ingá (a plant belonging to the Leguminous Order) are dried in the sun, pounded in wooden mortars, and the dust put into bamboo tubes.

When the people determine to have a bout of snuff taking, they assemble together and drink various fermented liquors until they are half intoxicated. They then separate into pairs, each having a hollow reed filled with the paricá snuff. After dancing about for some time, they blow the snuff into the nostrils of their partners so as to make it produce its full effect.

The action of the paricá is very singular. Sometimes it is so violent, that the taker drops on the ground as if shot, and lies insensible for some time. On those who are more used to it the effect is different. It causes for a time the highest excitement, driving off the heaviness of intoxication, and imparting a lightness and exhilaration of spirits, causing the taker to dance and sing as if mad, which indeed he is for a time. The effect soon subsides, and the men drink themselves anew into intoxication.

The Muras, a quarrelsome and savage tribe, with whom the Mundurucús are at perpetual feud, are the most confirmed paricá takers. The Mauhés, a neighboring tribe, use it as a means of repelling ague in the months between the wet and dry seasons, when miasma always abounds.

They keep the powder in the state of dried paste, and when they wish to use it, scrape it into a flat shell, spreading it very carefully with a little brush made from the hair of the great ant-eater. They then produce the snuff-taking apparatus. This is made of two eagle quills tied side by side for part of their length, and diverging at one end to such a distance from each other that the extremities will go easily into the possessor’s nostrils. The shape of the instrument is very much like that of the letter Y.

Inserting the diverging ends into his nostrils, the Mauhé places the other end on the powder, and draws it through the quills, the end travelling over the shell until every particle of the powder has been taken. Sometimes the snuff taker employs, instead of the quills, the bone of a plover’s leg. This instrument, however, is very rare, and cannot easily be procured, the possessor esteeming it to be a most valuable piece of property. It is remarkable that the paricá, under different names, is used in places a thousand miles apart.

The cookery of the Mundurucús is very simple. They make cassava bread and tapioca, after a fashion which will be presently described, and feed on yams, plantains, and similar vegetables. Animal food is obtained by hunting, and chiefly consists of the monkeys with which the South American forests abound. When a monkey is to be eaten, it is cooked in one of two ways. Should there be time, a large fire is made and allowed to burn nearly down, so that there is little or no smoke. Over the red embers a number of green sticks are laid parallel to each other, just like the bars of a gridiron, and on these bars the monkey is placed just as it is killed, the skin never being removed, and the interior seldom cleaned.

There is even a simpler plan than this, which is employed when the Mundurucú has no time to build a large fire. He makes up as large a fire as he can manage, impales the monkey on a stick sharpened at each end, and fixes the stick diagonally in the ground, so that the body of the monkey hangs over the fire, just as a soldier cooks or rather burns his rations by impaling the piece of meat on his ramrod. Very little cooking is required by these people, who are content if the skin is well calcined and the flesh not quite raw.

The Mundurucú can also procure fruits that are capable of preservation, so that he need be in no fear as to suffering from lack of provisions. The chief fruits are the “nuts” of the Lecythis and the Bertholetia. The fruit of the former tree is popularly known as “monkey-cup,” because the hard envelope which encloses the seeds has a movable lid, that falls off when the fruit is ripe, and enables the monkeys to draw the seeds out of their case.

The fruit of the Bertholetia is familiarly known as the Brazil nut. A number of these nuts are enclosed within a very thick and hard pericarp, which has no lid, though there is a little hole at the top through which the seeds can be seen. When the fruit is ripe, it falls to the ground with such force that if it were to strike a man on the head it would instantly kill him. One of these fruits in my collection measures exactly a foot in circumference, and, though very dry, weighs nine ounces. The reader may imagine the force with which such a fruit would fall from the height of a hundred feet or so.

To guard themselves against accidents, the Mundurucús always wear thick wooden caps when they go after the Brazil nuts, and are careful to walk very upright, so as not to be struck on the back or the nape of the neck.

CHAPTER CXXIX. THE TRIBES OF GUIANA. WEAPONS.

CHANGES OF LANGUAGE — INVERSION OF WORDS AND SENTENCES — THE TALKING PARROT — THE FIVE CHIEF TRIBES OF GUIANA — PECULIARITY OF CLIMATE, AND CONSEQUENT EFFECT ON VEGETABLE AND ANIMAL LIFE — THE HAMMOCK OF GUIANA — THE WEAPONS PECULIAR TO THE COUNTRY — THE TWO KINDS OF BLOW GUN — THE ZARABATANA, AND MODE OF CONSTRUCTION — WEIGHT OF THE WEAPON — THE PUCUNA — ITS DOUBLE TUBE — THE OURAH AND SAMOURAH — THE KURUMANNI WAX — THE INGENIOUS FORE AND BACK SIGHTS — THE BLOW GUN ARROWS — THEIR CONSTRUCTION — MODE OF SHARPENING — THE PIRAI FISH — INGENIOUS MODE OF PACKING THE ARROWS — MODE OF PROPELLING THE ARROWS — THE WINGED ARROW — THE QUIVER AND COTTON BASKET.

It is evident that the innumerable tribes which inhabit the neighborhood of the great Amazon River are members of the same family, differing more in language than in appearance or habits. It is natural that families when they become large should separate themselves, and so become founders of fresh tribes, which spread themselves over the country, settling down in those spots which suit them best. They retain the general character of their manners and customs, but, owing to the total want of a literature, their language is continually changing.

This alteration in their language is also due to the native fondness for inverting words and sentences during their conversation with each other, a custom which bears some resemblance to that of punning among ourselves. When these inverted words happen to please the people’s fancy, they are retained in the language, so that in a few years after a family has separated itself from the parent tribe the two dialects will have receded so far from each other that the people can hardly understand each other.

To the philologist this fluctuation of language would be exceedingly interesting, but, as we are concerned with manners and customs rather than with language, we will pass northward and eastward to Guiana. Sir R. Schomburgk mentions a fact which is a singular corroboration of the rapidity with which language changes among these tribes. There was a parrot living in 1800, which spoke well, but many of whose words could not be understood, because it spoke the language of the Atures, a tribe which had passed entirely out of recollection after it had been mastered by the warlike Caribs.

This comparatively small country is especially interesting to ethnologists, in consequence of the perfect manner in which the natives have guarded their individuality. Evidently sprung from one source, they have settled down in different districts and, though alike in color and general conformation, are as widely different in language, and often in manners, as if they belonged to separate quarters of the world.

Five principal nations inhabit Guiana, and are subdivided into a vast number of small tribes. These are the Macoushies, the Arawâks, the Accawaios, the Caribs, and the Waraus. The two first of these will be taken as representatives of the tribes in Guiana, though the others will be mentioned in cases where they present any marks of difference.

Taking broadly the chief points of distinction between these tribes, we may simply define them as follows.

The Macoushies are the largest and most ingenious tribe. They excel in the manufacture of the terrible wourali poison, which they exchange for canoes and other necessaries from other tribes. They also make the best blow guns. Their huts are closed, and conical like sugar loaves. Their number is somewhere about three thousand.

The Arawâks are rather taller than the Macoushies, being, on an average, five feet six inches in height. Their faces are marked with the tattoo, and, as they are much brought into contact with white men, they approach civilization nearer than do the other tribes.

The Accawaios and Caribs wear no clothing except on occasions of ceremony. The former are distinguished by a wooden ornament in the cartilage of the nose, and the latter by wearing ornaments in the under lip, and by a lump of annatto fastened to the hair of the forehead. The Waraus are darker than the others, and are acknowledged to be the best canoe makers in Guiana. Some of their vessels will carry ninety or a hundred men, and they sell these canoes to the Macoushies for the excellent wourali poison for which that tribe is celebrated.

Owing to the peculiarities of the climate, all these tribes have many customs in common. The climate is a very remarkable one, being exceedingly hot and exceedingly wet. The heat is owing to the geographical position of Guiana, which is close to the equator, and the wet is due to the trade winds and the configuration of the country. Blowing across the Atlantic they absorb a vast quantity of moisture from the ocean, and discharge the greater portion of it before they can reach any distance inland, the moisture being condensed by the secondary mountain chains, which are from five to seven thousand feet in height.

In consequence of this perpetual heat acting on perpetual moisture, vegetation flourishes with a luxuriousness scarcely to be seen in any other part of the world; and so completely is the ground covered with tree and bush, that many trees are unable to find a habitation upon the ground, and are forced to live upon each other. Thus, upon a lofty mora tree a fig tree will grow, and upon the fig an enormous creeper will fasten itself, its long shoots dangling loosely from the enormous height at which they grow, or drooping in graceful and flower-clad festoons from one tree to another. Such a forest as this is often ankle-deep in water for miles together, and the vegetation is so thick that the only way of passing through the tangled mass of vegetation is to cut a path with the axe. And even then, after a week or two has elapsed, the path will have vanished, so rapid is the growth of vegetable life.

It follows from this description that the animals which inhabit Guiana must be chiefly of two kinds, those which inhabit the trees and those which live in the water. Accordingly, we find that the country is tenanted by a great variety of the monkey tribe, that the arboreal puma and jaguar take the place of the terrestrial lion and tiger, and that the aquatic capybara and tapir flourish where beasts of equal size would perish if they had to live on the land. Birds of the most lovely plumage abound in Guiana, which is also a very paradise of insects.

It is evident that any human beings that live in such a country as this must have many characteristics in common. They need no clothes, no houses, and the woods supply them with food without the trouble of cultivation, so that their chief incentives to labor are taken away. Consequently, they may be called an idle people, though the indolence is rather apparent than real. They will work as long as there is a necessity for it; but, as a man can support existence without doing a real day’s work in his life, it is evident that the necessity for work does not often arise.

One habit which they have in common is that of sleeping in the hammock. This article is made by the natives from various vegetable fibres, and is woven in different ways, according to the character of the tribe which makes it. Some of these are made simply by laying a number of strings parallel to each other, and knotting others across at right angles; but the best have no knots at all, the strings interlacing with each other diagonally, so as to yield in every direction to the body of the occupier. When a native has made a particularly fine specimen, he adorns it with feathers, and other brilliantly colored objects.

These hammocks are of various sizes, some being small and used for children, and others large enough to contain an entire family. The specimen in my collection will hold two Guianan natives, but not two Englishmen. It is rather more than sixteen feet in length, and six feet in width.

The hammock is exactly adapted to the wants of the native. It is so light that he can roll it up and tie it round his body, so as to carry it on a journey; so slight in texture as to keep him cool when lying in it; and so yielding in its structure that the bare cords do not hurt his naked skin. On a journey he always carries his hammock with him, and if he wants to rest, he does not sit down, but slings the hammock between two trees and lies in it. Several purposes are fulfilled by this arrangement. In the first place, the ground is usually wet, so that the man is kept dry in the hammock; in the next place, he is safe from the snakes and other unpleasant reptiles that swarm in the forests; and lastly, he would always rather lie down than sit.

Another point which they have in common is the mode in which they destroy the animals on which they live. The reader will remember that the density of the jungle is so great, that if an animal were able, after it was wounded, to run for a hundred yards or so, or a bird to fly the same distance, it would be lost in the bush without the chance of recovery. It is evident, therefore, that the successful hunter must possess some means of destroying motion, if not life, almost instantaneously, and this he finds in the terrible wourali poison, which has the effect of causing instant stupor when it mixes with the blood. The mode of manufacturing this poison will presently be described, and at present it is sufficient to say that nearly all the missiles used by the Guianan aborigines, whether propelled by the bow or by the breath, are armed with this poison.

We will first take those missiles which are propelled by the breath, and examine the instrument through which they are sent. In principle this is exactly like the sumpitan of Borneo, described on page 1119, but the mode of construction is different, and in the best specimens the Guianan work is far superior to that of Borneo.

Of this singular weapon there are several varieties, the two principal of which are shown over the title “Blow guns” on the 1225th page, both being taken from specimens in my possession. On the right is the zarabatana. This is found throughout a very large tract of country southward of Guiana, when it takes a somewhat modified and improved form.

It is made of two separate pieces of wood, in each of which is cut a semicircular groove, so that when they are placed in contact with each other they form a long wooden rod, pierced with a circular bore. As the natives use nothing but the incisor teeth of rodent animals by way of tools, it may be seen that the labor of making one of these instruments is very great. The bore being carefully smoothed, the two halves are laid together, and bound by means of long, flat strips of jacitara wood wound spirally round them.

To the lower end of the weapon is fastened a large mouthpiece, with a conical opening like the mouthpiece of a trumpet, so as to collect the breath for the propulsion of the arrow. A quantity of cement, composed of a black wax made by a wild bee mixed with a pitchy substance obtained from several trees, is then rubbed over the whole weapon, which is considered complete. The zarabatana is exceedingly heavy, and requires not only a strong but a practised arm to hold it steady. The specimen in my collection, which is several feet in length, weighs three pounds twelve ounces.

A far superior weapon, called the “pucuna,” larger, lighter, and more easily handled, is made by the natives of many parts of Guiana, that used by the Macoushie tribe being the best. The specimen which is shown on the left of the zarabatana was brought from Guiana by the late Mr. Waterton, who presented it to me shortly before the accident which caused his death.

The weapon in question (called pucuna) is double, being made of two portions, called ourah and samourah. The essential portion of the blow gun is the ourah. This is a singular reed (Arundinaria Schomburgkii), which, as far as is known, only grows on the sandstone ridge of the Upper Orinoco between the rivers Ventuari, Paramu, and Mavaca. Like the bamboo, it grows in clusters, and, though not exceeding half an inch in diameter, the first fourteen or sixteen feet are without a knot. From this point spread the long, slender branches, measuring from thirty to forty feet in length, and waving in graceful curves when moved by the wind.

The portion used for the blowpipe is the first joint, which is uniform in diameter throughout, and is naturally polished within. But it is so thin, the walls being not twice the thickness of a playing card, that it would be too fragile to be used without some protection. Accordingly, the native has recourse to a sort of palm, called by him samourah, its scientific title being Ireartia setigera.

This is chosen of a proper size, cut down, and steeped in water, for the purpose of extracting the pulp which fills the interior. When it is quite dry, the reed is inserted into this tube, the native gunmaker having a wonderful talent in getting the slender reed exactly in the centre of the palm-stem, and fixing it in its place with the black wax already mentioned. This wax is called kurumanni by the Macoushies, and is used by them as freely as is the “black-boy” wax by the Australian aborigines. The samourah is then scraped down to the proper thickness, well polished, and the weapon is ready for the accessories which complete it.

One end is chosen to serve as a mouthpiece, and is bound with a string made of silk-grass and the other is tipped with the half of the acuero nut, which is very hard and prevents the end of the weapon from being injured by accidental blows against a tree or the ground. This acuero seed acts as a fore-sight, by which the native hunter can direct his weapon; but, in order to secure a more certain aim, he adds a singularly ingenious back-sight. Taking a lump of kurumanni wax, he presses it on the blowpipe about eighteen inches from the mouthpiece, and by means of the wax fixes upon the tube the two lower incisor teeth of the acouchi, one of the cavies.

Figure 1 shows the weapon itself, and fig. 2 the front view of the tip, guarded with its ring of acuero seed, which forms the fore-sight. Fig. 3 gives an enlarged representation of the back-sight, made of the teeth of the acouchi (Dasyprocta Acouchi) fixed in their place by the black kurumanni wax. Fig. 4 is a section taken through the middle of the back-sight, so as to show the way in which the teeth project from the shaft. Fig. 5 is a front view of the butt, showing the way in which the ourah reed is enclosed within the samourah palm.

Such a weapon as this is exceedingly light and easy to handle, presenting a strong contrast to the heavy and cumbrous zarabatana. The weight of the one in my collection barely exceeds a pound and a half, although it is eleven feet in length. It is held in rather a curious manner. The left hand is turned with the palm upward, and the elbow against the hip. The hand then grasps the blow gun within a hands-breadth of the mouthpiece, and the right hand seizes it, palm downward, in the space left by the other hand. In fact, this mode of holding the weapon is exactly similar in principle to that which is employed by riflemen. The blowpipe is then raised, not by the arms, but by bending back the body; and it is astonishing to see how steady it can be held for a lengthened time—a steadiness which can never be gained if it be held by stretching out the right arm and grasping it at some distance from the mouth.

The natives are most careful respecting the straightness of their blow guns, and never allow them to lean against anything lest they should be warped. When they go hunting, they carry the blow gun upright, like a soldier, “shouldering arms,” and when they return to their huts, they suspend the weapon by a loop to the top of the house. Mr. Waterton repeatedly draws attention to this point in his “Wanderings,” and when he presented me with the pucuna which he brought from Guiana, the gift was accompanied by a condition that it should never be allowed to lean against a wall, but should be either laid on the ground or suspended by its loop.

We now come to the arrows which are propelled through the pucuna. They very much resemble in shape and size those which are employed by the Dyaks, but, instead of being made to fit the bore of the pucuna by a piece of pith or soft wood at the butt, a small quantity of wild cotton, taken from the Bombax ceiba, is wound upon it, and fastened with a fibre of silk grass. Cultivated cotton is too heavy to serve the purpose, and nothing answers so well as the yellow, stout-fibred cotton of the Bombax. Very great art is required in putting on the cotton properly. It must exactly fit the bore, be perfectly regular, so as not to disturb the accuracy of the flight, and must taper gradually in front, so as to offer the least possible resistance to the air. See illustration No. 1, on the next page.

The shaft of the arrow is made of the leaf ribs of the coucourite palm, a species of areca. It is about ten inches in length, no thicker than a crow quill, and at one end is brought to a point as sharp as a needle by scraping it between the teeth of the pirai fish (Serrasalmus piraya). The teeth of this fish are flat, pointed, and double-edged, much like those of the shark—and, indeed, the pirai is a veritable fresh-water shark, biting whole mouthfuls from the bodies of animals that enter the water, and even attacking the alligator itself—and when the arrow is drawn between them, delicate shavings are taken off, just as is the case with the double knife-sharpeners of the present day. One half of a pirai jaw is always suspended to the quiver of a Macoushie.

Of the poison with which the arrow is armed we will presently treat: we are now only concerned with the manufacture of the weapon. In order to save space, the cotton is not put upon the arrows until just before they are wanted, six or seven finished arrows being left in the quiver for immediate use, and the rest tied in a bundle until needed. The formation of this bundle is singularly ingenious, the native being able to remove any of the arrows without untying it, and to add as many as he likes without disturbing those which already are tied together.

The native takes a rod of hard wood, a little longer than the arrows, and at one end he fixes a little wheel, rather more than two inches in diameter. At two inches from the wheel, and the same distance from the end of the rod, two holes are bored, through each of which are passed two strings made of cotton. When the man wishes to tie up a number of arrows, he lays them successively between the strings, which he twists between each arrow. When the last arrow is laid in its place, the whole are kept firm by a couple of sliding knots, which can be slipped along the strings.

Illustration No. 7 on the following page, will explain the method of stringing the arrows better than can be done by words alone. Two of the arrows are shown as prepared for use, the cotton being on their butts and the poison on their tips. A number more are shown as they appear on the double strings, poisoned, but without the cotton. A hunter will sometimes have as many as five hundred arrows at once upon a string.

In order to keep the weapons compact, so that they can be easily slipped into the quiver, they are rolled round the little rod, and bound firmly together in a cylindrical form, the poisoned points being directed to the wheel, of which the reader will now see the use. It serves as a sort of shield to the hand, so that when the hunter wishes to take the arrows out of the quiver, he can do so without the least danger; and when he desires to remove some arrows to be mounted with cotton, he can push them through the spokes of the wheel, and take them out without having to untie the bundle. See illustration No. 6.

(1.) BLOW GUN ARROWS.
(See page 1224.)

(2.) WINGED ARROW.
(See page 1227.)

(3.) COTTON BASKET.
(See page 1227.)

SHARPENER ENLARGED

(4.) QUIVER AND SHARPENER.
(See page 1227.)

STEM ENLARGED
1 ENLARGED
2

(5.) BLOW GUNS.
(See page 1223.)

(6.) ARROWS ROUND STICK.
(See page 1224.)

(7.) ARROWS STRUNG.
(See page 1224.)

When properly made and mounted, these arrows can be propelled with wonderful force. I have sent one for a distance of a hundred yards, and the natives can propel them to a still greater distance. There is a certain art in using the pucuna, the arrow not being urged by a lengthened breath, but by collecting all the air that the lungs will hold, and giving a short expiration, as if the object were to empty the lungs at one puff. The force comes entirely from the lungs, the cheeks having nothing to do with it. When an arrow is rightly propelled, it flies from the tube with a slight pop, like that which is produced by quickly drawing the cork of a small bottle. It is quite invisible for some little time, so rapid is the motion; and even when fitted with white instead of yellow cotton the eye can scarcely follow its course.

Such an instrument as this is simply invaluable for the purposes to which it is devoted. It is intended to be used almost exclusively for killing birds and small monkeys, both of which creatures live on trees. Now, as the trees of Guiana run to an enormous height, some of them attaining at least a hundred feet before they throw out a branch, it will be seen that the birds are beyond the reach of shot-guns. The foliage is so thick that it does not permit more than one or two shots to reach the bird, and the height is so great that, even if they did strike, they would produce but little effect. But the pucuna can throw an arrow higher than a gun can propel a shot, and if the needle-like point enters any part of the bird the effect is fatal.

There is another advantage which the pucuna possesses over fire-arms. The report of the gun frightens away every bird within sound, whereas the pucuna is practically noiseless. The slight “pop” with which the arrow is expelled does not alarm the birds, and an expert hunter can kill twenty or thirty birds from one tree without alarming the others. The pucuna is particularly useful in the chase of the toucan. The feathers of this bird are much used in the manufacture of the beautiful gala dresses which the natives wear on grand occasions, and are much prized by them. Now, the toucan has a way of sitting on the topmost boughs of the tallest trees, and were it not for the deadly arrow of his pucuna, the native could seldom obtain a specimen.

Just before the arrow is put into the blowgun, the hunter places it between two of the pirai-teeth already mentioned, and turns it round between his fingers. He thus cuts it through just above the poisoned portion, so as to leave a mere thread of wood attaching the head to the shaft. If, therefore, the bird or monkey, on feeling the smart, should seize the arrow and withdraw it, the poisoned head snaps off and is left in the wound.

In some parts of the country a very ingenious form of arrow is used. Instead of being made to fit the bore by means of cotton tied on the butt, a flat piece of bark is twisted round the arrow so as to cause it to terminate in a hollow cone. A larger piece of the same material is fixed along the shaft of the arrow, and slightly twisted so as to cause it to revolve when projected through the air. The arrow is tipped with a slight iron blade, instead of being merely sharpened wood. (See illustration No. 2.) This form of hollow base is admirably adapted for its purpose, and has been copied by Messrs. Lang, the well-known gunmakers of Cockspur Street, in their blow gun darts for killing small birds and animals without noise.