Half for ornament and half for purposes of healing are the large scars which may frequently be seen on the shoulders or breasts of the natives. The cuts are supposed to cure internal pains; the scabs are frequently scratched off, until the scar is large and high, and may be considered ornamental. Apropos of this medical detail I may mention another remedy, for rheumatism: with a tiny bow and arrow a great number of small cuts are shot into the skin of the part affected; the scars from these wounds form a network of fine, hardly noticeable designs on the skin.

The life and cult of the natives are as simple as their dress. The houses are scattered and hidden in the bush, grouped vaguely around the gamal, which stands alone on a bare square. No statues stand there, nor tall, upright drums; only a few small drums lie in a puddle around the gamal.

The dwelling-houses are simply gable-roofs, always without side-walls and often without any walls at all. They are divided into a pig-stable and a living-room, unless the owners prefer to have their pigs living in the same space with themselves.

A few flat wooden dishes are the only implements the native does not find ready-made in nature. Cooking is done with heated stones heaped around the food, which has been previously wrapped up in banana leaves. Lime-stones naturally cannot be used for that purpose, and volcanic stones have often to be brought from quite a distance, so that these cooking-stones are treated with some care. In place of knives the natives use shells or inland bamboo-splinters, but both are rapidly being replaced by European knives.

On approaching a village we are first frightened by a few pigs, which run away grunting and scolding into the thicket. Then a pack of dogs announce our arrival, threatening us with hypocritical zeal. A few children, playing in the dirt among the pigs, jump up and run away, then slowly return, take us by the hand and stare into our faces. At noon we will generally find all the men assembled in the gamal making "lap-lap." Lap-lap is the national dish of the natives of the New Hebrides; quite one-fifth part of their lives is spent in making and eating lap-lap. The work is not strenuous. The cook sits on the ground and rubs the fruit, yam or taro, on a piece of rough coral or a palm-sheath, thus making a thick paste, which is wrapped up in banana leaves and cooked between stones. After a few hours' cooking it looks like a thick pudding and does not taste at all bad. For flavouring, cocoa-nut milk is poured over it, or it is mixed with cabbage, grease, nuts, roasted and ground, or occasionally with maggots. Besides this principal dish, sweet potatoes, manioc, bread-fruit, pineapples, bananas, etc., are eaten in season, and if the natives were less careless, they would never need to starve, as frequently happens.

The men are not much disturbed by our arrival. They offer us a log to sit on, and continue to rub their yam, talking us over the while. They seem to be a very peaceful and friendly crowd, yet in this district they are particularly cruel and treacherous, and only a few days after my departure war broke out. The gamal is bare, except for a few wooden dishes hanging in the roof, and weapons of all kinds, not in full sight, but ready at any moment. We can see rifles, arrows and clubs. The clubs are very simple, either straight or curved sticks. Old pieces are highly valued, and carry marks indicating how many victims have been killed with them: I saw one club with sixty-seven of these marks. In former years the spear with about two hundred and fifty points of human bones was much used, but is now quite replaced by the rifle. The bones for spear-points and arrow-heads are taken from the bodies of dead relatives and high-castes. The corpse is buried in the house, and when it is decayed the bones of the limbs are dug out, split, polished and used for weapons. The idea is that the courage and skill of the dead man may be transmitted to the owner of the weapon, also, that the dead man may take revenge on his murderer, as every death is considered to have been caused by some enemy. These bones are naturally full of the poisons of the corpse, and may cause tetanus at the slightest scratch. On the arrows they are extremely sharp and only slightly attached to the wood, so that they stick in the flesh and increase the inflammation. Besides, they are often dipped in some special poison.

All over the archipelago the arrows are very carefully made, and almost every island has its own type, although they all resemble each other. Many are covered at the point with a fine spiral binding, and the small triangles thus formed are painted in rows—red, green and white. Much less care is bestowed on the fish- and bird-arrows, which are three-pointed as a rule, and often have no point at all, but only a knob, so as to stun the bird and not to stick in the branches of the trees.

Shields are unknown. It would seem that the arrow was not, as elsewhere, the principal weapon, but rather the spear and club, and the wars were not very deadly, as the natives' skill in handling their weapons was equalled by their skill in dodging them.

Having inspected the gamal, we received from the highest caste present a gift of some yam, or taro, which we requited with some sticks of tobacco. The length of the gamal depends on the caste of the chief who builds it. I saw a gamal 60 metres long, and while this length seems senseless to-day, because of the scanty population, it was necessary in former days, when the number of a man's followers rose with his rank. Not many years ago these houses were filled at night with sleeping warriors, each with his weapons at hand, ready for a fight. To-day these long, dark, deserted houses are too dismal for the few remaining men, so that they generally build a small gamal beside the big one.

To have killed a man, no matter in what way, is a great honour, and gives the right to wear a special plume of white and black feathers. Such plumes are not rare in Port Olry.

Each man has his own fire, and cooks his own food; for, as I have said, it would mean the loss of caste to eat food cooked on the fire of a lower caste. Women are considered unworthy to cook a man's meal; in fact, their standing here is probably the lowest in all the archipelago. Still, they do not lack amusement; they gather like the men for social carousals, and are giggling and chattering all day long. Their principal occupation is the cultivation of the fields, but where Nature is so open-handed this is not such a task as we might think when we see them coming home in the afternoon, panting under an immense load of fruit, with a pile of firewood on top, a child on their back and possibly dragging another by the hand. Port Olry is the only place in the New Hebrides where the women carry loads on their heads. Everywhere else they carry them on their backs in baskets of cocoa-nut leaves. In consequence the women here are remarkable for their erect and supple carriage.

The work in the fields consists merely of digging out the yam and picking other fruit, and it is a sociable affair, with much talking and laughter. There is always something to eat, such as an unripe cocoa-nut or a banana. Serious work is not necessary except at the planting season, when the bush has to be cleared. Then a whole clan usually works together, the men helping quite energetically, until the fields are fenced in and ready for planting; then they hold a feast, a big "kai-kai," and leave the rest of the work to the women. The fences are made to keep out the pigs, and are built in the simplest way: sticks of the wild cotton-wood tree, which grows rankly everywhere, are stuck into the ground at short intervals; they immediately begin to sprout, and after a short time form a living and impenetrable hedge. But they last much longer than is necessary, so that everywhere the fences of old gardens bar the road and force the traveller to make endless detours, all the more so as the natives have a way of making their fields right across the paths whenever it suits them.

The number of women here amounts only to about one-fourth of that of the men. One reason for this is the custom of killing all the widows of a chief, a custom which was all the more pernicious as the chiefs, as a rule, owned most of the young females, while the young men could barely afford to buy an old widow. Happily this custom is dying out, owing to the influence of the planters and missionaries; they appealed, not unwisely, to the sensuality of the young men, who were thus depriving themselves of the women. Strange to say, the women were not altogether pleased with this change, many desiring to die, for fear they might be haunted by the offended spirit of their husband.

When a chief died, the execution did not take place at once. The body was exposed in a special little hut in the thicket, and left to decay, which process was hastened by the climate and the flies. Then a death-feast was prepared, and the widows, half frantic with mad dancing and howling, were strangled.

Ordinary people are buried in their own houses, which generally decay afterwards. Often the widow had to sleep beside the decaying body for one hundred days.

Being short of boys, I could not visit many of the villages inland, and I stayed on at the mission station, where there was generally something for me to do, as the natives frequently came loitering about the station. I made use of their presence as much as possible for anthropological measurements, but I could not always find willing subjects. Everything depends on the humour of the crowd; if they make fun of the first victim, the case is lost, as no second man is willing to be the butt of the innumerable gibes showered on the person under the instruments. Things are more favourable if it is only fear of some dangerous enchantment that holds them back, for then persuasion and liberal gifts of tobacco generally overcome their fears. The best subjects are those who pretend to understand the scientific meaning of the operation, or the utterly indifferent, who never think about it at all, are quite surprised to be suddenly presented with tobacco, and go home, shaking their heads over the many queer madnesses of white men. I took as many photographs as possible, and my pictures made quite a sensation. Once, when I showed his portrait to one of the dandies with the oiled and curled wig, he ran away with a cry of terror at his undreamt-of ugliness, and returned after a short while with his hair cut. His deformed nose, however, resisted all attempts at restoration.

The natives showed great reluctance in bringing me skulls and skeletons. As the bones decay very quickly in the tropics, only skulls of people recently deceased can be had. The demon, or soul, of the dead is supposed to be too lively as yet to be wantonly offended; in any case, one dislikes to disturb one's own relatives, while there is less delicacy about those of others. Still, in course of time, I gathered quite a good collection of skulls at the station. They were brought carefully wrapped up in leaves, fastened with lianas, and tied to long sticks, with which the bearer held the disgusting object as far from him as possible. The bundles were laid down, and the people watched with admiring disgust as I untied the ropes and handled the bones as one would any other object. Everything that had touched the bones became to the natives an object of the greatest awe; still they enjoyed pushing the leaves that had wrapped them up under the feet of an unsuspecting friend, who presently, warned of the danger, escaped with a terrified shriek and a wild jump. It would seem that physical disgust had as much to do with all this as religious fear, although the natives show none of this disgust at handling the remains of pigs. Naturally, the old men were the most superstitious; the young ones were more emancipated, some of them even going the length of picking up a bone with their toes.

Most of them had quite a similar dread of snakes, but some men handled them without much fear, and brought me large specimens, which they had caught in a sling and then wrapped up in leaves. While I killed and skinned a big snake, a large crowd always surrounded me, ever ready for flight, and later my boys chased them with the empty skin, a performance which always ended in great laughing and dancing.

I had been in Port Olry for three weeks, waiting anxiously every day for the Marie-Henry, which was to bring the luggage I had left behind at the Segond Channel. My outfit began to be insufficient; what I needed most was chemicals for the preservation of my zoological specimens, which I had plenty of time and occasion to collect here. One day the Marie-Henry, a large schooner, arrived, but my luggage had been forgotten. I was much disappointed, as I saw no means of recovering it in the near future. The Marie-Henry was bound for Talamacco, in Big Bay, and took the Rev. Father and myself along.

One of the passengers was Mr. F., a planter and trader in Talamacco, and we soon became good friends with him and some of the others. Mr. F. was very kind, and promised to use all his influence to help me find boys. The weather was bad, and we had to tack about all night; happily, we were more comfortable on the big schooner than on the little cutters. At Talamacco Mr. F. offered us his hospitality, and as it rained continually, we were very glad to stay in his house, spending the time in sipping gin and winding up a hoarse gramophone. Thus two lazy days passed, during which our host was constantly working for me, sending his foreman, the "moli," to all the neighbouring villages, with such good results that at last I was able to engage four boys for two months. I took them on board at once, well pleased to have the means, at last, of moving about independently.

We sailed in the evening, and when, next morning, we rounded Cape Quiros, we found a heavy sea, so that the big ship pitched and ploughed with dull hissing through the foaming waves. She lay aslant under the pressure of the wind that whistled in the rigging, and the full curve of the great sails was a fine sight; but it was evident that the sails and ropes were in a very rotten condition, and soon, with anxious looks, we followed the growth of a tear in the mainsail, wondering whether the mast would stand the strain. A heavy sea broke the rudder, and altogether it was high time to land when we entered Port Olry in the late afternoon.

A few days later I started for Hog Harbour, for the plantation of the Messrs. Th., near which I meant to attend a great feast, or "sing-sing." This meant a march of several hours through the bush. My boys had all put on their best finery,—trousers, shirts, gay handkerchiefs,—and had painted their hair with fresh lime.

"Well, boys, are you ready?" "Yes, Masta," they answer, with conviction, though they are far from ready, as they are still tying their bundles. After waiting a while, I say, "Well, me, me go." They answer, "All right, you go." I take a few steps and wait again. One of them appears in front of the hut to look for a stick to hang his bundle on, another cannot find his pipe; still, after a quarter of an hour, we can really start. The boys sing and laugh, but as we enter the forest darkness they suddenly become quiet, as if the sternness of the bush oppressed their souls. We talk but little, and only in undertones. These woods have none of the happy, sensuous luxuriance which fancy lends to every tropical forest; there is a harshness, a selfish struggle for the first place among the different plants, a deadly battling for air and light. Giant trees with spreading crowns suppress everything around, kill every rival and leave only small and insignificant shrubs alive. Between them, smaller trees strive for light; on tall, straight, thin stems they have secured a place and developed a crown. Others look for light in roundabout ways, making use of every gap their neighbours leave, and rise upward in soft coils. All these form a high roof, under which younger and weaker plants lead a skimped life—hardwood trees on thin trunks, with small, unassuming leaves, and vulgar softwood with large, flabby foliage. Around and across all this wind the parasites, lianas, rotang, some stretched like ropes from one trunk to another, some rising in elegant curves from the ground, some attached to other trunks and sucking out their life with a thousand roots, others interlaced in the air in distorted curves. All these grow and thrive on the bodies of former generations on the damp, mouldy ground, where leaves rot and trunks decay, and where it is always wet, as never a sunbeam can strike in so far.

Thus it is sad in the forest, and strangely quiet, as in a churchyard, for not even the wind can penetrate the green surface. It passes rushing through the crowns, so that sometimes we catch an upward glimpse of bright yellow sunshine as though out of a deep gully. And as men in sternest fight are silent, using all their energy for one purpose, so here there is no sign of gay and happy life, there are no flowers or coloured leaves, but the endless, dull green, in an infinity of shapes.

Even the animals seem to shun the dark forest depths; only on the highest trees a few pigeons bathe in the sun, and as they fly heavily over the wood, their call sounds, melancholy as a sad dream, from afar. A lonely butterfly flutters among the trees, a delicate being, unused to this dark world, seeking in vain for a ray of sun and a breath of fresh air. Sometimes we hear the grunt of an invisible pig, the breaking of branches and the rustling of leaves as it runs away. Moisture and lowering gloom brood over the swampy earth; one would not be surprised if suddenly the ground were to move and wriggle like slimy snakes tightly knotted around each other. Thorns catch the limbs, vines catch the feet, and the wanderer, stumbling along, almost fancies he can hear the spiteful laughter of malicious demons. One feels tired, worried, unsafe, as if in an enemy's country, helplessly following the guide, who walks noiselessly on the soft ground. With a branch he sweeps aside the innumerable spider-webs that droop across the path, to keep them from hanging in our faces. Silently the other men follow behind; once in a while a dry branch snaps or a trunk creaks.

In this dark monotony we go on for hours, without an outlook, and seemingly without purpose or direction, on a hardly visible path, in an endless wilderness. We pass thousands of trees, climb over hundreds of fallen trunks and brush past millions of creepers. Sometimes we enter a clearing, where a giant tree has fallen or a village used to stand. Sometimes great coral rocks lie in the thicket; the pools at their foot are a wallowing-place for pigs.

It is a confusing walk; one feels quite dizzy with the constantly passing stems and branches, and a white man would be lost in this wilderness without the native, whose home it is. He sees everything, every track of beast or bird, and finds signs on every tree and vine, peculiarities of shape or grouping, which he recognizes with unerring certainty. He describes the least suggestion of a trail, a footprint, or a knife-cut, or a torn leaf. As the white man finds his way about a city by means of street signs, so the savage reads his directions in the forest from the trees and the ground. He knows every plant and its uses, the best wood for fires; he knows when he may expect to find water, and which liana makes the strongest rope. Yet even he seems to feel something of the appalling loneliness of the primeval forest.

Our path leads steeply up and down, over loose coral blocks, between ferns and mosses; lianas serve as ropes to help us climb over coral rocks, and with our knives we hew a passage through thorny creepers and thick bush. The road runs in zigzags, sometimes turning back to go round fallen trunks and swampy places, so that we really walk three or four times the distance to Hog Harbour. Our guide uses his bush-knife steadily and to good purpose: he sees where the creepers interlace and which branch is the chief hindrance, and in a few deft cuts the tangle falls.

At last—it seems an eternity since we dived into the forest—we hear from afar, through the green walls, a dull roaring, and as we go on, we distinguish the thunder of the breakers like the beating of a great pulse. Suddenly the thicket lightens, and we stand on the beach, blinded by the splendour of light that pours on us, but breathing freely in the fresh air that blows from the far horizon. We should like to stretch out on the sand and enjoy the free space after the forest gloom; but after a short rest we go on, for this is only half-way to our destination, and we dive once more into the semi-darkness.

Towards evening we reach the plantation of the Messrs. Th. They are Australians of good family, and their place is splendidly kept. I was struck by the cleanliness of the whole establishment, the good quarters of the native labourers, the quiet way in which work was done, the pleasant relations between masters and hands, and last, but not least, the healthy and happy appearance of the latter.

The brothers had just finished the construction of what was quite a village, its white lime walls shining invitingly through the green of the cocoa-nut palms. There was a large kitchen, a storehouse, a tool-shed, a bakery, a dwelling-house and a light, open summer-house, a delightful spot, where we dined in the cool sea-breeze and sipped whisky in the moonlight, while the palm-leaves waved dreamily. Then there was a large poultry yard, pigsty and paddocks, and along the beach were the boat-houses, drying-sheds and storehouses, shaded by old trees. The boys' quarters were roomy, eight sleeping together in an airy hut, while the married couples had houses of their own. The boys slept on high beds, each with his "bocase" underneath, to hold his possessions, while all sorts of common property hung in the roof—nets, fish-spears, bows, guns, etc.

Such plantations, where the natives lack neither food nor good treatment, can only have a favourable influence on the race, and it is not quite clear why the Presbyterian missionaries do not like their young men to go in for plantation work. Owing to the good treatment of their hands the Messrs. Th. have always had enough labourers, and have been able to develop their plantation wonderfully. It consists almost exclusively of cocoa-nut palms, planted on ground wrested from the forest in a hard fight. When I was there the trees were not yet in full bearing, but the proprietors had every reason to expect a very considerable income in a few years. The cultivation of the cocoa-nut is extremely simple; the only hard work is the first clearing of the ground, and keeping the young trees free from lianas. Once they are grown up, they are able to keep down the bush themselves to a certain extent, and then the work consists in picking up the ripe nuts from the ground, husking and drying them. The net profit from one tree is estimated at one shilling per annum. Besides the cultivation of their plantation the Messrs. Th. plied a flourishing trade in coprah and sandalwood all along the west coast of Santo, which they visited frequently in their cutter. This same cutter was often a great help to me, and, indeed, her owners always befriended me in the most generous way, and many are the pleasant hours I spent in their company.

After dinner that first day we went to the village where the "sing-sing" was to take place. There was no moon, and the night was pitch dark. The boys had made torches of palm-leaves, which they kept burning by means of constant swinging. They flared up in dull, red flames, lighting up the nearest surroundings, and we wound our way upwards through the trunk vines and leaves that nearly shut in the path. It seemed as if we were groping about without a direction, as if looking for a match in a dark room. Soon, however, we heard the dull sound of the drums, and the noise led us to the plateau, till we could see the red glare of a fire and hear the rough voices of men and the shrill singing of women.

Unnoticed, we entered the dancing-ground. A number of men were standing in a circle round a huge fire, their silhouettes cutting sharply into the red glare. Out of a tangle of clubs, rifles, plumes, curly wigs, round heads, bows and violently gesticulating arms, sounds an irregular shrieking, yelling, whistling and howling, uniting occasionally to a monotonous song. The men stamp the measure, some begin to whirl about, others rush towards the fire; now and then a huge log breaks in two and crowns the dark, excited crowd with a brilliant column of circling sparks. Then everybody yells delightedly, and the shouting and dancing sets in with renewed vigour. Everyone is hoarse, panting and covered with perspiration, which paints light streaks on the sooty faces and bodies.

Noticing us, a man rushes playfully towards us, threateningly swinging his club, his eyes and teeth shining in the darkness; then he returns to the shouting, dancing mob around the fire. Half-grown boys sneak through the crowd; they are the most excited of all, and stamp the ground wildly with their disproportionately large feet, kicking and shrieking in unpleasant ecstasy. All this goes on among the guests; the hosts keep a little apart, near a scaffolding, on which yams are attached. The men circle slowly round this altar, carrying decorated bamboos, with which they mark the measure, stamping them on the ground with a thud. They sing a monotonous tune, one man starting and the others joining in; the dance consists of slow, springy jumps from one foot to the other.

On two sides of this dancing circle the women stand in line, painted all over with soot. When the men's deep song is ended, they chant the same melody with thin, shrill voices. Once in a while they join in the dance, taking a turn with some one man, then disappearing; they are all much excited; only a few old hags stand apart, who are past worldly pleasures, and have known such feasts for many, many years.

The whole thing looks grotesque and uncanny, yet the pleasure in mere noise and dancing is childish and harmless. The picture is imposing and beautiful in its simplicity, gruesome in its wildness and sensuality, and splendid with the red lights which play on the shining, naked bodies. In the blackness of the night nothing is visible but that red-lit group of two or three hundred men, careless of to-morrow, given up entirely to the pleasure of the moment. The spectacle lasts all night, and the crowd becomes more and more wrought up, the leaps of the dancers wilder, the singing louder. We stand aside, incapable of feeling with these people or sharing their joy, realizing that theirs is a perfectly strange atmosphere which will never be ours.

Towards morning we left, none too early, for a tremendous shower came down and kept on all next morning. I went up to the village again, to find a most dismal and dejected crowd. Around the square, in the damp forest, seedy natives stood and squatted in small groups, shivering with cold and wet. Some tried to warm themselves around fires, but with poor success. Bored and unhappy, they stared at us as we passed, and did not move. Women and children had made umbrellas of large flat leaves, which they carried on their heads; the soot which had formed their festival dress was washed off by the rain. The square itself was deserted, save for a pack of dogs and a few little boys, rolling about in the mud puddles. Once in a while an old man would come out of the gamal, yawn and disappear. In short, it was a lendemain de fete of the worst kind.

About once in a quarter of an hour a man would come to bring a tusked pig to the chief, who danced a few times round the animal, stamped his heel on the ground, uttered certain words, and retired with short, stiff steps, shaking his head, into the gamal. The morning was over by the time all the pigs were ready. I spent most of the time out of doors, rather than in the gamal, for there many of the dancers of the evening lay in all directions and in most uncomfortable positions, beside and across each other, snoring, shivering or staring sulkily into dark corners. I was offered a log to sit on, and it might have been quite acceptable had not one old man, trembling with cold, pressed closely against me to get warm, and then, half asleep, attempted to lay his shaggy, oil-soaked head on my shoulder, while legions of starved fleas attacked my limbs, forcing me to beat a hasty though belated retreat.

In the afternoon about sixty pigs were tied to poles in front of the gamal, and the chief took an old gun-barrel and smashed their heads. They represented a value of about six hundred pounds! Dogs and men approached the quivering victims, the dogs to lick the blood that ran out of their mouths, the men to carry the corpses away for the feast. This was the prosaic end of the great "sing-sing."

As it is not always easy to borrow the number of pigs necessary to rise in caste, there are charms which are supposed to help in obtaining them. Generally, these are curiously shaped stones, sometimes carved in the shape of a pig, and are carried in the hand or in little baskets in the belt. Such charms are, naturally, very valuable, and are handed down for generations or bought for large sums. On this occasion the "big fellow-master" had sacrificed enough to attain a very high caste indeed, and had every reason to hold up his head with great pride.

Formerly, these functions were generally graced with a special feature, in the shape of the eating of a man. As far as is known, the last cannibal meal took place in 1906; the circumstances were these: Some young men were walking through the forest, carrying their Snider rifles, loaded and cocked as usual, on their shoulders. Unluckily, one of the rifles went off, and killed the man behind, the son of an influential native. Everyone was aware that the death was purely accidental, but the father demanded a considerable indemnity. The "murderer," a poor and friendless youth, was unable to pay, and fled to a neighbouring village. He was received kindly enough, but his hosts sent secretly to the offended father to ask what they were to do with him. "Kill him and eat him," was the reply. They therefore prepared a great feast, in honour, as they said, of their beloved guest, and while he was sitting cheerfully near the fire, in anticipation of the good meal to come, they killed him from behind with an axe. The body was roasted, and the people of his village were asked to the feast. One man had received the forearm and hand, and while he was chewing the muscles and pulling away at the inflectors of the fingers, the hand closed and scratched his cheek,—"all same he alive,"—whereupon the horrified guest threw his morsel away and fled into the forest.

On my return to Port Olry I found that the Father had gone to visit a colleague, as his duties did not take up much of his time. His post at Port Olry was rather a forlorn hope, as the natives showed no inclination to become converts, especially not in connection with the poor Roman Catholic mission, which could not offer them any external advantages, like the rich and powerful Presbyterian mission. All the priests lived in the greatest poverty, in old houses, with very few servants. The one here had, besides a teacher from Malekula, an old native who had quarrelled with his chief and separated from his clan. The good man was very anxious to marry, but no girl would have him, as he had had two wives, and had, quite without malice, strangled his second wife by way of curing her of an illness. I was reminded of this little episode every time I looked at the man's long, bony fingers.

One day a native asked me for medicine for his brother. I tried to find out the nature of the ailment, and decided to give him calomel, urging his brother to take it to him at once. The man had eaten a quarter of a pig all by himself, but, of course, it was said that he had been poisoned. His brother, instead of hurrying home, had a little visit with his friends at the coast, until it was dark and he was afraid to go home through the bush alone; so he waited till next morning, when it was too late. The man's death naturally made the murder theory a certainty, so the body was not buried, but laid out in the hut, with all sorts of finery. Around it, in spite of the fearful odour, all the women sat for ten days, in a cloud of blow-flies. They burned strong-scented herbs to kill the smell, and dug a little trench across the floor, in order to keep the liquids from the decaying corpse from running into the other half of the house. The nose and mouth of the body were stopped up with clay and lime, probably to keep the soul from getting out, and the body was surrounded by a little hut. In the gamal close by sat all the men, sulky, revengeful, and planning war, which, in fact, broke out within a few days after my departure.

The Messrs. Th. had been kind enough to invite me to go on a recruiting trip to Maevo, the most north-easterly island of the group. Here I found a very scanty population, showing many traces of Polynesian admixture in appearance and habits. The weather was nasty and our luck at recruiting poor, so that after a fortnight we returned to Hog Harbour. I went to Port Olry to my old priest's house, and a few days later Mr. Th. came in his cutter to take me to Tassimaloun in Big Bay; so I bade a hearty farewell to the good Father, whom I have never had the pleasure of meeting again.



CHAPTER VII

SANTO

There are hardly any natives left in the south of the Bay of St. Philip and St. James, generally called Big Bay. Only to the north of Talamacco there are a few villages, in which the remnants of a once numerous population, mostly converts of the Presbyterian mission, have collected. It is a very mixed crowd, without other organization than that which the mission has created, and that is not much. There are a few chiefs, but they have even less authority than elsewhere, and the feeling of solidarity is lacking entirely, so that I have hardly ever found a colony where there was so much intrigue, immorality and quarrelling. A few years ago the population had been kept in order by a Presbyterian missionary of the stern and cruel type; but he had been recalled, and his place was taken by a man quite unable to cope with the lawlessness of the natives, so that every vice developed freely, and murders were more frequent than in heathen districts. Matters were not improved by the antagonism between the Roman Catholic and Presbyterian missions and the traders; each worked against the others, offering the natives the best of opportunities to fish in troubled waters. The result of all this was a rapid decrease of the population and frequent artificial sterility. The primitive population has disappeared completely in some places, and is only to be found in any numbers far inland among the western mountains. The situation is a little better in the north, where we find a number of flourishing villages along the coast around Cape Cumberland.

The nearest village to Talamacco was Tapapa. Sanitary conditions there were most disheartening, as at least half of the inhabitants were leprous, and most of them suffered from tuberculosis or elephantiasis. I saw hardly any children, so that the village will shortly disappear, like so many others.

Native customs along the coast are much the same as at Port Olry, but less primitive, and the houses are better built. There is wood-carving, or was. I found the doorposts of old gamals beautifully carved, and plates prettily decorated; but these were all antiques, and nothing of the kind is made at the present day.

The race, however, is quite different from that around Port Olry. There are two distinct types: one, Melanesian, dark, tall or short, thin, curly-haired, with a broad nose and a brutal expression; and one that shows distinct traces of Polynesian blood in its finer face, a larger body, which is sometimes fat, light skin and frequently straight hair. Just where this Polynesian element comes from it is hard to say, but the islands in general are very favourable to race-mixture along the coasts. As I said before, the Melanesian type shows two distinct varieties, a tall dark one, and a short light one. At first I did not realize the significance of the latter until I became aware of the existence of a negroid element, of which I saw clear traces. The two varieties, however, are much intermingled, and the resulting blends have mixed with the Polynesian-Melanesian type, so that the number of types is most confusing, and it will be hard to determine the properties of the original one.

Finding little of interest in the immediate surroundings of Talamacco, I determined to make an excursion into the interior of the island. Mr. F. put his foreman, or moli, at my disposal, and he engaged my bearers, made himself useful during the trip in superintending the boys, and proved valuable in every way, as he was never afraid, and was known to nearly all the inland chiefs.

After a rainy spell of six weeks we had a clear day at last; and although the weather could not be taken into consideration when making my plans, still, the bright sunshine created that happy and expectant sensation which belongs to the beginning of a journey. The monthly steamer had arrived the day before, had shipped a little coprah, and brought some provisions for the trader and myself. I had completed my preparations, engaged my boys and was ready to start.

In the white glare of a damp morning we pulled from the western shore of Big Bay to the mouth of the Jordan River. The boat was cramped and overloaded, and we were all glad to jump ashore after a row of several hours. The boys carried the luggage ashore and pulled the boat up into the bush with much noise and laughter. Then we settled down in the shade for our first meal, cooking being an occupation of which the boys are surprisingly fond. Their rations are rice and tea, with a tin of meat for every four. This discussed, we packed up, and began our march inland.

The road leads through a thin bush, over rough coral boulders and gravel deposited by the river. We leave the Jordan to our right, and march south-east. After about an hour we come to a swampy plain, covered with tall reed-grass. Grassy plains are an unusual sight in Santo; the wide expanse of yellowish green is surrounded by dark walls of she-oak, in the branches of which hang thousands of flying-foxes. At a dirty pond we fill our kettles with greenish water, for our night camp will be on the mountain slope ahead of us, far from any spring. Even the moli has to carry a load of water, as I can hardly ask the boys to take any more. He feels rather humiliated, as a moli usually carries nothing but a gun, but he is good enough to see the necessity of the case, and condescends to carry a small kettle.

Straight ahead are the high coral plateaux across which our road lies. While we tackle the ascent, the sky has become overcast, the gay aspect of the landscape has changed to sad loneliness and a heavy shower soaks us to the skin. The walk through the jungle is trying, and even the moli loses the way now and again. Towards nightfall we enter a high forest with but little underbrush, and work our way slowly up a steep and slippery slope to an overhanging coral rock, where we decide to camp. We have lost our way, but as night is closing in fast, we cannot venture any farther.

The loads are thrown to the ground in disorder, and the boys drop down comfortably; strong language on my part is needed before they make up their minds to pile up the luggage, collect wood and begin to cook. Meanwhile my own servant has prepared my bed and dried my clothes. Soon it is quite dark, the boys gather round the fires, and do not dare to go into the yawning darkness any more, for fear of ghosts.

The rain has ceased, and the soft damp night air hangs in the trees. The firelight is absorbed by the darkness, and only the nearest surroundings shine in its red glare; the boys are stretched out in queer attitudes round the fire on the hard rocks. Soon I turn out the lamp and lie listening to the night, where vague life and movement creeps through the trunks. Sometimes a breath of wind shivers through the trees, shaking heavy drops from the leaves. A wild pig grunts, moths and insects circle round the fires, and thousands of mosquitoes hum about my net and sing me to sleep. Once in a while I am roused by the breaking of a rotten tree, or a mournful cry from one of the dreaming boys; or one of them wakes up, stirs the fire, turns over and snores on. Long before daybreak a glorious concert of birds welcomes the new day. Half asleep, I watch the light creep across the sky, while the bush is still in utter darkness; suddenly, like a bugle-call, the first sunbeams strike the trees and it is broad day.

Chilly and stiff, the boys get up and crowd round the fires. As we have no more water there is no tea, and breakfast is reduced to dry biscuits. The moli has found the lost trail by this time, and we continue the ascent. On the plateau we again strike nearly impenetrable bush, and lose the trail again, so that after a few hours' hard work with the knives we have to retrace our steps for quite a distance. It is a monotonous climb, varied only by an occasional shot at a wild pig and fair sport with pigeons. Happily for the thirsty boys, we strike a group of bamboos, which yield plenty of water. All that is needed is to cut the joint of the stems, and out of each section flows a pint of clear water, which the boys collect by holding their huge mouths under the opening. Their clothes are soaked, but their thirst is satisfied and our kettles filled for the midday meal.

Presently we pass a native "camp" under an overhanging rock: it consists of a few parallel sticks, on which the native sleeps as well as any European on a spring-mattress, and a hollow in the ground, with a number of cooking-stones.

After a stiff climb we stop for our meal, then follow a path which gradually widens and improves, a sign that we are nearing a village. Towards evening we come to some gardens, where the natives plant their yam and taro. At the entrance of the village I make my boys close up ranks; although the natives are not supposed to be hostile, my people show signs of uneasiness, keeping close together and carrying the few weapons we have very conspicuously.

We cross the village square to the gamal, a simple place, as they all are, with a door about a yard from the ground, in order to keep out the pigs which roam all over the village. In line with the front of the house is a row of tall bamboo posts, wound with vines; their hollow interior is filled with yam and taro, the remains of a great feast. The village seems quite deserted, and we peep cautiously into the interior of the gamal, where, after a while, we discern a man, lying on the damp and dirty ground, who stares at us in silent fright. He gets up and comes slowly out, and we can see that he has lost half of one foot from leprosy. From him the moli learns that the two chiefs are away at a great "sing-sing," and the rest of the men in the fields or in their wives' houses. There is nothing for us to do but sit down and wait, and be sniffed at by pigs, barked at by dogs and annoyed by fowls. The moli beats vigorously on one of the wooden drums that lie in the mud in front of the house. He has his own signal, which most of the natives know, so that all the country round is soon informed of his arrival.

One by one the men arrive, strolling towards the gamal as if unconscious of our presence; some of them greet one or the other of my boys whom they have met when visiting at the shore. Nearly all of them are sick with leprosy or elephantiasis or tuberculosis, and after the long rainy period they all have colds and coughs and suffer from rheumatism; altogether they present a sad picture of degeneration and misery, and there are few healthy men to be seen.

My luggage is taken into the gamal, and I order the boys to buy and prepare food, whereupon the natives hurry away and fetch a quantity of supplies: pigs, fowls, yam, taro, of which I buy a large stock, paying in matches and tobacco. There are also eggs, which, I am assured, are delicious; but this is according to native taste, which likes eggs best when half hatched. While the boys are cooking, I spend the time in measuring the villagers. At first they are afraid of the shiny, pointed instruments, but the tobacco they receive, after submitting to the operation, dispels their fears. The crowd sits round us on the ground, increasing the uneasiness of my victims by sarcastic remarks.

Meanwhile, the women have arrived, and crouch in two groups at the end of the square, which they are forbidden to enter. There are about twenty of them, not many for nearly fifty men, but I see only three or four babies, and many faded figures and old-looking girls of coarse and virile shape, the consequence of premature abuse and artificial sterility. But they chat away quite cheerfully, giggle, wonder, clap their hands, and laugh, taking hold of each other, and rocking to and fro.

At last the two chiefs arrive, surprisingly tall and well-built men, with long beards carefully groomed, and big mops of hair. Like all the men, they are dressed in a piece of calico that hangs down in front, and a branch of croton behind. They have big bracelets, and wear the curved tusks of pigs on their wrists. There is just time before nightfall to take their measures and photographs, then I retire into the gamal for my supper, during which I am closely observed by the entire male population. They make remarks about the spoons and the Worcester sauce, and when I put sugar into my tea, they whisper to each other, "Salt!" which idea is almost enough to spoil one's appetite, only the delicious roast sucking-pig is too tempting.

My toilet for the night is watched with the same attention; then, while I am still reading on my bed, the men seek their couches in the long, low house. They stir up all the fires, which smoke terribly, then they lie down on their bamboo beds, my boys among them, and talk and talk till they fall asleep,—a houseful of leprous and consumptive men, who cough and groan all night.

In front of me, near the entrance, is the chiefs place. He spends a long time in preparing his kava, and drinks it noisily. Kava is a root which is ground with a piece of sharp coral; the fibres are then mixed with water, which is contained in a long bamboo, and mashed to a soft pulp; the liquid is then squeezed out, strained through a piece of cocoa-nut bark into a cocoa-nut bowl and drunk. The liquid has a muddy, thick appearance, tastes like soapy water, stings like peppermint and acts as a sleeping-draught. In Santo only chiefs are allowed to drink kava.

At first, innumerable dogs disturbed my sleep, and towards morning it grew very cold. When I came out of the hut, the morning sun was just getting the better of the mist, and spreading a cheery light over the square, which had looked dismal enough under a grey, rainy sky. I made all the women gather on the outskirts of the square to be measured and photographed. They were very bashful, and I almost pitied them, for the whole male population sat around making cruel remarks about them; indeed, if it had not been for the chiefs explicit orders, they would all have run away. They were not a very pleasant spectacle, on the whole. I was struck by the tired, suffering expression of even the young girls, a hopeless and uninterested look, in contradiction with their lively behaviour when unobserved. For they are natural and happy only when among themselves, and in the presence of the men they feel that they are under the eye of their master, often a brutal master, whose property they are. Probably they are hardly conscious of this, and take their position and destiny as a matter of course; but they are constrained in the presence of their owners, knowing that at any moment they may be displeased or angry, for any reason or for none, and may ill-treat or even kill them. Aside from these considerations their frightened awkwardness was extremely funny, especially when posing before the camera. Some could not stand straight, others twisted their arms and legs into impossible positions. The idea of a profile view seemed particularly strange to them, and they always presented either their back or their front view. The poor things got more and more nervous, the men roared, I was desperate,—altogether it was rather unsatisfactory.

I was in need of more bearers to carry the provisions I had bought, and the chiefs were quite willing to supply them; but their orders had absolutely no effect on the men, who were too lazy, and I should have been in an awkward position had not one of the chiefs hit on the expedient of employing his women. They obeyed without a moment's hesitation; each took a heavy load of yam, all but the favourite wife, the only pretty one of the number; her load was small, but she had to clear the trail, walking at the head of the procession.

The women led the way, chatting and giggling, patient and steady as mules, and as sure-footed and supple. Nothing stops them; with a heavy load on their heads they walk over fallen trunks, wade through ditches, twist through vines, putting out a hand every now and then to feel whether the bunch of leaves at their back is in place. They were certainly no beauties, but there was a charm in their light, soft step, in the swaying of their hips, in the dainty poise of their slim ankles and feet, and the softness and harmony of all their movements. And the light playing on their dark, velvety, shining bodies increased this charm, until one almost forgot the many defects, the dirt, the sores, the disease. This pleasant walk in the cool, dewy forest, under the bright leaves, did not last long, and after two hours' tramp we reached our destination.

At the edge of the square the women sat down beside their loads, and were soon joined by the women of the village. Our hostesses were at once informed of every detail of our outfit, our food and our doings, and several dozen pairs of big dark eyes followed our every movement. The women were all quite sure that I was a great doctor and magician, and altogether a dangerous man, and this belief was not at all favourable to my purposes.

We men soon withdrew to the gamal, where the men likewise had to be informed of everything relating to our doings and character. The gamal was low and dirty, and the state of health of the inhabitants still worse than in the first village, but at least there were a few more babies than elsewhere. The chief suffered from a horrible boil in his loin, which he poulticed with chewed leaves, and the odour was so unbearable that I had to leave the house and sit down outside, where I was surrounded by many lepers, without toes or even feet, a very dismal sight.

I now paid my carriers the wages agreed upon, but they claimed that I ought to pay the men extra, although their services had been included in the price. I took this for one of the tricks by which the natives try to get the better of a good-natured foreigner, and refused flatly, whereupon the whole crowd sat down in front of the house and waited in defiant silence. I left them there for half an hour, during which they whispered and deliberated in rather an uncomfortable way. I finally told them that I would not pay any more, and that they had better go away at once. The interpreter said they were waiting for the chiefs to get through with something they had to talk over, and they stayed on a while longer. My refusal may have been a mistake, and there may really have been a misunderstanding, at any rate, I had to suffer for my unyielding way, inasmuch as the behaviour of our hosts immediately changed from talkative hospitality and childish curiosity to dull silence and suspicious reticence. The people sat around us, sullen and silent, and would not help us in any way, refused to bring firewood or show us the water-hole, and seemed most anxious to get rid of us. Under these circumstances it was useless to try to do any of my regular work, and I had to spend an idle and unpleasant afternoon. At last I induced a young fellow to show me the way to a high plateau near by, from which I had a beautiful view across trees to the east coast of the island, with the sea in a blue mist far away. As my guide, consumptive like all the others, was quite out of breath with our short walk, I soon had to return, and I paid him well. This immediately changed the attitude of all the rest. Their sullenness disappeared, they came closer, began to talk, and at last we spent the afternoon in comparative friendship, and I could attend to my business.

But the consequences of my short visit to the gamal became very noticeable. In my hat I found a flourishing colony of horrid bug-like insects; my pockets were alive, my camera was full of them, they had crawled into my shoes, my books, my luggage, they were crawling, flying, dancing everywhere. Perfectly disgusted, I threw off all my clothes, and had my boys shake and clean out every piece. For a week I had to have everything cleaned at least once a day, and even then I found the loathsome creatures in every fold, under straps, in pouches.

On that afternoon I had a great success as an artist. My drawings of pigs, trees and men went the rounds and were quite immoderately admired, and preserved as we would a sketch of Holbein's. These drawings have to be done as simply as possible and fairly large, else the natives do not understand them. They consider every line essential, and do not understand shadows or any impressionistic treatment. We must remember that in our civilized art we work with many symbols, some of which have but a vague resemblance to the object they represent, whose meaning we know, while the savage does not. This was the reason why I had often no success at all with what I considered masterpieces, while the natives went into raptures over drawings I thought utter failures. At any rate, they made me quite a popular person.

The sick chief complained to me that a late wife of his had been poisoned, and as he took me for a great "witch-doctor," he asked me to find out the murderer. To the native, sickness or death is not natural, but always the consequence of witchcraft, either on the part of enemies or spirits. The terribly high death-rate in the last years makes it seem all the more probable that mysterious influences are at work, and the native suspects enemies everywhere, whom he tries to render harmless by killing them. This leads to endless murders and vendettas, which decimate the population nearly as much as the diseases do. The natives know probably something about poisons, but they are always poisons that have to be mixed with food, and this is not an easy thing to do, as every native prepares his food himself. Most of the dreaded poisons are therefore simply charms, stones or other objects, which would be quite harmless in themselves, but become capable of killing by the mere terror they inspire in the victim. If the belief in these charms could be destroyed, a great deal of the so-called poisoning would cease, and it may be a good policy to deny the existence of poison, even at the risk of letting a murderer go unpunished. I therefore felt justified in playing a little comedy, all the more, as I was sure that the woman had died of consumption, and I promised the chief my assistance for the next morning.

I had my bed made in the open air; even the boys would not enter the dirty house any more, and we slept well under the open sky, in spite of the pigs that grunted around us and the dew that fell like rain.

Next day the chief called all the men together; he was convinced that I could see through every one of them and tell who had done any wrong. So he made them all sit round me, and I looked very solemnly at each through the finder of my camera, the chief watching carefully to see that I did not omit any one. The men felt uneasy, but did not quite know what to make of the whole performance. I naturally could not find anything wrong, and told the chief so, but he was not satisfied, and shook his head doubtfully. Then I talked to him seriously and tried to convince him that everyone had to die once, and that sickness was something natural, especially considering the filth in which they lived; but I do not think my speech made much impression.

The men had now become very suspicious, the women were away, and I had great trouble in finding bearers and guides to the next village. A pleasant march brought us to this settlement, whose houses were close together in a big clearing. We were received very coolly by the chief and a few men. My bearers and guides would not be induced to accompany us farther, so that I had to ask for boys here; but the chief said he had not a single able-bodied man, which I felt to be mere excuse. I also noticed that my own boys were very dissatisfied and sullen, and that something was in the wind. In order to raise their spirits, and not to leave our yam provisions behind, I had them cook the midday meal, but the sullen, threatening atmosphere remained the same. When it was time to continue our march, I heard them grumble and complain about their loads, and it all looked like rising mutiny. I was ahead with the chief, who had consented to show us the way, when the moli came after me and informed me that the boys were unwilling to go on, that they were afraid to go farther inland and were ready to throw their loads away. Later on I learned that two of the boys had tried to bribe some natives to show them the road back to the coast and leave me alone with the moli. I assembled the boys and made them a speech, saying that their loads were not too heavy nor the marches too long, that they were all free to return home, but would have to take the consequences, and that I and the moli would go on without them. If they liked, I said, they could throw away their tinned meats, I did not care, and the two bottles of grog were not meant for me, and we could easily spare those. I grasped the bottles and offered to smash them, but that was too much for the boys; half crying, they begged me not to do that: the bottles were not too heavy, and they would gladly carry them as far as I liked. Hesitatingly I allowed myself to be persuaded, and kindly desisted from the work of destruction. I had won, but I had lost confidence in my boys, and was careful not to put their patience and fidelity to any more tests, conscious as I was of how much depended on their goodwill. After this episode they accomplished a long and tiresome march, up and down through thick bush on slippery clay, quite willingly. In the evening we reached a few huts in a clearing at a height of about 1200 feet, and went into camp for the night.

While cooking, we heard dismal howling and weeping from a neighbouring hut; it was a woman mourning her husband, who had been dead ninety-nine days. To-morrow, on the hundredth day, there was to be a death-feast, to which all the neighbours were invited. Of course, this man, too, had been poisoned.

The fire of revolt was smouldering in my boys. They sat round the camp-fire in groups, whispering and plotting, grumbling and undecided; but I felt safe enough, as they were evidently divided into two parties, one faithful and the other mutinous, and the former seemed rather more influential. They proved their goodwill to me by delightful servility, and took excellent care of me.

Next morning we were wakened by the howls of the unhappy widow, and soon the guests appeared, some from far off, and all bringing contributions to the feast. They killed several pigs, and while the men cut them up in a manner rather more clever than appetizing, the women prepared the fires by lighting large quantities of wood to heat the cooking-stones. This lasted several hours. Meanwhile, every person present received his share of a half-rotten smoked pig, of the freshly killed pigs, yam, taro and sweet potatoes. The women took the entrails of the pigs, squeezed them out, rolled them up in banana leaves, and made them ready for cooking. When the fire was burnt down they took out half of the stones with forks of split bamboo, and then piled up the food in the hole, first the fruit, then the meat, so that the grease should run over the fruit; then the hole was covered with banana leaves, the hot stones piled on top and covered with more leaves. Food cooked in this way is done in three or four hours, so that the "stoves" are usually opened in the afternoon, and enormous quantities eaten on the spot, while the rest is put in baskets to take home. The amount a native can eat at one sitting is tremendous, and one can actually watch their stomachs swell as the meal proceeds. Violent indigestion is generally the consequence of such a feast. On the whole, no one seemed to be thinking much of the dead man in whose honour it was given,—such things are said to happen in civilized countries as well.

I stayed in this village for another day, and many chiefs from the neighbourhood came to consult me, always complaining of the one thing—poison. Each secretly accused the others, each wanted me to try my glass on all the others. I did not like my reputation of being a magician at all, as it made the people still more suspicious of me and more afraid of my instruments and my camera.

These so-called chiefs were rather more intelligent than the average. Most of them had worked for whites at one time, and learned to speak pidgin-English; but they were as superstitious as anyone else, and certainly greater rogues. They were naked and dirty, but some had retained some traces of civilization, one, for instance, always took off his old felt hat very politely, and made quite a civilized bow; he must have been in Noumea in former days.

There was no leprosy or elephantiasis here, but a great deal of tuberculosis, and very few children, and nearly all the men complained that their women were unwilling to have any more children.

From the next village I had a glimpse of the wild mountains of western Santo. I decided to spend the night here, left the boys behind, and went southward with the moli and a few natives. This was evidently the region where the volcanic and coral formations meet, for the character of the landscape suddenly changed, and instead of flat plateaux we found a wild, irregular country, with lofty hills and deep, narrow gullies. Walking became dangerous, though the path was fair. On top of a hill I found an apparently abandoned village, from which I could overlook all central Santo. To the west were the rugged, dark-looking mountains round Santo Peak, with white clouds floating on the summit, and a confusion of deep blue valleys and steep peaks; northward lay the wild Jordan valley, and far away I could distinguish the silver mirror of Big Bay. All around us rose the silent, stern, lonely forest—imposing, unapproachable.

On our way back to camp we rested beside a fresh creek which gaily squeezed its way through rocks and rich vegetation. A little tea and a tin of sardines were all the menu, but we enjoyed a delightful bath in the cool water, and had as good a wash as we could without soap. It was a great luxury after the hot days in the coral country without any water. While our things were drying in the bright sun, we lay in the moss near the rushing stream, and it was like a summer day at home in the mountains. The water sounded familiar, the soft, cool breeze was the same, and while I lay watching the white clouds through the bright foliage I dreamt of home. At home I had dreamt of travel, and thus one wish follows the other and the soul is preserved from lazy content. I almost fancied I heard the sound of bells and the far-away lowing of cattle. And again the reality seemed like a dream when I roused myself and saw the dark figures crouching on the rocks, with their frizzy mops of hair and their Sniders on their knees.

The village turned out to be too dirty to spend the night in, and I decided to go to one which seemed quite near, just across a gully. Had I known what an undertaking it would be, I would not have started, for the ravine was very deep and the sides unpleasantly steep; but my boys managed the descent, over rocks and fallen trees, with their usual cleverness. At the bottom we were rewarded by a beautiful sight. Beneath us, in a narrow cut it had eaten through the rock, roared a river, foaming out of the depths of the dark wilderness. It was like one of the celebrated gorges in the Alps, only the tropical vegetation which hung in marvellous richness and variety over the abyss gave a fairy-like aspect to the scene. The boys did not seem to appreciate it in the least, and prepared, sighing, for the steep ascent. A simple bridge led across the gully; it was made of a few trees, and even provided with a railing in the shape of a vine. The existence of this bridge surprised me very much; for, considering the thoughtless egotism with which the natives pass through life, I had thought them incapable of any work of public utility. They rarely think of repairing a road or cutting a vine, nor do they remove trees that may have fallen across the path, but always rely on others to see to it.

The second village was not much cleaner than the first, but we camped there, and the next day I went with the moli and a few of my boys to the western mountains. The natives warned us, saying that the people were "no good" and would kill us. But, for one thing, I could not see that they themselves were particularly "good," and, for another, I knew that all natives consider other tribes especially dangerous; so I stuck to my intention, only we hung all our available weapons about us, leaving the rest of the boys defenceless.

This turned out one of the most strenuous days I ever had in the islands, as the road—and what a road!—constantly led up and down the steepest slopes. It seemed to me we were climbing perpendicular mountains all day long, and I had many an opportunity of admiring the agility of my companions. I am a fair walker myself, but I had to crawl on my hands and knees in many spots where they jumped from a stone to a root, taking firm hold with their toes, never using their hands, never slipping, and always with a loaded and cocked rifle on their shoulders. My boys from the coast, good pedestrians though they were, always remained far behind.

First we reached well-tended taro fields, then a few scattered huts. The natives received us very kindly, and more men kept joining us, till we formed a big, jolly crowd. The population here seemed very primitive, and evidently had but little contact with the shore, but they were clean and comparatively healthy and flourishing, and I found them rather more frank, childlike and confiding than others I had seen.

We roasted our yam, and while we were enjoying our frugal but delicious meal, I witnessed rather an amusing episode. A bushman, painted black for mourning, suddenly called to one of my boys, and wanted to shake hands with him. My boy, a respectable "schoolboy," was visibly annoyed by the idea of having anything to do with a naked "man-bush," and behaved with icy reserve; but he could not long resist the rural cordiality of the other, and presently resigned himself to his fate, and made friends. It turned out that they had once worked together in Vila, and one had become an elegant young swell, while the other returned to simple country life.

On the way back we rested by the river-bank, amusing ourselves by shooting pigeons with pistols and guns, feeling quite peaceful and happy. But the sound of our shots had an unexpected effect in the village where I had left the rest of my boys. All the natives jumped to their feet, shouting, "Did we not tell you that they would kill your master? Now you have heard them; he is dead, and now we will see what you have in your boxes and divide it among ourselves."

They approached my boys threateningly, whereupon they all ran away, with the exception of the ringleader of the mutineers of the last few days, who sat down on the box containing the trading-stock and said they had better go and see whether I was really dead before plundering my luggage. The situation must have grown rather strained, until some one had the good sense to go and look out for us, whereupon he saw us sitting peacefully near the river below. This calmed the natives, they withdrew, much disappointed, and my boys returned and prepared everything for my arrival with remarkable zeal. I found dry clothes ready, and tea boiling, and was quite touched by so much thoughtfulness. I was not told of the day's occurrence till after my return to the coast, and perhaps it was just as well.

By this time I had seen a good part of south-east Santo, and I was eager to visit the south-west, with Santo Peak. But without guides and with marked symptoms of home-sickness on the part of my boys, I decided it would not be wise to attempt it. The news that we were going to start for home revived the boys at once. With enormous alacrity they packed up next day and raced homeward with astonishing speed and endurance; I had had to drag them along before, now I could hardly keep up with them. In two days we had reached the plain of the Jordan, had a delightful swim and a jolly last night in camp, free from pigs, dogs, fowls, fleas and bugs,—but not from mosquitoes!

The last day we strolled in and along the river, through the forest swarming with wild pigs and pigeons, while a huge colony of flying-foxes circled in the air, forming an actual cloud, and then we came to the shore, with the wide expanse of Big Bay peaceful in the evening sun. A painful walk on the sharp pebbles of the beach brought us home towards nightfall.



CHAPTER VIII

SANTO (continued)—PYGMIES

The term of service of my boys had now expired, and I had to look about for others. Happily, now that I was known in the region, I had less trouble, especially as I held out the prospect of a visit to Noumea. With six boys of my own and a few other men, I started on another journey.

I had always suspected the existence of a race of pygmies in the islands, and had often asked the natives if they had ever seen "small fellow men." Generally they stared at me without a sign of intelligence, or else began to tell fairy-tales of dwarfs they had seen in the bush, of little men with tails and goat's feet (probably derived from what they had heard of the devil from missionaries), all beings of whose existence they were perfectly convinced, whom they often see in the daytime and feel at night, so that it is very hard to separate truth from imagination.

I had heard stories of a colony of tailed men near Mele, and that, near Wora, north of Talamacco, tailed men lived in trees; that they were very shy and had long, straight hair. The natives pretended they had nearly caught one once. All this sounded interesting and improbable, and I was not anxious to start on a mere wild-goose chase. More exact information, however, was forthcoming. One of my servants told me that near a waterfall I could see shining out of a deep ravine far inland, there lived "small fellow men."

It was an exceptionally stormy morning when we started, so that Mr. F. advised me to postpone my departure; but in the New Hebrides it is no use to take notice of the weather, and that day it was so bad that it could not get any worse, which was some consolation. Soon we were completely soaked, but we kept on along the coast to some huts, where we were to meet our guide. Presently he arrived, followed by a crowd of children, as they seemed to me, who joined our party. While climbing inland toward the high mountains, I asked the guide if he knew anything about the little people; he told me that one of them was walking behind me. I looked more closely at the man in question, and saw that whereas I had taken him for a half-grown youth, he was really a man of about forty, and all the others who had come with him turned out to be full-grown but small individuals. Of course I was delighted with this discovery, and should have liked to begin measuring and photographing at once, had not the torrents of rain prevented.

I may mention here that I found traces later on of this diminutive race in some other islands, but rarely in such purity as here. Everywhere else they had mingled with the taller population, while here they had kept somewhat apart, and represented an element by themselves, so that I was fortunate in having my attention drawn to them here, as elsewhere I might easily have overlooked them.

The trail by which we were travelling was one of the worst I ever saw in the islands, and the weather did not improve. The higher up we went, the thicker was the fog; we seemed to be moving in a slimy mass, breathing the air from a boiler. At noon we reached the lonely hut, where a dozen men and women squatted, shivering with cold and wet, crowded together under wretched palm-leaf mats, near a smouldering fire. There were some children wedged into the gaps between the grown-ups. Our arrival seemed to rouse these poor people from their misery a little; one man after the other got up, yawning and chattering, the women remained sitting near the fire. We made them some hot tea, and then I began to measure and take pictures, to which they submitted quite good-humouredly.

I was much struck by the fact of these men and women living together, a most unusual thing in a Melanesian district, where the separation of the sexes and the "Suque" rules are so rigorously observed.

We started off once more in the icy rain, keeping along the crest of the hill, which was just wide enough for the path. The mountain sloped steeply down on either side, the thick mist made an early twilight, we could only see the spot where we set our feet, while all the surroundings were lost in grey fog, so that we felt as though we were walking in a void, far above all the world. At nightfall we arrived at a solitary hut—the home of our companions. After having repaired the broken roof, my boys succeeded in lighting a fire, though how they did it is a mystery, as matches and everything else were soaked. Soon tea and rice were boiling, while I tried to dry my instruments, especially my camera, whose watertight case had not been able to resist the rain. Then I wrapped myself up in my blanket, sipped my tea and ate my rice, and smoked a few pipes. It certainly is a reward for the day's work, that evening hour, lying satisfied, tired and dreamy, under the low roof of the hut, while outside the wind roars through the valley and the rain rattles on the roof, and a far-off river rushes down a gorge. The red fire paints the beams above me in warm colours, and in the dark corners the smoke curls in blue clouds. Around a second fire the natives lie in ecstatic laziness, smoking and talking softly, pigs grunt and dogs scratch busily about.

In the morning the storm had passed, and I could see that the house was set on the slope of a high mountain, much as a chalet is, and that we were at the end of a wild ravine, from every side of which fresh rivulets and cascades came pouring. Owing to the mountainous character of the country there are no villages here, but numerous huts scattered all along the mountains, two or three families at the utmost living together. The structure of the houses, too, was different from those on the coast; they had side walls and a basement of boulders, sometimes quite carefully built. Here men and women live together, and a separation of the fires does not seem to exist, nor does the "Suque" seem to have penetrated to this district.

We passed several hamlets where the mode of life was the same as in this one. The dress of the men is the same as at the coast, except that they wind strings of shell-money about their waists in manifold rows. The women wear a bunch of leaves in front and behind. The weapons are the same as elsewhere, except that here we find the feathered arrows which are such a rarity in the Pacific. It is surprising to find these here, in these secluded valleys among the pygmy race, and only here, near Talamacco, nowhere else where the same race is found. It is an open question whether these feathered arrows are an original invention in these valleys, an importation or a remnant of an earlier culture.

The population lives on the produce of the fields, mostly taro, which is grown in irrigated lands in the river bottoms.

In appearance these people do not differ much from those of central Santo, who are by no means of a uniform type. The most important feature is their size, that of the men amounting to 152 cm., that of the women to 144 cm. The smallest man I measured was 138.0 cm., others measured 146.0, 149.2, 144.2, 146.6, 140.6, 149.0, 139.6, 138.4 cm. The maximum size is hard to state, as even here the small variety has mixed with taller tribes, so that we find all the intermediate sizes, from the pygmy 139.6 cm. high, to the tall Melanesian of 178.0 cm. My object, therefore, was to find a colony of pure pygmies, and I pursued it in many subsequent wanderings, but without success. The following description is based on the type as I constructed it in the course of my travels and observations.

The hair is very curly, and seems black, but is in reality a dark, yellowish brown. Fil-fil is less frequent than among the tall variety. The forehead is straight, very slightly retreating, vaulted and rather narrow, the eyes are close together, straight, medium-sized and dark brown. The superciliar ridges are but slightly developed. The jaw-bones are large, but do not protrude, whereas the chewing muscles are well developed, which gives the face breadth, makes the chin-line round and the chin itself small and pointed. The mouth is not very large, with moderately thick lips, the nose is straight, hardly open toward the front, the nostrils not thick. As a rule, the growth of beard is not heavy, unlike that of the tall Melanesians; there is only a light moustache, a few tufts at the chin and near the jaw. Up to the age of forty this is all; in later years a heavier beard develops, but the face and the front of the chin remain free.

Thus it will be seen that these people are not at all repulsive, as all the ridges of bone and the heavy muscle attachments which make the face of ordinary Melanesians so brutal are lacking. On the contrary, they look quite agreeable and childlike. Their bodies are vigorous, but lightly built: the chest broad and deep, the arms and legs fine, with beautiful delicate joints, the legs well proportioned, with handsome calves. Their feet are short and broad, especially in front, but the great toe does not stand off from the others noticeably. Thus the pygmy has none of the proportions of a child, and shows no signs of degeneration, but is of harmonious build, only smaller than other Melanesians.

The shade of the skin varies a good deal from a dull purple, brownish-black, to coffee colour; but the majority of individuals are light, and the dark ones probably inherited their shade from the tall race.

Deformations of the body are not practised, save for an occasional perforation of the lobes of the ear. I never saw a perforation of the septum, nor women with incisors extracted.

It seems as if the small race were better preserved here in Santo than the tall one. The diseases which destroy the other tribes are less frequent here, there are more children and a good number of women. All this may be due to a great extent to their living inland and not coming into touch with the unfavourable sides of civilization as the coast tribes do, but even more to the hardy outdoor life in the mountains. In their country one cannot walk three steps on a level, and the whole population is expert in climbing, very sure-footed, thinking nothing of jumping with a heavy load from one rock to another, or racing at full speed down the steep and uneven slopes.

In character, too, they differ from the tribes near the water. They seem less malicious and more confiding, and show less of the distrust and shy reserve of the average Melanesian. They will laugh and chat in the presence of strangers, and are very hospitable. I do not know if these are accidental impressions, but I can only say that I always felt safer and more comfortable in a village where the majority of the inhabitants belonged to the small race.

With all this the pygmies are by no means helpless or even inferior, compared to their tall neighbours. Possibly, in former days, they may have been driven from their homes in the plains back into the mountains, but at present they are quite equal to the tall race, and the "salt-water men" are even a little afraid of their small neighbours inland. What they lack in size and strength they make up in speed and suppleness and temperament. The barrier between the races has disappeared, and the mixing process is hastened by the fact that the small race frequently sells its women to the tall one. It is rare for a woman from the coast to settle in the mountains, still, it occurs frequently enough to alloy the purity of the pygmy race, and in no village have I found more than about 70 per cent. of real pygmies.

In the afternoon we came to the chief's dwelling. The old man lived there alone with his wife, quietly and happily, venerated by all the other people. It was touching to see the little couple, delicate as two dolls, who seemed to love each other sincerely, a most uncommon occurrence in Melanesia. I really had too much respect for the old people to trouble them with my measuring instruments, but I could not resist taking their pictures. After consulting her husband with a look of the greatest confidence, the old lady consented shyly, while he stood beside her as if it was an everyday event to him, and a sort of tribute I was paying to his age and position and the beauty of his wife.

From this point I had a fine view of the cascade that fell down in a wide silver ribbon through the forest. Some months later all that wild scenery was destroyed by an earthquake, which caused many land-slides and spoilt the cascade. Following the roaring river, jumping from one block of stone to another, we soon reached our camp, a large gamal. As we were nearing the coast its arrangements were adapted to the customs of the tall Melanesians. There were a few small individuals, but the tall race was predominant. The reign of the "Suque" was evident by the floor of the gamal being divided by parallel sticks into compartments corresponding to the number of fires and castes, and each man sat down in his division and cooked his own food.