Mr. Rudyard Kipling has spoken of what he terms “the Great American Pie
Belt,” which runs through certain parts of the United States, the people
of which live largely on pumpkin pie; in the South Pacific there is what
may be vulgarly termed the Great “Long Pork” Belt, running through
many groups of islands, the savage inhabitants of which are notorious
cannibals. This belt extends from the New Hebrides north-westerly to
the Solomon Archipelago, thence more westerly to New Ireland and New
Britain, the coasts of Dutch, German, and British New Guinea; and then,
turning south, embraces a considerable portion of the coast line of
Northern Australia. Forty years ago Fiji could have been included,
but cannibalism in that group had long since ceased; as also in New
Caledonia and the Loyalty Islands.
The British, French and German Governments are doing their best to stamp
out the practice. Ships of war patrol the various groups, and wherever
possible, headhunting and man-eating excursions are suppressed; but some
of the islands are of such a vast extent that only the coastal tribes
are affected. In the interior--practically unknown to any white
man--there is a very numerous population of mountaineer tribes, who
are all cannibals, and will remain so for perhaps another fifty years,
unless, as was done in Fiji by Sir Arthur Gordon (now Lord Stanmore), a
large armed force is sent to subdue these people, destroy their towns,
and bring them to settle on the coast, where they may be subjected to
missionary (and police) influence.
During my trading and “blackbirding” voyages, I made the acquaintance,
and indeed in some cases the friendship, of many cannibals, and at one
time, when I was doing shore duty, I lived for six months in a large
cannibal village on the north coast of the great island of New Britain,
or Tombara, as the natives call it I had not the slightest fear of being
converted into “Long Pig” (_puaka kumi_) for the chief, a hideous, but
yet not bad-natured savage, named Bobâran, in consideration for certain
gifts of muskets, powder, bullets, etc, and tobacco, became responsible
for my safety with his own people during my stay, but would not, of
course, guarantee to protect me from the people of other districts (even
though he might not be at enmity with them) if I ventured into their
territory.
This was the usual agreement made by white traders who established
themselves on shore under the _ægis_ of a native ruler. Very rarely was
this confidence abused. Generally the white men, sailors or traders
who have been (and are even now) killed and eaten, have been cut off
by savages other than those among whom they lived--very often by
mountaineers.
Bobâran and all his people were noted cannibals. He was continually at
war with his neighbours on the opposite side of the bay, where there
were three populous towns, and there was much fighting, and losses on
both sides. During my stay there were over thirty people eaten at, or in
the immediate vicinity of, my village. Some of these were taken alive,
and then slaughtered on being brought in; others had been killed in
battle. But about eighteen months before I came to live at this
place, Bobâran had had a party of twenty of his people cut off by the
enemy--and every one of these were eaten.
I parted from Bobâran on very friendly terms. I should have stayed
longer, but was suffering from malarial fever.
After recruiting my health in New Zealand, I joined a labour vessel,
sailing out of Samoa, and during the ten months I served on her as
recruiter I had some exceedingly exciting adventures with cannibals
among the islands off the coast of German New Guinea, and on the
mainland.
On our way to the “blackbirding grounds” we sighted the lofty Rossel
Island--the scene of one of the most awful cannibal tragedies ever
known. It is one of the Louisiade Archipelago, and is at the extreme
south end of British New Guinea. It presents a most enchanting
appearance, owing to its verdured mountains (9,000 feet), countless
cataracts, and beautiful bays fringed with coco-palms and other tropical
trees, amidst which stand the thatched-roofed houses of the natives. I
will tell the story of Rossel Island in as few words as possible:--
In 1852 a Peruvian barque, carrying 325 Chinese coolies for Tahiti, was
wrecked on the island; the captain and crew took to the four boats, and
left the Chinamen to shift for themselves. Hundreds of savage natives
rushed the vessel, killed a few of the coolies, and drove the rest on
shore, where for some days they were not molested, the natives being too
busy in plundering the ship. But after this was completed they turned
their attention to their captives, marshalled them together, made them
enter canoes and carried them off to a small, but fertile island. Here
they were told to occupy a deserted village, and do as they pleased, but
not to attempt to leave the island. The poor Chinamen were overjoyed,
little dreaming of what was to befal them. The island abounded with
vegetables and fruit, and the shipwrecked men found no lack of food. But
they discovered that they were prisoners--every canoe had been removed.
This at first caused them no alarm, but when at the end of a week
their jailers appeared and carried off ten of their number, they became
restless. And then almost every day, two, three or more were taken
away, and never returned. Then the poor wretches discovered that their
comrades were being killed and eaten day by day!
To escape from the island was impossible, for it was four miles from the
mainland, and they had no canoes, and the water was literally alive with
sharks. Some of them, wild with terror, built a raft out of dead timber,
and tried to put to sea. They were seen by the Rossel Islanders, pursued
and captured, and slaughtered for the cannibal ovens, which were now
never idle. Some poor creatures, who could swim, tried to cross to
another little island two miles away, but were devoured by sharks.
Without arms to defend their lives, they saw themselves decimated week
by week, for whenever the natives came to seize some of their number for
their ovens they came in force.
Six or seven months passed, and then one day the French corvette
_Phoque_ (if I am not mistaken in the name) appeared off the island. She
had been sent by the Governor of New Caledonia to ascertain if any of
the Chinamen were still on the island, or if all had escaped. Two only
survived. They were seen running along the beach to meet the boats from
the corvette, and were taken on board half-demented--all the rest had
gone into the stomach of the cannibals or the sharks.
At the present time the natives of Rossel Island are subjects of King
Edward VII., and are included in the government of the Possession of
British New Guinea; have, I believe, a resident missionary, and several
traders, and are well behaved. They would cast up their eyes in pious
horror if any visitor now suggested that they had once been addicted to
“long pig “.
Ten days after passing Rossel Island, we were among the islands of
Dampier and Vitiaz Straits, which separate the western end of New
Britain from the east coast of New Guinea. It was an absolutely new
ground for recruiting “blackbirds” and our voyage was in reality but
an experiment. We (the officers and I) knew that the natives were a
dangerous lot of savage cannibals, speaking many dialects, and had
hitherto only been in communication with an occasional whaleship, or a
trading, pearling, or, in the “old” colonial days, a sandal-wood-seeking
vessel. But we had no fear of being cut off. We had a fine craft, with a
high freeboard, so that if we were rushed by canoes, the boarders would
find some trouble in clambering on deck; on the main deck we carried
four six-pounders, which were always kept in good order and could be
loaded with grape in a few minutes. Then our double crew were all well
armed with Sharp's carbines and the latest pattern of Colt's revolvers;
and, above all, the captain had confidence in his crew and officers, and
they in him. I, the recruiter, had with me as interpreter a very smart
native of Ysabel Island (Solomon Group) who, five years before, had been
wrecked on Rook Island, in Vitiaz Straits, had lived among the cannibal
natives for a year, and then been rescued by an Austrian man-of-war
engaged on an exploration voyage. He said that he could make himself
well understood by the natives--and this I found to be correct.
We anchored in a charming little bay on Rook Island (Baga), and at once
some hundreds of natives came off and boarded us in the most fearless
manner. They at once recognised my interpreter, and danced about him and
yelled their delight at seeing him again. Every one of these savages was
armed with half a dozen spears, a jade-headed club, or powerful bows and
arrows, and a wooden shield. They were a much finer type of savage
than the natives of New Britain, lighter in colour, and had not so many
repulsive characteristics. Neither were they absolutely nude--each man
wearing a girdle of dracaena leaves, and although they were betel-nut
chewers, and carried their baskets of areca nuts and leaves and powdered
lime around their necks, they did not expectorate the disgusting scarlet
juice all over our decks as the New Britain natives would have done.
We noticed that many of them had recently inflicted wounds, and learned
from them that a few days previously they had had a great fight with the
natives of Tupinier Island (twenty miles to the east) and had been badly
beaten, losing sixteen men. But, they proudly added, they had been able
to carry off eleven of the enemy's dead, and had only just finished
eating them. The chiefs brother, they said, had been badly wounded by
a bullet in the thigh (the Tupinier natives had a few muskets) and was
suffering great pain, as the “doctors” could not get it out.
Now here was a chance for me--something which would perhaps lead to our
getting a number of these cannibals to recruit for Samoa. I considered
myself a good amateur surgeon (I had had plenty of practice) and at once
volunteered to go on shore, look at the injured gentleman and see what
I could do. My friend Bobâran in New Britain I had cured of an eczemic
disorder by a very simple remedy, and he had been a grateful patient.
Here was another chance, and possibly another grateful patient; and this
being a case of a gunshot wound, I was rather keen on attending to it,
for the Polynesians and Melanesians will stand any amount of cutting
about and never flinch (and there are no coroners in the South Seas to
ask silly questions if the patient dies from a mistake of the operator).
Morel (the captain), the interpreter and myself went on shore. The beach
was crowded with women and children, as well as men--a sure sign that
no treachery was intended--and nearly all of them tried to embrace my
interpreter. The clamour these cannibals made was terrific, the children
being especially vociferous. Several of them seized my hands, and
literally dragged me along to the house of the wounded man; others
possessed themselves of Morel and the interpreter, and in a few minutes
the whole lot of us tumbled, or rather fell, into the house. Then, in an
instant, there was silence--the excited women and children withdrew and
left the captain, the interpreter, some male cannibals and myself with
my patient, who was sitting up, placidly chewing betel-nut.
In ten minutes Morel and I got out the bullet, then dressed and bandaged
the wound, and gave the man a powerful opiate. Leaving him with his
friends, Morel and I went for a walk through the village. Everywhere the
natives were very civil, offering us coco-nuts and food, and even the
women and children did not show much fear at our presence.
Returning to the house, we found our wounded friend was awake, and
sitting up on his mat. He smiled affably at us, and rubbed noses with
me--a practice I have never before seen among the Melanesians of this
part of the Pacific. Then he told us that his womenfolk were preparing
us a meal which would soon be ready. I asked him gravely (through the
interpreter) not to serve us any human flesh. He replied quite calmly
that there was none left--the last had been eaten five days before.
Presently the meal was carried in--baked pork, an immense fish of the
mullet kind, yams, taro, and an enormous quantity of sugar-cane and
pineapples. The women did not eat with us, but sat apart. Our friend,
whose name was Dârro, had six wives, four of whom were present. He had
also a number of female slaves, taken from an island in Vitiaz Straits.
These were rather light-skinned, and some quite good-looking, and all
wore girdles of dracaena leaves. Neither Dârro nor his people smoked,
though they knew the use of pipe and tobacco, and at one time had been
given both by a sandal-wooding ship. I promised to give them a present
of a ten pound case of plug tobacco, and a gross of clay pipes--I was
thinking of “recruits”. I sent off to the brig for the present, and when
it arrived, and I had given nearly one hundred and fifty cannibals a
pipe and a plug of tobacco each, the interpreter and I got to work on
Dârro on the subject of our mission.
Alas! He would not entertain the idea of any of his fighting men going
to an unknown land for three years. We could have perhaps a score or so
of women--widows or slaves. Would that suit us? No, I said. We did not
want single women or widows. There must be a man to each woman.
Dârro was “very sorry” (so was I). But perhaps I and the captain would
accept two of the youngest of his female slaves as a token of his regard
for us?
Morel and I consulted, and then we asked Dârro if he could not give us
two slave couples--two men and two women who would be willing to marry,
and also willing to go to a country and work, a country where they would
be well treated, and paid for their labour. And at the end of three
years they would be brought back to Dârro, if they so desired.
Dârro smiled and gave some orders, and two strapping young men and two
pleasant-faced young women were brought for my inspection. All were
smiling, and I felt that a bishop and a brass band or surpliced
choristers ought to have been present.
These were the only “blackbirds” we secured on that voyage from Rook
Island; but three and a half years later, when these two couples
returned to Dârro, with a “vast” wealth of trade goods, estimated at
“trade” prices at seventy-two pounds, Dârro never refused to let some of
his young men “recruit” for Fiji or Samoa.
I never saw him again, but he sent messages to me by other
“blackbirding” vessels, saying that he would like me to come and stay
with him.
And, although he had told me that he had personally partaken of
the flesh of over ninety men, I shall always remember him as a very
gentlemanly man, courteous, hospitable and friendly, and who was
horror-struck when my interpreter told him that in England cousins
intermarried.
“That is a horrid, an unutterable thing. It is inconceivable to us.
It is vile, wicked and shameless. How can you clever white men do such
disgusting things?”
Dârro and his savage people knew the terrors of the abuse of the laws of
consanguinity.