Peace-Making
In 1887 the natives of Moviavi made a raid upon the coast village of
Motumotu. Amongst those killed were Tauraki, the Rarotongan teacher at
Motumotu, and his child. Papua was then a British Protectorate and the
Government sent a party to Moviavi to inflict punishment for the raid and
murders. At the end of the next year Chalmers went to live for a time at
Motumotu, and Walker and I went to visit him. Till then there had been
no communication between Moviavi and Motumotu, though Chalmers had been
pleading for peace.
So much by way of introduction. Now for the story. One evening Lahari,
the fighting chief of Motumotu, and in those days one of the finest built
men I had ever seen, came to the house and had a long talk with Tamate
(Chalmers). Not knowing anything of the language we had to wait till
Lahari had gone, and then Tamate told us we were in for a good thing, as
an official “peace making” had been arranged between the two villages,
and we were invited to attend. The Mission teacher had been killed, so
the missionaries must be present at the burying of the hatchet, and join
in the peace. Details had to be arranged, but they would all be arranged
in a few days, and we should be informed when the day had been officially
settled.
It was something for new arrivals in the country to have the opportunity
of being present at such a function, and I for one looked forward eagerly
to the day. The notice duly arrived, and early one morning, accompanied
by the peace-loving old chief Hori, we started up the Williams River
in the whale boat. We were to take the “short cut,” and so soon turned
out of the main river into one of the many small streams which drain
the Delta. This narrowed so quickly that before long the boatmen had a
difficulty in keeping their oars clear of the banks, and the wonderful
vegetation, not content with the land, reached out over the stream till
meeting overhead it formed the nave of one of nature’s cathedrals. Sago
palms with fronds forty feet long predominated, but where the ground was
a little dryer cocoanut and areca palms abounded, and underneath them
flourished crotons, hybiscus, pandanus, all wreathed together by vines of
many kinds.
In time the stream became so narrow that rowing was impossible, and the
men taking hold of the trees pulled the boats along, while others made
use of the punting poles which had been put in the boat when we started.
After joining and going down one of the main streams for a time, we
turned into another narrow one on the other side.
So far we had seen nothing to indicate that anything special was
happening, but not long after entering the small stream we noticed fully
armed and painted natives watching us from behind the trees. Their
numbers increased the nearer we got to the village, and instead of hiding
behind the trees they fell in on either bank, and marched along as an
escort and joined the crowd awaiting us at the landing. What a landing
it was. For some distance the boat had been pulled through mud and
not water, and the prospect of getting over the side was anything but
inviting. I suppose the people saw us hesitating, for they got an old
canoe and pushed it out to the boat, and one at a time, in this, we were
dragged to firmer ground.
The procession that was then formed would have been the making of a
Lord Mayor’s Show. The three white men, though evidently the centre of
attraction, were very insignificant in their helmets and soiled white
clothes, but the natives more than made up what was lacking by their
display of paint, feathers and bright-coloured crotons, and the martial
element was supplied by the bows and arrows and clubs. The parrot house
at the Zoo would be peace itself compared with Moviavi at that hour.
First went Tamate with a native holding each hand, and closely followed
by the man who had turned light porter and taken his bag from the boat.
Walker was escorted by two more men, and his bag and umbrella proudly
carried behind him. Donisi came next, and behind him his traps, and all
around a shouting, surging mass of natives. In this way we were conducted
to a shaded platform and there presented with fine new young cocoanuts to
drink, while the people crowded round and examined us and our belongings,
and no doubt expressed their opinions very freely, only we could not
understand them. Tamate was presented with a pig, but as it was small,
and there was no time for killing and eating it then, it was earmarked by
cutting a hole in its ear and tying a strip of red handkerchief through,
and then put out at board till some future time when Tamate might need it.
Soon after Lahari arrived, and evidently there were troublesome points
to be settled, for a long and heated discussion followed, in which no
rules of debate were observed. Each man tried his best to make himself
heard above all the others. When matters had quieted down a little the
procession was reformed and we moved to another village. It seemed as
though we were beating the bounds of the proposed peace.
Early in the afternoon we began to move towards the boat, and though
there had been plenty to interest there had not been the demonstration I
had expected. I did not know what we were to see before sundown. The best
was reserved till last.
Partly walking through the stinking swamp and partly riding on the backs
of well oiled natives we reached the boat, and began the homeward journey.
On the way up in the morning we had seen Moviavi men watching us from
behind the trees, but now we found every vantage point occupied by fully
armed Motumotuans in all their best paint and feathers. The surprise, and
interest, increased when we reached the main stream and found it almost
blocked by canoes full of more people from Motumotu. Two of the largest
were “manned” by Amazons with a uniform of bright-red paint. We decided
to see the matter through, so drew to the bank near Lahari’s canoe.
It seemed as though they had been waiting for our arrival before
beginning the last act. Lahari shouted an order, and in a moment the
scene was one never to be forgotten. Intense excitement prevailed. Drums
sounded all along the line, and conch shells blown lustily added to the
din and shout that greeted the appearance of nine double canoes. Dashing
round the bend, down with the swift current they came, as fast as twenty
pairs of strong arms could drive them through the water. The men at the
paddles were standing to their work, and the platforms between each
pair of canoes were crowded with other men, some drumming for all they
were worth, and others with their arrows drawn to the head, threatening
all sides in turn. After passing the boat they altered their course, and
charged on to the low land at the mouth of the creek leading to Moviavi.
In a moment, as though by magic, the Moviavians swarmed on to the scene,
ready to repel the attacking force. The scene beggars description.
A dangerously realistic sham fight took place, and all semblance of a
peace-making vanished. Hori became anxious and explained that if only
one man let his arrow slip from the bow the fight would be real and not
sham. By means of much shouting and rushing about in company with other
leading men, he managed to restore some sort of order, and more quietly
and more slowly the leading canoes filed past the boat and made their way
up stream.
All told nearly seventy canoes had put in an appearance from Motumotu,
and the crews ranged from twenty to forty. Many had some distinguishing
badge, as in the case of a crew of youths, each of whom had red hybiscus
flowers in the hair, and green and yellow crotons waving from their
armlets, waist-belts, knees and ankles.
[Illustration: THE KAIVA-KUKU.
_See page 180._]
[Illustration: NATIVE SURGERY.
_See page 181._]
[Illustration: BASKET-MAKING AT DELENA.
_See page 183._]
[Illustration: SMILES.]
The last we saw was a very noisy exchange of Motumotu shell-fish for
Moviavi sago, and it made old Hori more anxious than ever to get his
crowd away and start safely on the homeward journey. Some of his young
men seemed bent on a row, for he heard one telling a Moviavi man, in very
strong language, that his sago was only fit for pigs to eat, and that he
was not a pig.
We were delayed by our anchor getting foul of a log, and before it was
cleared Hori had the satisfaction of seeing the last canoe vanish round
the bend on the homeward way. Whether the crew of Amazons had very
particular friends amongst the men in our boat, or whether they simply
wished to show off before the white men, I know not, but their canoe
flashed past us in grand style. Twelve paddles on either side, rising and
falling with the regularity of a machine, made her travel grandly. Each
stroke seemed almost to lift her out of the water, and our whale boat was
soon left behind.
That we had had a field day there was no mistake, but there had been
little to suggest a peace-making, and as we returned quietly down the
Williams River in the evening, many were the questions Tamate was asked
to put to Hori.
“How long had the two tribes been on unfriendly terms?”
“For six rounds of the seasons,” replied Hori.
“Would the peace be lasting?”
“He did not know, as there were many in both villages who did not want
peace.”
“Why had there been such a warlike display?”
“Just to show that each was a strong village.”
“Why had the nine canoe-loads of fighting men charged on to the bank at
the mouth of the creek, as though bent on attacking Moviavi, and why had
the Moviavi men pretended to drive them back into the river?”
The idea of peace had originated with Motumotu, and their men wanted to
show the Moviavians that though they had suggested peace they had not
done so because they were unable to attack and pay off old scores. On the
other hand the inland men had to let those from the coast know that if
they did attack they would receive a warm welcome and be repulsed. On a
big scale they had been acting out the small boy’s talk “I am not going
to fight you, but do not think it is because I cannot fight, nor because
I am afraid of you.”
There was one incident which was not referred to till we met at breakfast
the next morning, then Tamate remarked, “Boys, you must remember to be
thankful this morning, for it was just a question whether we were to get
away from Moviavi yesterday with our lives.”
This was news to us. We had seen plenty of excitement, and heard noise
enough to last for a long time, but not a hint that possibly that day
might be our last. You may be sure we were all attention, and that we
wanted the particulars from Tamate.
“Well there is not much to tell,” he said, “and even if they had
killed us I do not think we could have blamed them very much. When
the Government punished them for the raid and murder some of their
people were shot, and all along they had been against peace being
re-established. They refused to have anything to do with yesterday’s
demonstration. Their account was unsettled and they were dissatisfied.
“Do you remember what happened when we were sitting on the platform
drinking cocoanuts? You probably saw, as I did, that Tima (one of the
teachers) jumped up hurriedly and went on to the platform of the big
Dubu in front of us, but you would not understand what he called to me
in Rarotongan. It was a warning to look out, as the men were covering
our party with their arrows, and advice to clear out while he obstructed
their aim by walking about in front of them. Lahari, too, saw what the
men were up to, and hurried us away to the second village. Tima and the
other teachers were all right, as the score was marked up against the
white men, and not against them.”
Tamate is dead, Hori is dead, Lahari is dead, but the peace they all
helped to establish has never been broken, and the last time I was at
Moviavi we stayed in a Samoan teacher’s house and met many of the men at
the service in the church, and heard their children read words of peace
in the school.