THE SEGOND CHANNEL--LIFE ON A PLANTATION
When the tide rose, we returned to the yacht and continued our cruise
northward, passed the small islands of Rano, Atchin, Vao and others,
crossed the treacherous Bougainville Strait between Malekula and
Santo, and came to anchor in the Canal du Segond formed by Santo and
Malo. This channel is about eight miles long and three-quarters of
a mile wide at its narrowest point. On its shores, which belong to a
French company, is a colony of about a hundred and fifty Frenchmen. The
Segond Channel would be a good harbour but for very strong currents
caused by the tides, which are unfavourable to small boats; its
location, too, is not very central. The shores are flat, but rise
abruptly at some points to a height of 150 m. There are level lands
at the mouth of the Sarrakatta River and on the tablelands.
The Sarrakatta is one of the sights of the New Hebrides, and a pull up
the narrow stream affords one of the most impressive views to be had
of tropical vegetation. The river cuts straight through the forest,
so that the boat moves between two high walls of leafy green. Silently
glides the stream, silently broods the forest, only the boat swishes
softly, and sometimes a frightened fish splashes up. Every bend we
round shows us new and surprisingly charming views: now we pass a
giant tree, which towers up king-like on its iron-hard trunk far
above the rest of the forest, trunk and limbs covered with a fine
lacework of tender-leaved lianas; now we sweep along a high bank,
under a bower of overhanging branches. The water caresses the tips
of the twigs, and through the leaves the sun pours golden into the
cool darkness. Again we glide into the light, and tangled shrubbery
seams the river bank, from which long green strands of vines trail
down and curl in the water like snakes. Knobby roots rise out of
the ground; they have caught floating trunks, across which the
water pours, lifting and dropping the wet grasses that grow on
the rotten stems. Farther up the bushes are entirely covered with
vines and creepers, whose large, thick leaves form a scaly coat of
mail under which the half-strangled trees seem to fight in vain for
air and freedom. In shallow places stiff bamboos sprout, their long
yellow leaves trembling nervously in an imperceptible breeze; again
we see trees hung with creepers as if wearing torn flags; and once
in a while we catch sight of that most charming of tropical trees,
the tree-fern, with its lovely star-shaped crown, like a beautiful,
dainty work of art in the midst of the uncultivated wilderness. As
if in a dream we row back down stream, and like dream-pictures all
the various green shapes of the forest sweep by and disappear.
The Resident introduced me to the French planters, Mr. and Mrs. Ch.,
and asked them to take me in, which they agreed to do. Having rented
an old plantation from the French company, they had had the good
fortune to find a regular frame house ready for them.
After I had moved into my quarters the Resident returned to Vila,
and I remained on the borders of the wilderness. What followed now
was a most unsatisfactory time of waiting, the first of many similar
periods. Having no servants, I could undertake nothing independently,
and since the planters were all suffering from lack of hands, I could
not hire any boys. As the natives around the French plantations at
the Canal du Segond are practically exterminated, I saw hardly any;
but at least I got a good insight into the life on a plantation,
such as it was.
With his land, Mr. Ch. had rented about thirty boys, with whom he
was trying to work the completely decayed plantation. Many acres were
covered with coffee trees, but owing to the miserable management of
the French company, the planters had changed continually and the system
of planting just as often. Every manager had abandoned the work of his
predecessor and begun planting anew on a different system, so that now
there was an immense tract of land planted which had never yet yielded
a crop. In a short time such intended plantations are overgrown with
bush and reconquered by the wilderness; thus thousands of coffee trees
were covered with vines and struggled in vain for light and air. It
seem incredible that in two weeks, on cleared ground, grass can grow
up as tall as a man, and that after six months a cleared plantation
can be covered with bushes and shrubs with stems as thick as one's
finger. The planter, knowing that this overwhelming fertility and
the jealous advances of the forest are his most formidable enemies,
directs his most strenuous efforts to keeping clear his plantation,
especially while the plants are young and unable to fight down the
weeds. Later on, weeding is less urgent, but in the beginning it is the
one essential duty, more so than planting. Mr. Ch. had therefore an
enormous task before him, and as he could not expect any return from
the coffee trees for two or three years, he did as all planters do,
and sowed corn, which yields a crop after three months.
His labourers, dark, curly-haired men, clad in rags, were just
then occupied in gathering the big ears of corn. Sluggishly they
threw the golden ears over their shoulders to the ground, where it
was collected by the women and carried to the shed on the beach--a
long roof of leaves, without walls. Mr. Ch. urged the men to hurry,
as the corn had to be ready for shipment in a few days, the Pacific,
the French mail-steamer, being due. Produce deteriorates rapidly in
the islands owing to the humid climate, so it cannot be stored long,
especially where there is no dry storehouse. Therefore, crops can
only be gathered just before the arrival of a steamer, making these
last days very busy ones everywhere. It is fortunate for the planters
that the native labourers are not yet organized and do not insist on
an eight-hour day. As it was, Mr. Ch. had to leave more than half his
crop to rot in the fields, a heavy rain having delayed the harvesting.
The humidity at the Segond Channel is exceptionally great. As we
stood on the fine coral sand that forms the shores of the channel,
our clothes were damp with the rain from the weeds and shrubs which
we had passed through while stumbling through the plantation. The
steel-grey sea quivers, sleepy and pulpy looking; in front of us,
in a grey mist, lies the flat island of Aore, the air smells mouldy,
and brown rainclouds roll over the wall of primeval forest surrounding
the clearing on three sides. The atmosphere is heavy, and a fine
spray floats in the air and covers everything with moisture. Knives
rust in one's pocket, matches refuse to light, tobacco is like a
sponge and paper like a rag. It had been like this for three months;
no wonder malarial fever raged among the white population. Mr. Ch.,
after only one year's sojourn here, looked like a very sick man;
he was frightfully thin and pale and very nervous; so was his wife,
a delicate lady of good French family. She did the hard work of a
planter's wife with admirable courage, and, while she had never taken
an active part in housekeeping in France, here she was standing all
day long behind a smoky kitchen fire, cooking or washing dishes,
assisted only by a very incapable and unsophisticated native woman.
On our return to the house, which lies about 200 metres inland, we
found this black lady occupied with the extremely hard and puzzling
task of laying the table. It seemed to give her the greatest trouble,
and the deep distrust with which she handled the plates found eloquent
expression in queer sighs and mysterious exclamations in her native
tongue, in resigned shakes of the head and emphatic smacking of the
lips. She was a crooked bush-woman from the north of Malekula, where
the people, especially the women, are unusually ugly and savage. A
low forehead, small, deep-set eyes, and a snout-like mouth gave
her a very animal look; yet she showed human feeling, and nursed
a shrieking and howling orphan all day long with the most tender
care. Her little head was shaved and two upper teeth broken out as
a sign of matrimony, so she certainly was no beauty; but the sight
of her clumsy working was a constant source of amusement to us men,
very much less so to her mistress, to whom nothing but her sincere
zeal and desire to help could make up for her utter inefficiency.
It cannot be denied that the women from those islands, where their
social standing is especially low, are not half so intelligent and
teachable as those from places where they are more nearly equal to
the men; probably because they are subdued and kept in degradation
from early youth, and not allowed any initiative or opinions of their
own. But physically these women are very efficient and quite equal
to the men in field work, or even superior, being more industrious.
The feat of setting the table was accomplished in about an hour, and
we sat down to our simple meal--tinned meat, yams and bananas. Then
the foreman came in. Only a short time ago he was one of the finest
warriors in the interior of Malekula, where cannibalism is still an
everyday occurrence. He, too, wears his hair short, only, according
to the present fashion, he lets the hair on his forehead grow in
a roll-shaped bow across the head. He is well built, though rather
short, and behaves with natural politeness. His voice is soft, his
look gentle and in the doorway his dark figure shines in the lamplight
like a bronze statue.
Mr. Ch. tells him that the boys will have to work all night, at
the same time promising an encouragement in the shape of a glass
of wine to each. The natives' craving for alcohol is often abused by
unscrupulous whites. Although the sale of liquor to natives is strictly
forbidden by the laws of the Condominium, the French authorities do
not even seem to try to enforce this regulation, in fact, they rather
impressed me as favouring the sale, thus protecting the interests of
a degraded class of whites, to the detriment of a valuable race. As
a consequence, there are not a few Frenchmen who make their living by
selling spirits to natives, which may be called, without exaggeration,
a murderous and criminal traffic.
Others profit indirectly by the alcoholism of the islanders by selling
liquor to their hands every Saturday, so as to make them run into
debt; they will all spend their entire wages on drink. If, their
term of engagement being over, they want to return to their homes,
they are told that they are still deep in debt to their master, and
that they will have to pay off by working for some time longer. The
poor fellows stay on and on, continue to drink, are never out of debt,
and never see their homes again. This practice has developed of late
years in consequence of the scarcity of labour, and is nothing but
slavery. It might easily be abolished by a slight effort on the part
of the Government, but there is hardly any supervision over French
plantations outside Port Vila, and in many plantations conditions exist
which are an insult to our modern views on humane treatment. On English
plantations there is but little brutality, owing to the Government's
careful supervision of the planters and the higher social and moral
standing of the settlers in general.
My host had some European conscience left, and treated his hands
very humanely, but I dare say that in course of time, and pressed
by adverse circumstances, even he resorted to means of finding cheap
labour which were none too fair. The French by-laws permit the delivery
of alcohol to natives in the shape of "medicine," a stipulation which
opens the door to every abuse.
The boys were soon on hand, each awaiting his turn eagerly, yet trying
to seem blase. Some drank greedily, others tasted the sour wine in
little sips like old experts; but all took care to turn their backs
to us while drinking, as if from bashfulness. Then they went to work,
giggling and happy.
Meanwhile, those on the sick-list were coming up for the planter's
inspection. The diseases are mostly tuberculosis, colds, indigestion,
fever and infections, and it is evident that if they receive any
medical treatment at all, it is of a primitive and insufficient
description. The planters work with fearfully strong plasters, patent
medicines and "universal remedies," used internally and externally
by turns, so that the patient howls and the spectator shudders, and
the results would be most disheartening if kind Nature did not often
do the healing in spite of man's efforts to prevent it. Naturally,
every planter thinks himself an expert doctor, and is perfectly
satisfied with his results.
Mr. Ch. was ill with fever, nevertheless we went down to the
work-shed. It was a pitch-dark night, the air was like that in a
hothouse, smelling of earth and mould. The surf boomed sullenly on the
beach, and heavy squalls flogged the forest. Sometimes a rotten branch
snapped, and the sound travelled, dull and heavy, through the night.
From far away we hear the noise of the engine peeling the
corn-ears. Two of the natives turn the fly-wheels, and the engine gives
them immense pleasure, all the more, the faster it runs. The partners
are selected with care, and it is a matter of pride to turn wheels
as long and as fast as possible; they encourage each other with wild
shrieks and cries. It seemed as if the work had turned to a festival,
as if it were a sort of dance, and the couples waited impatiently
for their turn to drive the engine. The delight of the boys in the
noise of the machinery was very favourable to the progress of the
work, and at midnight a long row of full sacks stood in the shed. We
stopped the work and told the boys to go to sleep. But the demon of
dancing had taken hold of them, and they kept it up all night, and
then went straight to work in the fields when the sun rose. By the
third evening everything was ready for the arrival of the Pacific,
and the boys were deadly tired and lame.
We were just sitting down to dinner one dull, heavy night, when we
heard a steamer's long, rough whistle. The Pacific. Everyone jumps up
in excitement, for the Pacific brings a taste of civilization, and her
arrival marks the end of a busy week and breaks the monotony of daily
life. We run to the shore and light strong lamps at fixed points,
to indicate the anchorage, and then we rush back to finish dinner
and put on clean clothes. Meanwhile, the boys have been roused, and
they arrive, sleepy, stiff and unwilling, aware that a hard night's
work is before them, loading the produce into the tenders.
The steamer approaches quickly, enormous and gay in the darkness,
then she slowly feels her way into the harbour, the anchor falls, and
after a few oscillations the long line of brightly lit portholes lies
quiet on the water, only their reflection flickers irregularly on the
waves through the night. In all directions we can see the lights of the
approaching boats of the planters, who come to announce their shipments
and to spend a gay evening on board. There are always some passengers
on the steamer, planters from other islands on their way to Vila or
Sydney, and soon carousing is in full swing, until the bar closes.
All next day the steamer stays in the channel, taking on produce from
every plantation, and for two days afterward merrymaking is kept up,
then the quiet monotony of a tropical planter's life sets in once more.
Sometimes a diversion is caused by a boy rushing up to the house to
announce that some "men-bush" are approaching. Going to the veranda,
we see some lean figures with big mops of hair coming slowly down the
narrow path from the forest, with soft, light steps. Some distance
behind follows a crowd of others, who squat down near the last shrubs
and examine everything with shy, suspicious eyes, while the leaders
approach the house. Nearly all carry old Snider rifles, always loaded
and cocked. The leaders stand silent for a while near the veranda,
then one of them whispers a few words in broken "biche la mar,"
describing what he wants to buy--knives, cartridges, powder, tobacco,
pipes, matches, calico, beads. "All right," says Mr. Ch., and some of
the men bring up primitive baskets of cocoa-nut leaves, filled with
coprah or bunches of raw cocoa-nuts. All of them, especially the women,
have carried great loads of these things from their villages in the
interior on the poorest paths, marching for days.
The baskets are weighed and the desired goods handed to the
head-man. Here the whites make a profit of 200-300 per cent., while on
the other islands, where there is more competition, they have to be
satisfied with 30 per cent. Each piece is carefully examined by the
natives: the pipes, to see if they draw, the matches, whether they
strike, etc., while the crowd behind follows every movement with the
greatest attention and mysterious whispers, constantly on the watch
for any menace to safety. The lengthy bargaining over, the delegation
turns away and the whole crowd disappears. In the nearest thicket they
sit down and distribute the goods--perhaps a dozen boxes of matches,
a few belts, or some yards of calico, two pounds of tobacco, and twenty
pipes, a poor return, indeed, for their long journey. Possibly they
will spend the night in the neighbourhood, under an overhanging rock,
on the bare stone, all crowded round a fire for fear of the spirits
of the night.
Sometimes, having worked for another planter, they have a little
money. Although every planter keeps his own store, the natives, as
a rule, prefer to buy from his neighbour, from vague if not quite
unjustified suspicion. They rarely engage for any length of time,
except when driven by the desire to buy some valuable object, generally
a rifle, without which no native likes to be seen in Santo to-day. In
that case several men work together for one, who afterwards indemnifies
them for their help in native fashion by giving them pigs or rendering
them other services. On the plantations they are suspicious and lazy,
but quite harmless as long as they are not provoked. Mr. Ch. had had
about thirty men working on his plantation for quite some time, and
everything had gone well, until one day one of them had fallen into
the Sarrakatta and been drowned. According to native law, Mr. Ch. was
responsible for his death, and should have paid for him, which he
omitted to do. At first there was general dismay, no one dared approach
the river any more; then the natives all returned to their villages,
and a few days later they swarmed round the plantation with rifles
to avenge their dead relative by murdering Mr. Ch. He was warned by
his boys, who were from Malekula for the most part, and this saved
his life. He armed his men, and after a siege of several weeks the
bushmen gave up the watch and retired. But no one would return to
work for him any more.
Altogether, the bushmen of Santo are none too reliable, and only the
memory of a successful landing expedition of the English man-of-war
a year ago keeps them quiet. On that occasion they had murdered an
old Englishman and two of his daughters, just out of greed, so as to
pillage his store. They had not found much, but they had to pay for
the murder with the loss of their village, pigs and lives.
I tried to find boys at the south-west corner of Santo, where the
natives frequently descend to the shore. A neighbour of Mr. Ch., a
young Frenchman, was going there in a small cutter to buy wood for
dyeing mats to sell to the natives of Malekula, and he kindly took
me with him. We sailed through the channel one rainy morning, but
the wind died down and we had to anchor, as the current threatened
to take us back. We profited by the stop to pay a visit to a Mr. R.,
who cultivated anarchistic principles, also a plantation which seemed
in perfect condition and in direct opposition to his anti-capitalistic
ideas. Mr. R. was one of those French colonists who, sprung from the
poorest peasant stock, have no ambitions beyond finding a new and
kindlier home. Economical, thrifty, used to hard work in the fields,
Mr. R. had begun very modestly, but had prospered, and was now,
while still a young man, the owner of a plantation that would make
him rich in a few years. This good, solid peasant stock, of which
France possesses so much, makes the best colonists, and as a rule
they succeed far better than those who come to the tropics with the
idea of making a fortune in a few years without working for it. These
fall into the hands of the big Noumea companies, and have the greatest
trouble in getting out of debt. Not only do these firms lend money
at exorbitant interest, but they stipulate that the planter will sell
them all his produce and buy whatever he needs from them, and as they
fix prices as they please, their returns are said to reach 30 per cent.
Besides these two kinds of French settlers, there is a third, which
comes from the penitentiary in Noumea or its neighbourhood. We shall
meet specimens of these in the following pages.
After having duly admired the plantation of Mr. R.--he proved himself
a real peasant, knew every plant by name, and was constantly stopping
to pick a dead leaf or prune a shoot--we continued our journey and
arrived at Tangoa. Tangoa is a small island, on which the Presbyterian
mission has established a central school for the more intelligent
of the natives of the whole group, where they may be trained as
teachers. The exterior of this school looks most comfortable. One
half of the island is cleared and covered with a green lawn, one
part is pasture for good-looking cattle, the other is a park in which
nestle the cottages of the teachers,--the whole looks like an English
country-seat. At some distance is a neatly built, well-kept village
for the native pupils. I presented an introduction to the director. He
seemed to think my endeavours extremely funny, asked if I was looking
for the missing link, etc., so that I took a speedy leave.
We spent a few lazy days on board the little cutter; the natives would
not come down from their villages, in spite of frequent explosions of
dynamite cartridges, the usual signal of recruiters to announce their
arrival to the natives. It rained a good deal, and there was not much
to do but to loaf on the beach. Here, one day, I saw an interesting
method of fishing by poisoning the water, which is practised in many
places. At low tide the natives rub a certain fruit on the stones of
the reef, the juice mixes with the water in the pools and poisons
the fish, so that after a short while they float senseless on the
surface and may easily be caught.
After a few days I was anxious to return to the Segond Channel,
as I expected the arrival of the English steamer, which I wanted to
meet. I could not find any guide, and the cutter was to stay for some
days longer, so I decided to go alone; the distance was only about
15 km., and I thought that with the aid of my compass I would find
my way along the trail which was said to exist.
I started in the morning with a few provisions and a dull bush-knife,
at first along a fairly good path, which, however, soon divided
into several tracks. I followed the one which seemed most likely to
lead to my destination, but arrived at a deep lagoon, around which
I had to make a long detour. Here the path came to a sudden stop in
front of an impenetrable thicket of lianas which I could hardly cut
with my knife. I climbed across fallen trunks, crawled along the
ground beneath the creepers, struck an open spot once in a while,
passed swamps and rocks,--in short, in a very little time I made an
intimate acquaintance with the renowned Santo bush. Yet I imagined
I was advancing nicely, so much so that I began to fear I had gone
beyond my destination. About four o'clock in the afternoon I struck
a small river and followed its crooked course to the coast, so as to
get my bearings. Great was my disappointment on finding myself only
about 1 1/2 km. from the lagoon which I had left in the morning. This
was a poor reward for eight hours' hard work. I was ashamed to return
to the cutter, and followed the shore, not wishing to repeat that
morning's experience in the forest. The walk along the beach was not
agreeable at all, as it consisted of those corroded coral rocks,
full of sharp points and edges, and shaped like melted tin poured
into water. These rocks were very jagged, full of crevices, in which
the swell thundered and foamed, and over which I had to jump. Once I
fell in, cut my legs and hands most cruelly and had only my luck to
thank that I did not break any bones, and got safely out of the damp,
dark prison. But at least I could see where I was, and that I was
getting on, and I preferred this to the uncertain struggle in the
forest. In some places the coast rose to a high bank, round which
I could not walk. I had to climb up on one side as best I could
and descend on the other with the help of trees and vines. Thus,
fighting my way along, I was overtaken by the sudden tropical night,
and I had to stop where I was for fear of falling into some hole. A
fall would have been a real calamity, as nobody would ever have found
me or even looked for me on that lonely coast. I therefore sat down
where I was, on the corals where they seemed least pointed. I did not
succeed at all in making a fire; the night was quite dark and moonless,
and a fine rain penetrated everything. I have rarely passed a longer
night or felt so lonely. The new day revived my spirits, breakfast
did not detain me long, as I had nothing to eat, so I kept along the
shore, jumping and climbing, and had to swim through several lagoons,
swarming, as I heard afterwards, with big sharks! After a while the
coral shore changed into a sand beach, and after having waded for some
hours more in the warm water with the little rags that were left of my
boots, I arrived dead tired at the plantation of Mr. R. He was away,
so I went to his neighbour's, who was at dinner and kindly asked me
to join him. Although it was only a flying-fox, I enjoyed it as a
man enjoys a meal after a twenty-four hours' fast.
The men were just starting for Mr. Ch.'s, and took me with them. My
adventure had taught me the impassableness of the forest, and after
that experience I was never again tempted to make excursions without
a guide.