VAO
I had not yet solved the problem of how to get away from the Segond
Channel and find a good field of labour, when, happily, the French
priest from Port Olry came to stay a few days with his colleague at
the channel, on his way to Vao, and he obligingly granted me a passage
on his cutter. I left most of my luggage behind, and the schooner of
the French survey party was to bring it to Port Olry later on.
After a passage considerably prolonged by contrary winds, we arrived
at Vao, a small island north-east of Malekula. When one has sailed
along the lifeless, greyish-green shores of Malekula, Vao is like a
sunbeam breaking through the mist. This change of mood comes gradually,
as one notices the warm air of spring, and dry souls, weather-beaten
captains and old pirates may hardly be aware of anything beyond a
better appetite and greater thirst. And it is not easy to define what
lends the little spot such a charm that the traveller feels revived as
if escaped from some oppression. From a distance Vao looks like all the
other islands and islets of the archipelago--a green froth floating on
the white line of breakers; from near by we see, as everywhere else,
the bright beach in front of the thick forest. But what impresses
the traveller mournfully elsewhere,--the eternal loneliness and
lifelessness of a country where nature has poured all its power into
the vegetation, and seems to have forgotten man and beast,--is softened
here, and an easy joy of living penetrates everything like a delicate
scent, and lifts whatever meets the eye to greater significance and
beauty. The celestial charm of the South Sea Islands, celebrated by
the first discoverers, seems to be preserved here, warming the soul
like the sweet remembrance of a happy dream. Hardly anyone who feels
these impressions will wonder about their origin, but he will hasten
ashore and dive into the forest, driven by a vague idea of finding
some marvel. Later he will understand that the charm of Vao lies in
the rich, busy human life that fills the island. It is probably the
most thickly populated of the group, with about five hundred souls
living in a space one mile long and three-fourths of a mile wide; and
it is their happy, careless, lazy existence that makes Vao seem to
the stranger like a friendly home. Here there are houses and fires,
lively people who shout and play merrily, and after the loneliness
which blows chill from the bush, the traveller is glad to rest and
feel at home among cheerful fellow-men.
About seventy outrigger boats of all sizes lie on the beach. On
their bows they carry a carved heron, probably some half-forgotten
totem. The bird is more or less richly carved, according to the social
standing of the owner, and a severe watch is kept to prevent people
from carrying carvings too fine for their degree. Similarly, we find
little sticks like small seats fastened to the canoes, their number
indicating the caste of the owner. Under big sheds, in the shade of the
tall trees, lie large whale-boats of European manufacture, belonging
to the different clans, in which the men undertake long cruises to
the other islands, Santo, Aoba, Ambrym, to visit "sing-sings" and
trade in pigs. Formerly they used large canoes composed of several
trees fastened together with ropes of cocoa-nut fibre, and caulked
with rosin, driven by sails of cocoa-nut sheaths; these would hold
thirty to forty men, and were used for many murderous expeditions. For
the inhabitants of Vao were regular pirates, dreaded all along the
coast; they would land unexpectedly in the morning near a village,
kill the men and children, steal the women and start for home with
rich booty. European influences have put a stop to this sport, and
with the introduction of whale-boats the picturesque canoes have
disappeared from the water, and now lie rotting on the beach. Their
successors (though according to old tradition, women may not enter
them) are only used for peaceful purposes.
In the early morning the beach is deserted, but a few hours after
sunrise it is full of life. The different clans come down from their
villages by narrow paths which divide near the shore into one path for
the men and another for the women, leading to separate places. The men
squat down near one of the boat-houses and stretch out comfortably in
the warm sand, smoking and chatting. The women, loaded with children
and baskets, sit in the shade of the knobby trees which stretch their
trunk-like branches horizontally over the beach, forming a natural
roof against sun and rain. The half-grown boys are too lively to
enjoy contemplative laziness; gossip and important deliberations
about pigs and sacrifices do not interest them, and they play about
between the canoes, wade in the water, look for shells on the sand,
or hunt crabs or fish in the reef. Thus an hour passes. The sun
has warmed the sand; after the cool night this is doubly agreeable,
and a light breeze cools the air. Some mothers bathe their babies in
the sea, washing and rubbing them carefully, until the coppery skin
shines in the sun; the little creatures enjoy the bath immensely,
and splash gaily in the element that will be their second home
in days to come. Everyone on the beach is in the easiest undress:
the men wear nothing but a bark belt, and the women a little apron
of braided grass; the children are quite naked, unless bracelets,
necklaces and ear-rings can count as dress. Having rested and amply
fortified themselves for the painful resolution to take up the day's
work, people begin to prepare for departure to the fields. They have
to cross the channel, about a mile wide, to reach the big island where
the yam gardens lie, sheltered by the forest from the trade-winds;
and this sail is the occasion for the prettiest sight Vao can offer.
The tides drive the sea through the narrow channel so hard as to start
a current which is almost a stream. The head-wind raises short, sharp,
white-capped waves; shallow banks shine yellow through the clear water,
and the coral reefs are patches of violet and crimson, and we are
delighted by constant changes, new shades and various colourings,
never without harmony and loveliness. A cloudless sky bends over
the whole picture and shines on the red-brown bodies of the people,
who bustle about their canoes, adding the bright red of their mats
and dresses to the splendour of the landscape.
With sudden energy the women have grabbed the boats and pushed them
into the water. The girls are slim, supple and strong as the young men,
the mothers and older women rather stiff, and usually hampered by at
least one child, which they carry on their backs or on their hips,
while another holds on to the garment which replaces our skirts. There
is plenty of laughter and banter with the men, who look on unmoved
at the efforts of the weaker sex, only rarely offering a helping hand.
From the trees and hiding-places the paddles and the pretty triangular
sails are fetched and fastened on the canoes; then the boats are pushed
off and the whole crowd jumps in. The babies sit in their mothers'
laps or hang on their backs, perilously close to the water, into
which they stare with big, dark eyes. By twos and threes the canoes
push off, driven by vigorous paddling along the shore, against the
current. Sometimes a young man wades after a canoe and joins some
fair friends, sitting in front of them, as etiquette demands. The
fresh breeze catches the sails, and the ten or fifteen canoes glide
swiftly across the bright water, the spread sails looking like great
red butterflies. The spray splashes from the bows, one woman steers,
and the others bale out the water with cocoa-nuts,--a labour worthy of
the Danaides; sometimes the outrigger lifts up and the canoe threatens
to capsize, but, quick as thought, the women lean on the poles joining
outrigger and canoe, and the accident is averted. In a few minutes
the canoes enter the landings between the torn cliffs on the large
island, the passengers jump out and carry the boats up the beach.
A few stragglers, men of importance who have been detained by politics,
and bachelors, who have nothing and nobody to care for but themselves,
follow later on, and only a crowd of boys stays in Vao, to enjoy
themselves on the beach and get into all sorts of mischief.
Obliging as people sometimes are when the fancy strikes them, a
youth took us over to the other island in his canoe, and was even
skilful enough to keep us from capsizing. Narrow paths, bordered with
impenetrable bush, led us from the beach across coral boulders up to
the plantations on top of the tableland. Under some cocoa-nut palms
our guide stopped, climbed nimbly up a slim trunk, as if mounting a
ladder, and three green nuts dropped to the ground at our feet. Three
clever strokes of the knife opened them, and we enjoyed the refreshing
drink in its natural bowl. Sidepaths branched off to the gardens, where
every individual or family had its piece of ground. We saw big bananas,
taro, with large, juicy leaves, yams, trained on a pretty basket-shaped
trellis-work; when in bloom this looks like a huge bouquet. There
were pine-apples, cabbages, cocoa-nut and bread-fruit trees, bright
croton bushes and highly scented shrubs. In this green and confused
abundance the native spends his day, working a little, loafing a
great deal. He shoots big pigeons and little parakeets, roasts them
on an improvised fire and eats them as a welcome addition to his
regular meals. From sun and rain he is sheltered by simple roofs,
under which everybody assembles at noon to gossip, eat and laugh.
Long ago there were villages here. An enormous monolith, now broken,
but once 5 metres high, speaks for the energy of bygone generations,
when this rock was carried up from the coast, probably for a monument
to some great chief.
While the women were gathering food for the evening meal we returned
to Vao. The breeze had stiffened in the midst of the channel, and
one old woman's canoe had capsized. She clung to the boat, calling
pitifully for help, which amused all the men on the shore immensely,
until at last, none too soon, they went to her rescue. Such adventures
are by no means harmless, as the channel swarms with sharks.
We explored the interior of Vao, going first through the thicket on
the shore, then through reed-grass over 6 feet high, then between
low walls surrounding little plantations. Soon the path widened, and
on both sides we saw stone slabs, set several rows deep; presently
we found ourselves under the wide vault of one of those immense fig
trees whose branches are like trunks, and the glare of the sun gave
way to deep shadow, the heat of noonday to soft coolness.
Gradually our eyes grow accustomed to the dimness, and we distinguish
our surroundings. We are in a wide square, roofed by the long branches
of the giant tree. At our left is its trunk, mighty enough in itself,
but increased by the numerous air-roots that stretch like cables
from the crown to the earth, covering the trunk entirely in some
spots, or dangling softly in the wind, ending in large tassels of
smaller roots. Lianas wind in distorted curves through the branches,
like giant snakes stiffened while fighting. This square is one of
the dancing-grounds of Vao. The rows of stones surround the square
on three sides--two, three or more deep. Near the trunk of the great
tree is a big altar of large slabs of rock; around it are stone tables
of smaller size, and one or two immense coral plates, which cover the
buried skull of some mighty chief. A large rock lies in the middle of
the road on a primitive slide half covered by stones and earth. Long
ago the islanders tried to bring it up from the beach; a strong vine
served as a rope, and more than fifty men must have helped to drag the
heavy rock up from the coast to the square. Half-way they got tired
of the job and left the stone where it lies now, and will lie for ever.
On the other side of the altar are the drums, hollow trunks, whose
upper end is carved to represent a human face with wide, grinning
mouth, and deep, round and hollow eyes. Rammed in aslant, leaning in
all directions, they stand like clumsy, malicious demons, spiteful and
brutal, as if holding their bellies with rude, immoderate laughter
at their own hugeness and the puniness of mankind, at his miserable
humanity, compared to the solemn repose of the great tree. In front
of these are figures cut roughly out of logs, short-legged, with
long bodies and exaggeratedly long faces; often they are nothing
but a head, with the same smiling mouth, a long nose and narrow,
oblique eyes. They are painted red, white and blue, and are hardly
discernible in the dimness. On their forked heads they carry giant
birds with outstretched wings,--herons,--floating as if they had just
dropped through the branches on to the square.
This is all we can see, but it is enough to make a deep
impression. Outside, the sun is glaring, the leaves quiver, and the
clouds are drifting across the sky, but here it is dim and cool as
in a cathedral, not a breeze blows, everything is lapped in a holy
calm. Abandonment, repose, sublime thoughtlessness drop down on us in
the shadow of the giant tree; as if in a dream we breathe the damp,
soft, mouldy air, feel the smooth earth and the green moss that covers
everything like a velvet pall, and gaze at the altars, the drums and
the statues.
In a small clearing behind the square, surrounded by gaily coloured
croton bushes, stands the men's house--the "gamal." Strong pillars
support its gabled roof, that reaches down to the ground; the entrance
is flanked by great stone slabs. Oddly branched dead trees form a hedge
around the house, and on one side, on a sort of shelf, hang hundreds
of boars' jaws with curved tusks. Inside, there are a few fireplaces,
simple holes in the ground, and a number of primitive stretchers
of parallel bamboos, couches that the most ascetic of whites would
disdain. Among the beams of the roof hang all kinds of curiosities:
dancing-masks and sticks, rare fish, pigs' jaws, bones, old weapons,
amulets and so on, everything covered with a thick layer of soot from
the ever-smouldering fires. These "gamals" are a kind of club-house,
where the men spend the day and occasionally the night. In rainy
weather they sit round the fire, smoking, gossiping and working on
some tool,--a club or a fine basket. Each clan has its own gamal,
which is strictly taboo for the women, and to each gamal belongs
a dancing-ground like the one described. On Vao there are five,
corresponding to the number of clans.
Near by are the dwelling-houses and family enclosures. Each family has
its square, surrounded by a wall about 1 metre high of loose stones
simply piled up, so that it is unsafe to lean against it. Behind the
walls are high screens of braided reeds, which preclude the possibility
of looking into the enclosure; even the doors are so protected that no
one can look in; for the men are very jealous, and do not want their
wives observed by strangers. These enclosures are very close together,
and only narrow lanes permit circulation. As we turn a corner we may
see a woman disappear quickly, giggling, while children run away with
terrified howls, for what the black man is to ours the white man is
to them.
Having won the confidence of a native, we may be taken into his
courtyard, where there is little to be seen, as all the social life
goes on in the gamals or on the dancing-grounds. A dozen simple huts
stand irregularly about the square, some half decayed and serving as
pigsties. One hut belongs to the master, and each of his wives has a
house of her own, in which to bring up her children. The yard is alive
with pigs and fowls and dogs and children, more or less peacefully
at play.
In Vao, as in all Melanesia, the pig is the most valued of animals. All
the thoughts of the native circle round the pig; for with pigs he
can buy whatever his heart desires: he can have an enemy killed, he
can purchase many women, he can attain the highest social standing,
he can win paradise. No wonder, then, that the Vao pigs are just as
carefully nursed, if not more so, than the children, and that it is
the most important duty of the old matrons to watch over the welfare
of the pigs. To call a young beauty "pig's foot," "pig's nose,"
"pig's tail," or similar endearing names is the greatest compliment
a lover can pay. But only the male pigs are esteemed, the females are
of account only as a necessary instrument for propagating the species,
and nobody takes care of them; so they run wild, and have to look out
for themselves. They are much happier than the males, which are tied
all their lives to a pole under a little roof; they are carefully fed,
but this, their only pleasure, is spoilt by constant and terrific
toothache, caused by cruel man, who has a horrible custom of knocking
out the upper eye-teeth of the male pig. The lower eye-teeth, finding
nothing to rub against, grow to a surprising size, first upward,
then down, until they again reach the jaw, grow on and on, through
the cheek, through the jaw-bone, pushing out a few other teeth en
passant, then they come out of the jaw again, and curve a second,
sometimes a third time, if the poor beast lives long enough. These
pigs with curved tusks are the pride and wealth of every native; they
are the highest coin, and power and influence depend on the number
of such pigs a man owns, as well as on the size of their tusks,
and this is the reason why they are so carefully watched, so that
no harm may come to them or their teeth. Very rich people may have
quite a number of "tuskers," people of average means own one or two,
and paupers none at all, but they may have the satisfaction of looking
at those of the others and feeding them if they like.
It will be necessary to say a few words here about the pig-cult and
the social organization of the natives, as they are closely connected
and form a key to an understanding of the natives' way of living and
thinking. I wish to state at once, however, that the following remarks
do not pretend to be correct in all details. It is very hard to make
any researches as to these matters, as the natives themselves have
only the vaguest notions on the subject, and entirely lack abstract
ideas, so that they fail to understand many of the questions put to
them. Without an exact knowledge of the language, and much personal
observation, it is hardly possible to obtain reliable results,
especially as the old men are unwilling to tell all they know,
and the young know very little, but rely on the knowledge of the
old chiefs. Interpreters are of no use, and direct questioning has
but little result, as the people soon become suspicious or tired
of thinking, and answer as they suppose the white man would wish,
so as to have done with the catechizing as soon as possible. Perfect
familiarity with the language, habits and character of the natives
is necessary, and their confidence must be won, in order to make any
progress in the investigation of these problems. Missionaries are the
men to unite these qualities, but, unfortunately, the missionaries
of the New Hebrides do not seem to take much interest in the strange
cult so highly developed here; so that, for want of something better,
my own observations may be acceptable.
The pig-cult, or "Suque," is found almost all over Melanesia. It
is most highly developed in the Banks Islands and the Central New
Hebrides, and rules the entire life of the natives; yet it forms
only a part of their religion, and probably a newer part, while the
fundamental principle is ancestor-worship. We must not expect to find
in the native mind clear conceptions of transcendental things. The
religious ceremonies differ in adjoining villages, and so do the ideas
concerning the other world. There is no regular dogma; and since even
the conceptions of religions with well-defined dogmas are constantly
changing, religions which are handed down by oral tradition only,
and in the vaguest way, must necessarily be fluctuating. Following
the natural laws of thought, religious conceptions split into numerous
local varieties, and it is the task of the scientist to seek, amid this
variety of exterior forms, the common underlying idea, long forgotten
by everyone else, and to ascertain what it was in its original purity,
without additions and deformations.
My observations led me to the following results: according to native
belief, the soul leaves the body after death, and wanders about near
by. Apparently the idea is that it remains in connection with the body
for a certain time, for in some districts the corpse is fed for five
days or longer; in Vao a bamboo tube is used, which leads from the
surface of the earth to the mouth of the buried body. The souls of
low-caste people soon disappear, but the higher the caste, the longer
the soul stays on earth. Still, the natives have some conception of
a paradise in which the soul of the high-caste finds all bliss and
delight, and which the soul ultimately enters. This idea may have
come up since the arrival of Christianity. It is customary to hold
a death-feast for a man of no caste after five days, for a low-caste
after one hundred, and for a high-caste after three hundred or even
one thousand days. The soul remains in contact with the world of
the living, and may be perceived as a good or bad spirit of as much
power as the man had when alive. To obtain the favour and assistance
of these spirits seems to be the fundamental idea, the main object of
religion in the New Hebrides. The spirit of an ancestor will naturally
favour his descendants, unless they have offended him deeply; and the
more powerful the dead ancestor was, the stronger and safer do his
descendants feel under the protection of his spirit. If a man has no
powerful ancestral ghost, he joins some strong clan, and strives for
the favour of its tutelary spirit by means of rich sacrifices. The
spirits admit those who bring many sacrifices to their special favour
and intimacy; these people are supposed to have gone half-way to the
spirit-world, and even in this life they are dreaded and enormously
influential; for the spirits will help him in every way, the elements
are his servants, and he can perform the most terrible sorceries. Thus
he terrorizes the country, becomes chief, and after death he joins
the other ghosts as a powerful member of their company.
The "Suque" transferred the hierarchy of the spirit-world into this
world, and regulated the number of castes and the method of rising
in caste; it also originated the rules for entering into connection
with the other world. Its origin probably goes back to one of those
secret societies so highly developed in Melanesia, of which I shall
speak later.
Caste is obtained by sacrificing tusked pigs; it is possible that
this has taken the place of former human sacrifices. The "Suque" is
the community of all the men who have sacrificed tusked pigs. It is
an international society, divided into numerous groups composed of the
men of different islands, districts, villages or clans. It is the only
means to assure oneself of bliss hereafter, and to obtain power and
wealth on earth, and whoever fails to join the "Suque" is an outcast,
a man of no importance, without friends and without protectors, whether
living men or spirits, and therefore exposed to every ill-treatment
and utter contempt. This explains the all-important position of the
"Suque" in the life of the natives, being the expression both of
religion and of ambition.
Frequently a young boy will join the "Suque," an uncle on the mother's
side donating pigs to be sacrificed in his name after he has touched
them with his hand. The boy is then free of the gamal, the "Suque"
club-house. Later he works his way up in the society by attending
numberless feasts and ceremonies, by having endless discussions
on tusked pigs, by borrowing, buying and lending pigs, by plotting
and sacrificing.
The number of castes varies on different islands: in Ambrym there are
fourteen, in Venua Lava twenty, in Aoba ten. On some islands, Santo,
for example, the caste-system is connected with a severe separation of
the fires; each caste cooks over its own fire, and loses its degree on
eating food cooked on the fire of a lower caste. In these districts the
floor of the gamal is frequently marked by bamboo rods or sticks in as
many divisions as there are castes each containing one fireplace. The
highest castes sit at the front end of the gamal, the lower at the
back; these are forbidden to enter the gamal from the front, in order
not to touch or step over the fireplaces of their superiors. At each
rise in caste the novice receives the new fire, rubbed on a special
stick and decorated with flowers; certain ceremonies attend the cooking
of the first food with this new fire. It is then carefully tended in
the fireplace, and if it goes out it has to be rubbed afresh with the
stick. The number of pigs necessary to a rise in caste also varies
on the different islands. Generally, only tusked pigs are counted,
and there are feasts at which as many as forty of these valuable
animals are killed. Naturally, the high-castes cannot keep all the
animals themselves, but they lend them, like money, to those who do not
possess the number needed to rise in caste; in this way a complicated
credit-system has developed, by which the so-called chiefs support
and strengthen their influence and tyrannize the country.
A young man, as a rule, owns no tusked pigs. If he wishes to raise his
caste, he has to borrow from the rich high-castes, who are very willing
to help him, but only at exorbitant rates of interest. First he has to
win their favour by presents, and then he has to promise to return a
more valuable pig later. The bargain made, the transaction takes place
publicly with some ceremony. The population of the district assembles,
and all the transactions are ratified which have been negotiated in
private. The owner holds the pig, the borrower dances around him and
then takes the animal away. All the spectators serve as witnesses,
and there is no need of a written bill. In this way nearly all the
men of lower rank are in debt to the high-castes, and dependent on
their goodwill, and these can obtain anything they like, simply by
pressing their debtors to pay for their pigs.
As a rule, the highest castes of a district work together; they are
the high priests, who arrange everything connected with the "Suque,"
set the dates for the feasts, and decide whether a man shall be
permitted to raise his caste. They are practically omnipotent, until
one of them rises by still larger sacrifices to a still higher caste,
and becomes sole master. If there are no more degrees to reach, the
whole scale is run through again an octave higher, so to speak. The
jaws of the killed pigs are hung up in the gamal in bundles or rows,
as a sign of the wealth and power of the proprietor. These chiefs
are in connection with the mightiest spirits, have supernatural power
and are as much hated as they are feared.
There is another independent witchcraft beside the "Suque," for
weather-making, charms and poisoning, which is known to private
men. They take expensive "lessons" from old sorcerers, and transmit
their art to the young men they consider clever enough, for good
wages. These are the real mischief-makers, for they will lend their
murderous assistance to anyone for adequate payment.
In some islands there is also a "Suque" for the women, but it is
quite independent of that of the men, and its degrees are easier to
reach. Still, women of high rank enjoy a certain consideration from
the men.
Real chiefs do not exist in the northern part of the New Hebrides,
but the chiefs are the high-castes, who, according to their rank and
the strength of their personality, have more or less influence. They
cannot give direct orders, but rule indirectly through pressure,
threats and encouragement. Officially, all decisions are taken in a
meeting of the whole "Suque." The chieftainship is not hereditary,
but the sons and especially the nephews of high-castes generally
reach high degrees themselves, being pushed by their relatives, who
are naturally anxious to be surrounded by faithful and influential
friends. Thus there have risen aristocratic families, who think
themselves better than the others, and do not like to mix with
common people. Daughters of these families command high prices,
and are therefore accessible only to rich men, that is, men of high
caste. Young men of less good family are naturally poor, and since a
woman, as a rule, costs five pigs, it is almost impossible for them
to marry, whereas old men can buy up all the young, pretty girls;
the social consequences of this system are obvious. In Vao conditions
are not quite so bad, because there is considerable wealth, and women
are numerous, so that even young men are enabled to have a family;
in consequence, the race here is healthier than elsewhere.
In Vao I had occasion to attend a death-feast. The hero of the day
was still alive and in excellent health; but he did not quite trust
his family, and wishing to make sure that his death-feast would not
be forgotten, he held it during his lifetime. His anxiety about the
feast is explained by the following facts. According to Vao beliefs,
the souls of the dead travel to the island of Ambrym, and after five
days climb a narrow trail up to the volcano. In order that the soul
may not starve on the way, the survivors often make a small canoe,
load it with food and push it off into the sea, thinking it will drift
after the soul. It is generally stranded behind the nearest point,
bringing the neighbours a welcome addition to the day's rations. This
custom is in contradiction to the feeding of the body through a tube,
and proves that quite contradictory customs can exist simultaneously,
without the natives noticing it. Half-way up the volcano sits a
monster with two immense shears, like a crab. If no pigs have been
sacrificed for the soul by the fifth day, the poor soul is alone and
the monster swallows it; but if the sacrifice has been performed,
the souls of the sacrificed pigs follow after the human soul, and as
the monster prefers pig, the human has time to escape and to reach
the entrance to paradise on top of the volcano, where there are pigs,
women, dancing and feasting in plenty.
The feast I was to attend had been in preparation for some time. On all
the dancing-grounds long bamboos were in readiness, loaded with yams
and flowers, as presents to the host. Everything was brought to his
gamal, and the whole morning passed in distributing the gifts, each
family receiving a few yams, a little pig, some sprouted cocoa-nuts
and a few rolls of money. This money consists of long, narrow, fringed
mats, neatly rolled up; in this case they were supposed to be the mats
in which the dead are buried, and which are taken out of the grave
after a while. These mats formerly served as small coin, as similar
mats are still used on other islands, and they still represent a value
of about one shilling; but in daily life they have been quite replaced
by European coin, and only appear on such ceremonial occasions.
All the gifts were piled up, and when the host was convinced that
every guest had received his just dues, he took a stick and smashed
the heads of all the pigs that were tied up in readiness for this
ceremony. They struggled for a moment, the dogs came and licked
the blood, and then each guest took away his portion, to have a
private feast at home. The whole performance made a desperately
business-like impression, and everything was done most prosaically;
as for me, having no better dinner than usual to look forward to,
I quite missed the slightly excited holiday feeling that ought to go
with a great feast. Formerly, the braining of the pigs was done with
skilfully carved clubs, instead of mere sticks, and this alone must
have given the action something of solemnity; but these clubs have
long since been sold to collectors and never replaced.
In spite of their frequent intercourse with whites, the people of Vao
are still confirmed cannibals, only they have not many opportunities
for gratifying their taste in this direction. Still, not many years
ago, they had killed and eaten an enemy, and each individual, even
the little children, had received a small morsel of the body to eat,
either with the idea of destroying the enemy entirely, or as the
greatest insult that could be offered to him.
These same people can be so gay, childlike, kind and obliging,
tactful and generous, that one can hardly believe the accounts
one often hears of sudden outbreaks of brutal savagery, devilish
wickedness, ingratitude and falsehood, until one has experienced them
himself. The flattering and confiding child will turn suddenly and
without apparent reason into a man full of gloom and hatred. All
those repressing influences which lead the dwellers in civilized
lands to some consistency of action are lacking here, and the morals
of the natives run along other lines than ours. Faith and truth are
no virtues, constancy and perseverance do not exist. The same man who
can torture his wife to death from wanton cruelty, holding her limbs
over the fire till they are charred, etc., will be inconsolable over
the death of a son for a long time, and will wear a curl, a tooth or
a finger-joint of the dead as a valuable relic round his neck; and the
same man who is capable of preparing a murder in cold blood for days,
may, in some propitious evening hour, relate the most charming and
poetic fairy-tales. A priest whom I met knew quite a number of such
stories from a man whom he had digged alive out of the grave, where
his relatives had buried him, thinking him old enough to die. This
is not a rare occurrence; sometimes the old people themselves are
tired of life and ask to be killed.
What has preserved the old customs so well on Vao is the aversion of
the natives to plantation work. But one day, while I was there, a ship
rode at anchor off the coast, and a member of the French survey party
landed, collected all the men on the beach, and told them that unless
there were thirty men on board that evening, the whole tribe would
be driven out of the island, as the island belonged to the French
company. This was, to say the least, extremely doubtful; moreover,
it would never have been feasible to expropriate the natives in this
summary way. They were furious, but, unprotected as they were, they
had to obey, and in the evening nearly all the young men assembled
on the beach and were taken away in whale-boats, disappearing in the
mist and darkness of the night. The old men and the women remained
behind, crying loudly, so that the terrible wailing sounded sadly
over the sea. Even to the mere spectator it was a tragic moment when
the tribe was thus orphaned of its best men, and one could not help
being revolted by the whole proceeding. It was not womanish pity for
the men who were taken off to work, but regret for the consequent
disappearance of immemorial forms of tribal life. Next day the
beach was empty. Old men and women crossed over to the yam-fields,
the little children played as usual, but the gay shouts were silent,
the beautiful, brown, supple-bodied young men were gone, and I no
longer felt the joy of living which had been Vao's greatest charm. The
old men were sulky and sad, and spoke of leaving Vao for good and
settling somewhere far inland. It is not surprising that the whole
race has lost the will to live, and that children are considered an
undesirable gift, of which one would rather be rid. What hopelessness
lies in the words I once heard a woman of Vao say: "Why should we
have any more children? Since the white man came they all die." And
die they certainly do. Regions that once swarmed with people are now
lonely; where, ten years ago, there were large villages, we find the
desert bush, and in some districts the population has decreased by
one-third in the last seven years. In fifteen years the native race
will have practically disappeared.