AMBRYM
It was a miserable little boat in which I sailed from Noumea. We
were to have started on a Monday, but it was Friday before we
got off. The boat was overloaded. On deck there was a quantity of
timber, also cattle, pigs, sheep and calves, all very seasick and
uncomfortable. The deck was almost on a level with the water, and even
while still inside the reef occasional waves broke over the gunwale
and flooded the ship. At nightfall we entered the open ocean. Now
the waves began to pour on to the deck from all sides, and the bow
of the vessel dived into the sea as if it were never going to rise
again. The night was dark, shreds of cloud raced across a steel-grey
sky, while a greenish patch showed the position of the moon. At the
horizon glistened an uncertain light, but the sea was a black abyss,
out of which the phosphorescent waves appeared suddenly, rolled
swiftly nearer and broke over the ship as if poured down from above.
I looked on without another thought save that of pity for the poor sick
calves, when the captain whispered in my ear that things looked bad,
as the ship was much too heavily loaded. In the darkness I could see
nothing but that the boat was very deep in the water, and that her
bow, instead of rising on the waves, dug into them. On deck a quantity
of water ran backward and forward in a wave as high as the bulwarks,
and it seemed as if the ship could scarcely right herself when once
she lay over on one side. The growing excitement of the captain,
his nervous consultations with the engineer and the supercargo, were
most uncomfortable; presently the passengers began to take part in
the deliberations, and to observe the behaviour of the ship. As our
course gave us a sidewise current, the captain ordered the sails to be
hoisted, in order to lessen the rolling; but the sea was too heavy,
and we shipped still more water and rolled alarmingly. The captain
sighed, ran hither and thither, then lowered the sails and took a
more westerly course, in the direction of one of the Loyalty Islands;
thus we had the current from behind, which made things still worse,
as the sea, rolling along the ship, filled the deck from both sides;
and as the bulwarks were blocked up by the lumber, the water could
not run off, thus adding an enormous weight to the already overloaded
ship; the water ran forward, pressing down the bow, while the stern
reared upward.
When the captain saw the state of affairs, he lost his head completely,
and began to lament piteously: "We do not want to drown, no, we do not
want to drown; but we are going to. Oh, my poor wife and children! Do
you like to drown, doctor?" I denied this energetically, but I could
not help looking at the dark sea and trying to get used to the idea of
a closer acquaintance with it. The feeling of insecurity was increased
by the knowledge that the boat was old and in poor repair, and might
spring a leak at any moment.
Meanwhile the skipper had turned her round and was making headway
against the waves, but still her bow would not lift, and the captain
wept still more. His womanish behaviour disgusted me. At last a quiet
passenger, an experienced sailor, gave some advice, which the skipper
followed, and which helped matters a little, so that he regained his
self-control to the extent of calling a general council; he announced
that he dared not continue the voyage, and asked our consent to
return to Noumea. We all agreed, and about midnight we approached the
reef. Now there are lights in the passage, but they are so poor as to
be invisible until the traveller is already in the passage, so that
they are of little use. We were trying to find the entrance, when the
experienced seaman I mentioned before, who was keeping a look out,
called out that we were close to the breakers and surrounded by the
reef. The only thing we could do was to turn seaward again and beat
about till daylight. After some hours the wind fell and the worst was
over; still, the night was unpleasant enough, and frequent squalls
kept us awake. We were all glad when the day broke and we were able
to enter the passage. We landed at Noumea in the finest of weather,
and our unexpected return created quite a sensation. We passengers
convinced ourselves that the cargo was considerably reduced before
starting out again the next day.
This time we arrived safely at Port Vila, where the British and
French native police forces came aboard, bound for Santo, to quell
a disturbance at Hog Harbour; and so the hapless boat was overloaded
again, this time with passengers.
Next day we arrived at Epi, and I landed at Ringdove Bay. The
station of the Messrs. F. and H. is one of the oldest in the
islands. Besides running a plantation, they trade with the natives,
and their small cutters go to all the neighbouring islands for coprah
and other produce. There is always plenty of life and movement at the
station, as there are usually a few of the vessels lying at anchor,
and natives coming in from all sides in their whale-boats to buy or
sell something. From Malekula one can often see them tacking about
all day, or, if there is a calm, drifting slowly along, as they are
too lazy to row. When they have found the passage through the reef,
they pull down the sails with much noise and laughter, and come to
anchor; then the whole crowd wades through the surf to the shore,
with the loads of coprah, and waits patiently for business to begin.
On these stations, where almost everyone is squeezed into decent
European clothes, it is a charming sight to see the naked bodies of
the genuine savages, all the more so as only young and able-bodied
men take part in these cruises, under the leadership of one older and
more experienced companion. Their beauty is doubly striking beside
the poor station hands, wrapped in filthy calico.
When the coprah has been bought and paid for, they all go to the
store, where they buy whatever they need or think they need. The
native of the coast districts to-day goes beyond needs to luxuries;
he buys costly silks, such as he may once have seen in Queensland,
and he samples sewing-machines or whatever else tempts him. In
consequence of competition, the prices for coprah and the wages of
labour are unreasonably high, and the natives might profit greatly
by this state of things if they knew the value of money or how to
use it to advantage. But, as a rule, they spend it for any nonsense
they may fancy, to the joy of the trader, who makes an average profit
of 50 per cent. on all commodities; or else the natives economize
to buy a pig (tusked pigs have brought as much as forty pounds),
or they bury their money.
It is astonishing how easily a native might make a small fortune
here, and how little use he makes of his opportunities, not only
from laziness, but also because he has no wants. Nature supplies
food in abundance without any effort on his part, so that matches,
tobacco, a pipe and a knife satisfy all his needs, and he can spend
all the rest of his money for pleasure. Thus the native, in spite of
everything, is economically master of the situation in his own country,
and many traders have been made to realize this fact to their cost,
when the natives, to avenge some ill-treatment, have simply boycotted
a station. Needless to say that the traders always do their best to
excite the natives' cupidity by exhibiting the most tempting objects,
and, careful as the islander may be when buying necessaries, he is
careless enough when luxuries are in question.
The house of the planters is a long, low building with whitewashed
walls, a broad, flat roof and wide verandas. Around it is an abandoned
garden, and one feels that long ago a woman's hand must have worked
here; but now no one cares about keeping the surroundings clean
and pretty, and the wilderness is reclaiming its own and advancing
steadily towards the house. Inside, the house is clean and neat;
from the veranda there is a splendid view over the sea, in which the
sun disappears at evening.
The employes are quiet people, who have but little to say; the weather
and speculations as to the name and destination of some far-off
sail are their chief topics. After lunch they sit in easy-chairs,
enjoying the breeze and reading the papers. Soon the "Bubu" calls
to work once more, and the natives come creeping out of their huts,
away from their ever-burning fires.
The production of coprah varies greatly on the different islands. While
on some of them there is scarcely any to be had, there are others which
are practically covered with cocoa-nut trees; this is chiefly the
case on islands of volcanic origin, on which springs and rivers are
very scarce. It has been supposed that the natives, being dependent
on the water of the cocoa-nut as a beverage, had planted these trees
very extensively. This is not quite exact, although it is a fact that
in these islands the natives hardly ever taste any other water than
that of the cocoa-nut.
In sun and shower, the natives work in the plantations in long rows,
the women together with their husbands or with other women at some
lighter task. The men dislike to be separated from their wives, for
they are very jealous; neither do they approve of the women discussing
their husbands among themselves. For light work the women are more
useful, as they are more accustomed to regular work from their youth
up than the men, who are used to spending their days in easy laziness.
Towards sunset, the "Bubu" announces the end of work, and the natives
stroll towards their quarters, simple huts of straw, where each man has
his couch, with a trunk underneath containing his belongings. Meals
are prepared by a cook, and the men go to fetch their rations, rice,
yam, or taro. Sometimes there is meat, but not often, except in
places where wild pig is plentiful. In that case, it is simplest for
the master to send his boys shooting every Sunday, when it depends
on themselves if they are to have meat during the coming week
or not. After the meal, the natives sit round the fires chatting,
gossiping and telling fairy-tales. They know stories of all sorts of
monsters and demons, and excite each other by tales of these horrors
to such a degree, that bad dreams or even a general panic are often
the consequence, and the whole crowd turns out in the middle of the
night, declaring that the place is haunted, and that they have seen
a devil, who looked thus and so. If someone suddenly dies in a hut,
it is worst of all. Death is invariably caused, so they all believe,
by poison or witchcraft, and the natives will build another house
of their own accord rather than go on living in one they consider
haunted. If a planter loses many hands by death, his plantation gets
a bad reputation, and the natives refuse to work there; so that it is
to the planter's advantage to take some care of their labourers, and
they do so to a certain extent, whereas in former years the mortality
on French plantations was very high, as much as 44 per cent. per annum.
Sometimes, especially on moonlight nights, the boys wish to dance,
and they all go to the beach and spend the whole night singing and
dancing. Another amusement is hunting for crayfish on the reef at
low tide.
My boys' term of service was over in a month. They were very much
afraid of being taken to another island, which was natural in a way,
as a savage is really not as safe in a strange place as a white
man. Besides, they had had their desire and had seen Noumea, so that
there was no longer any inducement for them to stay with me. They
accordingly became most disagreeable, slow, sulky and sleepier than
ever, and as I could not be punishing them all day long, life with
them became somewhat trying. It is disappointing to find so little
gratitude, but the natives are quite unaccustomed to be treated
better by a white man than his interest demands, so that they suspect
a trap in every act of kindness. Under the circumstances, I thought
it best to dismiss my boys, and, finding little of interest in Epi,
the natives having nearly all died out, I boarded the Australian
steamer for Ambrym.
Although Ambrym is only twenty-five miles from Epi, I was five days
on the way, so zigzag a route did the steamer pursue. But if one is
not in a hurry, life on board is quite entertaining. The first day we
anchored near the volcano of Lopevi, a lofty peak that rises from a
base six kilometres in diameter to a height of 1440 metres, giving its
sides an average slope of 48 deg. which offers rather an unusual sight. The
whole of Lopevi is rarely to be seen, as its top is usually covered
with a thick cloud of fog or volcanic steam. It is still active,
and but few whites have ascended it. At periods of great activity,
the natives climb to the top and bring sacrifices to appease it,
by throwing cocoa-nuts and yam into the crater.
We touched at Port Sandwich, and then steamed along the coast of
Malekula, calling every few miles at some plantation to discharge
goods, horses, cattle and fowls, and take on maize or coprah. At
last we arrived at Dip Point, Ambrym, where I was kindly received by
Dr. B. of the Presbyterian Mission, who is in charge of the fine large
hospital there. Its situation is not more picturesque than others,
but the place has been made so attractive that one can hardly imagine
a more lovely and restful sight. The buildings stand on level ground
that slopes softly down to the beach. The bush has been cleared,
with the exception of a number of gigantic fig trees, that overshadow
a green lawn. Under their airy roof there is always a light breeze,
blowing from the hills down to the sea. In the blue distance rises
Aoba, and the long-drawn coast of Malekula disappears in the mist. A
quieter, sweeter place for convalescents does not exist, and even the
native patients, who are not, as a rule, great lovers of scenery,
like to lie under the trees with their bandaged limbs and heads,
staring dreamily into the green and blue and sunny world.
Dr. B. is an excellent surgeon, famous all over the group, not only
among the white population, but among the natives as well, who are
beginning to appreciate his work. Formerly they used to demand payment
for letting him operate on them, but now many come of their own accord,
so that the hospital never lacks patients. The good that Dr. B. does
these people can hardly be overrated, and the Presbyterian Mission
deserves great credit for having established the hospital; but it
is a regrettable fact that all these efforts are not strong enough
to counteract other effects of civilization, such as alcoholism,
which is the curse of the native race, especially on Ambrym.
Although the sale of alcohol to natives is strictly prohibited by the
laws of the Condominium, the French pay no attention to these rules,
and sell it in quantities without being called to account. The sale of
liquor is the simplest means of acquiring wealth, as the profit on one
bottle may amount to five shillings. The natives of Ambrym spend all
their money on drink, and as they are quite rich and buy wholesale,
the results, in money for the trader and in death for the native, are
considerable. For they drink in a senseless way, simply pouring down
one bottle after the other, until they are quite overcome. Some never
wake up again; others have dangerous attacks of indigestion from the
poison they have consumed; still more catch colds or pneumonia from
lying drunk on the ground all night. Quarrels and fights are frequent,
and it is not a rare sight to see a whole village, men, women and
children, rolling on the sand completely intoxicated. The degeneration
which results from this is all the sadder, as originally the race
on Ambrym was particularly healthy, vigorous and energetic. These
conditions are well known to both governments, and might be suppressed
on the French side as easily as they are on the English; but the
French government seems to take more interest in the welfare of an
ex-convict than in that of the native race, although the latter is
one of the most important sources of wealth on the islands, setting
aside all considerations of humanity. If the liquor traffic is not
speedily suppressed, the population is doomed.
Ambrym offers quite a different aspect from the coral islands, as
its sloping sides are seamed by streams of lava, the course of which
may be traced by the breaks in the forest, as the glowing mass flows
slowly down to the coast, congealing in the water to peculiarly shaped
jagged rocks. Every few hundred yards we find one of these black walls
on the shore in which the sea foams, and the sand that covers the
beaches is black too. In dull weather all this looks extremely gloomy,
monotonous and imposing--the war of two elements, fire and water;
and this dark, stern landscape is far more impressive than the gay,
smiling coral beach with the quiet blue sea.
My stay on Ambrym was very pleasant. By the help of Dr. B., I
was enabled to find four bright boys, willing and cheerful, with
whom I used to start out from Dip Point in the mornings, visit the
neighbouring villages, and return loaded with objects of all sorts at
noon; the afternoons were devoted to work in the house. The weather
was exceptionally favourable, and the walks through the dewy forest,
on the soft paths of black volcanic dust, in the cool, dark ravines,
with occasional short climbs and delightful glimpses of the coast,
were almost too enjoyable to be regarded as a serious duty.
The culture of Ambrym is similar to that of Malekula, as is plainly
shown by the natives' dress. The men wear the bark belt and the nambas,
which they buy on Malekula; the dress of the women is the same as that
worn in central Malekula, and consists of an apron of pandanus or
some similar fibre, wound several times round the waist; this forms
a thick roll, not unlike ballet skirts, but more graceful. It is a
pretty dress, though somewhat scanty, and the "skirts" flap up and
down coquettishly when the wearer walks. The other parts of the body
are covered with a thick layer of soot, filth, oil, fat and smoke,
for the Ambrymese are not at all fond of bathing.
The villages are open, rarely surrounded by a hedge. The houses are
rather close together, grouped irregularly in a clearing; a little
apart, on a square by themselves, are the houses of the secret
societies, surrounded by images and large drums. The dwelling-houses
are rather poor-looking huts, with low walls and roofs and an
exceedingly small entrance which is only to be passed through on
one's hands and knees. Decency demands that the women should always
enter the houses backward, and this occasions funny sights, as they
look out of their huts like so many dogs from their kennels.
As a rule, the first event on my entering a village was that the women
and children ran away shrieking and howling; those not quite so near me
stared suspiciously, then retired slowly or began to giggle. Then a few
men would appear, quite accidentally, of course, and some curious boys
followed. My servants gave information as to my person and purpose,
and huge laughter was the result: they always thought me perfectly
mad. However, they admired me from all sides, and asked all sorts
of questions of my boys: what was my name, where did I live, was I
kind, was I rich, what did I have to eat, did I smoke or drink, how
many shirts and trousers did I have, how many guns and what kinds,
etc. The end of it was, that they either took me for a dangerous
sorcerer, and withdrew in fear, or for a fool to be got the better
of. In the latter case, they would run eagerly to their houses and
bring out some old broken article to offer for sale. A few sarcastic
remarks proved useful; but it was always some time before they realized
what I wanted. The fine old possessions from which they did not like
to part would suddenly turn out to be the property of someone else,
which was a polite way of saying, "we have that, but you won't get it."
In this way collecting was a very tiresome and often disappointing
process of bargaining, encouraging, begging and flattering; often, just
as I was going away, some man or other would call me aside to say that
he had decided to sell after all, and was ready to accept any price.
Horror and silent consternation were aroused when I asked for
skulls. "Lots over there," they said, pointing to an enclosed thicket,
their burying-ground. Only very rarely a man would bring me a skull,
at the end of a long stick. Once I started on the quest myself,
armed with a shovel and spade; as my servants were too much afraid
of the dead to help, I had to dig for myself. A man loafed near by,
attracted by the excited chatter of some old women. He told me sadly
that I was digging up his papa, although it was a woman; then he
began to help with some show of interest, assuring me that his papa
had two legs, whereas at first I could find but one. A stranger had
given me permission to dig, so as to play a trick on the son; but
the latter was quite reconciled when I paid him well. For a week all
the village talked of nothing but the white madman who dug up bones;
I became a celebrity, and people made excursions from a distance to
come and stare at me.
Although the Suque is highly developed here, there are other secret
societies whose importance, however, is decreasing, as they are
being more or less absorbed by the Suque. As each of these clubs has
its own house, we sometimes find quite a number of such huts in one
village, where they take the place of gamals. Each Suque high caste
has his own house, which the low castes may not enter. The caste
of the proprietor may be seen by the material of which the hedge is
made, the lower castes having hedges of wood and logs, the highest,
walls of stone and coral slabs. Inside the courtyard, each man lives
alone, served only by his wives, who are allowed to cook his food. The
separation of the sexes is not so severe on Ambrym as on Santo. On the
whole, it would seem that in the past Ambrym had a position apart,
and that only lately several forms of cult have been imported from
Malekula and mingled with genuinely local rites. Even to-day, it is
not rare for a man from Ambrym to settle for a while on Malekula, so
as to be initiated into some rites which he then imports to Ambrym;
and the Ambrymese pay poets large fees to teach them poems which
are to be sung at certain feasts, accompanied by dances. Unhappily,
I never had occasion to attend one of these "sing-songs."
The originality of Ambrym has been preserved in its sculpture only. The
material used is tree-fern wood, which is used nowhere else but in
the Banks Islands. The type of human being represented differs from
that on the other islands, especially as regards the more moon-shaped
form of the head. Representations of the whole body are frequent,
so are female statues; these I have only found again in Gaua, where
they are probably modern inventions. Sometimes a fish or a bird is
carved on the statue, probably as a survival of old totemistic ideas,
and meant to represent the totem animal of the ancestor or of his
clan. The meaning of these carvings is quite obscure to the natives,
and they answer questions in a very vague way, so that it is probable
that totemistic ideas are dying out in the New Hebrides.
Most of the statues are meant to represent an ancestor. If a native is
in trouble, he blows his whistle at nightfall near the statue, and if
he hears a noise, he thinks the spirit of the ancestor has approached
and entered the statue, and he proceeds to tell the statue his sorrows
and ask the spirit for help. Occasionally sacrifices are made to the
figures, as is shown by the pigs' jaws frequently found tied to them.
The Ambrymese conceptions of the spirit world are very similar to
those of other islanders. The native likes to wear on his back or
chest or arm the tusks of the most valuable pigs he has sacrificed,
and has them buried with him, so that in the other world he may at
any time be able to prove how much he respected his ancestors.
The centre of the dancing grounds is generally occupied by the big
drums, not quite so numerous but better made than those of Malekula. By
the drums, too, the caste of the proprietor may be recognized: the
higher his standing, the more heads are carved on them. Horizontal
drums are sometimes found, but they are always small, and only serve
to accompany the sound of the larger ones.
There are usually a few men sitting round the drums, playing games. One
game is played by two men sitting opposite to each other; one sticks
a small shell into the ground, and his opponent tries to hit it with
another. There does not seem to be any winning or losing, as in our
games, but they keep it up for hours and even days. Another favourite
game borders on the marvellous. One man has six shells and the other
five. Each in turn puts a shell on the ground, and when they have
all been dealt, each in turn picks up one at a time, when the one who
had six before has five, and the one who had only five has six. They
stare at each other, wonder, and try it again; behold, the one who
had six at the beginning has five now and the other six. They try
again and again, and each time the shell changes hands, and nobody
can explain how on earth it could have jumped from one man to the
other. It seems too strange to be natural, and while a cold shiver
creeps up their backs, they play on and on, with ever new delight
and wonder. At such enviable pastimes these people spend their days
and kill time, which would otherwise hang heavy on their hands. Tops,
nicely made from nuts, are a popular toy; and there are other games,
more sportsmanlike, such as throwing reeds to a distance, and throwing
wooden shells, at which two villages often compete against each other.
After I had exhausted the surroundings of Dip Point, I marched along
the coast to Port Vato, where I lived in an abandoned mission house,
in the midst of a thickly populated district. At present, the people
are quiet, and go about as they please; but not long ago, the villages
lived in a constant state of feud among themselves, so that no man
dared go beyond his district alone, and the men had to watch the
women while they were at work in the fields, for fear of attack. The
sense of insecurity was such that many people who lived in villages
only twenty minutes' walk from the coast had never seen the ocean. The
population as a whole enjoys the state of peace, which the missionaries
have brought about, though there are always mischief-makers who try
to create new feuds, and there is no doubt that the old wars would
break out anew, if the natives were left to themselves.
These disturbances were not very destructive in the days of the old
weapons; it is only since the introduction of firearms that they
have become a real danger to the race as a whole. They even had their
advantages, in forcing the men to keep themselves in condition, and
in providing them with a regular occupation, such as preparing their
weapons, or training, or guarding the village and the women. With the
end of the feuds, the chief occupation of the men disappeared, and but
few of them have found any serious work to take up their time. Thus
civilization, even in its role of peace-maker, has replaced one evil
by another.
In this district, I could go about with my servants wherever I pleased;
only one Santo boy I had with me did not feel safe, and suddenly
developed great interest in cooking, which allowed him to stay at
home while the rest of us went on expeditions. His cooking was not
above reproach; he would calmly clean a dirty cup with his fingers,
the kitchen towels occasionally served as his head-dress, and one day
he tried to make curry with some iodoform I had left in a bottle on
the table. However, I had learned long ago not to be too particular,
and not to take too much interest in the details of the kitchen.
An exceptionally bright man had offered me his services as guide,
and with his help I obtained many objects I would never have found
alone. He had a real understanding of what I wanted, and plenty
of initiative. He made the women bring their modest possessions,
and they approached, crawling on their hands and knees, for they
are not allowed to walk before the men. Later on the men appeared
with better things. It is an odd fact that all over the archipelago
the owner rarely brings things himself, but generally gives them
to a friend. This may be due to the desire to avoid the ridicule
they would surely be exposed to if their possessions were to be
refused. The extreme sensitiveness and pride with which the natives
feel every refusal and are deeply hurt by any rebuke, may surprise
those who look on them as savages, incapable of any finer sentiment;
but whoever learns to know them a little better will find that they
have great delicacy of feeling, and will be struck by the politeness
they show a stranger, and by the kind and obliging way in which they
treat each other. It must be admitted that this is often enough
only a veneer, under which all sorts of hatred, malice, and all
uncharitableness are hidden, just as among civilized people; still,
the manners of the crudest savages are far superior to those of most
of the whites they meet.
One sign of this sensitiveness is their reluctance to express any
desire, for fear of a refusal. I saw a daily illustration of this, when
my boys wanted the tin of meat for dinner which was their due. Although
they might have taken it themselves, a different boy came each day
to the room where I was writing, and waited patiently for some time,
then began coughing with increasing violence, until I asked what he
wanted. Then he would shyly stammer out his request. Never would they
accost me or otherwise disturb me while I was writing or reading;
yet at other times they could be positively impertinent, especially
if excited. The islander is very nervous; when he is quiet, he is shy
and reticent, but once he is aroused, all his bad instincts run riot,
and incredible savageness and cruelty appear. The secret of successful
treatment of the natives seems to be to keep them very quiet, and never
to let any excitement arise, a point in which so many whites fail.
They are very critical and observant, and let no weakness pass without
sarcastic comment; yet their jokes are rarely offensive, and in the
end the victim usually joins in the general laughter. On the whole,
the best policy is one of politeness, justice and consistency; and
after many years, one may possibly obtain their confidence, although
one always has to be careful and circumspect in every little detail.
In general, the Ambrymese are more agreeable than the Santo
people. They seem more manly, less servile, more faithful and reliable,
more capable of open enmity, more clever and industrious, and not
so sleepy.
Assisted by my excellent guide, I set about collecting, which was not
always a simple matter. I was very anxious to procure a "bull-roarer,"
and made my man ask for one, to the intense surprise of the others;
how could I have known of the existence of these secret and sacred
utensils? The men called me aside, and begged me never to speak
of this to the women, as these objects are used, like many others,
to frighten away the women and the uninitiated from the assemblies
of the secret societies. The noise they make is supposed to be the
voice of a mighty and dangerous demon, who attends these assemblies.
They whispered to me that the instruments were in the men's house,
and I entered it, amid cries of dismay, for I had intruded into their
holy of holies, and was now standing in the midst of all the secret
treasures which form the essential part of their whole cult. However,
there I was, and very glad of my intrusion, for I found myself in a
regular museum. In the smoky beams of the roof there hung half-finished
masks, all of the same pattern, to be used at a festival in the near
future; there was a set of old masks, some with nothing left but
the wooden faces, while the grass and feather ornaments were gone;
old idols; a face on a triangular frame, which was held particularly
sacred; two perfectly marvellous masks with long noses with thorns,
carefully covered with spider-web cloth. This textile is a speciality
of Ambrym, and serves especially for the preparation and wrapping of
masks and amulets. Its manufacture is simple: a man walks through the
woods with a split bamboo, and catches all the innumerable spider-webs
hanging on the trees. As the spider-web is sticky, the threads cling
together, and after a while a thick fabric is formed, in the shape
of a conical tube, which is very solid and defies mould and rot. At
the back of the house, there stood five hollow trunks, with bamboos
leading into them. Through these, the men howl into the trunk, which
reverberates and produces a most infernal noise, well calculated to
frighten others besides women. For the same purpose cocoa-nut shells
were used, which were half filled with water, and into which a man
gurgled through a bamboo. All this was before my greedy eyes, but I
could obtain only a very few articles. Among them was a bull-roarer,
which a man sold me for a large sum, trembling violently with fear,
and beseeching me not to show it to anybody. He wrapped it up so
carefully, that the small object made an immense parcel. Some of the
masks are now used for fun; the men put them on and run through the
forest, and have the right to whip anybody they meet. This, however,
is a remnant of a very serious matter, as formerly the secret societies
used these masks to terrorize all the country round, especially people
who were hostile to the society, or who were rich or friendless.
These societies are still of great importance on New Guinea, but here
they have evidently degenerated. It is not improbable that the Suque
has developed from one of these organizations. Their decay is another
symptom of the decline of the entire culture of the natives; and other
facts seem to point to the probability that this decadence may have
set in even before the beginning of colonization by the whites.
My visit to the men's house ended, and seeing no prospects of acquiring
any more curiosities, I went to the dancing-ground, where most of the
men were assembled at a death-feast, it being the hundredth day after
the funeral of one of their friends. In the centre of the square,
near the drums, stood the chief, violently gesticulating. The crowd
did not seem pleased at my coming, and criticized me in undertones. A
terrible smell of decomposed meat filled the air; evidently they
had all partaken of a half-rotten pig, and the odour did not seem to
trouble them at all.
The chief was a tall man, bald-headed, wearing the nambas, of larger
size than those of the others, and with both arms covered with pigs'
tusks to show his rank. He looked at me angrily, came up to me, and
sat down, not without having first swept the ground with his foot,
evidently in order not to come into contact with any charm that an
enemy might have thrown there. One of the men wanted me to buy a
flute, asking just double what I was willing to give; seeing that I
did not intend to pay so much, he made me a present of the flute,
and seemed just as well pleased. Still, the others stared at me
silently and suspiciously, until I offered some tobacco to the chief,
which he accepted with a joke, whereat everybody laughed and the ice
was broken. The men forgot their reserve, and talked about me in
loud tones, looking at me as we might at a hopelessly mad person,
half pitying, half amused at his vagaries. The chief now wished to
shake hands with me, though he did not trouble to get up for the
ceremony. We smiled pleasantly at each other, and then he took me
to his house, which, according to his high rank, was surrounded by
a stone wall. He rummaged about inside for a long time, and finally
brought out a few paltry objects; I thought best to pay well for them,
telling him that as he was a "big fellow-master," I was ready to
pay extra for the honour of having a souvenir of him. This flattered
him so much that he consented to have his photograph taken; and he
posed quite cleverly, while the others walked uneasily around us,
looking at the camera as if it were likely to explode at any moment;
and as none of them dared have his picture taken, I left.
Rounding a bend of the path on my way home, I suddenly came upon a
young woman. First she looked at me in deadly fright, then, with a
terrified cry, she jumped over the fence, and burst into hysterical
laughter, while a dozen invisible women shrieked; then they all ran
away, and as I went on, I could hear that the flight had ceased and the
shrieks changed to hearty laughter. They had taken me for a kidnapper,
or feared some other harm, as was natural enough with their experience
of certain kinds of white men.
Walking along, I heard the explosions of the volcano like a far-away
cannonade. The dull shocks gave my walk a peculiar solemnity, but the
bush prevented any outlook, and only from the coast I occasionally
saw the volcanic clouds mounting into the sky.
From the old mission-house the view on a clear day is splendid. On
the slope stand a few large trees, whose cleft leaves frame
the indescribably blue sea, which breaks in snowy lines in
the lava-boulders below. Far off, I can see Malekula, with its
forest-covered mountains, and summer clouds hanging above it. It
is a dreamlike summer day, so beautiful, bright and mild as to be
hardly real. One feels a certain regret at being unable to absorb
all the beauty, at having to stand apart as an outsider, a patch on
the brightness rather than a part of it.
At night the view is different, but just as enchanting. A fine dust
from the volcano floats in the air and the pale moonlight plays softly
on the smooth surface of the bay, filling the atmosphere with silver,
so that everything shines in the white light, the long, flat point,
the forest; even the bread-fruit tree on the slope, whose outline cuts
sharply into the brightness, is not black, but a darker silver. In
the greenish sky the stars glitter, not sharply as they do elsewhere,
but like fine dots, softly, quietly, as if a negligent hand had
sprinkled them lightly about. And down by the water the breakers
roll, crickets cry, a flying-fox chatters and changes from one tree
to the other with tired wings, passing in a shapeless silhouette in
front of the moon. It is the peace of paradise, dreamlike, wishless;
one never tires of listening to the holy tropical night, for there
is secret life everywhere. In the quiet air the trees shiver, the
moonlight trembles in the bushes and stirs imperceptibly in the lawn;
and from the indistinct sounds of which the mind is hardly conscious
the fancy weaves strange stories. We see all those creatures that
frighten the natives under the roof of the forest, giants with crabs'
claws, men with fiery eyes, women that turn into deadly serpents,
vague, misty souls of ancestors, that pass through the branches and
appear to their descendants; all that we dream of in our northern
midsummer night wakes in tenfold strength here.
Suddenly, violent shocks shake the house, explosions follow, like
distant shots, and the thin, misty silver is changed to a red glow. The
volcano is in action,--a dull, reddish-yellow light mounts slowly up
behind the black trees, thick smoke rises and rises, until it stands,
a dark monster, nearly touching the zenith, its foot still in the
red glare. Slowly the fire dies out, the cloud parts, and it is dark
night again, with the silver of the moon brooding everywhere.
But the charm is broken by this warning from the primitive powers that
counterbalance each other behind the peace of the tropic night. By and
by, one grows accustomed to the uncanny neighbourhood of the volcano,
and only the more formidable eruptions attract notice. Sometimes,
while at work, I hear one of the boys exclaim, "Huh, huh!" to call
my attention to the fact that a particularly violent outbreak has
taken place; and, indeed, half the sky is a dirty red, the smoke
rises behind the trees as if from a gigantic bonfire, and the dull
detonations resound. The glowing lava flies high in the air, and comes
down in a great curve. One of these performances lasted several hours,
presaging a wonderful spectacle for my visit to the volcano, which
was set for the next day.
Several natives joined my party, evidently thinking it safer to go
to see the "fire" in my company than alone. Yet the Ambrymese in
general show remarkably little fear of the volcano, and regard it as
a powerful but somewhat clumsy and rather harmless neighbour, whereas
on other islands legend places the entrance to hell in the craters.
Quite a company of us marched through the forest, accompanied by the
cannonading of the volcano; we felt as if we were going to battle. We
traversed the plain and mounted the foot-hills; halfway up, we observed
an eruption, but we could see only the cloud, as the crater itself
was hidden by hills. Through thick bush, we came to a watercourse,
a narrow gully, formed by lava-streams. The rocks in the river-bed had
been polished smooth by the water, and though the natives walked over
them with ease, my nailed boots gave me great trouble, and I had to
cross many slippery spots on my hands and knees, which greatly amused
my companions. We passed many tree-ferns, whose dainty crowns seemed
to float on the surface of the forest--like stars, and often covered
the whole bush, so that the slopes looked like a charming carpet of
the loveliest pattern. This tree, the most beautiful of the tropical
forest, far surpasses the palm in elegance, whose crown too often
looks yellowish and unkempt.
For a few hours we followed the river, which led nearly to the edge of
the plateau. When the path branched off, I called a halt for lunch,
as we were not likely to find any water later on. We were now quite
near the craters, and while we ate our rice, we heard the roaring,
so that the boys grew nervous, till the joker of the company made
them laugh, and then the meal absorbed their attention. Still, they
occasionally sent furtive glances skyward, to see if any lava was
coming down upon us.
Having filled all our vessels with water, we marched on, and after a
short ascent, found ourselves on the great plain, 650 metres above
sea-level, about 12 kilometres in diameter, and shaped like a huge
dinner-plate, a chain of hills forming the rim. It would seem that the
whole plain was formerly one gigantic crater; now only two openings
are left, two craters 500 and 700 metres high, in the north-west of
the plain.
The ground consists of black, coarse-grained slag, which creaks when
walked on, and forms a fine black dust. Naturally the vegetation
in this poor soil is very scanty,--only bushes and reed-grass,
irregularly scattered in the valleys between little hillocks ranged
in rows. This arid desert-scene is doubly surprising to the eye,
owing to the sudden change from the forest to the bare plain.
In this seemingly endless plain, the two craters rise in a bold
silhouette, grimly black. One of them stands in lifeless rigidity,
from the top of the other curl a few light, white clouds of steam. It
is a depressingly dismal sight, without any organic life whatever on
the steep, furrowed slopes.
We camped on a hillock surrounded by shrubs; on all sides spread the
plain, with low hills, rounded by rain and storm, radiating from the
craters, and where these touched, a confused wilderness of hills,
like a black, agitated sea, had formed. The hilltops were bare, on
the slopes there clung some yellowish moss. The farther away from the
craters, the lower the hills became, disappearing at the edge of the
plain in a bluish-green belt of woods.
The sky was cloudy, a sallow light glimmered over the plain, and
the craters lay in forbidding gloom and lifelessness, like hostile
monsters. Hardly had I set up my camera, when the western giant began
his performance. The clouds of steam thickened, detonations followed,
and at each one a brownish-grey cloud rose out of the mountain,
whirled slowly upwards, and joined the grey clouds in the sky. The
mountain-top glowed red, and red lumps of lava came flying out of
the smoke and dropped behind a hill. Then all became quiet again,
the mountain relapsed into lifelessness, the clouds dissolved to a
thick mist, and only the steam curled upward like a white plume.
I had taken care to observe how far the lava flew, so as to know how
near it would be safe to approach. The path towards the craters was
the continuation of the one we had followed, and led to the north
shore of the island, passing between the craters. It is remarkable
that the natives should dare to use this road, and indeed it is not
much travelled; but it speaks for the courage of the first man who
had the courage to cross the plain and pass between the craters. The
sharp points of the lava caused great suffering to the bare-footed
natives, and here I had the advantage of them for once, thanks to my
nailed boots.
The clouds had disappeared, the sky shone deeply blue, everything
reminded me of former trips in other deserts. The same dry air cooled
the heat that radiated from the ground, the same silence and solemnity
brooded over the earth, there was the same colouring and the same
breadth of view. After the painful march through the forest, where
every step had to be measured and watched, it was a joy to step out
freely and take great breaths of clear, sweet air.
After a short, steep climb, I reached the ridge, sharp as a knife,
that joins the two craters, and following it, I suddenly found myself
on the brink of the crater, from which I could overlook the great bowl,
800 metres wide. The inside walls fell vertically to the bottom, an
uncanny, spongy-looking mass of brownish lava, torn, and foaming,
and smoking in white or yellowish clouds. The opposite side rose
much higher, and the white cloud I had seen from below floated on
top. There was a smaller crater, the real opening, and through a gap
in it I had a glimpse inside, but failed to see much because of the
smoke. The general view was most imposing, the steep, naked walls,
the wild confusion in the crater, the red and yellow precipitates
here and there, the vicious-looking smoke from the slits, the steam
that floated over the opening, swayed mysteriously by an invisible
force, the compactness of the whole picture, in the gigantic frame
of the outer walls. There was no need of the oppressive odour,
the dull roaring and thundering and hissing, to call up a degree of
reverent admiration, even fear, and it required an effort of will
to stay and grow used to the tremendous sight. The first sensation
on seeing the crater is certainly terror, then curiosity awakens,
and one looks and wonders; yet the sight never becomes familiar, and
never loses its threatening aspect. Still, the inner crater may be
a disappointment. From a distance, we see the great manifestations,
the volcano in action, when its giant forces are in play and it looks
grand and monumental. From near by, we see it in repose, and the crater
looks quite insignificant. Instead of the fire we expected to see,
we find lava blocks and ashes, and instead of the clash of elemental
forces, we see a dark mass, that glows dully. We can hardly believe
that here is the origin of the explosions that shake the island,
and are inclined to consider the demon of the volcano rather as a
mischievous clown than a thundering, furious giant.
I went to the slope of the eastern crater to find a spot from which I
might be able to photograph an eruption, and returned to camp just as
the sun sank down in red fire, and the evening mists formed a white
belt around the two black mountains. The tops of the craters shone
red against a cool evening sky.
Suddenly an immense cloud shot up, white and sky-high. One side of it
shone orange in the last sunbeams, the other was dull and grey, and
the top mingled with the evening clouds. It was a wildly beautiful
sight, gone too soon. A hawk circled afar in the green sky, night
crept across the plain, and soon the moon poured her silver over the
tranquil scene. I hoped in vain to see an eruption equal to that of
the last nights. Everything was quiet, the volcano seemed extinct,
the fog thickened, covering the mountains and the moon. It became
disagreeably cool, and there was a heavy dew. The natives shivered in
their blankets, and I was most uncomfortable under a light canvas. We
were all up long before daylight, when the volcano sent out a large
cloud. The sun and the fog had a long struggle, when suddenly the
clouds tore apart, and the welcome sunbeams came to warm us.
I went to the spot chosen the day before and dug my camera into the
lava and waited. My impatience was quieted by the splendid view I
enjoyed, embracing nearly all the islands of the group: Epi, Malekula,
Aoba, Pentecoste, and higher than all, the cone of Lopevi. All these
floated in a soft, blue haze, and even the two craters shone in a
violet hue.
We waited for several hours, freezing in spite of the bright sun,
between the damp, mossy walls of the gully where we sat, and the
volcano remained quiet, merely hissing and roaring and emitting steam,
but a real eruption did not occur then, nor for several weeks later. We
returned to camp, packed up our things, and hurried down the slippery
gullies and lava banks, diving back into the thick, heavy atmosphere
of the sea-level; and at nightfall I washed off the heat and dust of
the day in the warm waves of the ocean.