THE SANTA CRUZ ISLANDS
After my return to Port Vila, where I again had the honour of being
Mr. King's guest, and having practically finished my task in the
New Hebrides, I decided not to leave this part of the world without
visiting the Santa Cruz Islands, a group of small islands north of
the New Hebrides and east of the Solomon Islands. This archipelago
has not had much contact with civilization, and is little known. I had
a good opportunity to go there, as the steam yacht Southern Cross of
the Anglican mission in Melanesia was expected to stop at Vila on her
way to the Solomons. She touched at the Santa Cruz island of Nitendi
going and returning, and could therefore drop me and take me up again
after about six weeks. While waiting for her arrival, I investigated
some caves on Leleppa, near Port Havannah, which the natives reported
to be inhabited by dwarfish men; but the results were insignificant.
Passage having been granted me by the skipper of the Southern Cross,
I once more sailed the well-known route northward through the New
Hebrides and Banks Islands; but from Ureparapara onward I was in
strange waters. The Southern Cross was a steamer of about five
hundred tons, built especially for this service, that is, to convey
the missionaries and natives from the headquarters on Norfolk Island
to the different islands. Life on board was far from luxurious; but
there was good company and an interesting library. I had the pleasure
of making some interesting acquaintances, and the missionaries gave me
much valuable information about the natives and their customs. When
the tone of the conversation in the evening threatened to become
too serious, our jovial Captain S. speedily improved matters by
his grotesquely comical sallies. A strenuous life was that of the
missionary who was responsible for the organization of the voyage;
he had to visit the native communities, and went ashore at every
anchorage, sometimes through an ugly surf or dangerous shoals,
generally with overcrowded whale-boats; and this went on for three
months. I had nothing to do, and amused myself by comparing the
boys from the various islands, who were quite different in looks,
speech and character. There were the short, thick-set, plebeian
natives from the New Hebrides, the well-built men from the Solomons,
with their long faces and open, energetic expression, the languid,
sleepy boys from the Torres Islands and the savage Santa Cruzians.
The trip of the Southern Cross was important as an experiment, being
the first with an exclusively native crew. Hitherto the Melanesians had
been considered incapable of any work calling for energy, initiative
and conscientiousness. Captain C. was convinced that this was unjust,
and started on this voyage without any whites except the officers;
the result was most satisfactory. The natives, when carefully and
patiently trained, work quite as well as low-class whites, and have
proved themselves capable of more than plantation work.
It was a bright morning when we entered the lovely Graciosa Bay on
Nitendi. The island had a much more tropical aspect than those of
the New Hebrides, and the vegetation seemed more varied and gayer in
colour. Natives in canoes approached from every side, and all along the
beach lay populous villages, a sight such as the now deserted shores of
the New Hebrides must have afforded in days gone by. Hardly had we cast
anchor when the ship was surrounded by innumerable canoes. The men in
them were all naked, except the teachers the missionaries had stationed
here; all the others were genuine aborigines, who managed their boats
admirably, and came hurrying on board, eager to begin bartering.
The natives here have a bad reputation, and are supposed to be
particularly dangerous, because they never stir from home without
their poisoned arrows. A missionary had recently been forced to leave
the island, after having been besieged by the natives for several
days. But it would seem that they are not hostile unless one of their
many intricate laws and customs is violated, which may happen easily
enough to anyone unacquainted with their habits.
I took up my quarters with the only white man in the place, a Mr. M.,
who managed a cocoa-nut plantation for an Australian company with
boys from the Solomons. My first task was to find servants, as none
had dared accompany me from the New Hebrides to the ill-famed Santa
Cruz Islands. Through his coprah trade Mr. M. knew the people well,
and by his help I soon found two boys who had some vague notion
of biche la mar, real savages, who served me well in a childish,
playful way. They were always jolly, and although they seemed to
look upon what they did for me rather as a kindness than a duty, we
got along fairly well. When it became known that my service implied
good food and little work, many others applied, but I only chose one
young fellow, probably the most perfect specimen of a man I have
ever seen. He kept himself scrupulously clean, and in his quiet,
even behaviour there was something that distinguished him from all
the rest. It is difficult to put the beauty of a human body into
words; I can only say that he was of symmetrical build, with a deep
chest and well-developed limbs, but without the great muscles that
would have given him the coarse aspect of an athlete. His greatest
charm was in the grace of his movements and the natural nobility
of his attitudes and his walk; for he moved as lightly and daintily
as a deer, and it was a constant pleasure, while walking behind him
during our marches through the forest, to admire his elastic gait,
the play of his muscles and the elegant ease with which he threaded
the thicket. I tried to take some photographs of him, but without
great success, owing to technical difficulties; besides, the face had
to be hidden as much as possible, as to a European eye the natives'
faces often seem to have a brutal expression. The men of Santa Cruz,
too, wear disfiguring nose-rings of tortoise-shell hanging down over
their mouths, so large that when eating they have to be lifted up out
of the way with the left hand. Another ugly habit is the chewing of
betel, the nut of the areca palm, which is mixed with pepper leaves
and lime. The lime is carried in a gourd, often decorated with drawings
and provided with an artistically carved stopper. The leaves and this
bottle are kept in beautifully woven baskets, the prettiest products
of native art, made of banana fibre interwoven with delicate designs
in black. Betel-chewing seems to have a slightly intoxicating effect;
my boys, at least, were often strangely exhilarated in the evening,
although they had certainly had no liquor. The lime forms a black
deposit on the teeth, which sometimes grows to such a size as to hang
out of the mouth, an appendage of which some natives seem rather vain.
The dress of the men consists of a narrow belt of bark and a strip
of tapa worn between the legs. Around their knees and ankles they
wear small, shiny shells, and on their chests a large circular
plate of tridacna-shell, to which is attached a dainty bit of carved
tortoise-shell representing a combination of fish and turtle. This
beautiful ornament is very effective on the dark skin. In the lobes
of the ears are hung large tortoise-shell ornaments, and on the arms
large shell rings or bracelets braided with shell and cocoa-nut beads
are worn.
The men are never seen without bows and arrows of large and heavy
dimensions. Like all the belongings of the Santa Cruzians, the arrows
show artistic taste, being carefully carved and painted so as to
display black carving on a white and red ground. The points of the
arrows are made of human bone.
I bought one of the excellent canoes made by these people, and often
crossed the lovely, quiet bay to visit different villages. The natives
take great care of their canoes, and make it a point of honour to
keep them spotlessly white, which they do by rubbing them with a
seaweed they gather at the bottom of the ocean.
On approaching a village it requires all the skill of the native not
to be dashed by the swell against the reefs. A narrow sandy beach lies
behind, and then a stone terrace 6 feet high, on which the gamal is
built. Generally there was great excitement when I landed, and the men
came rushing from all sides to see me. They were not hostile, only too
eager for trade, and I had to interrupt my visits for a week and trade
only at the house where I was staying, so as to give them time to quiet
down. This helped matters a little, although, until the day I left,
I was always the centre of an excited mob that pulled at my sleeves
and trousers and shrieked into my ears. I was always cordially invited
to enter the gamals; these were square houses, kept very clean, with
a fireplace in the centre, and the floor covered with mats. As usual,
the roof was full of implements of all sorts, and over the fire there
was a stand and shelves, where coprah was roasted and food preserved.
The natives are expert fishermen, and know how to make the finest as
well as the coarsest nets. They frequently spend the mornings fishing,
a flotilla of canoes gathering at some shallow spot in the bay.
The afternoons are mostly spent in the village in a dolce far
niente. Each village has its special industry: in one the arm-rings
of shell are made, in another the breastplates, in a third canoes,
or the fine mats which are woven on a loom of the simplest system,
very similar to a type of loom found in North America. Weaving,
it will be remembered, is quite unknown in the New Hebrides.
An object peculiar to these islands is feather money. This consists
of the fine breast-feathers of a small bird, stuck together to
form plates, which are fastened on a strip of sinnet, so that a
long ribbon of scarlet feathers is obtained of beautiful colour
and brilliancy. These strips are rolled and preserved in the houses,
carefully wrapped up and only displayed on great occasions. Considering
how few available feathers one little bird yields, and how many are
needed for one roll, it is not surprising that this feather money
is very valuable, and that a single roll will buy a woman. At great
dances the circular dancing-grounds along the shore are decorated
with these ribbons.
For a dance the men exchange the nose-ring of tortoise-shell for a
large, finely carved plate of mother-of-pearl. In the perforated sides
of the nose they place thin sticks, which stand high up towards the
eyes. In the hair they wear sticks and small boards covered with the
same feathers as those used for feather money. They have dancing-sticks
of a most elaborate description, heavy wooden clubs of the shape of
a canoe, painted in delicate designs and with rattles at the lower
end. The designs are black and red on a white ground, and are derived
from shapes of fish and birds. Similar work is done on carvings showing
the different species of fish and birds; the drawing is exquisite,
and shows fine feeling for ornamental composition.
The position of women in Santa Cruz is peculiar, although the
Suque does not exist, and therefore no separation of fires is
enforced. Masculine jealousy seems to have reached its climax here, for
no man from another village even dares look at a woman. The women's
houses are a little inland, away from the gamal and separated by
high walls from the outer world. Most of the houses are square, but
there are some circular ones, a type very rare in these regions. To
my regret I was never able to examine one of these round houses,
so that I have no idea how they are built. To enter the women's
quarters, or to approach nearer than 100 metres to any woman, is
a deadly offence, and such breaches of etiquette are the cause of
frequent feuds. Only once I was taken by one of my boys through the
lanes of his village, and this was considered very daring, and the
limit of permissible investigation. However, with the help of Mr. M.,
who was practically a "citizen" of one of the villages, I succeeded
in taking some photographs of women; but only the oldest dowagers and
some sick girls presented themselves, and among them I saw the most
repulsive being I ever met,--an old shrivelled-up hag. At sight of
such a creature one cannot wonder that old women were often accused
of sorcery.
It is surprising how much inferior physically the women of Nitendi
are to the men. The men are among the best made people I ever saw,
while the women are the poorest. The dress of the women consists
of large pieces of tapa, worn around the hips and over the head,
and a third piece is sometimes used as a shawl. Tapa is not made at
Graciosa Bay, but inland; it is often painted in simple but effective
geometrical designs.
The majority of the population lives near the sea; I was credibly
informed that there are hardly any people inland. The Santa Cruzian
is a "salt-water man," and there is a string of villages all along
the coast. The inhabitants of the different villages keep very much to
themselves, and their territories are separated by a strip of forest,
and on the shore by high stone walls leading far out into the sea. On
the whole, the two thousand people in the bay live very quietly,
certainly more so than the same number of whites would without any
police. It is not quite clear in what respect our civilization could
improve them, as, like most aborigines, they have a pronounced sense
of propriety, justice and politeness. There is very little disputing or
quarrelling, and differences of opinion are usually settled by a joke,
so that in this respect the savages show a behaviour far superior to
that of many a roaring and swearing white.
I found neither drums nor statues here, and of the local religion
I could learn nothing. There is a skull-cult, similar to that on
Malekula: a man will paint the skull of a favourite wife or child
yellow, shut all the openings with wooden stoppers and carry the relic
about with him. Towards the end of my stay I obtained possession of
some of these interesting skulls. The idea in shutting the holes is
doubtless to preserve the spirit of the dead inside the skull.
One evening I crossed the bay to attend a dance. The starless sky shone
feebly, spotted with dark, torn clouds. A dull silver light lay on the
sea, which was scarcely lighter than the steep shores. In the silence
the strokes of our oars sounded sharp and energetic, yet they seemed
to come from a distance. In the darkness we felt first the outrigger,
then the canoe, lifted by a heavy swell, which glided away out of sight
in monotonous rhythm. Then light began to play around us, indistinct
at first, then two silver stripes formed at the bow and ran along
the boat. They were surrounded by bright, whirling sparks, and at the
bow of the outrigger the gayest fireworks of silver light sprang up,
sparkling and dying away as if the boat had been a meteor. The oars,
too, dripped light, as though they were bringing up fine silver dust
from below. The naked boy in front of me shone like a marble statue on
a dark background as his beautiful body worked in rhythmic movements,
the light playing to and fro on his back. And ever the sparks danced
along the boat in hypnotizing confusion, and mighty harmonies seemed
to echo through the night air. The feeling of time was lost, until
the opposite shore rose to a black wall, then, through the silence,
we heard the cold rush of the surf beating moodily on the reef. We
slackened speed, the fairy light died and the dream ended. We kept
along the shore, looking for the entrance, which the boys found by
feeling for a well-known rock with their oars. A wave lifted us,
the boys bent to their oars with all their might, we shot across the
reef and ran into the soft sand of the beach.
But as the rain fell now in torrents, there was no dance that night.
Mr. M. and I attempted a few excursions, but bad weather interfered
with our plans, and a rainy period of three weeks followed. One squall
chased the other, rattling on the roof, forming swamps everywhere,
and penetrating everything with moisture. I was glad when the Southern
Cross came back for me, especially as this was to be the beginning
of my homeward journey.
This time we touched at a small island called Tucopia, where
a primitive Polynesian population still exists, probably the only
island where this is the case. When the steamer approached we saw the
people running about on the reef in excitement, and soon countless
canoes surrounded us. The appearance of these islanders was quite new
to me. Instead of the dark, curly-haired, short Melanesians, I saw
tall, light-coloured men with thick manes of long, golden hair. They
climbed aboard, wonderful giants, with soft, dark eyes, kind smiles
and childlike manners. They went everywhere, touched everything,
and flattered and caressed us. We were all eager to go ashore, and at
the edge of the reef an excited crowd awaited our arrival impatiently
and pulled our boat violently on the rocks in their eagerness. Two
tall fellows grabbed me under the arms, and, willy-nilly, I was
carried across the reef and carefully deposited under a shady tree
on the beach. At first I did not quite trust my companions, but I
was powerless to resist, and soon I became more confident, as my
new friends constantly hugged and stroked me. Soon a missionary was
brought ashore in the same way, and then, to our greatest surprise,
a man approached us who spoke biche la mar. He asked if we had no
sickness on board, for some time ago the same ship had infected the
island with an epidemic that had caused many deaths. We assured him
that we had none, and he gave us permission to visit the island,
telling us, too, that we were to have the great honour of being
presented to one of the four chiefs. This was indeed something to
be proud of, for in Polynesian islands the chieftainship, as I have
said, is hereditary, and the chiefs are paid honours almost divine. We
took off our hats and were led before the chief, a tall, stout man,
who sat in a circle of men on a sort of throne, with his ceremonial
spear leaning against a tree beside him. His subjects approached him
crouching, but he shook hands with us and smiled kindly at us. A noble
gesture of the hand gave us leave to taste a meal prepared to welcome
us, which looked most uninviting, but turned out to be beautifully
cooked sago and cocoa-nut cream. We could not finish the generous
portions, and presently signed that we were satisfied; the chief
seemed to regret that we did not do more honour to his hospitality,
but he gave us permission to walk about. While all the other natives
ran about in great excitement over our visit, the good old man sat on
his throne all the time, quite solemnly, although I am convinced that
he was fairly bursting with curiosity. We hurried through the village,
so as to get a general idea of the houses and implements, and then
to the beach, which was a beautiful sight. Whereas on Melanesian
islands the dancing-grounds only are kept cleared, and surrounded
by thick shrubbery for fear of invasion, here all the underbrush
had been rooted out, and the shore was like a park, with a splendid
view through dark tree-trunks across the blue sea, while the golden,
godlike forms of the natives walked about with proud, regal gait,
or stood in animated groups. It was a sight so different in its
peaceful simplicity from what I was accustomed to see in Melanesia,
it all looked so happy, gay and alluring that it hardly needed the
invitations of the kind people, without weapons or suspicion, and
with wreaths of sweet-scented flowers around their heads and bodies,
to incline us to stay. Truly, the sailors of old were not to blame if
they deserted in numbers on such islands, and preferred the careless
native life to hard work on board a whaler. Again and again I seemed
to see the living originals of some classical picture, and more and
more my soul succumbed to the intoxicating charm of the lovely island.
But we could not stay; the steamer whistled, and we had to leave. A
young native was going to Norfolk Island, and he took leave of his
family and the chief in a manly way which was touching to witness. He
bowed and laid his face on the knees of some old white-haired men
with finely chiselled, noble faces. They seemed to bless him, then
they raised his head and tenderly pressed their faces against his,
so that their noses touched. The boy brushed away a tear and then
jumped bravely on board.
When we came on board, the steamer was crowded with natives, and
they refused to leave. We had to drive them away energetically, and
as their canoes were soon overcrowded, many of them jumped into the
water with shouts and laughter, and swam several miles to the shore,
floating happily in the blue sea, with their long hair waving after
them like liquid gold. Thus I saw the last of the dream-island,
bathed in the rays of the setting sun. My regret was shared by the
boy, who stood, still ornamented with flowers and wreaths, at the
stern of the steamer, looking sadly back at his disappearing paradise.
Our good times, too, were over. We had a dull, rainy night, a heavy,
broadside swell, and as the steamer had not enough ballast, she rolled
frightfully. In this nasty sea we were afraid she might turn turtle,
as another steamer had done some months ago. The storm became such
that we had to lie at anchor for five days, sheltered by the coast
of Gaua. It was with real relief that I left the Southern Cross at
Port Vila; sorry as I was to leave my friends on board, I did not
envy them the long voyage to New Zealand.
Two days later I took the mail steamer for Sydney. Although tired
enough, and glad to return to the comforts of civilization, I felt
real regret at leaving the places where I had spent so many delightful
hours, and where I had met with so much kindness on all sides.
THE END