[Illustration]
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=THE MAN-EATERS=
AND
_OTHER ODD PEOPLE_.
A POPULAR DESCRIPTION OF
SINGULAR RACES OF MAN.
BY
CAPT. MAYNE REID,
AUTHOR OF “THE DESERT HOME,” “THE BUSH-BOYS,” ETC.
With Illustrations.
_NEW YORK:
THOMAS R. KNOX & CO.,_
813 BROADWAY.
1884.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1860, by
_TICKNOR AND FIELDS_,
in the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the District of
Massachusetts.
* * * * *
Entered according to act of Congress, in the year 1884, by
_THOMAS R. KNOX & CO_.,
in the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.
* * * * *
NEW YORK, January 1st, 1869.
MESSRS. FIELDS, OSGOOD & CO.:—
I accept the terms offered, and hereby concede to you the exclusive
right of publication, in the United States, of all my juvenile Tales of
Adventure, known as Boys’ Novels.
MAYNE REID.
TROW’S
PRINTING AND BOOKBINDING COMPANY,
NEW YORK.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
MEMOIR OF MAYNE REID.
* * * * *
No one who has written books for the young during the present century
ever had so large a circle of readers as Captain Mayne Reid, or ever was
so well fitted by circumstances to write the books by which he is
chiefly known. His life, which was an adventurous one, was ripened with
the experience of two Continents, and his temperament, which was an
ardent one, reflected the traits of two races. Irish by birth, he was
American in his sympathies with the people of the New World, whose
acquaintance he made at an early period, among whom he lived for years,
and whose battles he helped to win. He was probably more familiar with
the Southern and Western portion of the United States forty years ago
than any native-born American of that time. A curious interest attaches
to the life of Captain Reid, but it is not of the kind that casual
biographers dwell upon. If he had written it himself it would have
charmed thousands of readers, who can now merely imagine what it might
have been from the glimpses of it which they obtain in his writings. It
was not passed in the fierce light of publicity, but in that simple,
silent obscurity which is the lot of most men, and is their happiness,
if they only knew it.
Briefly related, the life of Captain Reid was as follows: He was born in
1818, in the north of Ireland, the son of a Presbyterian clergyman, who
was a type of the class which Goldsmith has described so freshly in the
“Deserted Village,” and was highly thought of for his labors among the
poor of his neighborhood. An earnest, reverent man, to whom his calling
was indeed a sacred one, he designed his son Mayne for the ministry, in
the hope, no doubt, that he would be his successor. But nature had
something to say about that, as well as his good father. He began to
study for the ministry, but it was not long before he was drawn in
another direction. Always a great reader, his favorite books were
descriptions of travel in foreign lands, particularly those which dealt
with the scenery, the people, and the resources of America. The spell
which these exercised over his imagination, joined to a love of
adventure which was inherent in his temperament, and inherited, perhaps
with his race, determined his career. At the age of twenty he closed his
theological tomes, and girding up his loins with a stout heart he sailed
from the shores of the Old World for the New. Following the spirit in
his feet he landed at New Orleans, which was probably a more promising
field for a young man of his talents than any Northern city, and was
speedily engaged in business. The nature of this business is not stated,
further than it was that of a trader; but whatever it was it obliged
this young Irishman to make long journeys into the interior of the
country, which was almost a _terra incognita_. Sparsely settled, where
settled at all, it was still clothed in primeval verdure—here in the
endless reach of savannas, there in the depth of pathless woods, and far
away to the North and the West in those monotonous ocean-like levels of
land for which the speech of England has no name—the Prairies. Its
population was nomadic, not to say barbaric, consisting of tribes of
Indians whose hunting grounds from time immemorial the region was;
hunters and trappers, who had turned their backs upon civilization for
the free, wild life of nature; men of doubtful or dangerous antecedents,
who had found it convenient to leave their country for their country’s
good; and scattered about hardy pioneer communities from Eastern States,
advancing waves of the great sea of emigration which is still drawing
the course of empire westward. Travelling in a country like this, and
among people like these, Mayne Reid passed five years of his early
manhood. He was at home wherever he went, and never more so than when
among the Indians of the Red River territory, with whom he spent several
months, learning their language, studying their customs, and enjoying
the wild and beautiful scenery of their camping grounds. Indian for the
time, he lived in their lodges, rode with them, hunted with them, and
night after night sat by their blazing camp-fires listening to the
warlike stories of the braves and the quaint legends of the medicine
men. There was that in the blood of Mayne Reid which fitted him to lead
this life at this time, and whether he knew it or not it educated his
genius as no other life could have done. It familiarized him with a
large extent of country in the South and West; it introduced him to men
and manners which existed nowhere else; and it revealed to him the
secrets of Indian life and character.
There was another side, however, to Mayne Reid than that we have touched
upon, and this, at the end of five years, drew him back to the average
life of his kind. We find him next in Philadelphia, where he began to
contribute stories and sketches of travel to the newspapers and
magazines. Philadelphia was then the most literate city in the United
States, the one in which a clever writer was at once encouraged and
rewarded. Frank and warm-hearted, he made many friends there among
journalists and authors. One of these friends was Edgar Allan Poe, whom
he often visited at his home in Spring Garden, and concerning whom years
after, when he was dead, he wrote with loving tenderness.
The next episode in the career of Mayne Reid was not what one would
expect from a man of letters, though it was just what might have been
expected from a man of his temperament and antecedents. It grew out of
the time, which was warlike, and it drove him into the army with which
the United States speedily crushed the forces of the sister
Republic—Mexico. He obtained a commission, and served throughout the war
with great bravery and distinction. This stormy episode ended with a
severe wound, which he received in storming the heights of Chapultepec—a
terrible battle which practically ended the war.
A second episode of a similar character, but with a more fortunate
conclusion, occurred about four years later. It grew out of another war,
which, happily for us, was not on our borders, but in the heart of
Europe, where the Hungarian race had risen in insurrection against the
hated power of Austria. Their desperate valor in the face of tremendous
odds excited the sympathy of the American people, and fired the heart of
Captain Mayne Reid, who buckled on his sword once more, and sailed from
New York with a body of volunteers to aid the Hungarians in their
struggles for independence. They were too late, for hardly had they
reached Paris before they learned that all was over: Görgey had
surrendered at Arad, and Hungary was crushed. They were at once
dismissed, and Captain Reid betook himself to London.
The life of the Mayne Reid in whom we are most interested—Mayne Reid,
the author—began at this time, when he was in his thirty-first year, and
ended only on the day of his death, October 21, 1883. It covered one
third of a century, and was, when compared with that which had preceded
it, uneventful, if not devoid of incident. There is not much that needs
be told—not much, indeed, that can be told—in the life of a man of
letters like Captain Mayne Reid. It is written in his books. Mayne Reid
was one of the best known authors of his time—differing in this from
many authors who are popular without being known—and in the walk of
fiction which he discovered for himself he is an acknowledged master.
His reputation did not depend upon the admiration of the millions of
young people who read his books, but upon the judgment of mature
critics, to whom his delineations of adventurous life were literature of
no common order. His reputation as a story-teller was widely recognized
on the Continent, where he was accepted as an authority in regard to the
customs of the pioneers and the guerilla warfare of the Indian tribes,
and was warmly praised for his freshness, his novelty, and his hardy
originality. The people of France and Germany delighted in this
soldier-writer. “There was not a word in his books which a school-boy
could not safely read aloud to his mother and sisters.” So says a late
English critic, to which another adds, that if he has somewhat gone out
of fashion of late years, the more’s the pity for the school-boy of the
period. What Defoe is in Robinson Crusoe—realistic idyl of island
solitude—that, in his romantic stories of wilderness life, is his great
scholar, Captain Mayne Reid.
R. H. STODDARD.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
CONTENTS.
* * * * *
PAGE
MAN-EATERS OF THE FEEGEE ISLANDS 5
MUNDRUCUS, OR BEHEADERS 30
THE CENTAURS OF THE “GRAN CHACO” 57
BOSJESMEN, OR BUSHMEN 81
THE AMAZONIAN INDIANS 111
THE WATER-DWELLERS OF MARACAIBO 137
THE ESQUIMAUX 161
THE TONGANS, OR FRIENDLY ISLANDERS 194
THE TURCOMANS 218
THE OTTOMACS, OR DIRT-EATERS 244
THE COMANCHES, OR PRAIRIE INDIANS 268
THE PEHUENCHES, OR PAMPAS INDIANS 290
THE YAMPARICOS, OR ROOT-DIGGERS 309
THE GUARAONS, OR PALM-DWELLERS 341
THE LAPLANDERS 359
THE ANDAMANERS, OR MUD-BEDAUBERS 388
THE PATAGONIAN GIANTS 411
THE FUEGIAN DWARFS 439
------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE MAN-EATERS OF THE FEEGEE ISLANDS.
Have I a reader who has not heard of the “King of the Cannibal Islands?”
I think I may take it for granted that there is not one in my large
circle of boy-readers who has not heard of that royal anthropophagist,
that “mighty king” who,—
“in one hut,
Had fifty wives as black as _sut_,
And fifty of a double smut—
That King of the Cannibal Islands.”
And yet, strange as it may appear, the old song was no
exaggeration—neither as regards the number of his wives, nor any other
particular relating to King “Musty-fusty-shang.” On the contrary, it
presents a picture of the life and habits of his polygamous majesty that
is, alas! too ludicrously like the truth.
Though the king of the Cannibal Islands has been long known by
reputation, people never had any very definite idea in what quarter of
the world his majesty’s dominions lay. Being, as the name implies, an
island-kingdom, it was to be looked for of course, in some part of the
ocean; and the Pacific Ocean or Great South Sea was generally regarded
as that in which it was situated; but whether it was the Tonga Islands,
or the Marquesas, or the Loo-Choos, or the Soo-loos—or some other group,
that was entitled to the distinction of being the man-eating community,
with the man-eating king at their head—was not very distinctly
ascertained up to a recent period. On this head there is uncertainty no
longer. Though in several groups of South-Sea Islands the horrible
propensity is known to exist, yet the man-eaters, _par excellence_, the
real _bona-fide_ followers of the habit, are the _Feegees_. Beyond doubt
these are the greatest cannibals in all creation, their islands the true
“Cannibal Islands,” and their king no other than “Musty-fusty-shang”
himself.
Alas! the subject is too serious to jest upon, and it is not without
pain that we employ our pen upon it. The truth must needs be told; and
there is no reason why the world should not know how desperately wicked
men may become under the influence of a despotism that leaves the masses
in the power of the irresponsible few, with no law, either moral or
physical, to restrain their unbridled passions.
You will find the Feegee Islands, in the Pacific Ocean, in the latitude
of 18° south. This parallel passes nearly through the centre of the
group. Their longitude is remarkable: it is the complement of the
meridian of Greenwich—the line 180°. Therefore, when it is noon in
London, it is midnight among the Feegees. Take the intersection of these
two lines, 18° latitude and 180° longitude as a centre; describe an
imaginary circle, with a diameter of 300 miles; its circumference, with
the slight exception of a small outlying group, will enclose, in a “ring
fence,” as it were, the whole Feegee archipelago.
The group numbers, in all, no fewer than 225 islands and islets, of
which between 80 and 90 are at present inhabited—the whole population
being not much under 200,000. The estimates of writers differ widely on
this point; some state 150,000—others, more than double this amount.
There is reason to believe that 150,000 is too low. Say, then, 200,000;
since the old adage; “In medias res,” is generally true.
Only two of the islands are large,—“Viti,” and “Vanua.” Viti is 90 miles
long, by 50 in breadth, and Vanua 100 by 25. Some are what are known as
“coral islands;” others are “volcanic,” presenting all varieties of
mountain aspect, rugged and sublime. A few of the mountain-peaks attain
the elevation of 5,000 feet above sea-level, and every form is
known—table-topped, dome-shaped, needle, and conical. In fact, no group
in the Pacific affords so many varieties of form and aspect, as are to
be observed in the Feegee archipelago. In sailing through these islands,
the most lovely landscapes open out before the eye, the most picturesque
groupings of rocks, ridges, and mountain-peaks, ravines filled with
luxuriant vegetation, valleys covered with soft verdure, so divinely
fair as to appear the abode, of angelic beings. “So beautiful was their
aspect,” writes one who visited them, “that I could scarcely bring my
mind to the realizing sense of the well-known fact, that they were the
abode of a savage, ferocious, and treacherous race of cannibals.” Such,
alas! is the fact, well known, as the writer observes.
Perhaps to no part of the world has Nature been more bountiful than to
the Feegee Islands. She has here poured out her favors in very
profusion; and the _cornucopiæ_ might be regarded as an emblem of the
land. The richest products of a tropic vegetation flourish in an
abundance elsewhere unknown, and the growth of valuable articles of food
is almost spontaneous. Many kinds are really of spontaneous production;
and those under cultivation are almost endless in numbers and variety.
Yams grow to the length of six feet, weighing one hundred pounds each!
and several varieties are cultivated. The sweet potato reaches the
weight of five or six pounds, and the “taro” (_Arum esculentum_) also
produces a root of enormous size, which forms the staple article of the
Feegeean’s food. Still another great tuber, weighing twenty or thirty
pounds, and used as a liquorice, is the produce of the “massawe,” or
ti-tree (_dracæna terminalis_); and the root of the _piper methisticum_
often attains the weight of one hundred and forty pounds! This last is
possessed of highly narcotic properties; and is the material universally
used in the distillation, or rather brewing, of the native drink called
“yaqona”—the “kava” of the South-Sea voyagers. Bread-fruit grows in
abundance: there being no less than nine varieties of this celebrated
tree upon the different islands of the group, each producing a distinct
kind of fruit; and what is equally remarkable, of the _musaceæ_—the
plantain and banana—there are in the Feegee isles thirty different
kinds, either of spontaneous growth, or cultivated! All these are well
distinguished from one another, and bear distinct appellations. Three
kinds of cocoa-palm add to the extraordinary variety of vegetable food,
as well as to the picturesqueness of the scenery; but there is no lack
of lovely forms in the vegetation, where the beautiful ti-tree
grows,—where the fern and the screw-pines flourish,—where plantains and
bananas unfold their broad bright leaves to the sun; where _arums_
spread their huge fronds mingling with the thick succulent blades of the
bromelia, and where pawpaws, shaddocks, orange and lime-trees exhibit
every hue of foliage, from deep green to the most brilliant golden.
Fruits of a hundred species are grown in the greatest plenty; the orange
and the Papuan apple, the shaddock and lemon; in short, almost every
species of fruit that will flourish in a tropical clime. In addition,
many indigenous and valuable kinds, both of roots and fruits, are
peculiar to the Feegee group, yet unknown and uncultivated in any other
part of the world. Even the very cloth of the country—and a beautiful
fabric it makes—is the product of an indigenous tree, the “malo” or
paper-mulberry (_Brousonetia papyrifera_), the “tapa” of voyagers. Not
only the material for dresses, but the tapestry for the adornment of
their temples, the curtains and hangings of their houses, are all
obtained from this valuable tree.
We have not space for a more detailed account of the productions of
these isles. It would fill a volume to describe with any degree of
minuteness the various genera and species of its plants alone. Enough
has been said to show how bountiful, or rather how prodigal, nature has
been to the islands of the Feegeean Archipelago.
Of the animal kingdom there is not much to be said. Of quadrupeds there
is the usual paucity of species that is noticed everywhere throughout
the Polynesian islands. Dogs and pigs are kept; the latter in
considerable numbers, as the flesh forms an important article of food;
but they are not indigenous to the Feegee group, though the period of
their introduction is unknown. Two or three small rodents are the only
quadrupeds yet known to be true natives of the soil. Reptiles are alike
scarce in species,—though the turtle is common upon the coasts, and its
fishery forms the regular occupation of a particular class of the
inhabitants. The species of birds are more numerous, and there are
parrots, peculiar to the islands, of rich and beautiful plumage.
But we are not allowed to dwell upon these subjects. Interesting as may
be the zoölogy and botany of the Feegeean Archipelago, both sink into
insignificance when brought into comparison with its ethnology,—the
natural history of its human inhabitants;—a subject of deep, but alas!
of a terribly painful interest. By inquiry into the condition and
character of these people, we shall see how little they have deserved
the favors which nature has so bounteously bestowed upon them.
In the portrait of the Feegeean you will expect something frightfully
hideous,—knowing, as you already do, that he is an eater of human
flesh,—a man of gigantic stature, swarthy skin, bloodshot eyes, gaunt,
bony jaws, and terrific aspect. You will expect this man to be described
as being naked,—or only with the skin of a wild beast upon his
shoulders,—building no house, manufacturing no household or other
utensils, and armed with a huge knotted club, which he is ever ready to
use:—a man who dwells in a cavern, sleeps indifferently in the open air
or under the shelter of a bush; in short, a true savage. That is the
sort of creature you expect me to describe, and I confess that just such
a physical aspect—just such a condition of personal hideousness—would be
exactly in keeping with the moral deformity of the Feegeean. You would
furthermore expect this savage to be almost devoid of intellectual
power,—altogether wanting in moral sense,—without knowledge of right and
wrong,—without knowledge of any kind,—without ideas. It seems but
natural you should look for such characteristics in a _cannibal_.
The portrait I am about to paint will disappoint you. I do not regret
it, since it enables me to bring forward another testimony that man in
his original nature is not a being of such desperate wickedness. That
simple and primitive state, which men glibly call _savage_, is _not_ the
condition favorable to cannibalism. I know that it is to such people
that the habit is usually ascribed, but quite erroneously. The Andaman
islander has been blamed with it simply because he chances to go naked,
and looks, as he is, hungry and emaciated. The charge is proved false.
The Bushman of South Africa has enjoyed a similar reputation. It also
turns out to be a libel. The Carib long lived under the imputation,
simply because he presented a fierce front to the Spanish tyrant, who
would have enslaved him; and we have heard the same stigma cast upon a
dozen other tribes, the _lowest savages_ being usually selected; in
other words, those whose condition appeared the most wretched. In such
cases the accusation has ever been found, upon investigation, to be
erroneous.
In the most primitive state in which man appears upon the earth, he is
either without social organization altogether, or if any do exist, it is
either patriarchal or republican. Neither of these conditions is
favorable to the development of vice,—much less the most horrible of all
vices.
It will not do to quote the character of the Bushman, or certain other
of the low tribes, to refute this statement. These are not men in their
primitive state ascending upward, but a condition altogether the
reverse. They are the decaying remnants of some corrupt civilization,
sinking back into the dust out of which they were created.
No—and I am happy to say it—man, as he originally came from the hands of
the Creator, has no such horrid propensity as cannibalism. In his
primitive state he has never been known to practise it,—except when the
motives have been such as have equally tempted men professing the
highest civilization,—but this cannot be considered cannibalism. Where
that exists in its true unmitigated form,—and unhappily it does so,—the
early stages of social organization must have been passed; the
republican and patriarchal forms must both have given place to the
absolute and monarchical. This condition of things is absolutely
necessary, before man can obtain sufficient power to prey upon his
fellow-man to the extent of eating him. There can be no “cannibal”
without a “king.”
So far from the Feegeean cannibals being _savages_, according to the
ordinary acceptation of the term, they are in reality the very reverse.
If we adhere to the usual meaning of the word civilization,
understanding by it a people possessing an intelligent knowledge of
arts, living in well-built houses, fabricating fine goods, tilling their
lands in a scientific and successful manner, practising the little
politenesses and accomplishments of social life,—if these be the
_criteria_ of civilization, then it is no more than the truth to say
that the standard possessed by the Feegee islanders is incomparably
above that of the lower orders of most European nations.
It is startling to reflect—startling as sad—that a people possessed of
such intellectual power, and who have ever exercised it to a wonderful
extent, in arts, manufactures, and even in the accomplishing of their
own persons, should at the same time exhibit moral traits of such an
opposite character. An atrocious cruelty,—an instinct for oppression,
brutal and ferocious,—a heart pitiless as that of the fiend himself,—a
hand ever ready to strike the murderous blow, even though the victim be
a brother,—lips that lie in every word they speak,—a tongue ever bent on
barbaric boasting,—a bosom that beats only with sentiments of treachery
and abject cowardice,—these are the revolting characteristics of the
Feegeean. Dark as is his skin, his soul is many shades darker.
It is time, however, to descend to a more particular delineation of this
man-eating monster; and first, we shall give a description of his
personal appearance.
The Feegeeans are above the average height of Europeans or white men:
men of six feet are common among them, though few reach the height of
six feet six. Corpulent persons are not common, though large and
muscular men abound. Their figure corresponds more nearly to that of the
white man than any other race known. The proportions of their limbs
resemble those of northern Europeans, though some are narrower across
the loins. Their chests are broad and sinewy, and their stout limbs and
short, well-set necks are conspicuous characters. The outline of the
face is a good oval; the mouth large, with white teeth regularly
arranged—ah! those horrid teeth!—the nose is well shaped, with full
nostrils; yet quite distinct, as are the lips also, from the type of the
African negro. Indeed, with the exception of their color, they bear very
little resemblance to the negro,—that is, the thick-lipped, flat-nosed
negro of our fancy; for there are negro tribes in Africa whose features
are as fine as those of the Feegeeans, or even as our own. In color of
skin the Feegeean is nearly, if not quite, as dark as the negro; but it
may be remarked that there are different shades, as there are also among
pure Ethiopians. In the Feegee group there are many men of mulatto
color, but these are not of the original Feegee stock. They are either a
mixed offspring with the Tonga islander, or pure-bred Tonga islanders
themselves who for the past two hundred years have been insinuating
themselves into the social compact of the Feegeeans. These light-colored
people are mostly found on the eastern or windward side of the Feegee
group,—that is, the side towards Tonga itself,—and the trade-winds will
account for their immigration, which was at first purely accidental.
They at present play a conspicuous part in the affairs of the Feegeeans,
being in favor with the kings and great chiefs, partly on account of
their being better sailors than the native Feegeeans, and partly on
account of other services which these tyrants require them to perform.
In some arts the Tongans are superior to the Feegeeans, but not in all.
In pottery, wood-carving, making of mats or baskets, and the manufacture
of the tapa cloth, the Feegeeans stand unrivalled over all the Pacific
Ocean.
We need say no more of the Tongans here; they are elsewhere described.
Those dwelling in Feegee are not all fixed there for life. Some are so,
and these are called Tonga-Feegeeans; the others are only visitors,
giving their services temporarily to the Feegeean chiefs, or occupied in
ship-building,—in constructing those great war canoes that have been the
astonishment of South-Sea voyagers, and which Feegee sends forth from
her dock-yards in the greatest perfection. These, when finished by the
Tongan strangers, are used to carry them back to their own islands, that
lie about three hundred miles to the windward (southeast).
But to continue the portrait of the Feegeean. We have touched almost
every part of it except the hair; but this requires a most elaborate
limning, such as the owner himself gives it. In its natural state the
head of the Feegeean is covered by a mass of black hair long, frizzled,
and bushy, sometimes encroaching on the forehead, and joined by whiskers
to a thick, round, or pointed beard, to which mustaches are often added.
Black is, of course, the natural color of the hair, but it is not always
worn of this hue. Other colors are thought more becoming; and the hair,
both of the men and women, is dyed in a variety of ways, lime burning it
to a redish or whity-brown shade. A turmeric-yellow, or even a
vermilion-red are not uncommon colors; but all these keep varying,
according to the change of fashions at court!
Commodore Wilkes, who has given a good deal of his time to an
exploration of the Feegee Islands, states that the Feegee hair, in its
natural condition, is straight, and not “frizzled,” as described
above—he says that the frizzling is the work of the barber; but the
Commodore is altogether mistaken in this idea. Thousands of Feegeans,
whose hair was never touched by a barber, nor dressed even by
themselves, exhibit this peculiarity. We regret to add that this is only
one of a thousand erroneous statements which the Commodore has made
during his gigantic exploration. He may have been excellent at his own
speciality of making soundings and laying down charts; but on all
matters pertaining to natural history or ethnology, the worthy Commodore
appears to have been purblind, and, indeed, his extensive staff of
naturalists of every kind have produced far less than might have been
expected from such excellent opportunities as they enjoyed. The
observations of the Commodore will not stand the test of time, and
cannot be depended upon as safe guides, excepting in those cases where
he was an actual eyewitness. About his truthful intentions there can be
no doubt whatever.
Of one very peculiar performance among the Feegees he appears to have
had actual demonstration, and as he has described this with sufficient
minuteness, we shall copy his account; though, after what we have said,
we should apologize largely for the liberty. The performance referred to
is that of “barberizing” a barbarian monarch, and may be taken as a
proof of high civilization among the Feegees. It will be seen that, with
the exception of the tabooed fingers, there is not much difference
between a barber of Bond Street and an artist of like calling in the
Cannibal Islands.
“The chiefs in particular,” writes Commodore Wilkes, “pay great
attention to the dressing of their heads, and for this purpose all of
them have barbers, whose sole occupation is the care of their masters’
heads. These barbers are called _a-vu-ni-ulu_. They are attached to the
household of the chiefs in numbers of from two to a dozen. The duty is
held to be of so sacred a nature, that their hands are tabooed from all
other employment, and they are not even permitted to feed themselves. To
dress the head of a chief requires several hours. The hair is made to
spread out from the head, on every side, to a distance that is often
eight inches. The beard, which is also carefully nursed, often reaches
the breast, and when a Feegeean has these important parts of his person
well dressed, he exhibits a degree of conceit that is not a little
amusing.
“In the process of dressing the hair it is well anointed with oil, mixed
with a carbonaceous black, until it is completely saturated. The barber
then takes the hair-pin, which is a long and slender rod, made of
tortoise-shell or bone, and proceeds to twitch almost every separate
hair. This causes it to frizzle and stand erect. The bush of hair is
then trimmed smooth by singeing it, until it has the appearance of an
immense wig. When this has been finished, a piece of tapa, so fine as to
resemble tissue-paper, is wound in light folds around it, to protect the
hair from the dew or dust. This covering, which has the look of a
turban, is called _sala_, and none but the chiefs are allowed to wear
it; any attempt to assume this head-dress by a _kai-si_, or common
person, would be immediately punished with death. The sala, when taken
proper care of, will last three weeks or a month, and the hair is not
dressed except when it is removed; but the high chiefs and dandies
seldom allow a day to pass without changing the sala and having the hair
put in order.”
With this account, we conclude our description of the Feegeean’s person.
His costume is of the simplest kind, and easily described. With the men
it is merely a strip of “tapa” or “malo” cloth passed several times
round the waist, and the ends left to hang down in front. The length of
the hanging ends determines the rank of the wearer, and only in the case
of kings or great chiefs are they allowed to touch the ground. A turban
of the finest tapa cloth among the great mop of hair is another badge of
rank, worn only by kings and chiefs; and this head-dress, which adds
greatly to the dignified appearance of the wearer, is not always coiffed
in the same fashion, but each chief adapts it to his own or the
prevailing taste of the court. The dress of the women is a mere
waist-belt, with a fringe from six to ten inches in length. It is worn
longer after they have become wives, sometimes reaching near the knee,
and forming a very picturesque garment. It is called the “liku,” and
many of them are manufactured with surprising skill and neatness, the
material being obtained from various climbing plants of the forest.
Under the “liku” the women are tattooed, and there only. Their men, on
the contrary, do not undergo the tattoo; but on grand occasions paint
their faces and bodies in the most fanciful colors and patterns.
The kings and some chiefs suspend from their necks shell ornaments—often
as large as a dining-plate—that hang down upon the breast. Some, instead
of this, wear a necklace of whales’ teeth, carved to resemble claws, and
bearing a very close resemblance to the necklaces of the Prairie
Indians, made of the claws of the grizzly bear. Another kind of
necklace—perhaps more appropriate to the Feegee—is a string of human
teeth; and this kind is not unfrequently worn by these ferocious
dandies.
It must not be supposed that the scantiness of the Feegeean costume
arises from poverty or stinginess on the part of the wearer. Nothing of
the kind. It is simply because such is the fashion of the time. Were it
otherwise, he could easily supply the materials, but he does not wish it
otherwise. His climate is an eternal summer, and he has no need to
encumber his body with extraneous clothing. With the exception of the
turban upon his head, his king is as naked as himself.
You may suppose that the Feegeans have but little notions of modesty;
but, strange as it may appear, this is in reality not one of their
failings. They regard the “malo” and “liku” as the most modest of
garments; and a man or woman seen in the streets without these scanty
coverings would be in danger of being clubbed to death!
It must be acknowledged that they are not _altogether_ depraved—for in
this respect they present the most astounding anomaly. Certain virtues
are ascribed to them, and as I have painted only the dark side of their
character, it is but fair to give the other. Indeed, it is a pleasure to
do this—though there is not enough of the favorable to make any great
alteration in the picture. The whole character is so well described by
one of the most acute observers who has yet visited the South Seas—the
Wesleyan missionary Williams—that we borrow the description.
“The aspect of the Feegeean,” says Mr. Williams, “with reference to his
mental character, so far from supporting the decision which would thrust
him almost out of mankind, presents many points of great interest,
showing that, if an ordinary amount of attention were bestowed on him,
he would take no mean rank in the human family, to which, hitherto, he
has been a disgrace. Dull, barren stupidity forms no part of his
character. His feelings are acute, but not lasting; his emotions easily
roused, but transient; he can love truly, and hate deeply; he can
sympathize with thorough sincerity, and feign with consummate skill; his
fidelity and loyalty are strong and enduring, while his revenge never
dies, but waits to avail itself of circumstances, or of the blackest
treachery, to accomplish its purpose. His senses are keen, and so well
employed, that he often excels the white man in ordinary things. Tact
has been called ‘ready cash,’ and of this the native of Feegee has a
full share, enabling him to surmount at once many difficulties, and
accomplish many tasks, that would have ‘fixed’ an Englishman. Tools,
cord, or packing materials, he finds directly, where the white man would
be at a loss for either; and nature seems to him but a general store for
his use, where the article he wants is always within reach.
“In social diplomacy the Feegeean is very cautious and clever. That he
ever paid a visit merely _en passant_, is hard to be believed. If no
request leaves his lips, he has brought the desire, and only waits for a
good chance to present it now, or prepare the way for its favorable
reception at some other time. His face and voice are all pleasantness;
and he has the rare skill of finding out just the subject on which you
most like to talk, or sees at once whether you desire silence. Rarely
will he fail to read your countenance; and the case must be urgent
indeed which obliges him to ask a favor when he sees a frown. The more
important he feels his business the more earnestly he protests that he
has none at all; and the subject uppermost in his thoughts comes last to
his lips, or is not even named; for he will make a second, or even a
third visit, rather than risk a failure through precipitancy. He seems
to read other men by intuition, especially where selfishness or lust are
prominent traits. If it serves his purpose, he will study difficult and
peculiar characters, reserving the results for future use; if afterwards
he wish to please them, he will know how, and if to annoy them, it will
be done most exactly.
“His sense of hearing is acute, and by a stroke of his nail he judges
the ripeness of fruits, or soundness of various substances.”
From what source the Feegeean has sprung is purely a matter of
conjecture. He has no history,—not even a tradition of when his
ancestors first peopled the Archipelago in which we now find him. Of his
race we have not a much clearer knowledge. Speculation places him in the
same family as the “Papuan Negro,” and he has some points of resemblance
to this race, in the color and frizzled hair; but there is as much
difference between the wretched native of West Australia and the
finely-developed Feegeean as there is between the stunted Laplander and
the stalwart Norwegian; nor is the coarse rough skin of the true Papuan
to be recognized in the smooth, glossy epidermis of the Feegee Islander.
This, however, may be the result of better living; and certainly among
the mountain-tribes of the Feegees, who lead lives of greater privation
and hardship, the approach to the Papuan appearance is observable. It is
hardly necessary to add that the Feegeean is of a race quite distinct
from that known as the Polynesian or South-Sea Islander. This last is
different not only in form, complexion, and language, but also in many
important mental characteristics. It is to this race the Tongans belong,
and its pecularities will be sketched in treating of that people.
Were we to enter upon a minute description of the manners and customs of
the Fegees,—of their mode of house and canoe building,—of their arts and
manufactures, for they possess both,—of their implements of agriculture
and domestic use,—of their weapons of war,—their ceremonies of religion
and court etiquette,—our task would require more space than is here
allotted to us: it would in fact be as much as to describe the complete
social economy of a civilized nation; and a whole volume would scarce
suffice to contain such a description. In a sketch like the present, the
account of these people requires to be given in the most condensed and
synoptical form, and only those points can be touched upon that may
appear of the greatest interest.
It must be remembered that the civilization of the Feegees—of course, I
allude to their proficiency in the industrial arts—is entirely an
indigenous growth. They have borrowed ideas from the Tongans,—as the
Tongans have also from them,—but both are native productions of the
South Sea, and not derived from any of the so-called great _centres_ of
civilization. Such as have sprung from these sources are of modern date,
and make but a small feature in the panorama of Feegeean life. The
houses they build are substantial, and suitable to their necessities. We
cannot stay to note the architecture minutely. The private dwellings are
usually about twenty-five feet long by fifteen in breadth, the interior
forming one room, but with a sort of elevated divan at the end,
sometimes screened with beautiful “tapa” curtains, and serving as the
dormitory.
The ground-plan of the house is that of an oblong square,—or, to speak
more properly, a parallelogram. The walls are constructed of
timber,—being straight posts of cocoa-palm, tree-fern, bamboo, or
bread-fruit,—the spaces between closely warped or otherwise filled in
with reeds of cane or _calamus_. The thatch is of the leaves of the wild
or cultivated sugar-cane,—sometimes of a _pandanus_,—thickly laid on,
especially near the eaves, where it is carefully cropped, exposing an
edge of from one to two feet in thickness. The roof has four faces,—that
is, it is a “hip roof.” It is made with a very steep pitch, and comes
down low, projecting far over the heads of the upright timbers. This
gives a sort of shaded veranda all around the house, and throws the rain
quite clear of the walls. The ridge-pole is a peculiar feature; it is
fastened to the ridge of the thatch by strong twisted ropes, that give
it an ornamental appearance; and its carved ends project at both gables,
or rather, over the “hip roofs,” to the length of a foot, or more; it is
further ornamented by white shells, these of the _cyprea ovula_ being
most used for the purpose. The Feegee house presents altogether a
picturesque and not inelegant appearance. The worst feature is the low
door. There are usually two of them, neither in each house being over
three feet in height. The Feegee assigns no reason why his door is made
so low; but as he is frequently in expectation of a visitor, with a
murderous bludgeon in his grasp, it is possible this may have something
to do with his making the entrance so difficult.
The houses of the chiefs, and the great council-house, or temple,—called
the “Bure,”—are built precisely in the same style; only that both are
larger, and the doors, walls, and ridge-poles more elaborately
ornamented. The fashionable style of decoration is a plaiting of cocoa
fibre, or “sinnet,” which is worked and woven around the posts in
regular figures of “relievo.”
The house described is not universal throughout all the group. There are
many “orders” of architecture, and that prevailing in the Windward
Islands is different from the style of the Leeward, and altogether of a
better kind. Different districts have different forms. In one you may
see a village looking like an assemblage of wicker baskets, while in
another you might fancy it a collection of rustic arbors. A third seems
a collection oblong hayricks, with holes in their sides; while, in a
fourth these ricks are conical.
It will be seen that, with this variety in house-building, it would be a
tedious task to illustrate the complete architecture of Feegeeans. Even
Master Ruskin himself would surrender it up in despair.
Equally tedious would it be to describe the various implements or
utensils which a Feegee house contains. The furniture is simple enough.
There are neither chairs, tables, nor bedsteads. The bed is a beautiful
mat spread on the däis, or divan; and in the houses of the rich the
floors are covered with a similar carpet. These mats are of the finest
texture, far superior to those made elsewhere. The materials used are
the _Hibiscus tiliaceus_, _Pandanus odoratissimus_, and a species of
rush. They are in great abundance in every house,—even the poorest
person having his mat to sit or lie upon; and it is they that serve for
the broad-spreading sails of the gigantic canoes. In addition to the
mats, plenty of tapa cloth may be seen, and baskets of every shape and
size,—the wicker being obtained from the rattan (_flagellaria_), and
other sources. One piece of furniture deserves especial mention,—this is
the pillow upon which the Feegee lord lays his head when he goes to
sleep. It presents but little claim to the appellation of a _downy_
pillow; since it is a mere cylinder of hard polished wood, with short
arched pedestals to it, to keep it firmly in its place. Its object is to
keep the great frizzled mop from being tossed or disarranged, during the
hours of repose; and Feegeean vanity enables the owner of the mop to
endure this flinty bolster with the most uncomplaining equanimity. If he
were possessed of the slightest spark of conscience, even this would be
soft, compared with any pillow upon which he might rest his guilty head.
In addition to the baskets, other vessels meet the eye. These are of
pottery, as varied in shape and size as they are in kind. There are pots
and pans, bowls, dishes, cups and saucers, jars and bottles,—many of
them of rare and curious designs,—some red, some ornamented with a glaze
obtained from the gum of the _kauri_ pine,—for this tree is also an
indigenous production of the Feegee Islands. Though no potter’s wheel is
known to the Feegees, the proportions of their vessels are as just and
true, and their polish as complete, as if Stafford had produced them.
There are cooking pots to be seen of immense size. These are jars formed
with mouths wide enough to admit the largest joint. I dare not mention
the kind of joint that is frequently cooked in those great caldrons.
Ugh! the horrid pots!
Their implements are equally varied and numerous,—some for manufacturing
purposes, and others for agriculture. The latter are of the simplest
kind. The Feegee plough is merely a pointed stick inserted deeply into
the ground, and kept moving about till a lump of the soil is broken
upward. This is crushed into mould, first by a light club, and
afterwards pulverized with the fingers. The process is slow, but fast
enough for the Feegeean, whose farm is only a garden. He requires no
plough, neither bullocks nor horses. With taro-roots and sweet potatoes
that weigh ten pounds each, yams and yaqonas over one hundred, and
plantains producing bunches of a hundred and fifty fruits to the single
head, why need he trouble himself by breaking up more surface? His
single acre yields him as much vegetable wealth as fifty would to an
English farmer!
It is not to be supposed that he has it all to himself; no, nor half of
it either; nor yet the fifth part of it. At least four fifths of his
sweat has to be expended in tax or tithe; and this brings us to the form
of his government. We shall not dwell long upon this subject. Suffice it
to say that the great body of the people are in a condition of abject
serfdom,—worse than slavery itself. They own nothing that they can call
their own,—not their wives,—not their daughters,—not even their lives!
All these may be taken from them at any hour. There is no law against
despoiling them,—no check upon the will and pleasure of their chiefs or
superiors; and, as these constitute a numerous body, the poor _canaille_
have no end of ruffian despoilers. It is an every-day act for a chief to
rob, or _club to death_, one of the common people! and no unfrequent
occurrence to be himself clubbed to death by his superior, the king! Of
these _kings_ there are eight in Feegee,—not one, as the old song has
it; but the words of the ballad will apply to each of them with
sufficient appropriateness. Any one of them will answer to the character
of “Musty-fusty-shang!”