“About 5 a.m. the camp is fairly roused, and a little low chatting

becomes audible. This is a critical moment. The porters have promised

overnight to start early and make a long wholesome march. But,

‘uncertain, coy and hard to please,’ they change their minds, like

the fair sex; the cold morning makes them unlike the men of the warm

evening, and perhaps one of them has fever. Moreover, in every caravan

there is some lazy, loud-lunged, contradictory, and unmanageable

fellow, whose sole delight is to give trouble. If no march be in

prospect they sit obstinately before the fire, warming their hands and

feet, inhaling the smoke with averted heads, and casting quizzical

looks at their fuming and fidgety employer. If all be unanimous, it is

vain to tempt them, even soft sawder is but ‘throwing comfits to cows.’

We return to our tent. If, however, there be a division, a little

active stimulating will cause a march. Then a louder conversation

leads to cries of ‘Collect,’ ‘pack,’ ‘set out,’ ‘a journey, a journey

to-day,’ and some peculiarly African boasts, ‘I am an ass,’ ‘a camel,’

accompanied by a roar of bawling voices, drumming, whistling, piping,

and the braying of horns. The sons of Ramji come in a body to throw our

tents and to receive small burthens, which, if possible, they shirk;

sometimes Kidogo does me the honour to inquire the programme of the

day. The porters, however, hug the fire till driven from it, when they

unstack the loads piled before our tents, and pour out of the camp

or village. My companion and I, when well enough to ride, mount our

asses led by the gun-bearers, who carry all necessaries for offence

and defence; when unfit for exercise we are borne in hammocks slung to

long poles and carried by two men at a time. The Baloch tending their

slaves, hasten off in a straggling body, thinking only of escaping an

hour’s sun. The jemadar, however, is ordered to bring up the rear, with

Said-bin-Salim, who is cold and surly, abusive, and ready with his

rattan. Four or five packs have been left upon the ground by deserters

or shirkers who have started empty handed, consequently our Arab either

double loads more willing men or persuades the sons of Ramji to carry a

small parcel each, or that failing, he hires from some near village a

few porters by the day. This, however, is not easy; the beads have been

carried off, and the most tempting promises without prepayment have no

effect upon the African mind.

“When all is ready the guide rises and shoulders his load, which is

never one of the lightest. He deliberately raises his furled flag--a

plain blood red, the sign of a caravan from Zanzibar--much tattered

by the thorns, and is followed by a privileged Pagazi tom-toming upon

a kettle-drum much resembling a European hour-glass. This dignitary

is robed in the splendour of scarlet broadcloth, a narrow piece about

six feet long with a central aperture for the neck, and with streamers

dangling before and behind; he also wears some wonderful head-dress,

the spoils of a white and black monkey on the barred skin of a wild cat

crowning the head, bound round the throat, hanging over the shoulders,

and capped with a tall cup-shaped bunch of owl’s feathers or the

glorious plumes of the crested crane. His insignia of office are the

kipungo or fly-flapper, the tail of some beast, which he affixes to

his person as if it were a natural growth, the kome, or hooked iron

spit, decorated with a central sausage of parti-coloured beads, and a

variety of oily little gourds containing snuff, simples, and medicine

for the road, strapped round his waist. He leads the caravan, and the

better to secure the obedience of his followers he has paid them in a

sheep or a goat the value of what he will recover by fees and rations:

the head of every animal slaughtered in camp and the presents at the

end of the journey are exclusively his. A man guilty of preceding the

Pagazi is liable to fine, and an arrow is extracted from his quiver

to substantiate his identity at the end of the march. Pouring out of

the kraal in a disorderly mob, the porters stack their goods at some

tree distant but a few hundred yards, and allow the late and lazy and

the invalids to join the main body. Generally at this conjuncture the

huts are fired by neglect or mischievousness. The khambi, especially

in winter, burns like tinder, and the next caravan will find a heap

of hot ashes and a few charred sticks still standing. Yet by way of

contrast, the Pagazi will often take the trouble to denote by the usual

signposts to those following them that water is at hand; here and there

a little facetiousness appears in these directions, a mouth is cut in

the tree trunk to admit a bit of wood simulating a pipe, with other

representations still more waggish.

“After the preliminary halt, the caravan forming into the order of

march, winds like a monstrous land serpent over hill, dale, and plain.

The kirangozi is followed by an Indian file; those nearest to him are

heavily laden with ivory. When the weight of the tusk is inordinate

it is tied to a pole and is carried palanquin fashion by two men.

The ivory carriers are succeeded by the bearers of cloth and beads,

each man poising on either shoulder, and sometimes raising upon the

head for rest, packs that resemble huge bolsters, six feet long by

two in diameter, cradled in sticks which generally have a forked

projection for facility in stacking and reshouldering the load. The

sturdiest fellows are usually the lightest loaded in Eastern Africa;

as elsewhere, the weakest go to the wall. The maximum of burden may

be two farasilah, or seventy pounds avoirdupois. Behind the cloth

bearers straggles a long line of porters and slaves laden with the

lighter stuff--rhinoceros teeth, hides, salt, tobacco, brass wire, iron

hoes, boxes and bags, beds and tents, pots and water gourds, mats, and

private stores. With the Pagazi, but in separate parties, march the

armed slaves, who are never seen to quit their muskets; the women and

the little toddling children, who rarely fail to carry something, be

it only of a pound weight; and the asses neatly laden with saddle-bags

of giraffe and buffalo hide. A Mganga also universally accompanies the

caravan, not disdaining to act as a common porter. The rear is brought

up by the master, or the masters, of the caravan, who often remain far

behind for the convenience of walking and to prevent desertion.

“All the caravan is habited in its worst attire; the East African

derides those who wear upon a journey the cloth which should be

reserved for display at home. If rain fall they will doff the single

goat-skin hung round their sooty limbs and, folding it up, place it

between the shoulders and the load. When grain is served out for a long

march, each porter bears his posho or rations fastened like a large

‘bustle’ to the small of his back. Upon this again he sometimes binds,

with its legs projecting outwards, the three-legged stool, which he

deems necessary to preserve him from the danger of sitting upon the

damp ground. As may be imagined, the barbarians have more ornament than

dress. Some wear a strip of zebra’s mane bound round the head with

the bristly parti-coloured hair standing out like a saint’s gloria,

others prefer a long bit of stiffened ox-tail rising like a unicorn’s

horn at least a foot above the forehead. Other ornaments are the skins

of monkeys and ocelots, roleaus and fillets of white, blue, or scarlet

cloth, and huge bunches of ostrich, crane, and jay’s feathers crowning

the heads like the tufts of certain fowls. Their arms are decorated

with massive ivory bracelets, heavy bangles of brass and copper, and

thin circlets of the same metal, beads in strings and bands adorn their

necks, and small iron bells strapped below the knee or round the ancle

by the more aristocratic. All carry some weapon; the heaviest armed

have a bow and a bark quiver full of arrows, two or three long spears

and assegais, and a little battle-axe, borne on the shoulder.

“The normal recreations of a march are whistling, singing, shouting,

hooting, horning, drumming, imitating the cries of birds and beasts,

repeating words which are never used except on journeys. There is

gabble enough and abundant squabbling; in fact, perpetual noise, which

the ear, however, soon learns to distinguish for the hubbub of a halt.

The uproar redoubles near a village where the flag is unfurled and

where the line lags to display itself. All give vent to loud shouts:

‘Hopa, hopa! go on, go on--Mgogolo! a stoppage--food, food--don’t

be tired--the kraal is here--home is near--hasten, Kirangozi--oh!

we see our mothers--we go to eat.’ On the road it is considered

prudent, as well as pleasurable, to be as loud as possible, in order

to impress upon plunderers an exaggerated idea of the caravan’s

strength; for equally good reasons silence is recommended in the kraal.

When threatened with attack, and no ready escape suggests itself,

the porters ground their loads and prepare for action. It is only

self-interest that makes them brave. I have seen a small cow trotting

up with tail erect break a line of 150 men carrying goods not their

own. If a hapless hare or antelope cross the path, every man casts

his pack, brandishes his spear, and starts in pursuit; the animal,

never running straight, is soon killed and torn limb from limb, each

hunter devouring his morsel raw. When two parties meet, that commanded

by an Arab claims the road. If both are Wanyamwezi, violent quarrels

ensue; fatal weapons, which are too ready at hand, are turned to more

harmless purposes, the bow and spear being used as whip and cudgel.

These affrays are not rancorous till blood is shed. Few tribes are less

friendly for so trifling an affair as a broken head; even a slight

cut, or a shallow stab, is little thought of; but if returned with

interest great loss of life may arise from the slenderest cause. When

friendly caravans meet, the two Kirangozis sidle up with a stage pace,

a stride and a stand, and with sidelong looks prance till arrived

within distance, then suddenly and simultaneously ducking, like boys

‘give a back,’ they come to loggerheads and exchange a butt violently

as fighting rams. Their example is followed by all with a crush which

might be mistaken for the beginning of a faction; but it ends, if there

be no bad blood, in shouts of laughter. The weaker body, however, must

yield precedence and offer a small present as blackmail.”

After all, however, there is some reason in the African’s objection to

be hurried on a march, or to exert himself overmuch in the interests of

a traveller, whose private affairs are nothing to him and whom, when

discharged, he will in all probability never see again. He does not

particularly wish to see him, as he is perfectly comfortable at home.

According to the last quoted authority he rises with the dawn from

his couch of cow’s-hide. The hut is cool and comfortable during the

day; but the barred door, impeding ventilation at night, causes it to

be close and disagreeable. The hour before sunrise being the coldest

time, he usually kindles a fire and addresses himself to his constant

companion the pipe. When the sun becomes sufficiently powerful, he

removes the reed-screen from the entrance and issues forth to bask in

the morning beams. The villages are populous, and the houses touching

one another enable the occupants, when squatting outside and fronting

the central square, to chat and chatter without moving. About 7 a.m.,

when the dew has partially disappeared from the grass, the elder boys

drive the flocks and herds to pasture, with loud shouts and sounding

applications of the quarter staff. They return only when the sun is

sinking behind the western horizon. At 8 p.m. those who have provisions

at home enter the hut to refection with ugali or holcus-porridge, those

who have not join a friend. Pombe, when procurable, is drunk from the

earliest dawn.

After breaking his fast, the African repairs, pipe in hand, to the

Iwanza, the village public previously described. Here in the society

of his own sex he will spend the greater part of the day talking and

laughing, smoking, or torpid with sleep. Occasionally he sits down to

play. As with barbarians generally, gambling in him is a passion. The

normal game is our “heads and tails,” the implement, a flat stone, a

rough circle of tin, or the bottom of a broken pot. The more civilised

have learned the “bas” of the coast, a kind of “tables” with counters

and cups hollowed in a solid plank. Many of the Wanyamwezi have been

compelled by this indulgence to sell themselves into slavery after

playing through their property; they even stake their aged mothers

against the equivalent of an old lady in these lands,--a cow or a

pair of goats. As may be imagined, squabbles are perpetual, they

are almost always, however, settled amongst fellow-villagers with

bloodless weapons. Others, instead of gambling, seek some employment

which, working the hands and leaving the rest of the body and the

mind at ease, is ever a favourite with the Asiatic and the African;

they whittle wood, pierce and wire their pipe sticks--an art in which

all are adepts,--shave one another’s heads, pluck out their beards,

eyebrows, and eyelashes, and prepare and polish their weapons.

“At about one p.m., the African, unless otherwise employed, returns

to his hut to eat the most substantial and the last meal of the day,

which has been cooked by his women. Eminently gregarious, however, he

often prefers the Iwanza as a dining room, where his male children,

relatives, and friends meet during the most important hour of the

twenty-four. With the savage and the barbarian food is the all and

all of life, food is his thought by day, food is his dream by night.

The civilized European who never knows hunger nor thirst without the

instant means of gratifying every whim of appetite, can hardly conceive

the extent to which his wild brother’s soul is swayed by stomach; he

can scarcely comprehend the state of mental absorption in which the

ravenous human animal broods over the carcase of an old goat, the

delight which he takes in superintending every part of the cooking

process, and the jealous eye with which he regards all who live better

than himself. After eating, the East African invariably indulges in a

long fit of torpidity from which he awakes to pass the afternoon as

he did the forenoon, chatting, playing, smoking, and chewing sweet

earth. Towards sunset all issue forth to enjoy the coolness; the men

sit outside the Iwanza, whilst the women and the girls, after fetching

water for household wants from the well, collecting in a group upon

their little stools, indulge in the pleasures of gossiping and the

pipe. This hour, in the more favoured parts of the country, is replete

with enjoyment. As the hours of darkness draw nigh, the village

doors are carefully closed, and after milking his cows, each peasant

retires to his hut, or passes his time squatting round the fire with

his friends in the Iwanza. He has not yet learned the art of making

a wick, and of filling a bit of pottery with oil. When a light is

wanted he ignites a stick of the oleaginous msásá-tree--a yellow, hard,

close-grained, and elastic wood with few knots, much used in making

spears, bows, and walking staves--which burns for a quarter of an hour

with a brilliant flame. He repairs to his hard couch before midnight

and snores with a single sleep till dawn. For thorough enjoyment, night

must be spent in insensibility, as the day is in inebriety, and though

an early riser he avoids the ‘early to bed’ in order that he may be

able to slumber through half the day.

“Such is the African’s idle day, and thus every summer is spent. As

the wintry rains draw nigh, the necessity of daily bread suggests

itself. The peasants then leave their huts about six or seven a.m.,

often without provision which now becomes scarce, and labour till

noon or two p.m., when they return home, and find food prepared by

the wife or the slave girl. During the afternoon they return to work,

and sometimes, when the rains are near, they are aided by the women.

Towards sunset all wend homeward in a body, laden with their implements

of cultivation, and singing a kind of ‘dulce domum’ in a simple and

pleasing recitative.”

Let us conclude this brief sketch of the perils and inconveniences

that menace the explorer of savage shores by presenting the reader

with a picture of the approach of one of the ships bearing some of the

earliest English visitants to the cannibal shores of the Southern Seas:

“Notwithstanding,” says Mr. Ellis, “all our endeavours to induce the

natives to approach the ship, they continued for a long time at some

distance viewing us with apparent surprise and suspicion. At length

one of the canoes, containing two men and a boy, ventured alongside.

Perceiving a lobster lying among a number of spears at the bottom of

the canoe, I intimated by signs my wish to have it, and the chief

readily handed it up. I gave him in return two or three middle-size

fish-hooks, which, after examining rather curiously, he gave to the

boy, who having no pocket to put them in, or any article of dress to

which they might be attached, instantly deposited them in his mouth,

and continued to hold with both hands the rope hanging from the ship.

“The principal person in the canoe appeared willing to come on board.

I pointed to the rope he was grasping and put out my hand to assist

him up the ship’s side. He involuntarily laid hold of it, but could

scarcely have felt my grasp when he instantly drew back his hand and

raising it to his nostrils smelt at it most significantly as if to

ascertain with what kind of being he had come in contact. After a few

moments’ pause he climbed over the ship’s side, and as soon as he had

reached the deck our captain led him to a chair on the quarter-deck,

and pointing to the seat signified his wish that he should be seated.

The chief, however, having viewed it for some time, pushed it aside

and sat down on the deck. Our captain had been desirous to have the

chief aboard that he might ascertain from him whether the island

produced sandal-wood, as he was bound to the Marquesas in search of

that article. A piece was therefore procured and shown him, with the

qualities of which he appeared familiar, for after smelling it and

calling it by some name he pointed to the shore.

“While we had been thus engaged, many of the canoes had approached the

ship, and when we turned round a number of the natives appeared on

deck, and others were climbing over the bulwarks. They were certainly

the most savage-looking natives I had ever seen; and these barbarians

were as unceremonious as their appearance was uninviting. A gigantic,

fierce-looking fellow seized a youth as he was standing by the gangway

and endeavoured to lift him over the deck, but the lad struggling

escaped from his grasp. He then seized our cabin-boy, but the sailors

coming to his assistance and the native finding that he could not

disengage him from their hold, pulled his woollen shirt over his head

and was about to leap into the sea when he was arrested by the sailors.

We had a large ship-dog chained to his kennel on the deck, and although

this animal was not only fearless but savage, yet the appearance of the

natives seemed to terrify him. One of them caught the dog in his arms

and was proceeding over the ship’s side with him, but perceiving him

fastened to his kennel by the chain he was obliged to relinquish his

prize, evidently much disappointed. He then seized the kennel with the

dog in it, when, finding it nailed to the deck, he ceased his attempts

to remove it and gazed round the ship in search of some object which

he could secure. We had brought from Port Jackson two young kittens;

one of these now came up from the cabin, but she no sooner made her

appearance on the deck, than a native, springing like a tiger on its

prey, caught up the unconscious animal and instantly leaped over the

ship’s side into the sea. Hastening to the side of the deck I looked

over the bulwarks and beheld him swimming rapidly towards a canoe

which lay about fifty yards from the ship. As soon as he had reached

this canoe, holding the cat with both hands, he exhibited it to his

companions with evident exultation.

“Orders were given to clear the ship. A general scuffle ensued between

the islanders and the seamen, in which many of the former were driven

headlong into the sea, where they seemed as much at home as on solid

ground; while others clambered over the vessel’s sides into their

canoes. In the midst of the confusion and the retreating of the natives

the dog, which had hitherto slunk into his kennel, recovered his usual

boldness and not only increased the consternation by his barking,

but severely tore the leg of one of the fugitives who was hastening

out of the ship near the spot where he was chained. The decks were

now cleared; but as many of the people still hung about the shrouds

and chains the sailors drew the long knives with which, when among

the islands, they were furnished, and by menacing gestures, without

wounding any, succeeded in detaching them altogether from the ship.

Some of them seemed quite unconscious of the keenness of the knife, and

I believe had their hands deeply cut by snatching at the blades.”

[Illustration: Boatmen of Rockingham Bay.]

[Illustration: The True Word expounded to a Potentate of Western

Africa.]

PART XI.

RELIGIOUS RITES AND SUPERSTITIONS.

CHAPTER XXVI.

The mysterious “still small voice”--Samoan mythology--The

man who pushed the Heavens up--The child of the Sun--A

Figian version of the “Flood”--The Paradise of the

Figian--Lying Ghosts--Singular case of abduction--The

disobedient Naiogabui--All fair in love and war--The fate

of poor Rokoua--The Samoan hades--Miscellaneous gods of the

Samoans--A god for every village--The cup of truth--Mourning

the destruction of a god’s image--The most fashionable god

in Polynesia--Families marked for human sacrifice--“Tapu”

or “tabu”--Its antiquity and wide-spread influence--Muzzled

pigs and blindfolded chickens--Ceremony of releasing the

porkers--Tremendous feast of baked pig--The tapu in New

Zealand--A terrible tinder box--The sacred pole and the

missionaries--The chief’s backbone--The Pakeka and the iron

pot--One of the best uses of tapu--Its general advantages

and disadvantages--Tapu among the Samoans--Witchcraft in New

Zealand--Visit of a European to a “retired” witch--The religion

of the Dayak--“Tapa,” “Tenahi,” “Iang,” and “Jirong”--Warriors’

ghosts--Religious rites and superstitions of the Sea Dayaks--The

great god Singallong Burong--Belief in dreams among the Sea

Dayaks--Story of the stone bull--Of the painted dog.

Religion, as signifying reverence of God and a belief in future rewards

and punishments, may be said to have no existence among people who

are absolutely savage. Belief in life hereafter is incompatible with

non-belief in the existence of the soul, and difficult indeed would it

be to show a thorough barbarian who did not repudiate that grand and

awful trust. He is too much afraid of the mysterious thing to confess

to being its custodian. Undoubtedly he is quite conscious of a power

within him immensely superior to that which gives motion to his arms

and legs, and invites him to eat when he is hungry. He “has ears and

hears,” and “the still small voice” that speaks all languages and fits

its admonitions to the meanest understanding bears the savage no less

than the citizen company all the day long, noting all his acts and

whispering its approvals and its censures of them; and when the savage

reclines at night on his mat of rushes, the still small voice is still

vigilant, and reveals for his secret contemplation such vivid pictures

of the day’s misdoing, that his hands ache with so fervently clasping

his wooden greegree, and he is rocked to sleep and horrid dreams with

trembling and quaking fear.

But the savage, while he acknowledges the mysterious influence,

has not the least notion as to its origin. To his hazy mind the

word “incomprehensible” is synonymous with “evil,” and the most

incomprehensible thing to him, and consequently the most evil, is

death. With us it is anxiety as to hereafter that makes death terrible;

with the savage death is detestable only as a gravedigger, a malicious

spirit who snatches him away from the world--where his children and

his wives are, and where tobacco grows, and palm-trees yield good

wine,--who snatches him away from all these good things and every

other, and shuts him in the dark damp earth to decay like a rotten

branch.

Death therefore is, in his eyes, the king of evil, and all minor

evils agents of the king, and working with but one aim though with

seeming indirectness. This it is that makes the savage a miserable

wretch--despite nature’s great bounty in supplying him with food

without reaping or sowing, and so “tempering the wind” that the shelter

of the boughs makes him a house that is warm enough, and the leaves of

the trees such raiment as he requires. Through his constant suspicion

he is like a man with a hundred jars of honey, of the same pattern and

filled the same, but one--he knows not which--is poisoned. Taste he

must or perish of hunger, but taste he may and perish of poison; and

so, quaking all the time, he picks a little and a little, suspecting

this jar because it is so very sweet, and that because it has a

twang of acid, and so goes on diminishing his ninety-nine chances of

appeasing his hunger and living, to level odds, that he will escape

both hunger and poison and die of fright. Death is the savage’s

poisoned honey-pot. He may meet it in the wind, in the rain; it may

even (why not? he has known such cases) come to him in a sunray. It

may meet him in the forest where he hunts for his daily bread! That

bird that just now flitted by so suddenly and with such a curious cry

may be an emissary of the king of evil, and now hastening to tell the

king that there is he--the victim--all alone and unprotected in the

forest, easy prey for the king if he comes at once! No more hunting for

that day though half-a-dozen empty bellies be the consequence; away

with spear and blow-gun, and welcome charms and fetiches to be counted

and kissed and caressed all the way home--aye, and for a long time

afterwards, for that very bird may still be perched a-top of the hut,

peeping in at a chink, and only waiting for the victim to close his

eyes to summon the grim king once more. In his tribulation he confides

the secret of his uneasiness to his wife, who with affectionate zeal

runs for the gree-gree-man, who, on hearing the case, shakes his head

so ominously, that though even the very leopard-skin that hangs before

the doorway be the price demanded for it, the most powerful charm the

gree-gree-man has to dispose of must be obtained.

It is only, however, to the perfect savage--the Fan and Ougbi of

Central Africa, the Andamaner of Polynesia, and some others--that the

above remarks apply. If we take belief in the soul and its immortality

as the test, we shall find the number of absolute barbarians somewhat

less than at first sight appears; indeed, the mythological traditions

of many savage people, wrapped as they invariably are in absurdity,

will frequently exhibit in the main such close resemblance to certain

portions of our Scripture history as to fill us with surprise and

wonder. Take, for instance, the following examples occurring in Samoa,

furnished by the Rev. George Turner:

“The earliest traditions of the Samoans describe a time when the

heavens alone were inhabited and the earth covered over with water.

Tangaloa, the great Polynesian Jupiter, then sent down his daughter

in the form of a bird called the Turi (a snipe), to search for a

resting-place. After flying about for a long time she found a rock

partially above the surface of the water. (This looks like the Mosaic

account of the deluge; but the story goes on the origin of the human

race.) Turi went up and told her father that she had found but one spot

on which she could rest. Tangaloa sent her down again to visit the

place. She went to and fro repeatedly, and, every time she went up,

reported that the dry surface was extending on all sides. He then sent

her down with some earth, and a creeping plant, as all was barren rock.

She continued to visit the earth and return to the skies. Next visit,

the plant was spreading. Next time it was withered and decomposing.

Next visit it swarmed with worms. And the next time had become men

and women! A strange account of man’s origin. But how affectingly it

reminds one of his end: ‘They shall lie down alike in the dust, and the

worms shall cover them.’

“They have no consecutive tales of these early times; but we give the

disjointed fragments as we find them. They say that of old the heavens

fell down, and that people had to crawl about like the lower animals.

After a time, the arrow-root and another similar plant pushed up the

heavens. The place where these plants grew is still pointed out, and

called the Te’engga-langi, or heaven-pushing place. But the heads

of the people continued to knock on the skies. One day, a woman was

passing along who had been drawing water. A man came up to her and

said that he would push up the heavens, if she would give him some

water to drink. ‘Push them up first,’ she replied. He pushed them

up. ‘Will that do?’ said he. ‘No, a little further.’ He sent them up

higher still, and then she handed him her cocoa-nut-shell water bottle.

Another account says, that a person named Tütü pushed up the heavens;

and the hollow places in a rock, nearly six feet long, are pointed out

as his footprints. They tell about a man called Losi, who went up on a

visit to the heavens. He found land and sea there, people, houses, and

plantations. The people were kind to him and supplied him with plenty

of food. This was the first time he had seen or tasted taro. He sought

for some in the plantations and brought it down to the earth; and hence

they say the origin of taro. They do not say how he got up and down.

When the taro tree fell, they say its trunk and branches extended a

distance of nearly sixty miles. In this and the following tale we are

reminded of Jacob’s ladder.

“Two young men, named Punifanga and Tafalin, determined one afternoon

to pay a visit to the moon. Punifanga said he knew a tree by which they

could go up. Tafalin was afraid it might not reach high enough, and

said he would try another plan. Punifanga went to his tree, but Tafalin

kindled a fire, and heaped on cocoa-nut shells and other fuel so as to

raise a great smoke. The smoke rose in a dense straight column, like a

cocoa-nut tree towering away into the heavens. Tafalin then jumped on

to the column of smoke, and went up and reached the moon long before

Punifanga. One wishes to know what they did next, but here the tale

abruptly ends, with the chagrin of Punifanga when he got up and saw

Tafalin there before him, sitting laughing at him for having been so

long on the way.

“In another story we are told, that the man came down one evening and

picked up a woman, called Sina, and her child. It was during a time

of famine. She was working in the evening twilight, beating out some

bark with which to make native cloth. The moon was just rising, and

it reminded her of great bread-fruit. Looking up to it she said, ‘Why

cannot you come down and let my child have a bit of you?’ The moon was

indignant at the idea of being eaten, came forthwith, and took up her

child, board, mallet, and all. The popular superstition of ‘the man in

the moon, who gathered sticks on the Sabbath-day,’ is not yet forgotten

in England, and in Samoa, of the woman in the moon. ‘Yonder is Sina,’

they say, ‘and her child, and mallet and board.’

“We have a fragment or two, also, about the sun. A woman called

Manquamanqui became pregnant by looking at the rising sun. Her son

grew, and was named ‘Child of the Sun.’ At his marriage he asked his

mother for a dowry. She sent him to his father the Sun, to beg from

him, and told him how to go. Following her directions, he went one

morning, with a long vine from the bush, which is the convenient

substitute for a rope, climbed a tree, threw his rope, with a noose

at the end of it, and caught the Sun. He made his message known and

(Pandora like) got a present for his bride. The Sun first asked him

what was his choice, blessings or calamities? He chose, of course,

the former, and came down with his store of blessings done up in a

basket. There is another tale about this Samoan Phaeton, similar to

what is related of the Hawaiian Mani. They say that he and his mother

were annoyed at the rapidity of the sun’s course in those days--that

it rose, reached the meridian, and set ‘before they could get their

mats dried.’ He determined to make it go slower. He climbed a tree

one morning early, and with a rope and noose all ready, watched for

the appearance of the sun. Just as it emerged from the horizon, he

threw, and caught it; the sun struggled to get clear, but in vain. Then

fearing lest it should be strangled, it called out in distress, ‘Oh!

have mercy on me, and spare my life. What do you want?’ ‘We wish you

to go slower, we can get no work done.’ ‘Very well,’ replied the Sun;

‘let me go, and for the future I will walk slowly, and never go quick

again.’ He let go the rope, and ever since the sun has gone slowly,

and given us longer days. Ludicrous and puerile as this is, one cannot

help seeing in it the wreck of that sublime description in the book of

Joshua, of the day when that man of God stood in the sight of Israel,

and said: ‘Sun, stand thou still upon Gibeon; and thou, Moon, in the

valley of Ajalon. And the Sun stood still, and the Moon stayed until

the people had avenged themselves upon their enemies.’

“There are but few tales in Samoa in which we can trace the deluge;

nor are these circumstantial as those which obtain in some other parts

of the Pacific. It is the universal belief, however, ‘that of old, the

fish swam where the land now is;’ and tradition now adds, when the

waters abated, many of the fish of the sea were left on the land, and

afterwards were changed into stones. Hence, they say, there are stones

in abundance in the bush and among the mountains which were once sharks

and other inhabitants of the deep.”

The Figians, islanders of the same group, have an advantage over the

Samoans in this last mythological matter of the deluge. They have

at least half-a-dozen versions of the great flood, of which the two

following, furnished by Ellis and Williams, will serve:

“They speak of a deluge which, according to some of their accounts, was

partial, but in others is stated to have been universal. The cause of

the great flood was the killing of Turukana--a favourite bird belonging

to Udengei--by two mischievous lads, the grandsons of the god. These,

instead of apologizing for their offence, added insolent language to

the outrage, and fortifying, with the assistance of their friends, the

town in which they lived, defied Udengei to do his worst. It is said,

that although it took the angry god three months to collect his forces,

he was unable to subdue the rebels, and, disbanding his army, resolved

on more efficient revenge. At his command the dark clouds gathered

and burst, pouring streams on the devoted earth. Towns, hills, and

mountains were successively submerged; but the rebels, secure in the

superior height of their own dwelling-place, looked on without concern.

But when at last the terrible surges invaded their fortress, they

cried for direction to a god, who, according to various accounts, sent

them a shaddock punt, or two canoes, or taught them to build a canoe

themselves. However, all agree the remnant of the human race was saved:

the number was eighty.”

So says Mr. Williams. Now for a literal translation, furnished by Mr.

Osmond to Mr. Ellis:

“Destroyed was Otaheite by the sea; no man, nor dog, nor fowl remained.

The groves of trees and the stones were carried away by the wind.

They were destroyed, and the deep was over the land. But these two

persons, the husband and the wife (when it came in), he took up his

young pig, she took up her young chickens; he took up the young dog,

and she the young kitten. They were going forth, and looking at Orofena

(the highest hill in the island), the husband said, ‘Up both of us to

yonder mountain high.’ The wife replied, ‘No, let us not go thither.’

The husband said, ‘It is a high rock and will not be reached by the

sea;’ but the wife replied, ‘Reached it will be by the sea yonder:

let us ascend Opitohito, round as a breast; it will not be reached

by the sea.’ They two arrived there. Orofena was overwhelmed by the

waves: Opitohito alone remained and was their abode. There they

watched ten nights; the sea ebbed, and they saw the two little heads

of the mountains in their elevation. When the waters retired, the land

remained without produce, without man, and the fish were putrid in the

holes of the rocks. The earth remained, but the shrubs were destroyed.

They descended and gazed with astonishment: there were no houses,

nor cocoa-nuts, nor palm-trees, nor bread-fruit, nor grass; all was

destroyed by the sea. They two dwelt together; and the woman brought

forth two children, a son and a daughter. In those days covered was the

land with food; and from two persons the earth was repeopled.”

The Figian believes in a future state of perpetual bliss, but not that

the soul, as soon as it leaves the body, is absolved of all care.

Indeed, according to popular belief, the journey of the soul from earth

to heaven is a very formidable business.

“On the road to Nai Thombothombo, and about five miles from it, is a

solitary hill of hard reddish clay spotted with black boulders, having

on its right a pretty grove, and on the left cheerless hills. Its name

is Takiveleyaiva. When near this spot the disembodied spirit throws the

whale’s tooth, which is placed in the hand of the corpse at burial,

at a spiritual pandanus; having succeeded in hitting this, he ascends

the hill and there waits until joined by the spirits of his strangled

wife or wives. Should he miss the mark he is still supposed to remain

in this solitary resting-place, bemoaning the want of affection on the

part of his wife and friends, who are depriving him of his expected

companions. And this is the lone spirit’s lament: ‘How is this? For a

long time I planted food for my wife, and was also of great use to her

friends. Why, then, is she not allowed to follow me? Do my friends

love me no better than this after so many years of toil? Will no one in

love to me strangle my wife?’

“Blessed at last with the company of his wife or wives, who bear his

train, or sad because of their absence, the husband advances towards

Nai Thombothombo, and, club in hand, boards the canoe which carries

spirits to meet their examiner. Notice of his approach is given by a

paroquet which cries once, twice, and so on, according to the number

of spirits in the canoe, announcing a great number by chattering. The

highway to Mbulu lies through Nambanggatai, which, it seems, is at once

a real and unreal town, the visible part being occupied by ordinary

mortals, while in the unseen portion dwells the family who hold inquest

on departed spirits. Thus the cry of the bird answers a twofold

purpose, warning the people to set open the doors that the spirit may

have a free course, and preventing the ghostly inquisitors from being

taken by surprise. The houses in the town are built with reference to

a peculiarity in the locomotion of spirits, who are supposed at this

stage to pass straight forward: hence all the doorways are opposite to

each other, so that the shade may pass through without interruption.

The inhabitants speak in low tones, and if separated by a little

distance communicate their thoughts by signs.

“Bygone generations had to meet Samu or Ravuyalo; but as he died in

1847 by a curious misfortune, his duties now devolve upon his sons,

who, having been long in partnership with their illustrious father,

are quite competent to carry on his office. As it is probable that the

elder son will shortly receive the paternal title, or an equivalent,

we will speak of him as Samuyalo the Killer of Souls. On hearing the

paroquet, Samu and his brothers hide themselves in some spiritual

mangrove bushes just beyond the town and alongside of the path in which

they stick a reed as a prohibition to the spirit to pass that way.

Should the comer be courageous, he raises his club in defiance of the

_tabu_ and those who place it there, whereupon Samu appears to

give him battle, first asking, ‘Who are you, and whence do you come?’

As many carry their inveterate habit of lying into another world,

they make themselves out to be of vast importance, and to such Samu

gives the lie and fells them to the ground. Should the ghost conquer

in the combat, he passes on to the judgment seat of Ndengei; he is

disqualified for appearing there and is doomed to wander among the

mountains. If he be killed in the encounter, he is cooked and eaten by

Samu and his brethren.

“Some traditions put the examination questions into the mouth of Samu,

and judge the spirit at this stage; but the greater number refer the

inquisition to Ndengei.

“Those who escape the club of the soul-destroyer walk on to

Naindelinde, one of the highest peaks of the Kauvandra mountains.

Here the path of the Mbulu ends abruptly at the brink of a precipice,

the base of which is said to be washed by a deep lake. Beyond this

precipice projects a large steer-oar, which one tradition puts in the

charge of Ndengei himself, but another more consistently in the keeping

of an old man and his son, who act under the direction of the god.

These accost the coming spirit thus: ‘Under what circumstances do you

come to us? How did you conduct yourself in the other world?’ If the

ghost should be one of rank, he answers: ‘I am a great chief; I lived

as a chief, and my conduct was that of a chief. I had great wealth,

many wives, and ruled over a powerful people. I have destroyed many

towns, and slain many in war.’ To this the reply is, ‘Good, good. Take

a seat on the broad part of this oar, and refresh yourself in the cool

breeze.’ No sooner is he seated than they lift the handle of the oar,

which lies inland, and he is thus thrown down headlong into the deep

waters below, through which he passes to Murimuria. Such as have gained

the special favour of Ndengei are warned not to go out on the oar, but

to sit near those who hold it, and after a short repose are sent back

to the place whence they came to be deified.”

The gods of the Figians would, however, seem to cling with considerable

tenacity to the weaknesses that distinguish the most ordinary mortals.

They quarrel, they fight, and worse still, descend to act the part

of lady-stealers, and this even when the booty is the daughter of

a neighbouring god. The last “pretty scandal” of this character is

related by Mr. Seeman in his recently published work on Figi:

“Once upon a time there dwelt at Rewa a powerful god, whose name was

Ravovonicakaugawa, and along with him his friend the god of the winds,

from Wairna. Ravovonicakaugawa was leading a solitary life, and had

long been thinking of taking a wife to himself. At last his mind seemed

to be made up. ‘Put mast and sail into the canoe,’ he said, ‘and let

us take some women from Rokoua, the god of Naicobocobo.’ ‘When do

you think of starting?’ inquired his friends. ‘I shall go in broad

daylight,’ was the reply; ‘or do you think I am a coward to choose

the night for my work?’ All things being ready, the two friends set

sail and anchored towards sunset off Naicobocobo. There they waited,

contrary to Figian customs, one, two, three days without any friendly

communication from the shore reaching them, for Rokoua, probably

guessing their intention, had strictly forbidden his people to take

any food to the canoe. Rokoua’s repugnance, however, was not shared

by his household. His daughter, the lovely Naiogabui, who diffused so

sweet and powerful a perfume, that if the wind blew from the east the

perfume could be perceived in the west, and if it blew from the west it

could be perceived in the east, in consequence of which, and on account

of her great personal beauty, all the young men fell in love with

her--Naiogabui ordered one of her female slaves to cook a yam and take

it to the foreign canoe, and at the same time inform its owner that she

would be with him at the first opportunity. To give a further proof of

her affection she ordered all the women in Naicobocobo to have a day’s

fishing. This order having been promptly executed, and the fish cooked,

Naiogabui herself swam off with it during the night and presented it to

the Rewa god.

“Ravovonicakaugawa was charmed with the princess and ready to start

with her at once. She, however, begged him to wait another night to

enable Naimilamila, one of Rokoua’s young wives, to accompany them.

Naimilamila was a native of Naicobocobo, and, against her will,

united to Rokoua, who had no affection whatever for her, and kept her

exclusively to scratch his head or play with his locks--hence her name.

Dissatisfied with her sad lot, she had concocted with her stepdaughter

a plan for escape, and was making active preparations to carry it

into execution. On the night agreed upon, Naimilamila was true to her

engagement. ‘Who are you?’ asked the god as she stepped on the deck.

‘I am Rokoua’s wife,’ she rejoined. ‘Get your canoe under weigh; my

lord may follow closely on my heels; and Naiogabui will be with us

immediately.’ Almost directly afterwards a splash in the water was

heard. ‘There she comes,’ cried Naimilamila, ‘make sail;’ and instantly

the canoe, with Ravovonicakaugawa, his friend, and the two women,

departed for Rewa.

“Next morning, when Rokoua discovered the elopement, he determined

to pursue the fugitives, and for that purpose embarked in the

‘Vatateilali,’ a canoe deriving its name from his large drum, the sound

of which was so powerful that it could he heard all over Figi. His

club and spear were put on board, both of which were of such gigantic

dimensions and weight that it took ten men to lift either of them.

Rokoua soon reached Nukuilailai, where he took the spear out, and

making a kind of bridge of it walked over it on shore. Taking spear and

club in his hand, he musingly walked along. ‘It will never do to be at

once discovered,’ he said to himself. ‘I must disguise myself. But what

shape shall I assume? that of a hog or a dog? As a hog I should not be

allowed to come near the door; and as a dog I should have to pick the

bones thrown outside. Neither will answer my purpose; I shall therefore

assume the shape of a woman.’ Continuing his walk along the beach he

met an old woman carrying a basket of taro and puddings ready cooked,

and without letting her be at all aware of it, he exchanged figures

with her. He then enquired whither she was going, and being informed

to the house of the god of Rewa, he took the basket from her, and

leaving club and spear on the beach, proceeded to his destination. His

disguise was so complete that even his own daughter did not recognize

him. ‘Who is that?’ she asked as he was about to enter. ‘It is I,’

replied Rokoua in a feigned voice; ‘I have come from Monisa with food.’

‘Come in, old lady,’ said Naiogabui, ‘and sit down.’ Rokoua accordingly

entered and took care to sit like a Figian woman would do, so that his

disguise might not be discovered. ‘Are you going back to-night?’ he

was asked. ‘No,’ the disguised god replied, ‘there is no occasion for

that.’ Finding it very close in the house, Rokoua proposed a walk and

a bath, to which both Naiogabui and Naimilamila agreed. When getting

the women to that spot of the beach where club and spear had been

left, he threw off his disguise and exclaimed, ‘You little knew who I

was; I am Rokoua, your lord and master;’ and at the same time taking

hold of their hands, he dragged the runaways to the canoe and departed

homewards.

“When the Rewa god found his women gone he again started for

Naicobocobo, where, as he wore no disguise, he was instantly

recognised, his canoe taken and dragged on shore by Rokoua’s men,

while he himself and his faithful friend, who again accompanied him,

were seized and made pig drivers. They were kept in this degrading

position a long time until a great festival took place in Vanua Levu

which Rokoua and his party attended. Arrived at the destination

the Rewa god and his friends were left in charge of the two canoes

that had carried the party thither, whilst all the others went on

shore to enjoy themselves; but as both friends were liked by all the

women they were kept amply supplied with food and other good things

during the festival. Nevertheless Ravovonicakaugawa was very much

cast down, and taking a kava root he offered it as a sacrifice, and

despairingly exclaimed, ‘Have none of the mighty gods of Rewa pity on

my misfortune?’ His friend’s body became instantly possessed by a

god, and began to tremble violently. ‘What do you want?’ asked the god

within. ‘A gale to frighten my oppressors out of their wits.’ ‘It shall

be granted,’ replied the god, and departed.

“The festival being over, Rokoua’s party embarked for Naicobocobo;

but it had hardly set sail when a strong northerly gale sprung up,

which nearly destroyed the canoes and terribly frightened those on

board. Still they reached Naicobocobo, where the Rewa god prayed for

an easterly wind to carry him home. All Rokoua’s men having landed and

left the women behind to carry the goods and luggage on shore, the

desired wind sprang up, and the two canoes, with sails set, started

for Rewa, where they safely arrived, and the goats and other property

were landed and distributed as presents among the people. But Rokoua

was not to be beaten thus. Although his two canoes had been taken there

was still the one taken from Ravovonicakaugawa on his second visit to

Naicobocobo: that was launched without delay and the fugitives pursued.

Arriving at Nukuilailai, Rokoua laid his spear on the deck of the canoe

and walked on shore, as he had done on a previous occasion. Landed, he

dropped his heavy club, thereby causing so loud a noise that it woke

all the people in Viti Levu. This noise did not escape the quick ear

of Naimilamila. ‘Be on your guard,’ she said to her new lord; ‘Rokoua

is coming; I heard his club fall; he can assume any shape he pleases,

be a dog, or a pig, or a woman; he can command even solid rocks to

split open and admit him; so be on your guard.’ Rokoua, meanwhile, met

a young girl from Nadoo on the road, carrying shrimps, landcrabs, and

taro to the house of the god of Rewa, and without hesitation he assumed

her shape, and she took his without being herself aware of it. Arriving

with his basket at his destination, Naiogabui asked, ‘Who is there?’

To which Rokoua replied, ‘It is me; I am from Nadoo, bringing food for

your husband.’ The supposed messenger was asked into the house, and

sitting down he imprudently assumed a position not proper to Figian

women; this and the shape of his limbs was noticed by Naiogabui, who

whispered the discovery made into her husband’s ear. Ravovonicakaugawa

stole out of the house, assembled his people, recalled to their minds

the indignities heaped upon him by Rokoua, and having worked them up

to a high pitch of excitement, he informed them that the offender

was now in their power. All rushed to arms, and entering the house

they demanded the young girl from Nadoo. ‘There she sits,’ replied

Naiogabui, pointing to her father; and no sooner had the words been

spoken than a heavy blow with a club felled Rokoua to the ground. A

general onset followed in which the head of the victim was beaten to

atoms. This was the end of Rokoua.”

According to the evidence of Turner and other reliable Polynesian

travellers, the entrance to the Hades of the Samoans was supposed to be

a circular basin among the rocks at the west end of Savaii. Savaii is

the most westerly island of the group. When a person was near death,

it was thought that the house was surrounded by a host of spirits, all

waiting to take the soul away to their subterranean home at the place

referred to; if at night the people of the family were afraid to go out

of doors, lest they should be snatched away by some of these invisible

powers. As soon as the spirit left the body, it was supposed to go in

company with this band of spirits direct to the west end of Savaii. If

it was a person residing on one of the more easterly islands of the

group--on Upolu, for example--they travelled on by land to the west

end of the island, not to a Charon, but to a great stone called “the

stone to leap from.” It was thought that the spirits here leaped into

the sea, swam to the island of Monono, crossed the land to the west

point of that island, again leaped from another stone there, swam to

Savaii, crossed fifty miles of country there again, and, at length,

reached the Hafa, or entrance to their imaginary world of spirits.

There was a cocoa-nut tree near this spot, and it was supposed that if

the spirit happened to come in contact with the tree it returned, and

the person who seemed to be dead revived and recovered. If, however,

the spirit did not strike against the tree, it went down the Hafa at

once. At this place, on Savaii, there are two circular basins, not many

feet deep, still pointed out as the place where the spirits went down.

One, which is the larger of the two, was supposed to be for chiefs,

the other for common people. These lower regions were reported to have

a heaven, an earth, and a sea, and people with real bodies, planting,

fishing, cooking, and otherwise employed, just as in the present life.

At night their bodies were supposed to change their form, and become

like a confused collection of sparks of fire. In this state, and during

the hours of darkness, they were said to ascend and revisit their

former places of abode, retiring at early dawn, either to the bush or

back to the lower regions. It was supposed these spirits had power to

return and cause disease and death in other members of the family.

Hence all were anxious as a person drew near the close of life to part

on good terms with him, feeling assured that, if he died with angry

feelings towards any one, he would certainly return and bring some

calamity upon that very person, or some one closely allied to him.

This was considered a frequent source of disease and death, viz., the

spirit of a departed member of the family returning, and taking up his

abode in the head, or chest, or stomach of the party, and so causing

sickness and death. The spirits of the departed were also supposed

to come and talk through a certain member of the family, prophesying

various events, or giving directions as to certain family affairs. If

a man died suddenly, it was thought that he was eaten by the spirits

that took him. His soul was said to go to the common residence of the

departed; only it was thought that such persons had not the power of

speech, and could only, in reply to a question, beat their breasts.

The chiefs were supposed to have a separate place allotted them, and

to have plenty of the best food and other indulgences. Saveasuileo was

the great king, or Pluto, of these subterranean regions, and to him

all yielded the profoundest homage. He was supposed to have the head

of a man, and the upper part of his body reclining in a great house

in company with the spirits of departed chiefs. The extremity of his

body was said to stretch away into the sea, in the shape of an eel or

serpent. He ruled the destinies of war, and other affairs. His great

house or temple was supported, not by pillars of wood or stone, but by

columns of living men.

[Illustration: Samoan Idol Worship.]

At his birth every Samoan was supposed to be taken under the care of

some tutelary or protecting god, or aitu, as it was called. The help

of perhaps half a dozen different gods was invoked in succession on

the occasion; but the one who happened to be addressed just as the

child was born, was marked, and declared to be the child’s god for

life. The gods were supposed to appear in some visible incarnation, and

the particular thing in which his god was in the habit of appearing

was to the Samoan an object of veneration. It was in fact his idol,

and he was careful never to injure it or treat it with contempt. One,

for instance, saw his god in the eel, another in the shark, another

in the turtle, another in the dog, another in the owl, another in the

lizard, and so on throughout all the fish of the sea, and birds, and

four-footed beasts, and creeping things. In some of the shell fish

even gods were supposed to be present. A man would eat freely of what

was regarded as the incarnation of the god of another man, but the

incarnation of his own particular god he would consider it death to

injure or to eat. The god was supposed to avenge the insult by taking

up his abode in that person’s body, and causing to generate there the

very thing which he had eaten, until it produced death. This class of

genii, or tutelary deities, they call aitu-fule, or god of the house.

The father of the family was the high priest, and usually offered a

short prayer at the evening meal, that they might all be kept from

sickness, war, and death. Occasionally, too, he would direct that they

have a family feast in honour of their household gods; and on these

occasions a cup of their intoxicating ava-draught was poured out as a

drink-offering. They did this in their family house, where they all

assembled, supposing that their gods had a spiritual presence there, as

well as in the material objects to which we have referred. Often it was

supposed that the god came among them, and spoke through the father or

some other member of the family, telling them what to do in order to

remove a present evil, or avert a threatened one. Sometimes it would be

that the family should get a canoe built, and keep it sacred to the

god. They might travel in it and use it themselves, but it was death

to sell or part with a canoe which had been built specially for the

god. Another class of Samoan deities may be called gods of the town or

village. Every village had its god, and every one born in that village

was regarded as the property of that god. “I have got a child for so

and so,” a woman would say on the birth of her child, and name the

village god. There was a small house or temple also consecrated to the

deity of the place. Where there was no formal temple, the great house

of the village where the chiefs were in the habit of assembling was the

temple for the time being, as occasion required.

In their temples they had generally something for the eye to rest upon

with superstitious veneration. In one might be seen a conch shell

suspended from the roof in a basket made of sinnet network, and this

the god was supposed to blow when he wished the people to rise to war.

In another, two stones were kept. In another, something resembling

the head of a man, with white streamers flying, was raised on a pole

at the door of the temple, on the usual day of worship. In another, a

cocoa-nut shell drinking cup was suspended from the roof, and before it

prayers were addressed and offerings presented. This cup was also used

in oaths. If they wished to find out a thief, the suspected parties

were assembled before the chiefs, the cup sent for, and each would

approach, lay his hand on it and say, “With my hand on this cup, may

the god look upon me and send swift destruction if I took the thing

which has been stolen.” They firmly believed that it would be death to

touch the cup and tell a lie. The priests in some cases were the chiefs

of the place; but in general some one in a particular family claimed

the privilege, and professed to declare the will of the god. His office

was hereditary. He fixed the days for the annual feasts in honour of

the deity, received the offerings, and thanked the people for them. He

decided also whether or not the people might go to war. The offerings

were principally cooked food. The first cup was in honour of the god.

It was either poured out on the ground or waved towards the heavens.

The chiefs all drank a portion out of the same cup, according to rank;

and after that, the food brought as an offering was divided and eaten,

“there before the Lord.” This feast was annual, and frequently about

the month of May. In some places it passed off quietly, in others it

was associated with games, sham fights, night dances, etc., and lasted

for days. In time of war special feasts were ordered by the priests. Of

the offerings on war occasions, women and children were forbidden to

partake, as it was not their province to go to battle. They supposed it

would bring sickness and death on the party eating who did not go to

the war, and hence were careful to bury or throw into the sea whatever

food was over after the festival. In some places the feasts, in honour

of the god, were regulated by the appearance in the settlement of the

bird which was thought to be the incarnation of the god. Whenever the

bird was seen, the priest would say that the god had come, and fixed

upon a day for this entertainment. The village gods, like those of the

household, had all some particular incarnation; one was supposed to

appear as a bat, another as a heron, another as an owl. If a man found

a dead owl by the roadside, and if that happened to be the incarnation

of his village god, he would sit down and weep over it, and beat his

forehead with stones till the blood flowed. This was thought pleasing

to the deity. Then the bird would be wrapped up, and buried with care

and ceremony, as if it were a human body. This, however, was not the

death of the god. He was supposed to be yet alive and incarnate in all

the owls in existence. The flight of these birds was observed in the

time of war. If the bird flew before them it was a signal to go on;

but if it crossed the path, it was a bad omen, and a sign to retreat.

Others saw their village god in the rainbow, others saw him in the

shooting star; and in time of war the position of a rainbow and the

direction of a shooting star were always ominous.

Throughout Polynesia the ordinary medium of communicating or extending

supernatural powers was the red feather of a small bird found in many

of the islands and the beautiful long tail-feathers of the tropic or

man-of-war-bird. For these feathers the gods were supposed to have a

strong predilection: they were the most valuable offerings that could

be presented to them; the power or influence of the god was imparted,

and through them transferred to the objects to which they might be

attached. Among the numerous ceremonies observed, the _palatua_

was one of the most conspicuous. On these occasions the gods were all

brought out of the temple, the sacred coverings removed, scented oils

were applied to the images, and they were exposed to the sun. At these

seasons the parties who wished their emblems of deity to be impregnated

with the essence of the gods, repaired to the ceremony with a number of

red feathers which they delivered to the officiating priest.

[Illustration: Polynesian Idol.]

The wooden idols being generally hollow, the feathers were deposited

in the inside of the image, which was filled with them. Many idols,

however, were solid pieces of wood bound or covered with finely braided

cinnet of the fibres of the cocoa-nut husk; to these the feathers were

attached on the outside by small fibrous bands. In return for the

feathers thus united to the god, the parties received two or three of

the same kind, which had been deposited on a former festival in the

inside of a wooden or inner fold of a cinnet idol. These feathers were

thought to possess all the properties of the images to which they had

been attached, and a supernatural influence was supposed to be infused

into them. They were carefully wound round with very fine cinnet, the

extremities alone remaining visible. When this was done, the new made

gods were placed before the larger images, from which they had been

taken, and, lest their detachment should induce the god to withhold

his power, the priest addresses a prayer to the principal deities,

requesting them to abide in the red feathers before them. At the close

of his _ubu_, or invocation, he declared that they were dwelt in

or inhabited (by the god), and delivered them to the parties who had

brought the red feathers. The feathers taken home were deposited in

small bamboo canes, excepting when addressed in prayer. If prosperity

attended their owner, it was attributed to their influence, and they

were usually honoured with an image, into which they were enwrought,

and subsequently perhaps an altar and a rude temple were erected for

them. In the event, however, of their being attached to an image,

this must be taken to the large temple, that the supreme idols might

sanction the transfer of their influence.

Animals, fruits, etc., were not the only articles presented to the

idols: the most affecting part of their sacrificing was the frequent

immolation of human victims. These sacrifices, in the technical

language of the priests, were called _fish_. They were offered

in seasons of war, at great national festivals, during the illness

of their rulers, and on the erection of their temples. Travellers

have been informed by the inhabitants of the town of Maeva, that the

foundation of some of the buildings for the abode of their gods was

actually laid in human sacrifices, that every pillar supporting the

roof of one of the sacred houses at Maeva was planted upon the body of

a man who had been offered as a victim to the sanguinary deity about to

be deposited there. The unhappy wretches selected, were either captives

taken in war or individuals who had rendered themselves obnoxious to

the chiefs or the priests. When they were wanted, a stone was, at the

request of the priest, sent by the king to the chief of the district

from which the victims were required. If the stone was received, it

was an indication of an intention to comply with the requisition. It

is a singular fact that the cruelty of the practice extended, not only

to individuals, but to families and districts. When an individual has

been taken as a sacrifice, the family to which he belonged was regarded

as _tabu_, or devoted; and when another was required, it was more

frequently taken from that family than any other; and a district from

which sacrifices had been taken was in the same way considered as

devoted, and hence, when it was known that any ceremonies were near on

which human sacrifices were usually offered, the members of _tabu_

families or others who had reason to fear they were selected, fled

to the mountains and hid themselves in the dens and caverns till the

ceremony was over.

In general the victim was unconscious of his doom until suddenly struck

down by a blow from a club or a stone, sometimes from the hand of

the very chief on whom he was depending as a guest for the rights of

hospitality. He was usually murdered on the spot, his body placed in a

long basket of cocoa-nut leaves, and carried to the temple. Here it was

offered, not by consuming it with fire, but by placing it before the

idol. The priest in dedicating it, took out one of the eyes, placed it

on a plantain leaf, and handed it to the king, who raised it to his

mouth as if desirous to eat it, but passed it to one of the priests

or attendants stationed near him for the purpose of receiving it. At

intervals, during the prayers, some of the hair was plucked off and

placed before the god, and when the ceremony was over, the body was

wrapped in the basket of cocoa-nut leaves, and frequently deposited on

the branches of an adjacent tree. After remaining a considerable time

it was taken down, and the bones buried beneath the rude pavement of

the marae or temple. These horrid rites were not unfrequent, and the

number offered at their great festivals was truly appalling.

The most remarkable institution prevailing among the inhabitants

of the islands of the southern seas is that known as tabu or tapu.

Although it could only be imposed by a priest, and a religious motive

was invariably assigned for its imposition, there can be little doubt

that its chief use was civil; and though, as in all state engines,

the component parts of which are multitudinous and of as diverse a

character as selfish interest can make them, abuse and depravity will

appear, still there can be no question that in its working the tabu is

an institution not to be hastily thrown aside or abolished. To quote

the words of Ellis, “the tabu forms an important and essential part

of a cruel system of idolatry, and is one of the strongest means of

its support.” This may be so far true, but at the same time, inasmuch

as it affects the proper government, the tranquillity, the very daily

bread of an idolatrous country, it is a thing to meet with tender

consideration, unless, indeed, because a nation is idolatrous, it is

to be straight stirred to rebellion, and driven to famine and death.

It is fair to regard tabu, not as a purely religious institution, but

as a political institution, propped and upheld by the most influential

men in the country, the priests, who, in their turn, are backed by the

_kiaimoku_ (island keepers), a kind of police officers, who are

appointed by the king, and empowered to carry out the commands of the

priest, though the lives of offenders be blotted out at the same time.

Thus blended, does “Church and State” form a quickset hedge, pleasant

to the sight,--for the profusion of the “rewards” to come, promised by

the holy men to the faithful, cover it as it were with green leaves,

hidden among which are the thorns--the spears of the king’s servants,

not insolently thrust out, but modestly retiring and challenging a

brush with no man; altogether, however, it is a hedge that no savage

may break, and which, for heaven knows how many hundreds of years,

myriads of savages have been content to regard harmlessly, passing

their lives in the shadow of it.

In most of the Polynesian dialects the usual meaning of the word tabu

is _sacred_. “It does not, however,” says Ellis, “imply any moral

quality, but expresses a connection with the gods or a separation from

ordinary purposes and exclusive appropriation to persons or things

considered sacred.” Those chiefs who trace their genealogy to the

gods are called _arii tabu_ chiefs, sacred from their supposed

connection with the gods. It is a distinct word from _rahui_, to

prohibit, and is opposed to the word, _noa_, which means general

or common. Hence the system which prohibited the females from eating

with the men, and from eating, except on special occasions, any part of

animals ever offered in sacrifice to the gods, while it allowed the men

to partake of them, was called the _ai tabu_, eating sacred.

This appears to be the legitimate meaning of the word tabu, though the

natives when talking with foreigners use it more extensively, and apply

it to everything prohibited or improper. This, however, is only to

accommodate the latter, as they use kaukau (a word of Chinese origin)

instead of the native word for eat, and _picaninny_ for small,

supposing they are better understood.

The antiquity of tabu was equal to the other branches of that

superstition, of which it formed so component a part, and its

application was both general and particular, occasional and permanent.

Speaking of the custom as observed in Figi, Mr. Williams says, “It

is the secret of power and the strength of despotic rule. It affects

things both great and small. Here it is seen tending a brood of

chickens, and there it directs the energies of a kingdom. Its influence

is wondrously diffused. Coasts, lands, rivers, and seas; animals,

fruits, fish, and vegetables; houses, beds, pots, cups, and dishes;

canoes, and with all that belong to them, with their management, dress,

ornaments, and arms; things to eat, and things to drink; the members

of the body, manners and customs; language, names, temper, and even

the gods also; all come under the influence of the _tabu_. It

is put into operation by religious, political, or selfish motives,

and idleness lounges for months beneath its sanction. Many are thus

forbidden to raise their hands or extend their arms in any useful

employment for a long time. In this district it is _tabu_ to build

canoes; on that island it is _tabu_ to erect good houses. The

custom is much in favour with chiefs, who adjust it so that it sits

easily on themselves, while they use it to gain influence over those

who are nearly their equals: by it they supply many of their wants, and

command at will all who are beneath them. In imposing a tabu, a chief

need only be checked by a care that he is countenanced by ancient

precedents. Persons of small importance borrow the shade of the system,

and endeavour by its aid to place their yam beds and plantain plots

within a sacred prohibition.”

Ellis continues in the same tone of banter. “The tabu seasons were

either common or strict. During a common tabu the men were only

required to abstain from their usual avocations and attend at the

temple, when the prayers were offered every morning and evening; but

during the season of strict tabu, every fire and light on the island

must be extinguished, no canoe must be launched on the water, no

person must bathe; and except those whose attendance was required at

the temple, no individual must be seen out of doors; no dog must bark,

no pig must grunt, no cock must crow, or the tabu would be broken and

fail to accomplish the object designed. On these occasions they tied

up the mouths of the dogs and pigs, and put the fowls under a calabash

or fastened a piece of cloth over their eyes. All the common people

prostrated themselves with their faces touching the ground before

the sacred chiefs when they walked out, particularly during tabu;

and neither the king nor the priests were allowed to touch anything;

even their food was put into their mouths by another person. The tabu

was imposed either by proclamation, when the crier or herald of the

priests went round, generally in the evening, requiring every light

to be extinguished, the path by the sea to be left for the king, the

paths inland to be left for the gods, etc. The people, however, were

generally prepared, having had previous warning, though this was not

always the case. Sometimes it was laid on by fixing certain marks,

called _unu unu_, the purport of which was well understood, on

things tabued. When the fish of a certain part are tabued, a small pole

is fixed in the rocks on the coast in the centre of the place, to which

is tied a bunch of bamboo leaves on a piece of white cloth. A cocoa-nut

leaf is tied to the stem of the tree when the fruit is tabued. The hogs

which were tabued, having been devoted to the gods, had a piece of

cinnet woven through a perforation in one of their ears. The females

in particular must have felt the degrading and humiliating effects of

the tabu in its full force. From its birth the child, if a female, was

not allowed a particle of food that had been kept in the father’s dish

or cooked at his fire; and the little boy, after being weaned, was fed

with his father’s food, and as soon as he was able sat down to meals

with his father, while his mother was not only obliged to take her

meals in the outhouse, but was interdicted from tasting the kind of

which he ate.”

At the time when Mariner was traversing Polynesia and became a guest

of King Finow’s, he happened to witness the ceremony of removing a

tapu, which for certain reasons had been laid on hogs. The places

appropriated for this ceremony were two marleys and the grave of

Tooitonga. For distinction’s sake, we shall call the first marley

Tooitonga’s, and the second Finow’s. Tooitonga’s marley is near

Finow’s residence, and on this were erected four columns of yams in

the following manner:--Four poles about eighteen feet long were fixed

upright in the ground, to the depth of a few feet, at about four feet

distance from each other, in a quadrangular form, the spaces between

them all the way to the top being crossed by smaller poles about six

inches distant from each other, and lashed on by the bark of the

_fow_ (species of the Hibiscus), the interior of this erection

being filled up as they went with yams; and afterwards other upright

poles were lashed on to the top, with cross pieces in like manner,

still piling up the yams; then a third set of poles, etc., till the

column of yams was about fifty or sixty feet high, when on the top of

all was placed a cold baked pig. Four such columns were erected, one

at each corner of the marley, the day before the ceremony, and three

or four hundred hogs were killed and about half baked. The following

day the hogs were carried to the king’s marley, about a quarter of

a mile off, and placed upon the ground before the house, as well as

four or five wooden cars or sledges full of yams, each holding about

five hundred. While this was doing, the people assembling from all

quarters, those who were already arrived sat themselves down round the

king’s marley. Occasionally some of them got up to amuse themselves,

and the rest of the company, by wrestling with one another. The king

and his chiefs, all dressed in plaited gnatoo, were already seated

in the house, viewing what was going forward. The company being at

length all arrived, and having seated themselves, the king gave notice

that the ceremony was to begin. The young chiefs and warriors, and

those who prided themselves in their strength, then got up singly and

endeavoured in turns to carry off the largest hog. When one failed,

another tried, then a third, and so on till every one that chose had

made a trial of his strength. To carry one of the largest hogs is not

a thing easy to be done, on account of its greasiness as well as its

weight, but it affords a considerable share of diversion to see a man

embracing a large fat, baked hog, and endeavouring to raise it on his

shoulder. As the hog was found too heavy for one man’s strength, it

was carried away by two, whilst a third followed with its liver. They

were deposited on the ground near Tooitonga’s marley, where the men

waited till the other hogs were brought. In the mean time the trial was

going on with the second hog, which being found also too heavy for one

man, was carried away by two in like manner, and so on with the third,

fourth, etc., the largest being carried away first and the least last.

The second, third, fourth, etc., afforded more sport than the first, as

being a nearer counterbalance with a man’s strength. Sometimes he had

got it nearly upon his shoulder, when his greasy burden slipped through

his arms, and his endeavour to save it brought him down after it. It

is an honour to attempt these things, and even the king sometimes put

his hand to it. The small hogs and pigs afforded no diversion, as they

were easily lifted and carried away, each by one man, and deposited,

not at the outside of Tooitonga’s marley along with the largest hogs,

but carried at once into it, where the cars of yams were also dragged,

one at a time. When everything was thus cleared from the king’s marley,

the company got up and proceeded to the other marley, where they again

seated themselves, whilst Tooitonga presided, and the king and his

chiefs, out of respect, sat on the outside of the ring among the great

body of the people. The large hogs which had been deposited in the

neighbourhood of the marley were now to be brought in each by one man,

and as it had been found that one man’s strength was not sufficient to

raise any of them upon his shoulders, two others were allowed to lift

the hog and place it upon his shoulders for him, and then he tottered

in with his load, followed by another man with the liver; and in this

manner all the hogs and their livers were carried in and deposited in

two or three rows before Tooitonga. Their number was then counted by

the head cooks of Tooitonga and Finow, and announced aloud to Tooitonga

by his own head cook; the number of cars and piles of yams was also

announced at the same time.

This being done, about twenty of the largest hogs were carried to

Tooitonga’s burying-place, nearly a hundred yards distant; those which

were too heavy for one man to lift being put upon his shoulders by

two others, etc., as before, and deposited near the grave; one car

of yams was also taken and left in like manner. This portion of pork

and yam being disposed of, the remainder was shared in the following

manner: one column of yams was allotted to the king, to be removed

in the afternoon, and to be disposed of as he pleased (he always

shares it among his chiefs and fighting men); another column was

allotted to Veachi and two or three other chiefs; the third was given

to the gods (the priests always take care of this portion); and the

fourth Tooitonga claimed for his own share. As to the cars of yams,

they were never inquired after. Tooitonga generally takes care of

them, and appropriates them to his own use and that of his numerous

household, not that he has any legal right to them beyond custom and

silent consent. The hogs were disposed of in like manner; the greatest

quantity to the greatest chiefs, who share them out to the chiefs

immediately below them in rank, and these again to their dependants,

till every man in the island gets at least a mouthful of pork and

yam. The ceremony now concluded with dancing, wrestling, etc.; after

which every person present having secured his portion retired to his

home to share it with his family. From this moment the _tabu_, or

prohibition upon hogs, fowls, and cocoa-nuts, was null and void.

In New Zealand, although the principle of the institution of tapu

is much the same as in other islands of the Polynesian group, its

application differs in so many and such essential particulars as to

make it worth while to devote a few pages, chiefly supplied from

Taylor, Thompson, and other New Zealand missionaries and travellers of

distinction.

During the time of tapu a man could not be touched by any one, or even

put his own hand to his head himself; but he was either fed by another

who was appointed for the purpose, or took up his food with his mouth

from a small stage, with his hands behind him, or by a fern stalk, and

thus conveyed it to his mouth. In drinking, the water was poured in a

very expert manner from a calabash into his mouth, or on his hands when

he needed it for washing, so that he should not touch the vessel, which

otherwise could not have been used again for ordinary purposes. Places

were tapued for certain periods--rivers until the fishing was ended,

cultivation until the planting or reaping was completed, districts

until either the hunting of the rat or catching of birds was done,

woods until the fruit of the kie-kie was gathered.

A person became tapu by touching a dead body or by being very ill; in

this respect it appears to bear a very close resemblance to the Mosaic

law relating to uncleanness.

The garments of an ariki, or high chief, were tapu, as well as

everything relating to him; they could not be worn by any one else lest

they should kill him. “An old chief in my company,” says Mr. Williams,

“threw away a very good mat because it was too heavy to carry; he cast

it down a precipice. When I inquired why he did not leave it suspended

on a tree, that any future traveller wanting a garment might take it,

he gravely told me that it was the fear of its being worn by another

which had caused him to throw it where he did, for if it were worn by

another his tapu would kill the person. In the same way the tinder-box

of a great chief killed several persons who were so unfortunate as to

find it, and light their pipes from it without knowing it belonged to

so sacred an owner; they actually died from fright. If the blood of a

high chief flows (though it be a single drop) on anything, it renders

that tapu. A party of natives came to see Te Hewhew, the great chief

of Taupo, in a fine large new canoe. Te Hewhew got into it to go a

short distance; in doing so he struck a splinter into his foot, the

blood flowed from the wound into the canoe, which at once tapued it to

him. The owner immediately jumped out and dragged it on shore opposite

the chief’s house, and there left it. A gentleman entering my house,

struck his head against the beam and made the blood flow; the natives

present said that in former times the house would have belonged to that

individual. To draw blood, even from a scratch, was a very serious

matter, and often was attended with fatal consequence.”

A chief’s house was tapu; no person could eat therein, or even light

his pipe from the fire, and until a certain service had been gone

through, even a woman could not enter. The chief being sacred had his

food to himself, generally in his verandah, or apart from the rest. No

chief could carry food, lest it should occasion his death by destroying

his tapu, or lest a slave should eat of it, and so cause him to die.

A chief would not pass under a stage or wata (a food store). The head

of the chief was the most sacred part; if he only touched it with his

fingers, he was obliged immediately to apply them to his nose, and

snuff up the sanctity which they had acquired by the touch, and thus

restore it to the part from whence it was taken. For the same reason

a chief could not blow the fire with his mouth, for the breath being

sacred communicated his sanctity with the fire, and a brand might be

taken from it by a slave, or a man of another tribe, or the fire might

be used for other purposes, such as cooking, and so cause his death.

The chief power, however, of this institution was principally seen in

its effects on the multitude.

In former times, life in a great measure depended upon the produce of

their cultivations; therefore it was of the utmost importance that

their kumara and taro should be planted at the proper season, and that

every other occupation should be laid aside until that necessary work

was accomplished. All, therefore, who were thus employed were made

tapu, so that they could not leave the place, or undertake any other

work, until that was finished. So also in fishing and hunting; and

this applied not only to those thus employed, but to others. The kumara

grounds were tapu; no strange natives could approach them. Even the

people of the place, if not engaged in the work, were obliged to stand

at a distance from the ground thus rendered sacred by solemn karikia.

Doubtless this was a wise precaution to avoid interruptions, and to

keep them from stealing. No one but the priest could pass in front of

the party engaged in gathering in the kumara; those who presumed to do

so would be either killed or stripped for their temerity. The woods

in which they hunted the rat were tapu until the sport was over, and

so were the rivers; no canoe could pass by till the rabue (generally

a pole with an old garment tied to it) was taken down. In the early

days of the mission, this was a great annoyance; the members of the

mission were often unable to communicate with each other until the

dreaded pole was removed; but at last they determined to observe the

tapu no longer: the boat was manned, and they rowed along in defiance

of the sacred prohibition. They had not gone far, however, before

they were pursued, the boat was taken ashore, and all the articles

in it were seized, amongst which were some bottles of medicine and

pots of preserves. These were immediately eaten, and great wrath and

indignation expressed; but by preserving a firm deportment, the natives

were conquered; the medicine perhaps had its share in obtaining the

victory, as they found they could not meddle with the Europeans with

impunity. They held a meeting, and it was then resolved that, for the

future, as Europeans were a foreign race and subject to a different

religion, the tapu should not apply to them; and afterwards, as their

converts increased, the permission was enlarged to take them in as well.

Those who were tapued for any work could not mix again in society until

it was taken off, or they were _waka noa_, that is, made common or

deprived of the sanctity with which they had been invested. This was

done by the priest, who repeated a long karakia and performed certain

rites over them.

If any one wished to preserve his crop, his house, his garments, or

anything else, he made it tapu: a tree which had been selected in

the forest for a canoe, a patch of flax or raupo in a swamp which an

individual might wish to appropriate to himself, and which he could

not then do, he rendered tapu by tying a band round the former, with

a little grass in it, or by sticking up a pole in the swamp with a

similar bunch attached. If a person had been taken prisoner in war, and

a feeling of pity arose in the breast of one of his captors, though it

may have been the general determination to put him to death, the desire

of the merciful individual would prevail, by throwing his garment over

him; he who then touched the prisoner with a hostile intention, touched

also his preserver. An instance of this kind occurred during the late

war at Wanganui. One of the inhabitants was captured by the hostile

natives; he was on the point of being put to death, when an old chief

rushed forward and threw his blanket over him. The man was spared, and

afterwards was treated with great kindness, as though he were one of

the tribe.

Formerly every woman was _noa_, or common, and could select as

many companions as she liked, without being thought guilty of any

impropriety, until given away by her friends to some one as her future

master; she then became tapu to him, and was liable to be put to death

if found unfaithful. The power of the tapu, however, mainly depended

on the influence of the individual who imposed it. If it were put on

by a great chief, it would not be broken; but a powerful man often

broke through the tapu of an inferior. A chief would frequently lay it

on a road or river, so that no one could go by either, unless he felt

himself strong enough to set the other at defiance.

The duration of the tapu was arbitrary, and depended on the will of the

person who imposed it, also the extent to which it applied. Sometimes

it was limited to a particular object, at other times it embraced many;

some persons and places were always tapu, as an ariki or tohunga and

their houses, so much so that even their very owners could not eat in

them, therefore all their meals were taken in the open air. The males

could not eat with their wives, nor their wives with the male children,

lest their tapu or sanctity should kill them. If a chief took a fancy

for anything belonging to another who was inferior, he made it tapu for

himself by calling it his backbone, and thus put as it were his broad

arrow upon it. A chief anxious to obtain a fine large canoe belonging

to an inferior who had offended him, merely called it by his own name,

and then his people went and took it.

If a chief wished to hinder any one from going to a particular place or

by a particular road, he made it tapu. During the disturbances between

the Government and the natives, they tapued the sea coast, and would

not permit any Europeans to travel that way, and so compelled some of

the highest functionaries to retrace their steps.

Some years ago a German missionary located himself at Motu Karamu,

a pa up the Mokan: the greater part of the natives there, with their

head chief, Te Kuri, were members of the Church of Rome, but his

head wife, however, became his warm patron. When the priest arrived

there on his way down the river, he scolded Te Kuri for suffering an

heretical missionary to become located in his district, and applied

many opprobrious epithets to the intruder. This very much incensed the

chief’s lady. She said her teacher should not be abused, and therefore,

next morning, when his reverence was preparing to continue his journey,

she made the river tapu, and to his annoyance there was not a canoe

to be found which dare break it. After storming for some time, he was

obliged to return by the way he came, the lady saying it would teach

him to use better language another time, and not insult her minister.

To render a place tapu, a chief tied one of his old garments to a

pole, and stuck it up on the spot he intended to be sacred. This he

either called by his own name, saying it was some part of his body, as

Te Hewhew made the mountain Tongariro sacred by speaking of it as his

backbone, or he gave it the name of one of his tupuna, or ancestors;

then all descended from that individual were bound to see the tapu

maintained, and the further back the ancestors went the greater number

of persons were interested in keeping up the tapu, as the credit and

influence of the family was at stake, and all were bound to avenge any

wanton infringement of it.

Another kind of tapu was that which was acquired by accidental

circumstances, thus: An iron pot which was used for cooking purposes

was lent to a Pakeka; he very innocently placed it under the eaves of

his house to catch water in; the rain coming from a sacred dwelling

rendered the utensil so likewise. It was afterwards removed by a person

to cook with, without her knowing what had been done. When she was told

it was sacred, as it had caught the water from the roof, she exclaimed,

“We shall die before night.” They went, however, to the tohunga, who

made it noa again by uttering the tupeke over it.

Sickness also made the persons tapu. All diseases were supposed to be

occasioned by atuas, or spirits, ngarara or lizards entering into the

body of the afflicted; these therefore rendered the person sacred. The

sick were removed from their own houses, and had sheds built for them

in the bush at a considerable distance from the pa, where they lived

apart. If any remained in their houses and died there, the dwelling

became tapu, was painted over with red ochre, and could not again be

used, which often put a tribe to great inconvenience, as some houses

were the abode of perhaps thirty or forty different people.

The wife of a chief falling ill, the missionaries took her into their

hospital, where she laid for several days. At last her husband came and

carried her away, saying, he was afraid of her dying there, lest the

house should be made tapu, and thus hinder the missionaries from using

it again.

During the war, Maketu, a principal chief of the hostile natives, was

shot in the house belonging to a settler, which he was then plundering;

from that time it became tapu, and no heathen would enter it for years.

The resting-places of great chiefs on a journey became tapu; if they

were in the forest, the spots were cleared and surrounded with a fence

of basket work, and names were given to them. This custom particularly

applied to remarkable rocks or trees, to which karakia was made, and

a little bundle of rushes was thrown as an offering to the spirit who

was supposed to reside there, and the sacred object was smeared over

with red ochre. A similar custom prevailed when corpses were carried to

their final places of interment. The friends of the dead either carved

an image, which they frequently clothed with their best garments, or

tied some of the clothes of the dead to a neighbouring tree or to a

pole; or else they painted some adjacent rock or stone with red ochre,

to which they gave the name of the dead, and whenever they passed by

addressed it as though their friend were alive and present, using the

most endearing expressions, and casting some fresh garments on the

figure as a token of their love. These were a kind of memorial similar

to the painted windows in churches.

An inferior kind of tapu exists, which any one may use. A person who

finds a piece of drift timber secures it for himself by tying something

round it or giving it a chop with his axe. In a similar way he can

appropriate to his own use whatever is naturally common to all. A

person may thus stop up a road through his ground, and often leaves

his property in exposed places with merely this simple sign to show it

is private and generally it is allowed to remain untouched, however

many may pass that way; so with a simple bit of flax, the door of a

man’s house, containing all his valuables, is left, or his food store;

they are thus rendered inviolable, and no one will meddle with them.

The owner of a wood abounding with kie-kie, a much prized fruit, is

accustomed to set up a pole to preserve it until the fruit be fully

ripe; when it is thought to be sufficiently so, he sends a young man to

see if the report be favourable. The rahue is then pulled down; this

removes the tapu, and the entire population go to trample the wood. All

have liberty to gather the fruit, but it is customary to present some

of the finest to the chief owner.

“When,” says a missionary, “Te Hewhew and nearly sixty of his tribe

were overwhelmed by a landslip, in the village of Te Rapa, where they

resided, the spot was for a long time kept strictly tapu, and no one

was allowed to set foot on it. I was determined to make the effort,

and as several who were Christians had lost their lives in the general

destruction, I told the natives I should go and read the burial service

over them. Viewing me as a tohunga (or priest), they did not dare to

offer any opposition. I went on the sacred spot, under which the entire

population of a village lay entombed, and there I read the burial

service, the neighbouring natives standing on the verge of the ruins

and on the surrounding heights.”

It is evident therefore that the tapu arises from the will of the

chief; that by it he laid a ban upon whatever he felt disposed. It

was a great power which could at all times be exercised for his own

advantage, and the maintenance of his power, frequently making some

trifling circumstance the reason for putting the whole community to

great inconvenience, rendering a road to the pa, perhaps the most

direct and frequented, or a grove, or a fountain, or anything else

tapu by his arbitrary will. Without the tapu he was only a common

man, and this is what long deterred many high chiefs from embracing

Christianity, lest they should lose this main support of their power.

Few but ariki, or great tohungas, claimed the power of the tapu;

inferior ones indeed occasionally used it, but the observance of it

was chiefly confined to his own retainers, and was often violated with

impunity, or by giving a small payment. But he who presumed to violate

the tapu of an ariki, did it at the risk of his life and property.

The tapu in many instances was beneficial, considering the state of

society, the absence of law, and the fierce character of the people; it

formed no bad substitute for a dictatorial form of government, and made

the nearest approach to an organised state of society, or rather it

may be regarded as the last remaining trace of a more civilised polity

possessed by their remote ancestors. In it we discern somewhat of the

ancient dignity and power of the high chief, or ariki, and a remnant

of the sovereign authority they once possessed, with the remarkable

union of the kingly and sacerdotal character in their persons. It

rendered them a distinct race, more nearly allied to gods than men,

their persons, garments, houses, and everything belonging to them being

so sacred, that to touch or meddle with them was alone sufficient to

occasion death.

Their gods being no more than deceased chiefs, they were regarded as

living ones, and thus were not to be killed by inferior men, but only

by those who had more powerful atuas in them. The victorious chief who

had slain numbers, and had swallowed their eyes and drank their blood,

was supposed, to have added the spirits of his victims to his own,

and thus increased the power of his spirit. To keep up this idea and

hinder the lower orders from trying whether it were possible to kill

such corporeal and living gods, was the grand work of the tapu, and it

did succeed in doing so. During bygone ages it has had a wide-spread

sway, and exercised a fearful power over benighted races of men; until

the “stone cut without hands” smote this mighty image of cruelty on its

feet, caused it to fall, and, like the chaff of the summer’s thrashing

floor, the wind of God’s word has swept it away.

Among the Samoans tangible shapes are given to the mysterious things.

There is the snake-tapu, the shark-tapu, the thunder-tapu, and

very many others. If I am a Samoan, therefore, and have yams, or

chickens, or plantains to preserve, I _make_ a tapu according

to my fancy--if thunder, I make a small mat and tack to it streamers

of coloured cloth; if a shark, I plait cocoa-leaves to as close a

resemblance to the terrible fish as my ingenuity is capable--and hang

it to a tree where my chickens roost, or where my plantains grow.

Nobody misunderstands my meaning. There is my shark-tapu, and sure

as ever you pilfer the goods that lie in the shadow of it, the very

next time you go out to fish a shark will devour you. There is my

thunder-tapu; despise its protective influence, and before you reach

home with your plunder the lightning will overtake you and strike you

dead. No one can remove a tapu but he who imposes it.

To this extent there can be no doubt that the tapu is a wholesome

institution--indeed, only such a one could at all control the savage or

bring him to distinguish between “mine and thine.” This, however, is

but the simplest form of tapu. It is where at the caprice of a brutal

chief or king, or an ignorant and malicious priest, the tapu is applied

to individuals or communities, that its pernicious influence is at once

evident. During the time that an individual is tapu, he is not allowed

to touch anything, or even himself, but is fed by another, or takes

food from off a stage with his mouth. When he drinks, the vessel is

placed at his lips and tilted as he gulps; and if the tapu is lasting

and the banned wretch grows dirty, nobody must wash him, and he must

not wash himself--water is dashed over him, and where the water falls

the ground is tapu, and no one dare tread on it. Whatever he touches,

whatever he wears is immediately destroyed, for fear that by merely

handling it death in some horrible shape should be the result.

The institution, although still acknowledged among the Polynesians, is

not carried the length it was in former times. A century ago certain

men were supposed to be born tapu, and so to remain through their

entire lives. Such individuals must have had a wearisome time of it.

No one dare sit in their company, or eat with them, or talk with them.

When such a one walked abroad, people slunk tremblingly to the wall, or

took to their heels and run, for fear the merest hem of their garments

might come in contact with the dress of the sacred one, and the awful

strength of the tapu might kill them. The vessels in which the born

tapu’s food was cooked and served, were never used but once. A man who

lit his pipe at such a tapu’s fire would be regarded as one certainly

doomed to death, or, if he did not die, as one possessed of a devil,

and only fit to be clubbed or strangled; nay, if a born tapu but blew

into a fire, it was straightway a tapu fire, and any one but the tapu

himself partaking of food cooked thereat would surely die.

In common with all other savage countries, New Zealand recognises

witchcraft as indispensable, and places the most perfect reliance on

witch trials and verdicts.

A gentleman who resided several years amongst the natives, had once

an opportunity of seeing this pretended power exercised. He was in

company with two young natives, one an heathen chief of some rank, who

expressed his firm belief, not only in the existence of their gods, but

likewise in their willingness to appear to their own relatives when

asked to do so. He was told by the European that he could not believe

such to be possible; but if he actually saw one of their gods, then

he should cease to doubt their existence. The young chief immediately

offered to give the proof demanded; he invited the unbelieving European

to accompany him to an old lady who formerly had exercised this power.

It was in the evening when the conversation took place: they went

directly to her abode. She was then living in a little cultivation at

some distance from the village. They found her sitting in a long shed

by the side of the fire.

After some general conversation, the young chief made her acquainted

with the object of their visit, telling her that their companion, the

European, did not believe in the existence of native gods, or that they

could hold intercourse with men, and therefore he wished her to show

him that such was really the case, by giving him an actual proof. For

some time she hesitated, stating that she had given up such things and

had become a praying woman; at last, however, after much entreaty, she

consented, and bid one of the party take away some of the brands from

the fire and throw them outside, as “the gods did not like too much

light.” This was accordingly done. The old woman sat crouched down by

the fire with her head concealed in her blanket, swaying her body to

and fro. The young chief laid himself full length on the ground with

his face downwards; he began by calling on the different gods by name

who were considered to be his relatives, addressing them as though

present; his being the eldest son of the eldest branch of his family

was supposed to confer this privilege upon him. At first they appeared

to pay no attention to their relative; he thereupon spoke to them in a

louder tone, but still without success; at last he called to them in

an angry tone, telling them if they did not speak, the European would

go away and disbelieve in their existence. The old woman sat still

and appeared to take no notice of anything. The European kept his eye

steadily fixed upon her and went and sat by her side; suddenly he heard

a scratching as of a rat running up the wall and along the roof of the

house, until the sound seemed to come from the spot exactly over their

heads; he thought it was done by some accomplice outside, but he was

not aware of any one being there besides the party in the house; he

detected no movement of the old woman beyond that of rocking her body

to and fro. Then he heard a low whistle, and could distinguish the

enquiry, “what did they want with him?” The Maori gods always speak

in a whistling tone. The young chief replied, that they wanted him to

come and show himself to the European. He said he should kill him if

he came. The chief insisted that he should render himself visible;

the god held back, but the chief would not allow his divine relative

to escape; at last he consented to assume the form of a spider, and

alight on his head. The European said if he descended straight on his

head he would believe he was actually present; but if he only saw a

spider on his side or legs he should not be satisfied. The old woman

then got up and went to the other side of the hut, and fumbled about

in the thatch of the house as though she was searching for a spider to

act the god; but her search was vain, she only found a little beetle

which consumes the raupo. She then came and sat by his side; but he

narrowly watched her. The chief reproached the god for not descending

at once upon his head. The god replied, it was from an unwillingness to

injure the European. He demanded a blanket for having spoken to him,

and said he had seen him before in the Bay of Islands; which was false,

as he had never been there; but he at once assented to see whether the

god might not tell some further lies, when he found that the first was

agreed to. The make-believe god then imitated the Naga-puhi dialect and

said he had seen such and such chiefs with him and several other things

equally untrue, again repeating his request for a present; but though

urged to render himself visible, he obstinately refused, to the great

mortification of the chief, who still believed he actually heard a god

speak, when the interview terminated.

The religion of the savage Land Dayaks of Borneo, says Mr. St. John,

consists solely of a number of superstitious observances; they are

given up to the fear of ghosts, and in the propitiation of these by

small offerings and certain ceremonies, consist the principal part

of their worship. Nevertheless, they seem to have a firm, though not

particularly clear, belief in the existence of one Supreme Being above

all and over all. This supreme being is among the Land Dayaks, called

“Tapa;” among the Silakan and Saras, “Tewata;” and among the Sibuyans,

“Batara.”

In common with many other barbarous tribes, their religious system

relates principally to this life. They are like the rest of mankind,

continually liable to physical evils, poverty, misfortune, and

sickness, and these they try to avert from themselves by the practice

of ancient customs which are supposed to be effectual for the purpose.

This system may be classed as follows:--

The killing of pigs and fowls, the flesh of which is eaten, small

portions being set aside with rice for the spiritual powers; and from

the blood being mixed with spittle, turmeric, and cocoa-nut water,

a filthy mess is concocted and called physic, with which the people

attending the feast are anointed on the head and face. Dancing by the

elders and the priestesses round a kind of bamboo altar, erected on

these occasions either in the long room or on the exterior platform

of one of the houses round which the offerings are placed, always

accompanied by the beating of all the gongs and drums of the tribe by

the young lads, and singing, or rather chanting, by the priestesses.

The “Parneli” or tabu of an apartment, house, or village for one, two,

four, eight, and even sixteen days, during which, in the case of a

village, no stranger can enter it; in the case of a house, no one

beside the family residing therein; and in the case of an apartment, no

one out of the family.

The Dayaks acknowledge four chief spirits: “Tapa,” who created men

and women, and preserves them in life; “Tenahi,” who made the earth

and, except the human race, all things therein, and still causes it to

flourish; “Iang,” or “Iing,” who first instructed the Dayaks in the

mysteries of their religion, and who superintends its performance;

“Jirong,” who looks after the propagation of the human species, and

causes them to die of sickness or accident. They believe that when Tapa

first made the world, he created Iang, then the spirits “Triee” and

“Komang,” and then man. That man and the spirits were at first equal

and fought on fair terms, but that on one woeful occasion the spirits

got the better of man, and rubbed charcoal in his eyes, which rendered

him unable any longer to see his spirit foes, except in the case of

some gifted persons, as the priests, and so placed him at their mercy.

With respect to a future state, the common Dayak belief is, that when

a man dies, he becomes a spirit and lives in the jungle, or (this Mr.

Chalmers heard from one of the body-burning tribes) that as the smoke

of the funeral pyre of a good man rises, the soul ascends with it to

the sky, and that the smoke from the pyre of a wicked man descends, and

his soul with it is borne to the earth, and through it to the regions

below. Another version is, that when a man dies a natural death, his

soul, on leaving the body, becomes a spirit, and haunts the place of

burial or burning. When a spirit dies--for spirits too, it would seem,

are subject unto death--it enters the hole of Hades, and coming out

thence again becomes a “Bejawi.” In course of time the Bejawi dies, and

lives once more as a “Begutur;” but when a Begutur dies, the spiritual

essence of which it consists enters the trunks of trees, and may be

seen there damp and blood-like in appearance, and has a personal and

sentient existence no longer.

The Land Dayaks point to the highest mountains in sight as the

abode of their departed friends. The spirits they divide into two

classes--“Umot,” spirits by nature, and “Mino,” ghosts of departed

men. The former are said to live amid the forests that cap the hills.

They delight in war and bloodshed, and always come down to be present

at the Dayak “head-feast.” They are described as of a fierce and wild

appearance, and covered with hair like an ourang-outang. The Umot

spirits are divided into classes. There is the “Umot Sisi,” a harmless

kind of spirit which follows the Dayak to look for the fragments of

food which have fallen through the open flooring of their houses, and

who is heard at night munching away below; “Umot Perubak,” who causes

scarcity among the Dayaks by coming invisibly and eating the rice

from the pot at meal time; and “Umot Perusong,” who comes slily and

devours the rice which is stored within a receptacle made of the bark

of some gigantic tree, and is in the form of a vat. It is kept in the

garrets of the houses, and a large one will contain a hundred and fifty

bushels, and the family live in constant fear that these voracious

spirits will visit their store and entirely consume it.

[Illustration: Spectre of Headless Dog and Dayak.]

“Mino Buau” are the ghosts of those who have been killed in war. These

are very vicious and inimical to the living; they live in the jungle,

and have the power of assuming the form of headless beasts and men. A

Quop Dayak once met with one. He was walking through the jungle and

saw what he thought was a squirrel sitting on the large roots of a

tree which overhung a small stream. He had a spear in his hand. This

he threw at the squirrel, and thought he had struck it: he ran towards

the spot where it had apparently fallen, when, to his horror, it faced

him, rose up, and was transformed into a dog. The dog walked on a few

paces, and then turning into a human shape, sat down on the trunk of

a tree--head there was none. The spectre body was parti-coloured, and

at the top drawn up to a point. The Dayak was smitten with great fear

and away he rushed home and fell into a violent fever; the priest was

called, and he pronounced that the patient’s soul had been summoned

away from its corporeal abiding-place by the spirit, so he went to seek

it, armed with his magic charms. Midway between the village and the

place where the Buau had appeared, the fugitive soul was overtaken, and

induced to pause, and, having been captured by the priest, was brought

back to its body and poked into its place through an invisible hole in

the head. The next day the fever was gone.

To propitiate the superior spirits the Dayaks shut themselves in their

houses a certain number of days, and by that, among other means, hope

to avert sickness, to cure a favorite child, or to restore their own

health. They also have recourse to it when the cry of the gazelle is

heard behind them, or when their omen-birds utter unfavorable warnings.

They likewise place themselves under this interdict at the planting

of rice, at harvest-home, and upon many other occasions. During this

time they appear to remain in their houses in order to eat, drink,

and sleep; but their eating must be moderate, and often consists of

nothing but rice and salt. These interdicts are of different durations

and importance. Sometimes, as at the harvest-home, the whole tribe is

compelled to observe it, and then no one must leave the village; at

other times it only extends to a family or a single individual. It is

also considered important that no stranger should break the tabu by

entering the village, the house, or apartment placed under interdict.

If any one should do so intentionally, he is liable to a fine. People

under interdict may not bathe, touch fire, or employ themselves about

their ordinary avocations. The religion of the Dayak prohibits the

eating of the flesh of horned animals, as cattle and goats, and many

tribes extend the prohibition to wild deer. In some tribes none but the

elders and the women and children may partake of eggs; in others, they,

and no one else, may dine off venison: the young men and the warriors

abstaining from it lest it should render them timid as the animal that

supplies the last-mentioned meat. It is also strictly commanded to all

those intending to engage in a pig hunt to abstain from meddling with

oil; but whether for any more important reason than that the game may

not slip through their fingers is not exactly known.

A singular custom of a religious character prevails among certain Dayak

tribes, and which is known as making brothers. The offer to become the

“brother” of one of these savages was made, and what is more accepted,

to the gentleman who furnishes the foregoing account of the Dayak

religion, as well as the following:

“Singauding sent on board to request me to become his brother by

going through the sacred custom of imbibing each other’s blood. I say

imbibing, because it is either mixed with water and drunk, or else it

is placed within a native cigar and drawn in with the smoke. I agreed

to do so, and the following day was fixed for the ceremony. It is

called Berbiang by the Kayans; Bersabibah by the Borneans. I landed

with our party of Malays, and after a preliminary talk to give time for

the population to assemble, the affair commenced. We sat in the broad

verandah of a long house, surrounded by hundreds of men, women, and

children, all looking eagerly at the white stranger who was about to

enter their tribe. Stripping my left arm, Kum Lia took a small piece

of wood, shaped like a knife-blade, and slightly piercing the skin

brought blood to the surface; this he carefully scraped off; then one

of my Malays drew blood in the same way from Singauding; and a small

cigarette being produced, the blood on the wooden blades was spread on

the tobacco. A chief then arose, and walking to an open place, looked

forth upon the river and invoked their god and all the spirits of good

and evil to be witness of this tie of brotherhood. The cigarette was

then lighted and each of us took several puffs, and the ceremony was

concluded. I was glad to find that they had chosen the form of inhaling

the blood in smoke, as to have swallowed even a drop would have been

unpleasant, though the disgust would only arise from the imagination.

They sometimes vary the custom, though the variation may be confined to

the Kiniahs who live farther up the river, and are intermarried with

the Kayans. There a pig is brought and placed between the two who are

to be joined in brotherhood. A chief offers an invocation to the gods,

and marks with a lighted brand the pig’s shoulder. The beast is then

killed, and after an exchange of jackets, a sword is thrust into the

wound and the two are marked with the blood of the pig.”

[Illustration: Making Brothers.]

This curious ceremony of “making brothers” is not confined to Borneo;

it is practised in Western and Eastern Africa. In the latter region

the ceremony is invested with much importance, especially when the

individuals concerned are two chiefs who have long been at variance.

Squatting before each other in the presence of the chiefs and elders

with their implements of war on their laps, and having each in his

hands a sharp knife and a small cup, the would-be brothers make a

slight gash in each other’s breast and, catching the blood in the cup,

drink it to their eternal friendship, the oldest man of the tribe

standing over them to witness the reconciliation and waving his sword

over them.

The Sea Dayaks, whose customs differ widely in many respects from

those of the Land Dayaks, have a clear idea of one omnipotent being who

created and now rules over the world. They call him Batara. Beneath him

are many good and innumerable bad spirits, and the fear of the latter

causes them to make greater and more frequent offerings to them than to

the good spirits. The awe with which many of them are named has induced

a few, among others Mr. Chambers, to imagine that their religion is

a species of polytheism. But this, according to Mr. St. John’s way

of thinking, is a mistake; and Mr. Johnson and Mr. Gomez, who have

much knowledge of the Sea Dayaks, agree with the gentleman formerly

mentioned.

The Sea Dayaks pay homage to evil spirits of various kinds, who reside

in the jungles, in the mountains, and in the earth; all sicknesses,

misfortunes, or death, proceed from them; while to Batara is attributed

every blessing. When they make offerings, however, both are propitiated

and, as usual, the wicked ones have the larger share. The priests offer

a long prayer and supplicate them to depart from the afflicted house

or from the sick man. Of the seven platesful of food, four are given

to the evil spirits and cast forth or exposed in the forest, while the

others are offered to the good spirits, who are implored to protect

and bless them. The food offered to the latter is not considered to be

interdicted, but may be, and always is eaten.

The Lingga Dayaks, besides Batara, have various good spirits--as

Stampandei, who superintends the propagation of mankind; Pulang Ganah,

who inhabits the earth and gives fertility to it, and to him are

addressed the offerings at the feasts given whilst preparing the rice

for cultivation: Singallong Burong, the god of war, excites their

utmost reverence, and to him are offered the Head feasts. On these

occasions he comes down and hovers in the form of a kite over the

house, and guns are fired and gongs beaten in his honour. His brave

followers married to his daughters appear in the form of his omen

birds. No wonder he is honoured; he gives success in war and delights

in their acquisitions of the heads of their enemies. Nattiang inhabits

the summits of the hills and is one of their demigods. The Linggas tell

many stories of his exploits. The most famous was his expedition to the

skies to recover his wife who had been caught in a noose and hoisted up

there by an old enemy of his. To dream of him is to receive the gift of

bravery.

When the small-pox was committing dreadful havoc among the Sakarangs

the villagers would not allow themselves to be innoculated; they ran

into the jungle in every direction, caring for no one but themselves,

leaving their houses empty and dwelling far away in the most silent

spots in parties of two and three and sheltered only by a few leaves.

When these calamities come upon them they utterly lose all command

over themselves and become as timid as children. When the fugitives

become short of provisions a few of the old men who have already had

the complaint creep back to the houses at night and take a supply of

rice. In the daytime they do not dare to stir or speak above a whisper

for fear the spirits should see or hear them. They do not call the

small-pox by its name, but are in the habit of saying, “Has he left

you?” at other times they call it jungle-leaves or fruit; at other

places the Datu or chief.

Their priests frequently use the names of invisible spirits, and are

supposed to be able to interpret their language as well as to hold

communion with them; and in ordinary times they pretend to work the

cure of the sick by means of incantations, and after blinding the

patient’s eyes pretend, by the aid of the spirits, to draw the bones

of fish or fowl out of their flesh. When the Dayaks are questioned as

to their belief in these easily-exposed deceits, they say, No; but the

custom has descended to them from their ancestors, and they still pay

their priests heavy sums to perform the ancient rites.

They believe in a future state--considering that the Simaūgat or

spiritual part of man lives for ever; that they awake shortly after

death in the Sabayan or future abode, and that there they find those of

their relatives and friends who have departed before them. Some tribes

divide their Sabayan into seven distinct stories which are occupied by

the souls of the departed according to their rank and position in life.

The really wicked occupy the lowest, but whether happy or miserable

they acknowledge ignorance.

The Kayans of Baram have some singular ideas concerning a future state.

The name of their god is Totadungan and he reigns over all; they

say he has a wife but no children, and beneath him are many gods of

inferior power. They believe in a future state with separate places for

the souls of the good and the bad, and that both heaven and hell are

divided into many distinct residences--that those who die from wounds,

or sickness, or drowning, go to separate places. If a woman dies before

her husband they hold that she goes to heaven and marries again; but

that if when her earthly husband dies he goes to heaven the celestial

match is broken off and the old husband claims his partner.

Among both Land and Sea Dayaks dreams are regarded as actual

occurrences. They think that in sleep the soul sometimes remains in the

body and sometimes leaves it and travels far away, and that both when

in and out of the body it sees and hears and talks and altogether has

a presence given it which when the body is in a natural state it does

not enjoy. Fainting fits or a state of coma are thought to be caused

by the departure of the soul on some expedition of its own. Elders and

priestesses often assert that in their dreams they have visited the

mansion of the blessed and seen the Creator dwelling in a house like

that of a Malay, the interior of which was adorned with guns and gongs

and jars innumerable, Himself being clothed like a Dayak.

A dream of sickness to any member of a family always ensures a

ceremony; and no one presumes to enter the priesthood, or to learn

the art of a blacksmith, without being or pretending to be warned in

a dream that he should undertake to learn it. A man has been known to

give one of his two children to another who has no children because he

dreamed that unless he did so the child would die.