THE DANCE OF THE PAINTED SAVAGES
After three days among the nomads, we decided that there was no
cannibalism among a people so mild and spiritless, and so we packed our
belongings and set off for the Amour. We thought we had half a day’s
journey ahead of us, but to our surprise we reached the ship in less
than two hours. Nella, to be on the safe side, had led us to the
headquarters of the tribe by a circuitous route.
It was high tide when we reached the beach; so we took the opportunity
of getting the Amour off the sand. A good breeze took us rapidly down
the coast. At nightfall we started the engine and by midnight we had
anchored in Southwest Bay.
[Illustration: SOUTHWEST BAY]
The next morning, at daybreak, we were surrounded by natives in canoes,
with fruit and yams and fish for sale. Since the fish were old and
smelly, we decided to catch some fresh ones by the dynamite method in
use throughout the South Seas wherever there are white men to employ
their “magic”! We lowered the two whaleboats. I set my camera in one and
lashed the other alongside to steady my boat which bobbed about a good
bit as it was, but not enough to spoil the picture. I next set the
natives to hunting for a school of fish. In a few moments they signaled
that they had found one. We approached slowly and quietly and threw the
dynamite. It exploded with a roar and sent a spout of water several feet
into the air. After the water had quieted, the fish began to appear.
Soon some three hundred mullets, killed from the concussion, were
floating on the surface and the natives jumped overboard and began to
gather the fish into their canoes. Suddenly one of the blacks yelled in
terror. He scrambled into his canoe and his companions did likewise. I
saw the dark edge of a shark’s fin coming through the water. He was an
enormous shark and in his wake came a dozen others. They made the water
boil as they gobbled down our catch. Captain Moran seized his gun and
put a bullet through the nose of one of the largest of them. The shark
leaped ten feet out of the water, and in huge jumps made for the open
sea, lashing the water into foam with his tail every time he touched the
surface. I got some fine pictures.
Before the sun was up, we were well on our way, with an escort of a
dozen canoes. The river was broad and beautiful. On one side was a sandy
beach. On the other was jungle, clear to the water’s edge. After we had
paddled for about two miles, we came unexpectedly into a lagoon about
three miles long and two wide, and dotted with tiny, jungled islands. As
we were making pictures of the lovely scene, several natives came out in
canoes and invited us to land. They were the first of the long-headed
people that we had seen. Their heads were about half as long again as
they should have been and sloped off to a rounded point. We landed and
visited several villages, each consisting of no more than three or four
tumble-down huts. There were a few wretched, naked women, a half-dozen
skinny children, and several half-starved pigs about. Some of the women
had strapped to their backs babies who wore the strange baskets that
mould their heads into the fashionable shape. One of these baskets is
put on the head of each child when it is about three days old. First a
cloth woven from human hair is fitted over the head. This is soaked with
coconut oil to soften the skull. Then, after a few days, the basket is
put on, and the soft skull immediately takes on the elongated shape
desired. The basket is woven of coconut fiber in such a manner that the
strands can be tightened day after day, until the bones are too hard to
be further compressed. When the child is a year old, the basket is taken
off.
In time gone by, the lagoon tribes, like the “monkey people,” had
suffered much from wars. The few survivors had lost interest in life.
They no longer repaired their houses. Their devil-devils were falling
into decay. The clearings, instead of being beaten hard, as is usually
the case, were overgrown with grass; for dances and ceremonies were rare
among these sadly disheartened folk.
Inside the houses were gruesome ornaments. Human heads, dried and
smoked, hung from the rafters or leered from the ends of the poles on
which they were impaled. In some houses there were mummified bodies,
with pigs’ tusks in the place of feet. Somehow, in the general
atmosphere of decay, these things seemed pitiful rather than terrifying.
When we returned to the beach, a little after dark, the boys told us
that scores of natives, well armed and painted in war-colors, had spent
a day on the beach on the opposite side of the bay. As soon as it was
daylight, we embarked in the whaleboat to look for them. For about five
miles, we ran along the coast without seeing a trace of a human being.
The jungle came down to the water’s edge and dangled its vines in the
water. But at last we came to a long, sandy beach well packed down by
bare feet. A number of baskets hung from the trees at the edge of the
jungle. We headed the boat for the shore, but just before she ran her
nose into the sand, some twenty savages emerged without warning from the
bush. One glance, and our boys frantically put out to sea again. We were
thankful enough for their presence of mind, for the natives were a
terrifying sight. Their faces and heads were striped with white lime;
their black bodies were dotted with spots of red, yellow, blue, and
white, and their bushy hair bristled with feathers. They all carried
guns. How many of them had bullets was another question—but we did not
care to experiment to find the answer.
When we were about fifty feet from shore, I called a halt and tried to
get into communication with the natives. I had small success. They kept
saying something over and over, but what it was, I could not understand.
The tide carried us up the coast and the men followed at the water’s
edge. Finally, realizing that we did not trust them, they went back to
the jungle and leaned their guns against a tree. Then they came down to
the water-line again, and we rowed inshore until the bow of our boat was
anchored in the sand.
[Illustration: WOMAN AND CHILD OF THE LONG-HEADS, TOMMAN]
The savages waded out to us. Our boys held their guns ready for action;
for the visitors were certainly a nasty-looking lot. They were as naked
as when they were born, and they had great, slobbery mouths that seemed
to bespeak many a cannibal feast. They begged for tobacco and I gave
each of them a stick and a clay pipe. Then one of them, who spoke a
little _bêche-de-mer_, told us that a big feast was taking place at a
village about three miles inland. He and his companions were waiting for
the boo-boos to announce that it was time for them to put in an
appearance.
I decided, and Captain Moran and his brother agreed with me, that there
would be no danger in attending the ceremony. From what I could extract
from the natives, I gathered that there would not be more than a hundred
and fifty persons present. Our black boys seemed willing to make the
trip—a good sign, for they were quick to scent danger and determined in
avoiding it, so we landed.
Experience had taught me that the possession of a rifle does not
necessarily make a native dangerous, and, sure enough, when I examined
the guns leaning against the tree, I found that only four of the guns
had cartridges. The rest were all too old and rusty to shoot.
Twenty savages led us inland over a good trail. Before we had walked
half an hour, we could hear the boom of the boo-boos. I have never been
able to get used to that sound. Often as I have heard it, it sends a
chill down my spine. After an hour, it began to get on my nerves. By
that time we had reached the foot of a steep hill, and our escort told
us that they could go no farther until they were summoned. We went on
alone, the sound of the boo-boos growing louder and more terrifying with
each step. Osa began to wonder about the advisability of bursting on the
natives unannounced. She hinted vaguely that it might be wise to return
to the boat. But we kept on.
It was a hard climb. We had to stop several times to rest. The revolvers
that Osa and I carried in our hip pockets seemed heavy as lead. At last,
however, we made the top of the hill, and found ourselves at the edge of
a clearing about a quarter of a mile in diameter. In the center, around
a collection of huge boo-boos and devil-devils, were a thousand naked
savages. That was my first estimate. A little later I divided the number
in two, but even at that, there were more savages than I had ever before
seen at one time. And they were the fiercest-looking lot I had ever laid
my eyes on. White lead, calcimine, red paint, and common bluing are
among the most valued trade articles in this region, and the savages had
invested heavily in them, and besides had added to their make-up boxes
yellow ocher and coral lime and ghastly purple ashes. Every single one
had a gun or a bow and arrows, and looked as if he would use it at very
slight provocation.
As we appeared, the boom of the boo-boos ceased. The savages who had
been dancing stopped. Every eye was turned on us. After a moment’s
silence, all the natives began to talk. Then a number separated
themselves from the mob, and, led by an old man who was smeared with
yellow ocher from the crown of his head to the soles of his feet,
approached us.
The old man spoke to us severely in _bêche-de-mer_, asking our business.
“We walk about, no more,” I explained humbly. “We bringem presents for
big fellow master belong village.”
The haughty old man then informed us that, though he himself was the
biggest chief of all, there were many other chiefs present, and that I
must make presents to all of them. He was not at all polite about it. He
said “must” and he meant “must.” I took one glance at the hundreds of
fierce, painted faces in the clearing, and then I had one of the boys
bring me the big ditty-bag. Then and there I distributed about
twenty-five dollars’ worth of trade-stuff—the most I had ever given at
one time.
The uproar was fairly deafening—I was thoroughly alarmed. The voices of
the savages were angry. Men ran from group to group, apparently giving
commands. Moran put his two hands in his pockets where he kept his
revolvers and I told Osa to do likewise. Our boys huddled close around
us. No need to tell them to keep their guns ready.
The bag was soon empty, and there was nothing further to do but await
developments. To retreat would be more dangerous than to stay. In order
to keep Osa from guessing how scared I was, I got out my moving-picture
camera. I wish I could have photographed what happened then; for the
entire mob broke and ran for cover. I wondered if they had ever seen a
machine-gun. I couldn’t explain their fright on any other grounds. Only
old Yellow Ocher stood his ground. He was scared, but game, and asked me
excitedly what I was up to. I explained the camera to him and opened it
up and showed him the film and the wheels. He shouted to the other
natives to come back, and they returned to the clearing, muttering and
casting sullen glances in our direction. The old man was angry. We had
nearly broken up the show. He gave us to understand that he washed his
hands of us.
He then turned his attention to the ceremony. In a few moments a dozen
savages took their places at the boo-boos and a few men started a
half-hearted chant. A score of young savages began to dance, but without
much spirit. It was half an hour before they warmed up, but at the end
of that time the chant was loud and punctuated with blood-thirsty yells,
and a hundred men were dancing in the clearing. I call the performance
“dancing,” but it was simply a march, round and round, quickening
gradually to a run punctuated by leaps and yells. Soon women and
children came out of the jungle. That was a good sign. For the time
being, we were in no danger.
The dance ended abruptly with a mighty yell. The men at the boo-boos
changed their rhythm and the twenty savages we had met on the beach
burst from the jungle into the clearing and began to dance. There was a
rough symbolism in their dance. But we could not decipher the meaning of
the pantomime. They picked up a bunch of leaves here and deposited them
there. Then they charged a little bundle of sticks and finally gathered
them up and carried them off. When they were tired out, they withdrew to
the side-lines, and another group, all painted alike, in an even fiercer
pattern than that of the first group, made a similar dramatic entrance
and danced themselves into exhaustion. They were followed by other
groups. By the time three hours had passed, there were fully a thousand
savages in the clearing.
It was a wonderful sight. My “movie” sense completely overcame my fears,
and I ground out roll after roll of film. When the afternoon was well
advanced, a hundred savages began to march to slow time around the
devil-devils. Others joined in. They increased their pace. Soon more
than half the natives were in a great circle, running and leaping and
shouting around the clearing. Those who were left formed little circles
of their own, the younger men dancing and the older ones watching with
unfriendly eyes the actions of the rival groups. Even the women and
children were hopping up and down and shouting. Occasionally a
detachment of natives came toward us. At times we were completely
surrounded, though we tried our best by moving backward to prevent the
savages from getting in our rear.
[Illustration: THE PAINTED DANCERS OF SOUTHWEST BAY]
As the dance grew wilder, however, the savages lost all interest in us.
Soon every one of them was dancing in the clearing. I shall never forget
that dance—a thousand naked, painted savages, running and leaping in
perfect time to the strange beat-beat-beat of the boo-boos and the wild,
monotonous chant punctuated with brutal yells. The contagion spread to
the women and children and they hopped up and down like jumping-jacks
and chanted with the men. I turned the crank of my camera like mad. The
sun sank behind the trees and Osa and Moran urged me to return to the
beach, but I was crazy with excitement over the picture I was getting
and I insisted on staying: I lighted a number of radium flares. The
savages muttered a bit, but they were worked up to too high a pitch to
stop the dance, and, when they found that the flares did no harm, they
rather liked them. Old Yellow Ocher, seeing that the bluish-white light
added to the spectacular effect, asked me for some more flares. I gave
him my last two, and he put them among the devil-devils and lighted
them. He could not have done me a greater service. The light from the
flares made it possible to get a picture such as I never could have
secured in the waning daylight.
The savages were sweating and panting with their exertions, but now they
danced faster than ever. They seemed to have lost their senses. They
leaped and shouted like madmen. Osa swallowed her pride and begged me to
put up my camera, and at last I reluctantly consented. As I packed my
equipment, I found two hundred sticks of tobacco that had escaped my
notice. Without thinking of consequences, I put them on the edge of the
clearing and motioned to Yellow Ocher to come and get them. But some of
the young bucks saw them first. They leaped toward them. The first dozen
got them. The next hundred fought for them. The dance ended in uproar.
For the first time in our island experiences, Osa was frightened. She
took to her heels and ran as she had never run before. The boys grabbed
up my cameras and followed her. Captain Moran stood by me. He urged me
to run, but I felt that, if we did so, we should have the whole pack on
us. Old Yellow Ocher and some of the other chiefs came up to us and
yelled something that we could not understand and did not attempt to
answer. There was no chance for explanations in that uproar. We edged
toward the trail. The chiefs pressed after us, yelling louder than ever.
Their men were at their heels. Luckily some of the natives began to
fight among themselves and diverted the attention of the majority from
us. Only a small group followed us to the edge of the hill. When we
reached the trail, Moran said we had better cut and run, and we made the
steep descent in record time.
Our boys were a hundred yards ahead of us. Osa, with nothing to carry,
was far in the lead. When I caught up with her, she was crying, not with
fear, but with anger. When she got her breath back, she told me what she
thought of me for exposing us all to danger for the sake of a few feet
of film. I took the scolding meekly, for I knew she was right. But I
kept wishing that we had been twelve white men instead of three. Then I
could have seen the dance through to the end.