A NATIVE RISING
It was stated a little while back that we were left on the island with
statues and natives. The statues remained quiescent, the natives did
not. The inhabitants, or Kanakas to give them their usual name[13] (fig.
26), are on the whole a handsome race, though their voices, particularly
those of the women, are very harsh. They are fortunate also in
possessing attractive manners, from which they get the full benefit in
their intercourse with passing ships. The older people we found always
kind and amiable, but the younger men have a high opinion of their own
merits, and are often difficult to deal with. Their general morality,
using the word in its limited sense, is, in common with that of all
Polynesians, of a particularly low order; it is true that the Europeans
with whom they have come into contact did not initiate this condition,
but they have seldom done anything to show that that of their own lands
is in any way higher; a fact which should be remembered when complaint
is made that Kanakas “have no respect for white men.” The native love of
accuracy also leaves a good deal to be desired, and their lies are
astonishingly fluent; but lack of truthfulness is scarcely confined to
Kanakas. In common with all residents in the South Seas, or indeed
elsewhere, they exert themselves no more than is necessary to supply
their wants; unfortunately these, save in the matter of clothes, have
scarcely increased since pre-Christian days. The food-supply of sweet
potatoes and bananas, with a few pigs and fowls, can be obtained with a
minimum of labour; the keeping of sheep and cattle is not permitted by
the Company, owing to the impossibility of discovering or tracing theft.
Their old huts, which were made with sticks and grass, have been
replaced by small houses of wood or stone, but, except in a few cases,
there is no furniture, and the inhabitants continue to sleep on the
floor, in company with hens, which freely run in and out (fig. 27).
There seems no desire to improve their condition; “Kanakas no like work,
Kanakas like sit in house,” was the ingenuous reply given by one of
them, when my husband pointed out the good results which would accrue
from planting some trees in village territory.
[Illustration:
FIG. 26.
A GROUP OF EASTER ISLANDERS OUTSIDE THE CHURCH DOOR.
]
[Illustration:
FIG. 27.
HANGA ROA VILLAGE.
Native houses and church. Rano Kao in the distance.
]
Perhaps the greatest barrier to native progress lies in the absence of
security of property; they steal freely from one another, as well as
from white men, so that all individual effort is rendered nugatory. At
the same time they are curiously lacking in pugnacity, and if detected
in theft quietly desist or return the property: as a typical instance
our cook once met a man wearing one of his, Bailey’s, ties; he looked
steadily at him, the man’s hand went up, he took off the tie and handed
it back. Their own native organisation was peculiarly lax, no kind of
justice being administered, and they have never had for any duration the
civilising effect of religious instruction or civil power. The
missionaries were replaced by a native lay reader; there is a large
church where services are regularly held, which form important functions
for the display of best clothes, but it is difficult to say how much
they convey to the worshippers. The older ones, at any rate, have two
names, both a native and Christian appellation. Mr. Edmunds had, on our
arrival, the status of a Chilean official, and was both just and kind in
his dealings, but he had no means of enforcing order; the two policemen
who had been at one time on the island had been withdrawn owing to their
own bad conduct. The marvel is not that the Kanakas are troublesome, but
that they are as good as they are.
We had heard in Chile rumours of native unrest, owing to the action of a
white man, who had been for a short while on the island, and who had
done his best to undermine the authority of the Manager. We had before
long unpleasant evidence that they were out of hand. The wool-shed,
which contained our minutely calculated stores, was broken into, and a
quantity of things stolen, the most lamented being three-fourths of the
stock of soap; no redress or punishment was possible. On June 30th,
while we were still at the Manager’s, a curious development began which
turned the history of the next five weeks into a Gilbertian opera—a
play, however, with an undercurrent of reality which made the time the
most anxious in the story of the Expedition. On that date a
semi-crippled old woman, named Angata (fig. 30), came up to the
Manager’s house accompanied by two men, and informed him that she had
had a dream from God, according to which M. Merlet, the chairman of the
Company, was “no more,” and the island belonged to the Kanakas, who were
to take the cattle and have a feast the following day.[14] Our party
also was to be laid under contribution, which, it later transpired, was
to take the form of my clothes. Later in the day the following
declaration of war was formally handed in to Mr. Edmunds, written in
Spanish as spoken on the island:
“_June 30th, 1914._
“SENIOR EMA, MATAVERI,
“Now I declare to you, by and by we declare to you, which is the word
we speak to-day, but we desire to take all the animals in the camp and
all our possessions in your hands, now, for you know that all the
animals and farm in the camp belong to us, our Bishop Tepano gave to
us originally. He gave it to us in truth and justice. There is another
thing, the few animals which are in front of you,[15] are for you to
eat. There is also another thing, to-morrow we are going out into the
camp to fetch some animals for a banquet. God for us, His truth and
justice. There is also another business, but we did not receive who
gave the animals to Merlet also who gave the earth to Merlet because
it is a big robbery. They took this possession of ours, and they gave
nothing for the earth, money or goods or anything else. They were
never given to them. Now you know all that is necessary.
“Your friend,
“DANIEL ANTONIO,
“_Hangaroa_.”
If some of the arguments are probably without foundation, as, for
example, that regarding native rights in the cattle, they were at least,
as will be seen, of the same kind which have inspired risings in many
lands and all ages. The delivery of the document was immediately
followed by action. The Kanakas went into “the camp,” eluding Mr.
Edmunds, who had gone in another direction, and secured some ten head of
cattle. The smoke from many fires was shortly to be seen ascending from
the village, and one of our party was shown a beast which was to be
offered to us in place of our stolen property, “God” having apparently
reversed his message on the subject of our contribution to the new
republic. The next few days there was little more news “from the front,”
save that Angata, the old woman, had had another dream, in which God had
informed her that “He was very pleased that the Kanakas had eaten the
meat and they were to eat some more.” A week later, riding home through
the village, I saw a group on the green engaged in dressing a girl’s
hair; on inquiry it was found that she was to be married next day.
Congratulations had hardly been expressed, when another young woman was
pointed out who was also to change her state at the same time, and
another and another, till the prospective brides totalled five in all.
The idea, it seemed, was prevalent, that if punishment was subsequently
inflicted for the raids, it was the single men who would be taken to
Chile, hence this rush into matrimony, undeterred by the fact that Mr.
Edmunds, in his capacity as Chilean official, had declined for the
present to perform the civil part of the ceremony. The wedding feast
was, of course, to be furnished by the sheep of the Company.
Unfortunately, under such circumstances, it seemed hardly loyal to our
host to attend the multiple wedding, which was duly solemnised in the
church next day.
Meanwhile, the white residents had, of course, been considering their
position, and in orthodox fashion, counting the number on which they
could rely in an emergency. Beside Mr. Edmunds there were at this time
in our party, myself and five men: S., Mr. Ritchie, the photographer,
the cook, and a boy from Juan Fernandez. There were about half a dozen
more or less reliable Kanakas, including the native Overseer and the
village Headman, but everyone else was involved. Mr. Edmunds’s position
as custodian of the livestock was unenviable, and ours was not much more
pleasant. After much thought we strongly dissuaded him from taking any
action; if he interfered, there would be an affray. The natives were
said to have a rifle and some pistols; it was doubtful how many would go
off, but there would anyway be stone-throwing: if he was then forced to
shoot, the only deterrent possible, he would have to continue till
resistance was entirely cowed, or all our lives would remain in danger.
His personal safety was however another matter, and our party therefore
accompanied him in an attempt to frustrate a raid, but this obviously
could not be continued if our work was to be accomplished. We were
strengthened in adopting a waiting policy by the fact that, most
fortunately, a fortnight earlier a passing vessel had left us
newspapers; they confirmed the news heard in Chile that the naval
training ship, the _Jeneral Baquedano_, whose visits occurred at
intervals of anything from two to five years, was shortly leaving for
Easter Island. We could only hope her arrival would be soon.
S. suggested that, being an unofficial person, he might meanwhile try
the effect of negotiations; for the raids were continuing, and the head
of cattle killed on one day had risen to fifty-six, including females
and young. He therefore went down to the village, assembled the natives,
and offered the company a present of two bullocks a week, if they would
refrain from taking any more stock till the arrival of the warship, when
the whole matter could be referred to the captain. The audience laughed
the suggestion out of court, for “the whole of the cattle,” they said,
belonged to them, as God had told Angata, but they would let our party
“have twenty” if we wished; as for Mr. Edmunds, “he is a Protestant, and
therefore, of course, has no God.”
[Illustration:
FIG. 28.
BAILEY, THE COOK, ON GUARD.
]
[Illustration:
FIG. 29.
EASTER ISLAND WOMEN
Parapina standing.
]
[Illustration:
FIG. 30.
ANGATA, THE PROPHETESS.
]
When my husband returned saying he had accomplished nothing, I felt that
it was “up to me.” “This,” I said, “is a matter requiring tact, and is
therefore a woman’s job; _I_ will go and see the old lady.” I had
already received from her an embarrassing present of fowls, which, after
referring the matter to our host, it had seemed better to accept. Not
without inward trepidation, I rode down to the village, taking the
Fernandez boy as interpreter, for many of the natives speak a smattering
of Spanish. The place was a perfect shambles, joints of meat hanging
from all the trees, and skins being pegged out to dry on every hand, but
the raiders had been displaying energy in rebuilding the wall round the
church. The Prophetess was with a group outside the house of the acting
priest, who was her son-in-law; she was a frail old woman with grey hair
and expressive eyes, a distinctly attractive and magnetic personality.
She wore suspended round her neck some sort of religious medallion, a
red cross, I think, on a white ground, and her daughter who supported
her carried a small picture of the Saviour in an Oxford frame. She held
my hand most amiably during the interview, addressing me as “Caterina.”
I had brought her a gift and began by thanking for the fowls. She
refused all payments, saying “Food comes from God, I wish for no money,”
and proceeded to offer me some of the meat. This gave an opening, and in
declining I besought her not to let the Kanakas go out again after the
animals, for Mr. Edmunds said he would shoot if they did, and there
would be trouble for them when the _Baquedano_ came. As I spoke of the
raids her face hardened and her eyes took the look of a fanatic; she
said something about “God” with the upward gesture which was her habit
in speaking His name. I hastened to relieve the tension by saying that
“We must all worship God,” and was happy to find that I was allowed a
share in the Deity. Her manner again softened, and looking up to heaven
she declared, with an assured confidence, which was in its way sublime,
“God will never let the Kanakas be either killed or hurt.” The natives
were, in fact, firmly persuaded that no bullet could injure them. As for
myself, Angata would, she said, “pray” for me, adding, with a descent to
the mundane, that if ever she had “chickens or potatoes,” I should be
the first to have them. It was impossible to reason further; we parted
the best of friends, but the “tactful” mission had failed!
This was the state of affairs when we decided that we must transfer our
work and consequently our belongings to the other end of the island. Our
surveyor and photographer remained, however, at Mataveri, as the
accommodation there was more convenient for their occupations, so Mr.
Edmunds was not alone. Moving camp, levelling ground, and building
walls, were not light matters, when the Kanakas had found such much more
interesting employment, but at last it was accomplished, and then came
the question of the stores, which after the robbery at the wool-shed had
been taken to Mataveri. After much consultation it was decided to remove
them to Raraku, as on the whole safer than leaving them at the Manager’s
house, which might, by the look of things, be any day looted or burnt
down. But when the ox-cart had been carefully loaded up with the
numerous boxes and goods, the cash supply, consisting of £50 of English
gold and some Chilean paper, being carefully hidden amongst them, a
spell of bad weather set in. It was impossible to move the cart, and our
possessions sat there day after day most handily arranged for the
revolutionists if their desires should turn that way.
Our new camp we were often obliged to leave without defence save for the
redoubtable Bailey, who had also served as guard at Mataveri (fig. 28).
There had been no demonstration against us so far, but of course the
future was unknown, and I never came in sight of our house, on returning
from any distant work, without casting an anxious glance to see if it
were still standing. We always went about armed, and the different
ranges for rifle-shot were measured off from my house and marked by
cairns, which will no doubt in future add yet one more to the mysteries
of Easter Island.
One day I had just come back from a stroll, when the cry was raised “The
Kanakas are coming,” and a troop of horsemen, about thirty strong,
appeared on the sky-line some four hundred yards distant. Fortunately S.
was at hand, we hurried inside my house, shut the lower half of its
door, which resembled that of a loose-box, and carelessly leant out. Any
unpleasantness could then only be frontal; at the same time all weapons
were within easy grasp, though not visible from the outside.
It soon, however, became clear that the visitors were approaching at a
walk only, from which it was gathered their intentions were friendly.
Nevertheless it was a relief when, as they got nearer, they raised their
hats and gave a cheer; they then formed a semicircle round the door and
dismounted. The “priest” who was with them, and who carried a picture of
the Virgin, read something, presumably a prayer, at which the company
crossed themselves. He then gave greetings from Angata, and a message
from her to say that _Mana_ was returning safely with letters on board,
and the men presented from their saddle-bows, eggs, potatoes, and about
a dozen hens. The position was unwelcome, but as none of the goods were
stolen, it seemed better to accept, and discharge the obligation as far
as possible by giving in return what European food we could spare We
subsequently informed Mr. Edmunds, and sent a message to the Prophetess
that, as our camp was out of bounds, the Kanakas must not come without
leave. The old lady herself, however, kept sending to us for anything
she happened to want, and as the requests continually grew in magnitude
the breaking-point seemed only a question of time. One of the earlier
demands, to which Mr. Edmunds thought it advisable we should accede, was
for material for a flag for the new Republic; later, it floated proudly
as a tricolour, made of a piece of white cotton, some red material from
the photographic outfit, and a fragment of an old blue shirt.
Elsewhere things went from bad to worse, and it seemed as if the
expected warship would never arrive. Word came that the Kanakas had
ordered the native overseer to leave his house, the only one outside the
village, and were taking away the servants of the Manager; our
photographer wrote that he “dared not come over as their lives were
being threatened”; and finally, one afternoon we received a note from
Mr. Edmunds, saying, that “he could not leave the place as the Kanakas
were talking of coming up in a body to the house.” They were also, as we
later learnt, threatening to kill him if he resisted their taking
possession. It was obvious that the crisis had arrived; that we must
risk leaving the camp and go into Mataveri. We talked over every
conceivable plan of campaign, but it was too late to do anything that
night, and I remember that, finally at dinner, to turn our thoughts, we
discussed the curious manner in which some of the statues had fallen. In
four cases which we had seen that day, while the body lay on its front,
the head had broken off in mid air, turned a complete somersault, and
rested on its back with the crown towards the neck. The next morning,
August 5th, I awoke early and recorded in my journal the events of the
day before. “Of course,” I added, “if it were a stage play, just as the
crisis arrived there would be cries of ‘the _Baquedano_ is here,’ and
the curtain would fall. But, alas! it is not.” Scarcely was the ink
dry—only it was pencil—when a man rode up waving a note from Mr.
Edmunds, and shouting, “A ship!—a ship!” The previous afternoon, as the
Kanakas were assembling in the village to go up to Mataveri, the
_Baquedano_ had been sighted, and four of the ringleaders were now in
irons. I scarcely knew how great had been the long strain till the
relief came.
Our rejoicings, however, we found to have been partly premature. The
warship had unfortunately brought with her large gifts of clothes for
the natives from well-wishers in Chile. Some little while before
attention had been drawn to the inhabitants of Easter, by an Australian
captain who had touched there on his homeward voyage. The natives had,
as usual, come off to his ship in their oldest garments; he had been
impressed with their ragged condition and made a collection of clothes
for them in Australia amounting to many bales, but on his next voyage to
Chile he had been unable to touch again at the island and had left them
at Valparaiso. We had been asked to bring these bales, but had declined
on the score of space.[16] The Chileans disliked the idea of their
protectorate being indebted to strangers, made a collection on their own
account, and despatched them by the _Baquedano_. It seemed unthinkable
that people, every one of whom for weeks had been consuming stolen
goods, and who, two days before, had been on the verge of murder, should
be immediately presented officially with the commodity they most prized.
I therefore went on board the _Baquedano_, saw the Captain, and ventured
to request that the goods should be handed over to us, promising
personally to visit every house before our departure, ascertain the
needs of the people, and distribute the articles. “Surely,” he said,
“you shall have them.” Within a few hours they had been distributed by
his officers on the beach. Some of the garments were useful, but an
assortment of ball-slippers seemed a little out of place, and the
greater part of the community, men and women, blossomed out into washing
waistcoats. The stolen sheepskins, or some of them, were returned, but
three of the four ringleaders were set at liberty, and no corporate
punishment was inflicted; indeed, the Captain had told me he considered
that the natives had “behaved very well not to murder Mr. Edmunds” prior
to our arrival.
Before the ship left the island, the Captain wrote officially to the
“Head of the British Scientific Expedition” to the effect, that the
action he had been obliged to take to restore order would probably have
the result of rousing more feeling against foreigners; he therefore
could not guarantee our safety and offered us passages to Chile—an offer
which, needless to say, we declined. So ended the Revolution; we felt
with interest that the confidence of the Prophetess had been justified,
at any rate as far as 249 Kanakas were concerned out of the 250.
The old lady died six months later; I attended her funeral. The coffin
was pathetically tiny, and neatly covered with black and white calico. A
service was first held in the church where, during the rising, she used
to take part in the assemblies and address her adherents. There figured
prominently in the ceremony a model of the building and also two
prie-dieu, roughly made of boards, one of which she had used in private,
the other in public worship. She was laid to rest beneath the great
wooden cross, which marks the Kanaka burying-ground, between the village
and the bay. I stood at a little distance watching gleams of sunshine on
the great stones of the terrace of Hanga Roa and on the grey sea beyond,
and musing on the strange life now closed, whose early days had been
spent in a native hut beneath the standing images of Raraku. My
attention was recalled by an evident hitch in the proceedings:
difficulty had arisen in lowering the coffin, owing to the fact that the
prie-dieu was also being fitted into the grave. When all had been
finally adjusted and the interment was completed, a sound was heard,
unusual in such circumstances—three English cheers—hip, hip, hooray; the
natives had learnt it from passing ships and esteemed it an essential
part of a ceremony. The company was not large for the obsequies of one
who had so recently been the heroine of the village, and on asking in
particular why a certain near relative was absent, the answer received
was that “there was to be a great feast of pigs, and he was busy
preparing it”; doubtless others were similarly detained.
During the remainder of our sojourn there were, as will be seen,
additional white men on the island. The Kanakas were occupied in various
ways and there was no further open demonstration, but their independence
and demands increased daily. Since we left, a white employé of the
Company has been murdered by them and thrown into the sea.