Part 3

_Monday, 26th July._--I reckoned without my host last night when I rashly permitted Agnes and Kate to cook for me this week at their own request. They made a tremendous fuss about it, but the rice came to table uncooked, and in such a small quantity that my breakfast was spoilt and the coffee was anything but good. However they did their best and I dare say to-morrow they will do all right. They were both wonderfully good, and not only washed up for me but gave my premises a good sweep as well. Poor Agnes, she is hideously lame, but she pretends to the liveliness of a kitten. The fence around the school is rather high and I watched her endeavours to get over with her lameness and her petticoats. She managed better than I expected, but I stood by in readiness to lend her a helping hand in case she fell. She comes back fully impressed with a sense of her importance and dignity after so many years absence, and her friends made a great deal of her. To-day she is off with the other women on some excursion or other, and is fully convinced that she is as active as any of them. Before long no doubt she will fancy herself useful and engaging enough to be the life partner of Tilegi, and to be the faithful companion of his joys and sorrows. She is an intelligent girl, and her long training at Norfolk Island ought to make her useful here. She is perfectly charmed with her home, and she sees very plainly the beneficial results produced by Christianity. When she left, she herself was among the few baptized, now she comes back to the bosom of a Christian community with a good church and school, daily Morning and Evening Prayers, and perfect harmony and good will among all men. She will miss little at home now of what she has grown accustomed to at Norfolk Island, and it must be a pleasant realization to her. The girls, too, with whom she will have daily association are all Christians, and she will be spared the shock and repulsion of heathen women’s talk and actions. Her father has died in the interval, a truly godly man in his life, and a believer at the time of his death.

There is no face I miss here more than that of James, a true and faithful friend to me, and I firmly believe, too, of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. Arthur tells me his death was perfectly peaceful and happy, and he desired at the last to depart and be with Christ which was far better. His two children followed him, and the three lie side by side in the quiet and rest of the grave. A reputed mother, but one who is really an aunt, Amina, takes charge of Agnes until Tilegi or some one else claims her as a bride, for in spite of her deformity I suppose she will not eschew marriage herself, or be allowed to remain in single blessedness by her friends, for here young ladies are not over plentiful, and to judge by the appearance of some already married there is no accounting for taste among the men of the place. Elizabeth, the wife of James, has found solace in another partner, but she spoke of her former husband with a due amount of grief and tears, and said to me, pointing in the direction of his grave, “He lies asleep over there.”

Yet there are here those who are ‘widows indeed,’ and good old Dorcas is one such. This old lady well deserves her name, for she is full of alms deeds, and kindness to all, and I firmly believe is a true follower of Jesus Christ. She lives alone with a little grandchild in her own hut and trains up dutifully the child in the way she should go. Very seldom is old Dorcas away from her seat in church, and she exercises a benign and gentle influence over her own sex in the village. Anna, another good old widow, has died in my absence, and the loss of such is much felt. Among the younger women there is a perfect colony of children, and this is most thankworthy as being a proof that infanticide has been quite stamped out, and formerly it seemed to be a sort of religious duty here. Children were looked upon as being uncanny as well as a nuisance, and if the mother did not kill her offspring herself, she found plenty of aiders and abettors in the old midwives who attended her. The father seemed utterly impotent to prevent the evil. Now the fathers have turned head nurses and are abundantly proud of their children.

This morning after Prayers and school I walked down to the river side at Rarava, whither almost the entire population had preceded me, and where I lit upon a busy scene. It was a most resplendent day, but the overhanging branches of the wide spreading foliage lent a charm and grateful shade to the occasion. The men were engaged in digging the ‘taro’ roots, from their irrigated beds, and the women busy washing and preparing them for culinary purposes. The ladies here, present no exception to a proverbial excess in the use of the ‘unruly member’ as the especially noticeable characteristic of the gentler sex in more favoured parts of the world, and a Babel-like clatter of tongues formed a striking accompaniment to the quietness and order of the work in hand. The taro beds of course are mud, pure and simple, and the taro when dug is a very dirty vegetable, it is covered over besides with long tenacious feelers for roots, and these are picked off with the fingers in the most skilled and practised manner much after the fashion of plucking and preparing a bird for table. When the cleaning and plucking process is perfected, the long stalks are collected to a head and tied up in convenient bundles with one of their own parts in the most ingenious and knowing manner. Two bundles are then arranged on one long pole, and carried by one bearer on the shoulder, one bundle before and another behind their backs. The weight is considerable, but here the burden is borne by the men, the women carry the broad leaves and other concomitants of native cookery. Beyond the cackle there was very much merriment which all seemed in accord with the dancing sparkling waters of the clear flowing river. The prospect around was most beautiful and although not extensive the landscape was most bewitching, and the eye was never tired with seeing.

These natives have great natural taste, which is displayed to a far greater degree in the arrangement and beautifying of their yam and taro gardens here, than in any other island I have seen.

The broad, handsome evergreen taro leaf spreads its verdure right and left, and all around, amid the friendship of the gay-leaved croton, the majestic dracæna, and the vari-coloured hibiscus, while here and there, to vary the prospect, the graceful cocoanut lends the beauty and elegance of its chastely spreading branches; all this beauty is thrown into relief by a back ground of the most marvellously beautiful bush, which shuts it in as with a natural fence, and leaves the only wish and feeling with the observer just to get for a moment a peep of what lies beyond. Breaks here and there however, in the background, revealed distant hills clad to their very summits with a richness and profusion of vegetation such as always abounds in these lovely islands where ‘every prospect pleases.’ I could select so many subjects for pictures here as almost to finish up all my dry plates, my only hope is that I may meet with some measure of success when by and bye I try my hand at photography. A header into the cool waters and a swim up and down stream was very refreshing. The boys enlivened the scene by their merriment and gambolling in the water, and altogether it was an occasion of much delight, and not the less so to me when I considered that all these people, almost without exception, had passed before through the healing waters of Holy Baptism. As possessing so much of the element, it is perhaps only natural that these people should love the water, and bathe a great deal more than their appearance would give one reason to suspect. The boys, and more especially, I think, the girls, are very fond of the water, and never seem tired of bathing when near the river-side. ‘Tanrig’ is distant about two miles from the river, and this distance, although inconvenient for many reasons, is very convenient for others, and especially because of the mosquitos which abound in the neighbourhood. Here some times they are bad enough, but by the water-side they are, I believe, unbearable. I know I find them troublesome enough there by day, and I don’t care to experience the worry and misery of them by night. They are called here ‘namu,’ and are said to be particularly troublesome at a certain period in the growth and maturity of the yam.

Any one who has not lived in a tropical country can have very little conception of the discomfort and worry of these little maddening tormentors. Yet there are others whose attacks produce more serious consequences, and an illustration was afforded this evening. “Kate Tevano” (Arthur’s wife) was coming across to my house, and when almost at my door she gave a scream of terror and retired at once back again. I rushed out to learn the cause, and found she had been bitten by a centipede in the toe. The blood was just oozing out, and there were the distinct marks of his two fangs. In about ten minutes she was in great agony, and in the course of the evening her foot swelled and the pain was most terrible, and she couldn’t bear anything near it. Poor child, I left her in floods of bitter tears before going to bed, and she expected to be in pain all night long. The natives have some antidote for it, and the women were applying that all the evening. I confess that I did not know myself what to do, except to bathe it with hot water. There was a great hunt for the venomous little reptile, but of course he had made himself scarce. How he got on her foot, and why he bit her, no one knows, but there are multitudes of the creatures here, and perhaps the mystery is that people are not more often bitten. They have scorpions too here whose bite is very venomous, but one doesn’t often hear of their biting. There is a very large ant here called the ‘gandee’ to which I have a great aversion, and its bite is very sharp. Snakes here are not venomous, but the people have an instinctive dread of them, but they do not trouble us much. There is a hideous creature which lives in the thatch of the houses, an ugly toad-like lizard, with large red prominent eyes, which has such a tenacity of grasp with its feet that it sometimes even sticks so tight to the person it attacks as to take away the very skin in its grasp. Indeed, to me there are many strange and uncanny creatures in these islands to which I give as wide a berth as possible. Even in putting on your clothes you may find that a scorpion or centipede have taken up their quarters, in your hat you may find another monster, while most likely your shoes will be the tenement of some hideous reptile. Use and experience cannot rid one of a shudder when one thinks what may be, and yet if one is always anticipating these evils one’s very life becomes a burden.

_Tuesday, 27th July._--I visited poor Kate this morning as soon as I got up, and found her still in considerable pain and her foot a good deal swollen. She had slept but little during the night, and was still very tearful. However, her friends assured her that the poisonous effects would soon pass away, and it proved true, for I saw her walking, or rather limping about during the course of the forenoon. I was anxious to see a centipede this morning, and by and bye a man came bringing one which he held tightly by head and tail. It was a pretty creature and not so black as some I have seen, the legs indeed were of an orange yellow colour. It tried very hard to riggle away, but the ruthless boys soon put an end to its existence. How many legs it actually has I did not stop to count, but I saw its nasty fangs and preferred keeping a respectable distance from them.

A nasty lizard such as I have before mentioned was shortly after discovered in the thatch of my house just over my head, and captured after an exciting hunt. One creeps when these creatures are brought so near one, and is thankful for daily protection from them.

To-day has been the occasion of an important event here, viz: the thatching of a gamal (men’s quarters). This, indeed, is one of the greatest events known here, and there has been much feasting and festivity. The men do the thatching, and neighbours and strangers from a distance come to assist. There must have been quite a hundred men at work to-day, and it was the part and duty of the women to prepare food for them, and judging by the quantity spread out to-night they must have been kept pretty busy at work.

The house was a large one, and it took most of the day to finish it. The roof when complete was most neat, and a perfect protection from heat and wet for many years to come. The thatch is made from the frond of the sago palm and very durable. Cocoanut fronds are sometimes used, but they do not make so neat a roof nor nearly so lasting.

These native houses, although seemingly such poor structures, take some time and skill in building, and are very fair habitations when finished. They are rather low according to our ideas of comfort, but the natives grow accustomed to a crouching posture within doors, and they say the low roof does not catch the wind so easily, nor is the interior so cold. This is a consideration for people with no clothing, and I know myself from experience how cool it sometimes is here. Indeed, this very year I have never passed a night without being covered with a blanket, and even then I have not quite kept the cold away. A native, however, generally sleeps near a fire, and the interior of their houses are very snug. After the work was done this evening there was a great brew of kava, a drink made from the root of the kava plant, but here called “Malowo,” and highly intoxicating. There is much ceremony in connection with the drinking of this beverage, which as far as I have seen, if taken in fair moderation, produces strong inebriation, but is not an excitant, nor does it leave any ill effects when once the narcotic effects pass off. Any one who drinks is supposed to do so fasting, in order, I believe, that the draught may have the more effect. One or two cups are enough to produce intoxication, but of course men will make beasts of themselves in the drinking of kava, as well as of any other strong drink. Here it is prepared from the green root, and grated up with a rough, round coral stone, then squeezed into cups made of the half of a cocoanut shell, strained and mixed with water, after which it is ready for imbibation. To look at it is like soap suds, and to the taste it is like what I should suppose that compound resembled, with an additional admixture of rhubarb and magnesia, with a suspicion of strong senna or black draught. Indeed I think it is about the nastiest potion conceivable, and no wonder the drinker takes an unconscionably long time in swallowing the compound, and when finished would almost rather he had never drunk it. I was very glad to see most of our own people at school and prayers, but I believe some have reserved the ‘nightcap’ till nearer bed-time. When the drowsiness is over I believe a craving for food results, and then the appetite is appeased even if it be in the middle of the night. Certainly, however, a man is never quarrelsome over his cups, but a drowsiness and torpor creep over the most quarrelsome and irrepressive after the draught. The mode of preparation similar to that practised here obtains in all the Northern New Hebrides, as far as I know, but at Mota and the Banks’ Islands generally, and in Fiji it is prepared by a process of mastication, and is not nearly so intoxicating in its effects. At Santa Cruz and in the Solomon Islands the use of the kava is unknown, but instead they chew the betel nut.

I had the old men for school to-night, and very interesting it was, old blind Sulu (Daniel) was among the number and paid the greatest attention, assenting in a marked fashion when anything especially pleased him. Poor fellow, he finds wonderful comfort in his religion, and is a most regular attendant at all services and at school. He gets about wonderfully in spite of his blindness, and does wonderful things for a man so totally blind. His patience and cheerfulness under his affliction are marvellous, and he seems to live in hopeful anticipation of the time when he shall see his Lord and Master face to face, Whom now he sees with the inward eyes of his spirit. He is the only blind man here, and I have never seen but one dumb man in these islands.

_Wednesday, 28th July._--Our people had a great dance last night after school which they kept up with great spirit and vigour until an early hour this morning. The occasion was the thatching of the new gamal, and a great many took part, and never once intermitted their vigour from the start to the finish. The dance is called a “Sagoro,” but the chief part of it consists of singing with a clapping of hands and peculiar dancing in time. It is no easy work, and when I went to see them about the middle of the performance the perspiration was running down their bodies. Some of the songs are very pretty, but the movement of the dance is not particularly graceful or elegant. The women stand in a ring outside, and what is called “weluwelu.” This ‘weluing’ consists in keeping the feet close together and moving the knees from right to left besides joining in the chorus. Their shrill voices sound quite weird along with the deep tones of the males, but by no means discordant. Native songs have mostly an air sung by one voice, and a chorus joined in by all, and these Maewoese are noted for their songs. I did not attempt to go to sleep before the performance was over, and the consequence was a slight dilatoriness this morning, which as might be expected, was not only manifest in my case. However, after morning duties here I started with Arthur Huqe and Patrick for Mandurvat, passing through the pretty snug little village of Naruru on the way. Here we found a man by name ‘Tamaragai’ sitting with his pretty wife and child in the neat enclosure in front of his house. All the other denizens of the village according to the invariable custom which prevails here, had scattered to the four winds. After the dew is off the bushes here there is a general exodus from all the villages, and at noon it is useless to look for any one at home, for all are abroad. They are very industrious people and find perpetual occupation in their gardens or elsewhere from morning till evening. They say if they stay at home they do nothing but sleep, and a native has not many resources for occupying his time indoors. They have a great dread of the dew, for they say it engenders elephantiasis. Cases of this unpleasant disease are very prevalent here, and it looks very odd to see men and women with great swollen legs and feet and monster hands and arms. However, those afflicted with it do not seem to suffer so much pain as discomfort.

We reached our destination after a somewhat weary walk on account of the dampness of the roads after the heavy rain in the night. I found a nice new school, and the teachers awaiting my arrival. The population is small, but the people are well-intentioned and anxious for instruction as exhibited by their having built the school entirely themselves. The leading spirit there and his wife came to-day and asked for Baptism, and desired that they should at once be put under instruction for that sacred Rite. This was cheering, and I hope the example thus set will be largely followed. Food according to native custom had been prepared, and green cocoanuts, and we spent some considerable time with the kind hearted people. They have only an inferior teacher, but he is very zealous to do his best according to the amount of wisdom and knowledge he possesses. They have some sort of daily service and school, but it must of necessity be very elementary.

It is etiquette here for the host or someone appointed by him to see you off the premises, and this afternoon we were escorted some distance from the village by most of the male population, and when at what was looked upon as a respectable distance they stepped to one side, a sign that that was the last we should have of their society, and calling my name the host said, “Iya, go sage,” which is perhaps equal to “There, you go up,” to which I was supposed to respond calling his name, “Io, go toga,” “All right, you stop.” We then started for home. Arriving at Na Ruru the major part of the population were awaiting us, and Anthony the teacher with them, fear has driven him and his little flock to take refuge here, the third exodus they have made from their homes, and it is hoped that at last they will be safe from the ruthless incursions of the heathen bushmen. Poor fellow, he had begun to build a substantial new church, which was left with the other houses in their precipitate flight, but nothing daunted he has begun a third time to collect materials for another building. Had they continued however where they were, I doubt if they would have been molested. The only excuse for so doing would have been that they were friends of the villagers attacked by the bushmen. We sat for some time in conversation with the friendly people until the sinking sun warned us to be up and moving homewards. After prayers and singing, which we always have by an unvariable custom instead of school on Wednesday evenings, I received a request from some heathen strangers, twenty in number, that they might dance before me. I assented, and now at a late hour they are still at it, and going ahead with such vigour that I do not like to stop them. This dance is a piece of policy, for I am supposed to give them a handsome gratuity at the end, and the request to-night has been for tobacco. I am supposed also to be very liberal on these occasions, and certainly they have earned their wages. Their dance is very like that of the Tanrig people, but of course the songs are somewhat different, and to my taste not so pleasing. It is certainly curious that people living really in such close proximity should speak a dialect so utterly different that I can scarcely understand a word they say. I always assent to their dancing for it brings them here in large numbers, and for no ulterior purposes, and I like in every way to cultivate all friendly feeling between ourselves and our neighbours. Their powers of endurance are wonderful, there were many small boys among the dancers to-night, and the hands of my watch pointed to nearly 2 o’clock a.m. before they finished, and previously they must have walked some twelve or fifteen miles over very rugged country. It must be considered too that these dances are performed without any intermission, and carried through with great vigour to the very end. I believe they had contemplated going on till morning, but that would be too terrible. Now as I write this they are gone, and the place is as quiet as if I were alone the sole inhabitant. I am now quite ready for bed and have really been so for hours, but the din and noise would render sleep an impossibility. God grant that in time these heathen songs may be changed for Christian hymns.