In and out among the houses ply the dug-out canoes, and a very charming feature of the village is its crowd of children, playing with toy lakatois. The smallest of these toy craft are made of a section of bamboo ballasted with stones, with a sail of the same shape as that of the great rafts used by the grown-up people. The bigger children, scorning the bamboo vessels, have a larger kind, in which the canoes are real little dug-outs. These youngsters are wonderful swimmers, and as they conduct their little regattas they jump about in the water, swimming and diving fearlessly, and enjoying the merriest possible time. The people of Hanuabada are an agreeable and rather comely race. They are typical south-east coast natives, with shock heads of black wiry hair. The women, who carry on the characteristic industry of the place, the work in earthenware, are lithe picturesque figures in their long ramis or kilts of grass.
It is a curious fact that, although the Hanuabada and Elevada people live actually on waters that teem with fish, they are poor fishermen, being, in fact, too lazy to follow that craft. They are accordingly helped in this industry by the Hula people, whose fishing fleet presents at night one of the most weirdly picturesque sights in Papua. Of this I have more to say in a later chapter.
For weeks before the annual trading expedition Hanuabada is full of life. At every turn one comes upon women crouching on the ground, fashioning lumps of clay into the wonderfully perfect pottery for which the village is famous. The men-folk, although they do not condescend to take part in the actual fashioning of the pots, are good enough to dig the clay, which they take out of the ground with a stone adze—a flat stone blade lashed to the shorter extremity of a forked stick, the longer extremity forming the handle.
HANUABADA GIRLS DANCING AND SINGING.
Before the young braves sail on their annual pottery trading voyage, which they make on board Lakatois (sailing rafts of canoes), they have great rejoicing, and the young women dance on the decks of their strange-looking vessels.
There is a distinct organisation of labour among the potters, the women being divided into “makers” and “bakers.” Several “makers” work together in a group. They use no wheel, but seize a lump of clay with both hands, and make a hole large enough to get the right hand in, whereupon they gradually give the vessel its contour. After being roughly shaped, it is smoothed off with flat sticks or the palm of the hand. The finished article of Hanuabada ware is in the form of a flattened sphere with a very wide mouth, and a neatly finished rim six or eight inches across. Farther to the east, along the coast, the pottery is highly decorated, but it is much more crude in form, and has no fine rim. The pots are dried in the sun for several days, and then they are turned over to the “bakers,” whose fires are blazing in every street. There are two methods of baking. One is to lay the pot on a heap of hot ashes; the other to build the fire right round it. The vessel is watched through the whole process, and is continually turned on the fire with a little stick thrust into the mouth.
When many hundreds of pots have been completed, the Hanuabada people begin to think about the disposal of their wares. Their great market is at Paruru, a long way up the coast. They barter their pottery for sago with the nations of that district, and it is very curious to note that this extensive trading organisation on the part of an utterly savage people has been in existence from time immemorial, and is no imitation of European methods. To reach Paruru the potters must undertake a perilous voyage, for which they are dependent on the tail of the south-east monsoon.
Then comes the preparation of the craft, the lakatois. Several hundred large dug-out canoes are brought together, and are moored side by side at the landing stages in groups of six or ten. While this is being done many people are out in the forest cutting rattans and bamboos for lashing the dug-outs together, and for the upper framework of the rafts. Across the canoes, after they have been ranged at the proper distance (amidships, about six inches apart, although their taper ends cause a wider gap at bow and stern), are placed long bamboos, extending a considerable distance beyond the port and starboard sides of the outermost pair. Along the gunwales of each canoe, at regular intervals, stout bamboo uprights are erected, and to these the horizontal cross bamboos are strongly lashed with fibre and cane, until the whole framework is perfectly rigid. To the cross framework the potters fix down a floor of split bamboo, and all round the outer edges they wreathe dried grass to prevent slipping as one steps on board. This platform overlaps all round the raft fore and aft, and the cross-pieces are very strong and firmly lashed. Openings are left in the floor above each dug-out to enable the pottery to be stored in the holds of the canoes. A clear space is left on the platform, extending about six feet from bow and stern, and on the whole of the intervening space houses are erected in skeleton bamboo framework. These can be entirely covered in with mats to afford a shelter in stormy weather or in rain. The roofs as well as the sides are formed of mats. Wooden masts are now stepped amidships and held in place with stout stays of fibre, and then the lakatoi is ready to receive its sails. These resemble vast kites, and were formerly made of native matting stretched upon an outer frame of bamboo, but are now made of calico. It is difficult to describe their form, and they can best be understood by a study of the accompanying illustration.
Why the strange segment should be cut out of the upper part, leaving two great wings, I have never been able to discover. The sails of the lakatoi are of themselves—things apart. Being stretched on a frame they cannot bulge, but swing like boards. Their points rest on the deck and work freely in a socket. The sails are hung lightly to the masts by braces, and there is no clewing up. In spite of their comparative rigidity they are quite manageable, and in case of sudden squalls can easily be let go. The lakatoi is now ready for use—perhaps the most remarkable-looking craft that ever went to sea—and has only to be tested. From the rigging and the sails float long streamers of Papuan grass decorations, and the fleet of eight or ten lakatois now lying off Hanuabada affords, as the sun strikes the brown sails, a really charming spectacle.
Before they proceed to sea the careful people institute a trial trip, and celebrate a regatta with several days of extraordinary festivity. The fleet is sometimes augmented by some lakatois from other villages. These sail up to Port Moresby from the east to join the main expedition. About eleven o’clock in the morning, if the wind be strong enough, the people of Hanuabada and Elevada begin to test each vessel in the harbour, trying how the ropes run, how the sails work, and how the lashings hold together. Everything is thoroughly overhauled, for the lives of the men-folk of the village depend upon the fitness of their queer craft. The crew go on board and take up their positions. At the bow stands the professional pilot, a man thoroughly acquainted with the coast, and behind him, stretching in Indian file down the gunwale on port and starboard, stand his crew, each man handling a long pole. The steering is done from behind with two poles slightly flattened at the ends, and forward, for certain emergencies, they use a small Chinese sweep. The crew pole gently out from land until the breeze strikes the sails, and then far away they go merrily down the harbour, tacking about in every direction with wonderful dexterity, for the lakatois, clumsy although they appear, are quick “in stays.”