Head-hunters, black, white, and brown

by Alfred C. Haddon

Shortly afterwards a canoe was brought to convey the corpse to a more populous village, so that they might have a good cry.

Then I saw one of the most impressive sights it has yet been my lot to witness. It was a beautiful tropical moonlight night, the sand beach being illuminated with soft whiteness by the moon, and countless stars glittered overhead. On one side the strand was bordered by the gently lapping waves of the calm ocean, and on the other by a grove of coconut palms, their grey stems, arising from a confused shadow of undergrowth, topped by sombre feathery crowns, a peaceful adjunct to a scene of sorrow, and the antithesis of the ghastly mockeries of the funeral plumes of the professional upholstery, which have only lately been abolished in England. A small crowd of some twenty or so of us were walking along the beach with the noiseless footfall of bare feet, keeping abreast of the canoe which, with its sad freight, was poled along by the husband at one end, and the brother at the other. As I saw the black silhouette of the canoe and its crew against the moonlit sky and sea, silently gliding like a veritable shadow of death, and heard the stillness of the air broken by the moaning of the bereaved ones, my mind wandered back thousands of years, and called up ancient Egypt carrying its dead in boats across the sacred Nile—there with pomp, ceremony, and imagery, here with simplicity, poverty, and stern realism.

At length we came to the village, the inclosure of which was covered with family groups, mothers with babies surrounded by their families, and many a little one was laid asleep upon the sand, well wrapped up to keep off the flies.

The corpse was carried to a clear space, and again the gay trappings of life were spread over the dead. An old woman, I believe the deceased’s mother, came to the head, and sitting down, bent over the body and commenced wailing. Then on all sides the cry was taken up mainly by the groups of women who by this time had taken their places round the dead. As one dropped out, another would join in, and so with varying accessions in volume, occasionally dying away to all but silence, the mournful sound continued through the night, rising and falling in weird manner, recalling to my memory the keening I had heard in far-away Kerry eighteen months previously.

Then I left them. The dead one surrounded by a changing circle of weeping women; beyond, the family groups each illumined by its own flickering fire, babies asleep, children playing, adults talking, young men laughing, and a little love-making taking place in the background; and above all the quiet, steady, bright face of the moon impassively gazing, like Fate, on the vicissitudes of human life.

CHAPTER VII
KIWAI AND MAWAITA

We left Murray Island at 10 a.m., September 8th, by the Nieue, which the Rev. James Chalmers very kindly sent to us. A small crowd assembled to bid us farewell, and I know many of the natives were genuinely sorry that we were leaving. We spent such a happy and profitable time there, that we shall always have a soft corner in our hearts for this beautiful island.

We reached Erub (Darnley Island) about 3 p.m., landed, and called on Captain H⸺, who entertained us with his reminiscences of New Guinea. We sailed at daybreak next morning, and reached Daru in the early afternoon. About midday we ran on to a sandbank, but as the tide was rising this did not much matter; in fact, it was rather convenient, as we were thus enabled to have a meal on a steady boat, a matter of importance to some of our party.

At Daru we were boarded by Mr. H. W. de Lange, the Sub-Collector of Customs. Our little formal business was soon over, and we then called on the Hon. Bingham A. Hely, the very efficient Resident Magistrate. He kindly asked us to dinner, and we had an interesting talk about the natives of his division. Mr. Hely has lately made some observations on the important subject of totemism. On Sunday, September 11th, we arrived at Saguane in the forenoon, and Tamate, my old friend the Rev. James Chalmers, who has been described as the Livingstone of New Guinea, gave us a hearty welcome.