Thursday, August 12th.—General holiday. Arthur took occasion to “nasu ima” at the same time with me, and the great event of two house warmings drew together a large concourse of people. Fire was lit in my house, and part of a pig and two fowls were cooked in the oven. It is the custom here to have as many kinds of flesh as possible on these occasions, and as many kinds of vegetables, representing I suppose all the different sorts of food that will hereafter be cooked therein. There has been great preparation for this day, and great excitement to-day. Every household added its mite to the feast, and in the evening when the feast was spread out there was a grand display. Everyone had huge pieces of yam and taro and banana cake, and a large piece of fish, fowl and pork. The pork takes precedence, but the fish costs the greatest pains in provision, not being so easily within their reach or means of acquisition. Fish in these countries do not seem to take hook and bait readily, and the poor natives have to resort to all manner of odd expedients to secure them. There were many strangers here, and quite 150 people or more must have partaken. The pork was very nice and most beautifully cooked in the native oven. The females presided over the cutting up, but Arthur as co-host with myself gave directions as master of the feast. He gave a sigh of relief when he came into my house after it was all over, and said “there, what a poor return for so much labour.” That always strikes me as the most pitiable thing about a feast, it is all over in the twinkling of an eye, and what have you for your pains?
This evening there is a great dance, a vast crowd of people has already congregated, and it is to go on till morning light. It is done as a special compliment to myself, and I do not like to stop them. The patient endurance of some of the dancers is wonderful. From the start to the finish, say from 8 p.m. to 4 a.m., they never leave the ranks of the dance but keep at it all the time, singing, clapping the hands and dancing. There is no rest for a good supper at midnight, but the dance is carried right through to the bitter end. I am going to attempt sleep, but I fear the noise will prove too much for me. They have certainly a most beautiful night for their dance, but I should be sorry to be one of the performers. The songs are certainly very pretty, and they show wonderful power of memory to keep up the succession all through the night, without a book of words or musical score.
I can imagine too, as the enthusiasm of the dance increases, that there must be a sort of fascination about the performance.
Friday, August 13th.—The dance was kept up till daylight, and I got little or no sleep before that. When I did get to sleep, I slept so soundly that it was late on in the morning before I awoke, and then I was driven to it. Arthur Huqe appeared at my bedside and asked me if he should ring the bell for prayers, and I was obliged to consent. The whole day afterwards was somewhat of a blank to me, and I went no whither and did little till evening. The duties of the day however, were carried on as usual.
Saturday, August 14th.—The usual holiday. We had Prayers very early, and before breakfast I took a picture of most of the congregation in front of the church, which I hope will turn out good. It was not a pleasant day indoors, there was a strong wind blowing, and clouds of dust penetrating my house from all quarters, and I was not sorry to accept Arthur’s offer to go with himself and most of the people to the riverside. There it is always cool and pleasant, and the luxury of a bathe, although almost a daily occurence, is always appreciated. I took my photographic Camera with me, and after almost burying myself in mud, succeeded in getting a good view of the pretty taro gardens. On our way to Rarava the monotony of the road was relieved by our starting a “malau,” the ornithological name of which I know not, but it is a kind of bush turkey, it has a red head, yellow legs and black feathers, and is really like a common hen in shape and appearance. The poor thing was evidently startled from her peculiar nest, where she was about to deposit her eggs. These strange birds after securing a favourable spot, lay their eggs some depth beneath the upper soil, and leave them there uncared for until the young ones hatch themselves, and when strong enough burst their earthly tenement, and come forth to the light of day. Some say the parent comes occasionally back to her nest to see how matters are progressing, and even digs at the earth to find out how the process of hatching goes on. If she finds her progeny ready to walk, she drives them on before her to a place of security, but the general belief is that she allows them to shift for themselves. These curious birds are said to feed principally on the large ants here called “gandee.”
In Savo and some of the Solomon Islands, these birds are tamed and fenced in, to lay their eggs in the hot sand, but here they are wild and rare. Their eggs which are very numerous are esteemed a great delicacy. This poor bird in question tried very hard to get away by flight, but getting entangled in the thick bush, was shot by a cruel arrow. The capture was the food for conversation throughout the day, and I listened to the relation and re-relation of the narrative of it times without number, with all the little details with which natives are wont to embellish and amplify their narration of the smallest fact. It is perfectly wonderful how the smallest matter affords pasture for native conversation, and what a wonderful faculty they have of making multum out of parvum. In powers of conversation and flow of language, I think natives are far before our European working classes. A native never seems at a loss for something to say, and certainly never fails to express himself from lack of words.
I have frequently heard an European confess that he had a great deal to say, but he could not express himself for want of words. The fluency of speech, and powers of conversation are not confined here to the weaker sex, and I think the men have quite as long tongues as the women, although I do not think they chatter so much or make such a clatter. Some of the men are great wits, and make fun for the multitude, but I do not think this applies to the women. The Maewo folks are great “laughers,” and go off into fits of cacchination at the smallest joke. They are a most simple, good-natured race certainly, and it is hard to conceive of their being such depraved savages, so gentle are they in their ways.
After school with the teachers in the evening, during which we discussed our Sunday programme, we had Evensong, and afterwards a long singing practice. Miss Mount’s generous gift is a most welcome addition to our singing, and Arthur Huqe begins to play the harmonium very nicely at the services. Our singing is very fair on the whole, but there is room for improvement, and we have the ability if I could get the girls to use their very nice voices. In the old familiar hymns and chants they sing out lustily, but when we attempt anything new, they shut up altogether, without making a trial to join in.
Sunday, August 15th.—There are two very homely sounds which break the stillness of the early morning here, and the first is the cock which seems to have a peculiar faculty for crowing in these latitudes, he starts his chant before commerce is awake and he keeps religiously at it all day long. Here at Maewo, too, these birds are in prodigal abundance, their flesh is esteemed very delicate food, and is kept for great and exalted occasions. Here the male takes precedence of the female even in the matter of dumb animals, and sows and hens are looked upon as only fit food for women. The crow of the first cock is a signal for a general chorus, and then the natives begin to stir. As soon as they appear on the threshold of their doors another chorus takes up the morning song, and the pigs begin their squealing. Whether it is that one looks for more peace on Sunday morning, or whether one perchance is a trifle more inclined to take a little more sleep or a little more slumber, whatever the actual cause may be, I always notice that on Sundays there is always a greater noise from the domestic animals than on ordinary days. The pigs here are hand fed, and will not be denied, they squeal to their hearts’ content until they have their morning meal, and being in considerable numbers the noise is not sleep producing. In old days these animals were kept for their heathen feasts, but as of late these have fallen into disuse, so the pigs have increased until they have become one of the features of the place. At a Baptism or any great Church Festival such as Christmas, Easter, Pentecost, one or more male animals have to die, and although the possession of a flock is as much valued as an Englishman’s stud, no one ever grumbles to kill his animal when his turn comes round.
Being very hot this morning, and there being a prospect of the repetition of the Egyptian plague of flies, who always add to the discomfort of a congregation, we had school very early. Our numbers were slightly augmented by outsiders, but not quite to my satisfaction. After a hasty breakfast I started for Uta. This is a good long distance from here, and I was in a state of dripping perspiration when I arrived there. I found everyone keeping a Sabbath, but very few appreciating the idea of a Christian Sunday.