“Magena I make you know. Me just the same, I want very bad for you. My talk there. If you true like me, all right just the same; good for you, good for me. Yes all right. Finish. You, Magena. Good-bye. Me Pita.”
The natives of New Guinea, like all other savage races, still have their love charms, and when a man or maid fails to win the heart of the one they love by ordinary methods, they try the sorcerer and, then, if that love they are seeking for cannot be so obtained, their affection turns to hate and a desire for revenge fills them, and they seek the other’s death by resort to magic. There is a wonderful similarity in human beings all over the world, be they white or black, savage or civilised. But the extraordinary part of the magic in savage lands is that it always works, and if men or women are properly cursed and their death prophesied by the magician, they die, and in the way their death has been foretold. The same strange superstition is noticeable amongst the Maoris. I once was at the death-bed of an old chief, who was supposed to be dying of typhoid, but the real cause of his death was fear. In some way he had offended another chief, and that man had him cursed by a Tohunga {45} or priest. I was unable to ascertain exactly what he had done, but the result of it was that an image made of clay, which was supposed to represent him, was placed in a creek, and as the water washed away the figure, so the chief gradually sank; and, when the last particle was softened by the slowly trickling water and vanished down the stream, so that moment the soul of the old chief passed over the border.
So strong is the superstition regarding these things that a man who is cursed never dreams of attempting to overcome the disaster foretold him; he simply goes home and dies, and it is in this way that this particular superstition, and others like it, live. No one has the pluck or the common sense to try and oppose their influence. In New Zealand this kind of witchcraft is termed Tohunganism, and in spite of the civilised condition of the Maoris of to-day, there are still cases of death recorded and put down to it.
In the same certain way that death is brought about by a mental process—cursing—so miraculous cures are effected, and Urio Moquru is one of the most useful gods in New Guinea for this sort of thing. When a person of importance falls sick, food is placed before this grotesque image, and the friends {46} and relations beseech Urio to remove the evil spirit from their beloved one. But should the god fail and the sick one die, the natives do not lose faith in their god, but decide that the patient was either too good to live, or so bad he had to die.
When death does visit a village there is a terrible time of mourning, the women sit and cry round the death-bed all day, and in the streets they can be seen squatting in corners moaning. You can meet women all huddled up giving vent to the most despairing groans, and they look as if they were literally wrapped up in grief; yet they may have never cared a snap of the fingers for the dear departed. But it is the custom for the women to mourn; and a more awful sight and sound than this moaning cannot be heard. The men show very few signs of grief, and evidently trust to their women-folk to do a double share.
When a woman loses her husband she goes into mourning and will on no account be disturbed; for this rite her dress varies; certainly she looks a terrible fright, and I’m not surprised at her shrinking from public gaze. There is a special dress and general attire for this state of grief. They shave their heads completely, cover themselves all over with charcoal, and then put on long petticoats with {47} tassels of seeds. They also cover their necks with necklaces and their arms with trinkets. Having done all this they retire into a corner of their hut and remain there, away from the gaze of the public, until their sorrow is worn out or they are tired of being alone.
One thing noticeable is that, however loud their moaning is, however hard they are crying, they will always stop to answer any question you like to put to them about their “late lamented,” if you have courage enough to beard them and refuse to go away. Then, as soon as you have gained all the information you require, they will quickly resume their tears as if nothing had happened to interrupt them. But this is not unique to the savage of New Guinea. I have met with the same extraordinary species of grief amongst the women of Great Britain,—it is world-wide, this interruptable grief.
CHAPTER V
Some native dances and queer costumes—Novel blackmailing methods—Woman’s vanity and a censured dance.
For some reason, unknown to the ordinary layman, the Church has taken a dislike to nearly all forms of savage dancing, and many missionaries, brave and good fellows though they be, have seen evil in these performances where other less cultivated men have seen nothing that suggests immorality. But often what appears immoral to the Western mind is quite free from any such suggestion to the mind of the savage. I do not say that these natives are paragons of virtue and morality, but in deference to them it is only fair to say that they stick to their code of morals, though it is not ours and may seem rather lax to us.