Had the Maori war been at the beginning of the white man’s career in New Zealand, that country would not be the paradise it is to-day, nor would the coloured natives be the men of knowledge and wisdom some of them are. They would have been given such a bad start that they would not have got over it.
From the very beginning the Maoris were treated with respect, and their naturally fine disposition answered to the call, and thousands of them so trusted the Englishman that had the war {86} gone on for another thirty years their faith in him would not have been shaken.
The Solomon islanders have had no chance, they have been feared from the beginning and shot down on the slightest provocation. It is only now that they are beginning to discriminate between the bad and the good white man, and I am perfectly safe in saying that a straight man can go amongst them unarmed, and if he treats them well he will be as safe with them in the densest bush as he would be in crowded Piccadilly.
The native villages are very different from those in New Guinea. Very few of them are built on piles, but in some of the small interior villages pile dwellings can still be seen. They are, however, only some two to four feet off the ground, like many others found in the countries of all savage races. Streets, too, are not discovered as often in the Solomons as elsewhere, the houses being built with no particular design. A clump of bush will be dotted with houses, with only small paths leading from one to the other. The houses are of the typical hut shape, built of wood and thatched. A ridge pole resting on two uprights supports the roof which is triangular in shape, and the sides are formed in a similar fashion. Before thatching, both the roof {87} and sides are formed by poles lashed together on which the thatch is worked. The door, if it can be so called, is merely an aperture which opens from a raised platform, and to get into the hut it is necessary to step—one generally falls—down into the room.
EARLY MORNING, GAVUTU, SOLOMON ISLANDS
There are no windows, and the door is the only place for letting in the light and letting out the smoke of the fire, which is generally burning in the centre of the hut on the floor. Most dwellings are divided into two parts; one is used for sleeping purposes, whilst the other is occupied in the day time. The Solomon islander is luxurious and likes a bed to lie on, which is made very much like an ordinary miner’s bed: two logs form the top and bottom on which rest a dozen or more long poles lashed together. The whole is covered with mats. A pillow made of a small round log is used by the particularly luxurious.
Beyond the actual necessities, such as these beds and a few cooking-pots, and weapons of war and field, there is nothing else in the huts, and the interiors are gloomy and depressing.
The platform outside is used by the owners to sit and lounge on. The roof of the house projects over the platform and protects those sitting on it from the sun and rain. {88}
Each house belongs to its individual owner, and not, as in many other places, to the village. There are strict laws governing property, and on the death of the owner it is handed down to his or her nearest relation. The same law applies to yam patches and land plots. Each man holds certain rights which are protected by the people, and though the laws are unwritten, they are closely adhered to—superstition playing a great and important part in preventing any violation of them.