The same custom of shaving the head when in mourning is in vogue here as in New Guinea. Tattooing, however, is not nearly so popular, and very few natives in New Georgia show any signs of it. In place of it they paint their faces with lime, and look rather like clowns.
Raised cicatrices are very popular, and some quaint designs are worked on their bodies. Lots of natives have a porpoise and a frigate bird carved in {108} this fashion on their bodies. Most of the designs are extremely crude, owing, no doubt, to the custom of the boys who cut them on each other with rough shells.
Regarding their food and their ways of cooking it, and even the hours of having it, the natives are very happy-go-lucky, and there seems to be a free and easy sort of dropping in on each other when the smell of cooking is in the air, and of partaking of anything that is going. Mr. Hardy himself witnessed a peculiar incident of this kind at Simbo. A native had been out collecting eggs laid by some bird which hides them in the sand, and on returning the native went into an old chief’s house near the shore, where a small fire was burning on the floor just inside the door, and began stirring the inside of the eggs up in a piece of cocoa-nut shell. This he placed on the fire and continued stirring for a few minutes. Then apparently getting tired of the operation he got up and sauntered off. His place was immediately taken by another native, who also stirred for a while and then ate some of the mixture. Whether the eggs were not to his taste, or the mixture was too hot is not known, but he made a terrible face, put the shell back on the fire, and walked out of the hut.
A STORMY DAY IN RUBIANA LAGOON, SOLOMON ISLANDS
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Two other natives tried their hand at the concoction and left it as he had, and presently the original owner came back and finished the remnants. During the whole of this scene the old chief sat unconcerned, and amused himself playing with a club for which Hardy gave him a piece of tobacco. The chief’s heart having thus been won, he pulled down a magnificently carved club from the eaves of the house. It was carefully wrapped up in palm leaves, and the old man handled it with the greatest reverence and care, but beyond the fact that it was a ceremonial club he was unable to explain anything about it or for what special ceremony it was used, as his English was not over strong.
No amount of tobacco, however, would tempt him to part with it—the very idea of selling it seemed to hurt him.
After hiding it away he next produced an old musical box and requested Hardy and Dr. Willey to “make him sing.” The instrument was sadly out of order, but after a little manipulation they were able to get it to grind out fragments of Faust, with long stops between every few bars. This, however, did not bother the old man in the least, the delight on his face was grand, and he was so pleased that, after hearing the noise for about {110} ten minutes, he took the musicians all over the little village.
It was a curious place, huts were dotted here and there in an artistic disorder among the palms and banana trees. The chief led the way, and behind him, following like a well-trained dog, was his slave, a man belonging to some other tribe, and quite different in appearance and physique from the natives in Simbo. It is customary to keep slaves for various reasons besides that of service—if a human head is needed in a hurry, the slave’s is handy. Crowds of little children and pigs were running in and out amongst the scrub, and both seemed to take a great interest in the white visitors.