One day while I was talking to Topsy at her door, the monkey being fastened by a long, light chain to a tree close by, a girl fell down in a fit. Her head struck a woman's lap, but the woman hastily thrust her off so that she lay, half smothering, face down, in the sand. She sniffed, and moaned, and clicked her teeth together, but neither frothed at the mouth, nor protruded her tongue, as I supposed people did in fits. Not a soul moved to help her, but "monkaia" leaped on her head like a demon and began biting and plucking at her hair and face. I tore him off with difficulty, the men and women standing by quite helpless with laughter. I had to threaten a woman with physical violence before she would drag the girl away from the monkey while I held the brute. The next morning, while I was painting at Topsy's portrait, the girl who had the fit sat on the floor beside me watching the process. My bottle of oil and a basket of coral just given me were standing between the legs of the easel. Suddenly the girl lurched forward, upsetting the bottle of oil, and had a fit with her face in the basket of coral. The instinct of saving property brought Topsy to my aid this time, however, and together we dragged the girl to a safer position.
One afternoon I asked the name of a particularly bright-looking girl who came to visit the ship. "Neel," was the reply. "How did she get that name?" I asked. "Oh, it came in this way: She was a sharp little child, and some white man said she was sharp as a needle, so they called her needle." Neel is the nearest they come to pronouncing it. I was told that Neel was a capital mimic and actress. I made an offering of a wreath and she agreed to give me an example of her skill if all the white men went away. First, she said (Johnny, a half-caste, interpreting), she would represent a well-known native woman, with an impediment in her speech, on a visit to a neighbour; immediately her round, fat face twisted itself into a thousand wrinkles, and her thick, protruding lips became pinched and thin, on one side lifted like a harelip. She spoke like a person with a cleft palate, very garrulously, making polite inquiries about different members of the family she was supposed to visit, but never waiting for an answer. After this impersonation she assumed a prim air and, with a dry, nipping precision of speech, and neat little persuasive gestures, gave us a bit of an English missionary's sermon. The voice was a man's voice, and the English accent in speaking the native words perfect. Had I not been aware that the girl was speaking, I should have felt certain I could pick out the man by his face; I knew it, and his figure, and his umbrella.
I am told they go in for "devil work" here; they call it "bu-bu," which reminds one of the negro word. When their old witch women (they are always old) wish to lure a vessel to destruction they run up and down the beach shouting their incantations, waving, as they run, a long stick with a red rag on the end. A man whose vessel was wrecked on these islands told me that as the ship neared the rock where they struck they could distinctly see an old woman rushing along the beach waving her red rag.
A Mr. R—— told Lloyd that in New Ireland he had had a similar experience to that of Tom Day. A man had attacked him, and he had said to the bystanders: "I'll give an axe for that man's head." The next morning he discovered the head stuck on his gate-post. He said he had often bought victims set apart to be eaten for ten sticks of tobacco. If he paid up honourably, the natives were honourable in return, and never after molested his man.
One evening I stopped at Mr. M——'s to wait while some one went on board for my key, which I had forgotten. Tin Jack, who was there, promptly presented me with a fine piece of staghorn coral belonging to our host, following up the coral with presents of elaborately worked mats, some of which he gave in his own name and some in Mr. M——'s, until he had made me the embarrassed recipient of four. The captain, who dropped in, was also requested to make choice of a pair of the best. Poor Mr. M——, feeling that it would be more graceful to give his own presents, then offered me a curious fish preserved in a bottle which Mr. Hird, much to my distress, scornfully refused on my behalf as a present "unfit for a lady."
The Marshalls seem a very damp, rainy group of islands, but, in consequence, breadfruit grows on most of them, and bananas on many. We had expected to fill up with copra at Majuro, but measles has been ravaging the islands. The King himself, whom we had wished greatly to see, old Jebberk, lay dying and tapued to whites. Two other Kings came to visit us on the vessel, both very fine, intelligent-looking men. One was dressed in a mat breech-clout and a comical red shirt or jacket, and had his hair done up on the top of his head Japanese fashion. The other wore a red-and-blue-figured petticoat, very full at the waist, where it was gathered in with native cord. Around his neck he had a pink shell necklace, and his hair was done in the same high knot as affected by the first King. We had finished luncheon when the last king came, so he had his alone spread at one corner of the table. I gave him a wreath, of the best, for his queen; he admired it greatly, and examined it over and over. Finally he turned to me saying, "What you want?" pointing to the wreath. He meant to ask what would I like for a return present. I said "Nothing," which was a mistake, afterward cleverly rectified by Louis. The King asked through an interpreter how long it would be before the Janet sailed, as all his things were at his own village, and he wanted to get some mats for me. Louis replied that we were sailing almost immediately but that when we returned we would be most happy to receive his present. This proved satisfactory, and the King was put at his ease.
Kaibuke—one of the kings of Majuro