DANCING-GROUND ON VAO, WITH ANCESTOR HOUSES.
After a passage considerably prolonged by contrary winds, we arrived at Vao, a small island north-east of Malekula. When one has sailed along the lifeless, greyish-green shores of Malekula, Vao is like a sunbeam breaking through the mist. This change of mood comes gradually, as one notices the warm air of spring, and dry souls, weather-beaten captains and old pirates may hardly be aware of anything beyond a better appetite and greater thirst. And it is not easy to define what lends the little spot such a charm that the traveller feels revived as if escaped from some oppression. From a distance Vao looks like all the other islands and islets of the archipelago—a green froth floating on the white line of breakers; from near by we see, as everywhere else, the bright beach in front of the thick forest. But what impresses the traveller mournfully elsewhere,—the eternal loneliness and lifelessness of a country where nature has poured all its power into the vegetation, and seems to have forgotten man and beast,—is softened here, and an easy joy of living penetrates everything like a delicate scent, and lifts whatever meets the eye to greater significance and beauty. The celestial charm of the South Sea Islands, celebrated by the first discoverers, seems to be preserved here, warming the soul like the sweet remembrance of a happy dream. Hardly anyone who feels these impressions will wonder about their origin, but he will hasten ashore and dive into the forest, driven by a vague idea of finding some marvel. Later he will understand that the charm of Vao lies in the rich, busy human life that fills the island. It is probably the most thickly populated of the group, with about five hundred souls living in a space one mile long and three-fourths of a mile wide; and it is their happy, careless, lazy existence that makes Vao seem to the stranger like a friendly home. Here there are houses and fires, lively people who shout and play merrily, and after the loneliness which blows chill from the bush, the traveller is glad to rest and feel at home among cheerful fellow-men.
About seventy outrigger boats of all sizes lie on the beach. On their bows they carry a carved heron, probably some half-forgotten totem. The bird is more or less richly carved, according to the social standing of the owner, and a severe watch is kept to prevent people from carrying carvings too fine for their degree. Similarly, we find little sticks like small seats fastened to the canoes, their number indicating the caste of the owner. Under big sheds, in the shade of the tall trees, lie large whale-boats of European manufacture, belonging to the different clans, in which the men undertake long cruises to the other islands, Santo, Aoba, Ambrym, to visit “sing-sings” and trade in pigs. Formerly they used large canoes composed of several trees fastened together with ropes of cocoa-nut fibre, and caulked with rosin, driven by sails of cocoa-nut sheaths; these would hold thirty to forty men, and were used for many murderous expeditions. For the inhabitants of Vao were regular pirates, dreaded all along the coast; they would land unexpectedly in the morning near a village, kill the men and children, steal the women and start for home with rich booty. European influences have put a stop to this sport, and with the introduction of whale-boats the picturesque canoes have disappeared from the water, and now lie rotting on the beach. Their successors (though according to old tradition, women may not enter them) are only used for peaceful purposes.
In the early morning the beach is deserted, but a few hours after sunrise it is full of life. The different clans come down from their villages by narrow paths which divide near the shore into one path for the men and another for the women, leading to separate places. The men squat down near one of the boat-houses and stretch out comfortably in the warm sand, smoking and chatting. The women, loaded with children and baskets, sit in the shade of the knobby trees which stretch their trunk-like branches horizontally over the beach, forming a natural roof against sun and rain. The half-grown boys are too lively to enjoy contemplative laziness; gossip and important deliberations about pigs and sacrifices do not interest them, and they play about between the canoes, wade in the water, look for shells on the sand, or hunt crabs or fish in the reef. Thus an hour passes. The sun has warmed the sand; after the cool night this is doubly agreeable, and a light breeze cools the air. Some mothers bathe their babies in the sea, washing and rubbing them carefully, until the coppery skin shines in the sun; the little creatures enjoy the bath immensely, and splash gaily in the element that will be their second home in days to come. Everyone on the beach is in the easiest undress: the men wear nothing but a bark belt, and the women a little apron of braided grass; the children are quite naked, unless bracelets, necklaces and ear-rings can count as dress. Having rested and amply fortified themselves for the painful resolution to take up the day’s work, people begin to prepare for departure to the fields. They have to cross the channel, about a mile wide, to reach the big island where the yam gardens lie, sheltered by the forest from the trade-winds; and this sail is the occasion for the prettiest sight Vao can offer.
The tides drive the sea through the narrow channel so hard as to start a current which is almost a stream. The head-wind raises short, sharp, white-capped waves; shallow banks shine yellow through the clear water, and the coral reefs are patches of violet and crimson, and we are delighted by constant changes, new shades and various colourings, never without harmony and loveliness. A cloudless sky bends over the whole picture and shines on the red-brown bodies of the people, who bustle about their canoes, adding the bright red of their mats and dresses to the splendour of the landscape.
With sudden energy the women have grabbed the boats and pushed them into the water. The girls are slim, supple and strong as the young men, the mothers and older women rather stiff, and usually hampered by at least one child, which they carry on their backs or on their hips, while another holds on to the garment which replaces our skirts. There is plenty of laughter and banter with the men, who look on unmoved at the efforts of the weaker sex, only rarely offering a helping hand.
From the trees and hiding-places the paddles and the pretty triangular sails are fetched and fastened on the canoes; then the boats are pushed off and the whole crowd jumps in. The babies sit in their mothers’ laps or hang on their backs, perilously close to the water, into which they stare with big, dark eyes. By twos and threes the canoes push off, driven by vigorous paddling along the shore, against the current. Sometimes a young man wades after a canoe and joins some fair friends, sitting in front of them, as etiquette demands. The fresh breeze catches the sails, and the ten or fifteen canoes glide swiftly across the bright water, the spread sails looking like great red butterflies. The spray splashes from the bows, one woman steers, and the others bale out the water with cocoa-nuts,—a labour worthy of the Danaides; sometimes the outrigger lifts up and the canoe threatens to capsize, but, quick as thought, the women lean on the poles joining outrigger and canoe, and the accident is averted. In a few minutes the canoes enter the landings between the torn cliffs on the large island, the passengers jump out and carry the boats up the beach.
A few stragglers, men of importance who have been detained by politics, and bachelors, who have nothing and nobody to care for but themselves, follow later on, and only a crowd of boys stays in Vao, to enjoy themselves on the beach and get into all sorts of mischief.
Obliging as people sometimes are when the fancy strikes them, a youth took us over to the other island in his canoe, and was even skilful enough to keep us from capsizing. Narrow paths, bordered with impenetrable bush, led us from the beach across coral boulders up to the plantations on top of the tableland. Under some cocoa-nut palms our guide stopped, climbed nimbly up a slim trunk, as if mounting a ladder, and three green nuts dropped to the ground at our feet. Three clever strokes of the knife opened them, and we enjoyed the refreshing drink in its natural bowl. Sidepaths branched off to the gardens, where every individual or family had its piece of ground. We saw big bananas, taro, with large, juicy leaves, yams, trained on a pretty basket-shaped trellis-work; when in bloom this looks like a huge bouquet. There were pine-apples, cabbages, cocoa-nut and bread-fruit trees, bright croton bushes and highly scented shrubs. In this green and confused abundance the native spends his day, working a little, loafing a great deal. He shoots big pigeons and little parakeets, roasts them on an improvised fire and eats them as a welcome addition to his regular meals. From sun and rain he is sheltered by simple roofs, under which everybody assembles at noon to gossip, eat and laugh.