Long ago there were villages here. An enormous monolith, now broken, but once 5 mètres high, speaks for the energy of bygone generations, when this rock was carried up from the coast, probably for a monument to some great chief.
While the women were gathering food for the evening meal we returned to Vao. The breeze had stiffened in the midst of the channel, and one old woman’s canoe had capsized. She clung to the boat, calling pitifully for help, which amused all the men on the shore immensely, until at last, none too soon, they went to her rescue. Such adventures are by no means harmless, as the channel swarms with sharks.
We explored the interior of Vao, going first through the thicket on the shore, then through reed-grass over 6 feet high, then between low walls surrounding little plantations. Soon the path widened, and on both sides we saw stone slabs, set several rows deep; presently we found ourselves under the wide vault of one of those immense fig trees whose branches are like trunks, and the glare of the sun gave way to deep shadow, the heat of noonday to soft coolness.
Gradually our eyes grow accustomed to the dimness, and we distinguish our surroundings. We are in a wide square, roofed by the long branches of the giant tree. At our left is its trunk, mighty enough in itself, but increased by the numerous air-roots that stretch like cables from the crown to the earth, covering the trunk entirely in some spots, or dangling softly in the wind, ending in large tassels of smaller roots. Lianas wind in distorted curves through the branches, like giant snakes stiffened while fighting. This square is one of the dancing-grounds of Vao. The rows of stones surround the square on three sides—two, three or more deep. Near the trunk of the great tree is a big altar of large slabs of rock; around it are stone tables of smaller size, and one or two immense coral plates, which cover the buried skull of some mighty chief. A large rock lies in the middle of the road on a primitive slide half covered by stones and earth. Long ago the islanders tried to bring it up from the beach; a strong vine served as a rope, and more than fifty men must have helped to drag the heavy rock up from the coast to the square. Half-way they got tired of the job and left the stone where it lies now, and will lie for ever.
On the other side of the altar are the drums, hollow trunks, whose upper end is carved to represent a human face with wide, grinning mouth, and deep, round and hollow eyes. Rammed in aslant, leaning in all directions, they stand like clumsy, malicious demons, spiteful and brutal, as if holding their bellies with rude, immoderate laughter at their own hugeness and the puniness of mankind, at his miserable humanity, compared to the solemn repose of the great tree. In front of these are figures cut roughly out of logs, short-legged, with long bodies and exaggeratedly long faces; often they are nothing but a head, with the same smiling mouth, a long nose and narrow, oblique eyes. They are painted red, white and blue, and are hardly discernible in the dimness. On their forked heads they carry giant birds with outstretched wings,—herons,—floating as if they had just dropped through the branches on to the square.
DANCING-GROUND ON VAO.
This is all we can see, but it is enough to make a deep impression. Outside, the sun is glaring, the leaves quiver, and the clouds are drifting across the sky, but here it is dim and cool as in a cathedral, not a breeze blows, everything is lapped in a holy calm. Abandonment, repose, sublime thoughtlessness drop down on us in the shadow of the giant tree; as if in a dream we breathe the damp, soft, mouldy air, feel the smooth earth and the green moss that covers everything like a velvet pall, and gaze at the altars, the drums and the statues.
In a small clearing behind the square, surrounded by gaily coloured croton bushes, stands the men’s house—the “gamal.” Strong pillars support its gabled roof, that reaches down to the ground; the entrance is flanked by great stone slabs. Oddly branched dead trees form a hedge around the house, and on one side, on a sort of shelf, hang hundreds of boars’ jaws with curved tusks. Inside, there are a few fireplaces, simple holes in the ground, and a number of primitive stretchers of parallel bamboos, couches that the most ascetic of whites would disdain. Among the beams of the roof hang all kinds of curiosities: dancing-masks and sticks, rare fish, pigs’ jaws, bones, old weapons, amulets and so on, everything covered with a thick layer of soot from the ever-smouldering fires. These “gamals” are a kind of club-house, where the men spend the day and occasionally the night. In rainy weather they sit round the fire, smoking, gossiping and working on some tool,—a club or a fine basket. Each clan has its own gamal, which is strictly taboo for the women, and to each gamal belongs a dancing-ground like the one described. On Vao there are five, corresponding to the number of clans.
Near by are the dwelling-houses and family enclosures. Each family has its square, surrounded by a wall about 1 mètre high of loose stones simply piled up, so that it is unsafe to lean against it. Behind the walls are high screens of braided reeds, which preclude the possibility of looking into the enclosure; even the doors are so protected that no one can look in; for the men are very jealous, and do not want their wives observed by strangers. These enclosures are very close together, and only narrow lanes permit circulation. As we turn a corner we may see a woman disappear quickly, giggling, while children run away with terrified howls, for what the black man is to ours the white man is to them.