Two Years with the Natives in the Western Pacific

by Felix Speiser

I had my bed made in the open air; even the boys would not enter the dirty house any more, and we slept well under the open sky, in spite of the pigs that grunted around us and the dew that fell like rain.

Next day the chief called all the men together; he was convinced that I could see through every one of them and tell who had done any wrong. So he made them all sit round me, and I looked very solemnly at each through the finder of my camera, the chief watching carefully to see that I did not omit any one. The men felt uneasy, but did not quite know what to make of the whole performance. I naturally could not find anything wrong, and told the chief so, but he was not satisfied, and shook his head doubtfully. Then I talked to him seriously and tried to convince him that everyone had to die once, and that sickness was something natural, especially considering the filth in which they lived; but I do not think my speech made much impression.

The men had now become very suspicious, the women were away, and I had great trouble in finding bearers and guides to the next village. A pleasant march brought us to this settlement, whose houses were close together in a big clearing. We were received very coolly by the chief and a few men. My bearers and guides would not be induced to accompany us farther, so that I had to ask for boys here; but the chief said he had not a single able-bodied man, which I felt to be mere excuse. I also noticed that my own boys were very dissatisfied and sullen, and that something was in the wind. In order to raise their spirits, and not to leave our yam provisions behind, I had them cook the midday meal, but the sullen, threatening atmosphere remained the same. When it was time to continue our march, I heard them grumble and complain about their loads, and it all looked like rising mutiny. I was ahead with the chief, who had consented to show us the way, when the moli came after me and informed me that the boys were unwilling to go on, that they were afraid to go farther inland and were ready to throw their loads away. Later on I learned that two of the boys had tried to bribe some natives to show them the road back to the coast and leave me alone with the moli. I assembled the boys and made them a speech, saying that their loads were not too heavy nor the marches too long, that they were all free to return home, but would have to take the consequences, and that I and the moli would go on without them. If they liked, I said, they could throw away their tinned meats, I did not care, and the two bottles of grog were not meant for me, and we could easily spare those. I grasped the bottles and offered to smash them, but that was too much for the boys; half crying, they begged me not to do that: the bottles were not too heavy, and they would gladly carry them as far as I liked. Hesitatingly I allowed myself to be persuaded, and kindly desisted from the work of destruction. I had won, but I had lost confidence in my boys, and was careful not to put their patience and fidelity to any more tests, conscious as I was of how much depended on their goodwill. After this episode they accomplished a long and tiresome march, up and down through thick bush on slippery clay, quite willingly. In the evening we reached a few huts in a clearing at a height of about 1200 feet, and went into camp for the night.

While cooking, we heard dismal howling and weeping from a neighbouring hut; it was a woman mourning her husband, who had been dead ninety-nine days. To-morrow, on the hundredth day, there was to be a death-feast, to which all the neighbours were invited. Of course, this man, too, had been poisoned.

The fire of revolt was smouldering in my boys. They sat round the camp-fire in groups, whispering and plotting, grumbling and undecided; but I felt safe enough, as they were evidently divided into two parties, one faithful and the other mutinous, and the former seemed rather more influential. They proved their goodwill to me by delightful servility, and took excellent care of me.

Next morning we were wakened by the howls of the unhappy widow, and soon the guests appeared, some from far off, and all bringing contributions to the feast. They killed several pigs, and while the men cut them up in a manner rather more clever than appetizing, the women prepared the fires by lighting large quantities of wood to heat the cooking-stones. This lasted several hours. Meanwhile, every person present received his share of a half-rotten smoked pig, of the freshly killed pigs, yam, taro and sweet potatoes. The women took the entrails of the pigs, squeezed them out, rolled them up in banana leaves, and made them ready for cooking. When the fire was burnt down they took out half of the stones with forks of split bamboo, and then piled up the food in the hole, first the fruit, then the meat, so that the grease should run over the fruit; then the hole was covered with banana leaves, the hot stones piled on top and covered with more leaves. Food cooked in this way is done in three or four hours, so that the “stoves” are usually opened in the afternoon, and enormous quantities eaten on the spot, while the rest is put in baskets to take home. The amount a native can eat at one sitting is tremendous, and one can actually watch their stomachs swell as the meal proceeds. Violent indigestion is generally the consequence of such a feast. On the whole, no one seemed to be thinking much of the dead man in whose honour it was given,—such things are said to happen in civilized countries as well.

I stayed in this village for another day, and many chiefs from the neighbourhood came to consult me, always complaining of the one thing—poison. Each secretly accused the others, each wanted me to try my glass on all the others. I did not like my reputation of being a magician at all, as it made the people still more suspicious of me and more afraid of my instruments and my camera.

These so-called chiefs were rather more intelligent than the average. Most of them had worked for whites at one time, and learned to speak pidgin-English; but they were as superstitious as anyone else, and certainly greater rogues. They were naked and dirty, but some had retained some traces of civilization, one, for instance, always took off his old felt hat very politely, and made quite a civilized bow; he must have been in Nouméa in former days.

There was no leprosy or elephantiasis here, but a great deal of tuberculosis, and very few children, and nearly all the men complained that their women were unwilling to have any more children.

From the next village I had a glimpse of the wild mountains of western Santo. I decided to spend the night here, left the boys behind, and went southward with the moli and a few natives. This was evidently the region where the volcanic and coral formations meet, for the character of the landscape suddenly changed, and instead of flat plateaux we found a wild, irregular country, with lofty hills and deep, narrow gullies. Walking became dangerous, though the path was fair. On top of a hill I found an apparently abandoned village, from which I could overlook all central Santo. To the west were the rugged, dark-looking mountains round Santo Peak, with white clouds floating on the summit, and a confusion of deep blue valleys and steep peaks; northward lay the wild Jordan valley, and far away I could distinguish the silver mirror of Big Bay. All around us rose the silent, stern, lonely forest—imposing, unapproachable.