Climbing Santo Peak
Some days later I left Talamacco for Wora, near Cape Cumberland, a small station of Mr. D.’s, Mr. F.’s neighbour. What struck me most there were the wide taro fields, artificially irrigated. The system of irrigation must date from some earlier time, for it is difficult to believe that the population of the present day, devoid as they are of enterprise, should have laid it out, although they are glad enough to use it. The method employed is this: Across one of the many streams a dam of great boulders is laid, so that about the same amount of water is constantly kept running into a channel. These channels are often very long, they skirt steep slopes and are generally cut into the earth, sometimes into the rock; sometimes a little aqueduct is built of planks, mud and earth, supported by bamboo and other poles that stand in the valley. In the fields the channel usually divides into several streams, and runs through all the flat beds, laid out in steps, in which the taro has only to be lightly stuck to bring forth fruit in about ten months. Taro only grows in very swampy ground, some varieties only under water, so that it cannot be grown in the coral region, where there is plenty of rain, but no running water. In these districts yam is the principal food, while we find taro in the mountains of primary rock. Both are similar in taste to the potato.
My next journey led me across the peninsula to the west coast of Santo. As usual, it was a very rainy day when we started, but once across the divide the air became much drier. The clouds, driven by the south-east trade-wind, strike the islands on the east side, and this is the reason why the east coast is so much damper than the west, and why the vegetation is so immoderately thick on the one side, and much less luxuriant on the other. On the west side the bush is thinner and there are wide stretches of reed-grass, but there is plenty of water, bright creeks fed by the rainfall on the mountains. Here, on the coast, it was much warmer than where we had come from, but the air was most agreeable, dry and invigorating, quite different from the damp, heavy air on the other side.
IRRIGATED TARO FIELD ON SANTO.
Late at night, after a long walk on the warm beach sand, we reached the village of Nogugu. Next day Mr. G., a planter, was good enough to take me with him in his motor-boat, southward along the coast. High mountains came close to the shore, falling in almost perpendicular walls straight down into the sea. Deep narrow valleys led inland into the very heart of the island. Several times, when we were passing the openings of these valleys, a squall caught us, and rain poured down; then, again, everything lay in bright sunshine and the coast was picturesque indeed with its violet shadows and reddish rocks. The only level ground to be seen was at the mouths of the valleys in the shape of little river deltas.
The village to which we were going was on one of these deltas. Hardly had we set foot on shore than a violent earthquake almost threw us to the ground. The shock lasted for at least thirty seconds, then we heard a dull rumbling as of thunder, and saw how all along the coast immense masses of earth fell into the sea from the high cliffs, so that the water boiled and foamed wildly. Then yellow smoke came out of all the bays, and hung in heavy clouds over the devastated spots, and veiled land and sea. Inland, too, we saw many bare spots, where the earth and trees had slipped down. The shocks went on all night, though with diminished violence, and we continually heard the thunderous rattling of falling rocks and earth.
Next day we stopped at the village of Wus, and I persuaded a dainty damsel (she was full-grown, but only 134.4 cm. high) to make me a specimen of pottery. It was finished in ten minutes, without any tool but a small, flat, bamboo splinter. Without using a potter’s wheel the lady rounded the sides of the jar very evenly, and altogether gave it a most pleasing, almost classical shape.
When we returned south we could see what damage the earthquake had done. All the slopes looked as if they had been scraped, and the sea was littered with wood and bushes. We also experienced the disagreeable sensation of an earthquake on the water. The boat suddenly began to shake and tremble, as if a giant hand were shaking it, and at the same time more earth fell down into the water. The shocks recurred for several weeks, and after a while we became accustomed to them. The vibrations seemed to slacken and to become more horizontal, so that we had less of the feeling of being pushed upwards off our feet, but rather that of being in an immense swing. For six weeks I was awakened almost every night by dull, threatening thunder, followed some seconds later by a shock.