we were ready. At five, women and children crowded into camp, with all their belongings, and asked for protection. Certainly; we shall do what we can for them. Men are running all about, planting arms in convenient places in the bush. We are told to keep a good look-out—and that we shall. It is now daylight, so we do not care much. The fight has begun in the village. Some Loloans, running after Delena natives, rush uphill; we warn them back, and they retire. There is a loud shout for us to go to the village and fight. I leave Bob with guns and cartridges to keep watch over camp. I have more confidence in the skirmish unarmed, and have no wish for the savages to think I have come to fight. I shout out Maino, and soon there is a hush in the terrible storm. I am allowed to walk through the village, disarm one or two, and, on my return to our friend Kone’s end of the village, he whispers to me, “There is Arua,” understanding him to mean the chief, or vata tauna (sorcerer). I recognize in him the man introduced to me on a former visit, and who in wrath cleared out from my presence. Now might be his time to pay me out. I take his weapons from him, link him on to me, and walk him up the hill. I speak kindly to him, show him flag, and tell him we are maino, and warn him that his people must on no account ascend the hill. All right, he will stop the fighting. I sit down to write this, when again they rush up for me, saying Kone
was to be killed. Leaving Bob with arms in charge, I go down to the village, and without my hat. More canoes have arrived. What a crowd of painted fiends! I get surrounded, and have no way of escape. Sticks and spears rattle round. I get a knock on the head, and a piece of stick falls on my hand. My old Lavao friend gets hold of me and walks me to outskirt. Arua and Lauma of Lolo assure me they will not ascend the hill, and we had better not interfere with them. “Right, friend; but you must stop, and on no account injure my friend Kone.” It would frighten them were we to go armed to the village; but then we dare not stay here twenty-four hours after. I can do more for the natives unarmed. I am glad I am able to mix with both parties; it shows they mean us no harm, and speaks well for the future. No one was killed, but several were severely wounded, and a few houses destroyed. They have made peace at last, and I have had a meeting in the village with all; the Loloans have promised to be quiet. I told them we could not stay if they were to be constantly threatening. In the afternoon the chiefs came up, and I promised to visit them all. My head aches a little. Had I been killed, I alone should have been to blame, and not the natives. The Delena natives say: “Well, Tamate, had you not been here, many of us would have been killed, and the remainder gone to Naara, never to return.” There is some pleasure in being of a little use even to savages.
The next Sunday we had a splendid service. All the young fellows dressed for it by painting their faces. It was amusing and interesting to hear them interpret all I said from Motuan into Loloan; and when I attempted to use a Lolo word, they corrected me if I wrongly pronounced or misplaced it. After service we had all the children and young men to school. A goodly number have got a pretty fair hold of letters. Some would beat native cloth, and Kone grew very angry, and, because they would not listen to him, threatened to pull up his recently buried child. I sent word that he must on no account do that, and must say no more to the men beating cloth; that by-and-by the people will become enlightened, and then they will understand the Sabbath. Poor Kone’s idea is that now and at once they should understand.
On June 6th, I once more left Delena to proceed to Maiva, and, although a heavy sea was running at the time, landed safely about eleven a.m. at Miria’s village, on the Maiva coast. I saw a number of people with karevas (long fighting sticks), and wondered what was the matter. I said to my old friend Rua, who met me on the beach, “Are you going to fight?” “No, no; it is all right now.” I gave him a large axe for Meauri and party to cut wood for a house at their village. Meauri and a number of followers soon made their appearance: it seemed strange that they should have come down so soon. Miria, the
chief, being away cutting wood, went to Meauri’s village, passing through several seaside villages. We selected a new position for the house, at the back of a large temple; gave them tobacco and red cloth, they promising gladly to have wood cut against my next return. Sitting on the platform, Rua turned to me and asked, “Tamate, who is your real Maiva friend?” Fancying there was trouble, I replied, “Oa Maoni, who sleeps in that house in death, was my friend: Meauri, Rua, Paru, and Aua are now my friends.” “I thought so, and Miria has no business to build a house for you. Before we saw the boat we were down on the beach at Miria’s village to begin a quarrel; we saw you were coming, and we waited for you.” “But I want a house on the coast as well as inland; Miria’s village is small and too exposed, and I must look for another place.” “That is all right; but this first.” “Be it so.” After visiting three villages I had not seen before, and going through all the inland ones, I returned to Miria’s village; he not having returned, I went along to Ereere. After dark, Miria came in. He felt sorry when I told him I could not put a house up in his place, owing to its being exposed to south-east wind, and to there not being many people. “But I have cut the wood.” “I shall pay you for that, and the wood can remain for my return.” I gave him tobacco for the young men and a present to himself, and all was right.
A few mornings later, I found the natives sitting
round rice; one said, “Come, we are waiting for you to bless the food.” They have seen our boats’ crews of Botu and Boera natives always asking a blessing. I said to them, “Cannot one of you ask a blessing?”
“No; wait until we learn, and you will see.” A good story is told by the captain of the Mayri. Oa their going to Aroma to relieve the teachers after the Kalo massacre, in the early morning they were pulling along the reef, and just as the sun appeared over the mountains, one of the Motu crew called on all to be quiet, rowers to lean on their oars, and then engaged in prayer, thanking God for watching over them during the night, and praying that He would care for them during the day, and that no unpleasantness might occur with the Aroma natives. All along this coast, and right away down to Elema as far as Bald Head, the Motu tribe has a wonderful influence, and in a few years excellent pioneers may be had from it. They must have been a terrible lot in the past. I have heard much from themselves of piracy, murder, and robbery, and all along here they tell terrible tales. A Motu chief in one of our meetings, speaking of the past and the present, concluded by saying: “Since the arrival of the foreigners (teachers), we have changed and will continue to change.”
An old chief, Aiio, from the Mekeo district, came in to see me, and brought me as a present a splendid head-dress, which is hung up by Kone in front of the
tent for all to see. On giving him a present of salt, it was pleasant to see the old fellow’s expression of pleasure. He is anxious I should go inland as soon as possible; I tell him I must wait for tomahawks.