A steer oar for a large canoe is twenty feet long, with an eight feet blade, sixteen inches wide. Being made of heavy wood, the great difficulty of handling it is eased by a rope, which is passed through the top of the blade, and the other end of which is made fast to the middle beam of the deck.
Figian canoe sailing, we are informed by the missionary Williams (from whose interesting account the above description of Figian naval architecture and canoe management is mainly taken), is not silent work. The sail is hoisted and the canoe put about with merry shouts; a brisk interchange of jest and raillery is kept up while sailing over shoal reefs, and the heavier task of sculling is lightened by mutual encouragement to exertion, and loud thanks to the scullers as each set is relieved at intervals of five or ten minutes. A dead calm is enlivened by playful invitations to the wind most wanted, the slightest breath being greeted with cries of “Welcome! welcome on board!” If there should be drums on board their clatter is added to the general noise.
The announcement to the helmsman of each approaching wave, with the order to lavi—keep her away—and the accompanying “one, two, three, and another to come,” by which the measured advance of the waves is counted, with passing comments on their good or ill demeanour, keep all alive and in good humour.
Figian sailors, like all other sailors throughout the world, are very superstitious. Certain parts of the ocean, through fear of the spirits of the deep, they pass over in silence, with uncovered heads, and careful that no fragment of wood or part of their dress shall fall into the water. The common tropic bird is the shrine of one of their gods, and the shark of another; and should the one fly over their heads, or the other swim past, those who wear turbans would doff them, and all utter some word of respect. A shark lying athwart their course is an omen which fills them with fear. A basket of bitter oranges on board a vessel is believed to diminish her speed. On one sort of canoe it is “tapu” (sacrilege) to eat food in the hold; on another in the house on deck; on another on the platform near the house. Canoes have been lost altogether because the crew, instead of exerting themselves in a storm, have quitted their posts to soro to their gods, and throw yagona and whales’ teeth to the waves to propitiate them.
Very different from the elaborate Figian vessel is the canoe of the native of Torres Straits. This latter, which is often ninety feet in length, is constructed out of a single tree, obtained from the mainland of New Guinea. It is burnt out or hacked out, according to the New Guinean’s convenience; it has a raised gunwale, and in the centre is a platform. The stem and stern are closed, the head being shaped to the rude resemblance of a shark or some other marine monster, and in the stern is generally to be found a projecting pole from which is dangling a bunch of emu feathers. They carry a mat sail set forward between two poles hooked to the gunwale, bringing the heads of the poles to the wind as required.
Torres Straits Canoe.
To return, however, to the “war path.” No less superstitious than the Figian is his savage brother the New Zealander, who, as we are informed by Taylor and other trustworthy authorities, did not dare to go to war before he had undergone a sort of confirmation at the hands of the priest. Each priest, on the declaration of war, assembled his own party, and went to a sacred water. At first they all sat down, but after a time they stood up naked in the water, which they heaped up against their bodies, and threw over their heads. After they had been sprinkled by the priest, he said:
“This is the spirit, the spirit is present,
The spirit of this tapu!