In their bargaining the natives have generally been very honest, far more so than our own people whom I have frequently seen cheating them by passing off scraps of worthless iron, and even tin and copper, for pieces of hoop, the imposition not being found out until the property has changed hands. As at the Louisiade iron hoop is the article most prized by the natives, and is valued according to its width and thickness as a substitute for the stone-heads of their axes. They also showed great eagerness to obtain our hatchets and fish-hooks, but attached little value to calico, although a gaudy pattern, or bright colour, especially red, was sure to arrest attention; but in such matters they are very capricious. Even glass bottles were prized, probably as a substitute for obsidian or volcanic glass, portions of which I saw among them, used in shaving, as was explained to me, and probably also for carving in wood.
NATIVE LADIES ON BOARD.
August 25th.
Yesterday and today, in addition to upwards of a hundred natives alongside bartering, we were honoured with visits from several parties of the Tassai ladies, in whose favour the prohibition to come on board was repealed for the time. The young women were got up with greater attention to dress and finery than when seen on shore, and some had their face blackened as if to heighten their attractions. The outer petticoat, worn on gala days such as this, differs from the common sort in being much finer in texture and workmanship, besides being dyed red and green, with intermediate bands of straw colour and broad white stripes of palm-leaf. It is made of long bunches of very light and soft shreds, like fine twisted grass, apparently the prepared leaf of a calamus or rattan. None of the women that I saw possessed even a moderate share of beauty (according to our notions) although a few had a pleasing expression and others a very graceful figure, but, on the other hand, many of the boys and young men were strikingly handsome. We had no means of forming a judgment regarding the condition of the women in a social state, but they appeared to be treated by the men as equals and to exercise considerable influence over them. On all occasions they were the loudest talkers, and seemed to act from a perfect right to have everything their own way. It is worthy of mention, that, even in their own village, and on all other occasions where we had an opportunity of observing them, they acted with perfect propriety, and although some indecent allusions were now and then made by the men, this was never done in the presence of the women. Of their marriages we could find out nothing--one man appeared to have two wives, but even this was doubtful. The circumstance of children being daily brought off by their fathers to look at the ship, and the strange things there, indicated a considerable degree of parental affection.
NATIVE DANCES.
Returning to our visitors: the fiddle, fife, and drum were put in requisition, and a dance got up to amuse them. The women could not be persuaded to join, but two of the men treated us to one of their own dances, each having been previously furnished with a native drum or baiatu. They advanced and retreated together by sudden jerks, beating to quick or slow time as required, and chanting an accompanying song, the cadence rising and falling according to the action. The attitude was a singular one--the back straight, chin protruded, knees bent in a crouching position, and the arms advanced; on another occasion, one of the same men exhibited himself before us in a war dance. In one hand he held a large wooden shield, nearly three feet in length and rather more than one in width, and in the other a formidable-looking weapon two feet in length--a portion of the snout of a saw-fish with long sharp teeth projecting on each side. Placing himself in a crouching attitude, with one hand covered by the shield, and holding his weapon in a position to strike, he advanced rapidly in a succession of short bounds, striking the inner side of the shield with his left knee at each jerk, causing the large cowries hung round his waist and ankles to rattle violently. At the same time with fierce gestures he loudly chanted a song of defiance. The remainder of the pantomime was expressive of attack and defence, and exaltation after victory. But a still more curious dance was one performed a few nights ago by a party of natives which had left the ship after sunset and landed abreast of the anchorage. On seeing a number of lights along the beach, we at first thought they proceeded from a fishing party, but on looking through a night-glass, the group was seen to consist of above a dozen people, each carrying a blazing torch, and going through the movements of a dance. At one time they extended rapidly into line, at another closed, dividing into two parties, advancing and retreating, crossing and recrossing, and mixing up with each other. This continued for half an hour, and having apparently been got up for our amusement, a rocket was sent up for theirs, and a blue-light burned, but the dancing had ceased, and the lights disappeared.
ONE REMAINS ON BOARD.
In the evening when the natives were leaving for the shore, one of them volunteered to remain on board on the understanding that some of us should accompany him to Tassai, where, he explained, there would be plenty of dancing and eating, enumerating pigs, dogs, yams, and coconuts, as the component parts of the feast. He was taken down to the wardroom, and shortly underwent a complete metamorphosis, effected by means of a regatta shirt of gaudy pattern, red neckcloth, flannel trousers, a faded drab Taglioni of fashionable cut buttoned up to the throat, and an old black hat stuck on one side of his woolly head. Every now and then he renewed his invitation to go on shore, but was satisfied when given to understand that our visit must be deferred till the morrow.
NATIVE SONG.
He was a merry, active, good-humoured fellow, and gave us a number of songs, one of which I wrote down. Although unfortunately I cannot give an accompanying translation, yet this song exhibits the remarkable softness of the language from the great number of vowels.