Although stationed in a village, I often took short trips to other places, travelling either by canoe or whale-boat. The native canoes are made of logs, hollowed out with much labour, having an outrigger attached and a small platform lashed between the two at either end. This the passengers—myself and often Maebo, my little girl friend—shared with the cargo. Canoes were of many shapes, varying according to the tribe of the maker. Canoe travelling was idyllic in calm weather. Sometimes a turtle would lift his lazy head and take a long look at us before diving, and we could gaze far down into the depths of the crystal water and watch brilliantly-hued fish disporting themselves among the branches of still more dazzlingly-tinted coral, while the golden sunlight filtered mistily down in cloudy rays. The crews paddled well, and we crossed the bay in fine style, the men being quite content with a penny each as wages.
A GROUP OF NATIVE CANOES—THE AUTHORESS MADE MANY TRIPS IN THESE FRAIL CRAFT.
From a Photograph.
But, alas! it was very different in rough weather. Tired and hungry, perhaps several miles from my destination, the captain would call to me, “Misika (my native name), you’ll have to get out and go by the beach, for the wind is rising.” My heart would sink, and I would beseech him to make the crew paddle on; but the wind caught us up, and the waves broke mercilessly over the little vessel, which was hugging the shore. Then, perforce, after a thorough drenching, I got out, the canoe was hauled up, and we tramped wearily home, the captain carrying me over the streams on his back. This was rather a pleasant mode of crossing; but when the stream was very deep I had to sit on the boy’s shoulders and hold on to his chin, which—I speak from bitter experience—is a very unsafe position. Once, with myself thus perched on high, we attempted to cross a wide river at the mouth of which some natives were fishing with a drag-net. It so happened that when we reached mid-stream—I holding only too insecurely to a wobbly chin—something very special, I don’t know what, occurred in connection with the fish, and we were ordered to remain where we were! It seemed impossible, but there I remained, clinging desperately to my human steed, until the slow old fishermen had gathered their net in and—to my rather malicious satisfaction—discovered not a single fish in the meshes.
MAEBO, MISS KER’S LITTLE TRAVELLING COMPANION.
From a Photograph.
My little girl companion, Maebo, who is seen in the annexed photograph, had much charm of manner, but was not exactly pretty. She wore, as did all Wedauan woman, several skirts of shredded coco-nut leaf; she had even, while teeth, pretty hands and arms, and a satiny brown skin. On the many occasions when she shaved her head, and even her eyebrows, her appearance was certainly not improved. She was a nice child, however, and accompanied me on many journeys.
Maebo was betrothed to a village boy by her father when she was only ten years old, though that did not prevent many others from wishing to marry her. But she would have none of them, not even the highly educated, who applied for the honour of her hand by letter. She would not marry out of her village, she said, for fear of her life being taken by a sorcerer. A short time ago her fiancé became her husband, and so I lost my travelling companion.