When the grave was dug out about two and a half feet deep, by three feet long, and eighteen inches wide, the Pimlingai lifted Mafel on the mat whereon he rested and placed him in the grave, with his head toward the setting sun. Before putting any earth over him, one of the Pimlingai took, as payment for their labours, two of the pearl shells that had been placed upon the corpse; the other two were buried with him; he must not arrive empty handed in Falraman.
As soon as the body was placed in the grave the wailings of Gyeiga and her chief mourners were redoubled, and over and over again they bade him goodbye and reiterated “O Mafel! O my poor one!” When the grave was nearly filled in, a sprouting coconut was planted at the head and banked round with earth and lumps of coral. It was to provide food for Mafel on his journey to Falraman, and also to furnish oil not only for light, but also for his hair; a coconut is always thus planted at the head of a corpse,—witness the young trees in the graveyard. Slabs of stone and coral were piled up all about the grave for a distance of two feet, and earth tightly packed in the crevices, so that the big lizards,—“monitors,” the only large reptile on the island,—should not disturb the body.
Until the last block of stone and handful of earth was placed on the grave, Gyeiga and the mourners never ceased wailing; but the very minute that all was finished and patted down, they ceased abruptly. Gyeiga wiped away her tears, lit a fresh cigarette and disappeared in the jungle.
It was too dark for photographs, so I packed up my camera and, following Vincenti, I too plunged into the undergrowth, and in an incredibly short time, as it seemed, was in Dulukan. I learned that the route we had followed to the graveyard was as circuitous as could be devised, and that this was always the custom in the burial of people of importance; a poor man is hurried as quickly as possible to his grave, but a wealthy man is taken past as many houses as possible and in a roundabout way, so that the grief of his relatives may be seen and heard far and wide.
On questioning Fatumak after the burial, I found that the manner of death has much to do with the position in which the body is interred; if a man dies of an ordinary disease or of old age, he is buried with his head to the west and his knees drawn up, as in Mafel’s case; if he dies in battle, he is buried with his head to the north and his legs and body are perfectly straight; if he dies of a cough,—consumption,—he is buried with his knees drawn close to his breast, and with his face looking downward. The graves, as a rule, are very modest little mounds in the quiet seclusion of the bush near some Pimlingai village, but when a great chief dies, a large platform of flat stones, such as the houses are built on, is constructed over the grave, and the departing tafenai is speeded on its way to Falraman with feasting and dancing.
Such is life and death on the happy little island of Uap; at least as I saw it in a two months’ residence; they are delightful people to visit now that Germany exerts a truly paternal care over them and perpetuates their naturally mild temper by strictly prohibiting the introduction of alcohol among them.
When, early one morning, I sailed away from Dulukan in Friedlander’s barge bound for Tomil Bay, to meet the steamer and depart for Sydney, all my friends were on hand to see me off,—Migiul and Lemet, who had contributed to my collection of tattoo marks and cat’s-cradle figures; Lian, who had helped in many ways to get specimens for my collection; Tomak, of the strong voice, who had contributed many a song on the phonograph; Gamiau, who had been foremost in getting up the dance; even Kakofel, whose sensitive feelings I had grievously wounded by calling her “Kakofel Kan,” was there, but she stayed in the background and only stared when I shook her hand for goodbye. Little Pooguroo, my earliest and faithfullest wee friend, stood on the very extremity of the jetty, her little brown body glistening in the warm light of the rising sun, and her large black eyes following me wonderingly as we were gradually poled out into the channel of the lagoon.
Just as we made the first turn and Dulukan had faded from sight, we met good old Fatumak on his “barco;” he shouted to me a few of the auspicious phrases which are used to fisherman as they set out to sea, and I shouted back to him goan e gup! which means “I am going, but I shall return,”—a phrase of courtesy when one leaves a party of friends and expects to return before long,—it about corresponds to “Auf Wiedersehn.” Indeed the words were uttered in all sincerity. Who would not wish, at least for a season, to renew, “through the verdurous glooms” of the tropics, a life as simple, as equable, as hospitable as that which I received at the hands of the natives of Uap.