HEAD-HUNTERS
BLACK, WHITE, AND BROWN

THE SCOTT-KELTIE FALLS, MOUNT DULIT, BARAM DISTRICT, SARAWAK

HEAD-HUNTERS

BLACK, WHITE, AND BROWN

BY
ALFRED C. HADDON, Sc.D., F.R.S.
FELLOW OF CHRIST’S COLLEGE
AND UNIVERSITY LECTURER IN ETHNOLOGY, CAMBRIDGE

WITH THIRTY-TWO PLATES, FORTY ILLUSTRATIONS IN THE TEXT
AND SIX MAPS

METHUEN & CO.
36 ESSEX STREET W.C.
LONDON
1901

TO
MY WIFE
AND
TO THE MEMORY OF
MY MOTHER
WHO FIRST TAUGHT ME TO OBSERVE
I DEDICATE
THIS RECORD OF MY TRAVELS

PREFACE

In 1888 I went to Torres Straits to study the coral reefs and marine zoology of the district; whilst prosecuting these studies I naturally came much into contact with the natives, and soon was greatly interested in them. I had previously determined not to study the natives, having been told that a good deal was known already about them; but I was not long in discovering that much still remained to be learned. Indeed, it might be truly said that practically nothing was known of the customs and beliefs of the natives, even by those who we had every reason to expect would have acquired that information.

Such being the case, I felt it to be my duty to gather what information I could when not actually engaged in my zoological investigations. I found, even then, that the opportunities of learning about the pagan past of the natives were limited, and that it would become increasingly more difficult, as the younger men knew comparatively little of the former customs and beliefs, and the old men were dying off.

On my return home I found that my inquiries into the ethnography of the Torres Straits islanders were of some interest to anthropologists, and I was encouraged to spend some time in writing out my results. Gradually this has led me to devote myself to anthropological studies, and, not unnaturally, one of my first projects was to attempt a monograph on the Torres Straits Islanders. It was soon apparent that my information was of too imperfect a nature to make a satisfactory memoir, and therefore I delayed publishing until I could go out again to collect further material.

In course of time I was in a position to organise an expedition for this purpose, which, being mainly endowed from University funds, had the honour of being closely associated with the University of Cambridge. It was my good fortune to be able to secure the co-operation of a staff of colleagues, each of whom had some special qualification.

For a long time it had appeared to me that investigations in experimental psychology in the field were necessary if we were ever to gauge the mental and sensory capabilities of primitive peoples. This expedition presented the requisite opportunity, and the organisation of this department was left to Dr. W. H. R. Rivers, of St. John’s College, the University lecturer in physiological and experimental psychology. The co-operation of Dr. C. S. Myers, of Caius College, had been secured early, and as he is a good musician, he specialised more particularly in the study of the hearing and music of the natives. Mr. W. McDougall, Fellow of St. John’s College, also volunteered to assist in the experimental psychology department of the expedition.

When the early arrangements were being made one of the first duties was to secure the services of a linguist, and the obvious person to turn to was Mr. Sidney H. Ray, who has long been a recognised authority on Melanesian and Papuan languages. Fortunately, he was able to join the expedition.

Mr. Anthony Wilkin, of King’s College, took the photographs for the expedition, and he assisted me in making the physical measurements and observations. He also investigated the construction of the houses, land tenure, transference of property, and other social data of various districts.

When this book was being brought out the sad news arrived in England of the death by dysentery of my pupil, friend, and colleague in Cairo on the 17th of May (1901), on his return home from a second winter’s digging in Upper Egypt. Poor Wilkin! barely twenty-four years of age, and with the promise of a brilliant career before him. I invited him to accompany me while he was still an undergraduate, having been struck by his personal and mental qualities. He was a man of exceptional ability and of frank, pleasing manner, and a thorough hater of humbug. Although he was originally a classical scholar, Wilkin read for the History Tripos, but his interests were wider than the academic course, and he paid some attention to sociology, and was also interested in natural science. In his early undergraduate days he published a brightly written book, On the Nile with a Camera. Immediately after his first winter’s digging in Egypt with Professor Flinders Petrie, he went with Mr. D. Randall-Maciver to Algeria to study the problem of the supposed relationship, actual or cultural, of the Berbers with the Ancient Egyptians. An interesting exhibition of the objects then collected was displayed at the Anthropological Institute in the summer (1900), and later in the year Wilkin published a well-written and richly illustrated popular account of their experiences, entitled, Among the Berbers of Algeria. Quite recently the scientific results were published in a sumptuously illustrated joint work entitled, Libyan Notes. Wilkin was an enthusiastic traveller, and was projecting important schemes for future work. There is little doubt that had he lived he would have distinguished himself as a thoroughly trained field-ethnologist and scientific explorer.

Finally, Mr. C. G. Seligmann volunteered to join the party. He paid particular attention to native medicine and to the diseases of the natives as well as to various economic plants and animals.

Such was the personnel of the expedition. Several preliminary communications have been published by various members; but the complete account of our investigations in Torres Straits is being published by the Cambridge University Press in a series of special memoirs. The observations made on the mainland of British New Guinea and in Sarawak will be published in various journals as opportunity offers.

The book I now offer to the public contains a general account of our journeyings and of some of the sights we witnessed and facts that we gleaned.

I would like to take this opportunity of expressing my thanks to my comrades for all the assistance they have rendered me, both in the field and at home. I venture to prophesy that when all the work of the expedition is concluded my colleagues will be found to have performed their part in a most praiseworthy manner.

Our united thanks are due to many people, from H.H. the Rajah of Sarawak down to the least important native who gave us information. Wherever we went, collectively or individually, we were hospitably received and assisted in our work. Experience and information were freely offered us, and what success the expedition has attained must be largely credited to these friends.

I cannot enumerate all who deserve recognition, but, taking them in chronological order, the following rendered us noteworthy service.

The Queensland Government, through the Hon. T. J. Byrnes, then Premier, sent us the following cordial welcome by telegraph on our arrival at Thursday Island:—

“Permit me on behalf of Government to welcome you and your party to Queensland and to express our sincere hope that your expedition will meet with the success which it deserves. We shall be glad if at any time we can afford any assistance towards the object of the expedition or to its individual members, and trust that you will not hesitate to advise us if we can be of service to you. Have asked Mr. Douglas to do anything in his power and to afford you any information concerning the objects of your mission he may be in a position to impart.”

The Hon. John Douglas, C.M.G., the Government Resident at Thursday Island, not merely officially, but privately and of his spontaneous good nature, afforded us every facility in his power. Through his kind offices the Queensland Government made a special grant of £100 towards the expenses of the expedition, and in connection with this a very friendly telegram was sent by the late Sir James R. Dickson, K.C.M.G., who was then the Home Secretary.

The Government of British New Guinea did what it could to further our aims. Unfortunately, His Excellency Sir William Macgregor, K.C.M.G., M.D., Sc.D., the then Lieutenant-Governor of the Possession, was away on a tour of inspection during my visit to the Central District; but he afterwards showed much kindness to Seligmann. The Hon. A. Musgrave, of Port Moresby, was most cordial and helpful, and we owe a great deal to him. The Hon. D. Ballantine, the energetic Treasurer and Collector of Customs, proved himself a very good friend and benefactor to the expedition. The Hon. B. A. Hely, Resident Magistrate of the Western Division, helped us on our way, and we are greatly indebted in many ways to Mr. A. C. English, the Government Agent of the Rigo District.

All travellers to British New Guinea receive many benefits directly and indirectly from the New Guinea Mission of the London Missionary Society. Everywhere we went we were partakers of the hospitality of the missionaries and South Sea teachers; the same genuine friendliness and anxiety to help permeates the whole staff, so much so that it seems invidious to mention names, but the great assistance afforded us by the late Rev. James Chalmers deserves special recognition, as does also the kindness of Dr. and Mrs. Lawes. The Mission boats were also freely placed at our disposal as far as the service of the Mission permitted; but for this liberality on the part of Mr. Chalmers we should several times have been in an awkward predicament. If any words of mine could induce any practical assistance being given to the Mission I would feel most gratified, for I sadly realise that our indebtedness to the Mission can only be acknowledged adequately by proxy.

It is a sad duty to chronicle the irreparable loss which all those who are connected with British New Guinea have undergone in the tragic death of the devoted Tamate. Mrs. Chalmers died in the autumn of 1900 under most distressing circumstances in the Mission boat when on her way to Thursday Island. A few months later, when endeavouring to make peace during a tribal war on the Aird River, Chalmers crowned a life of hardship and self-sacrifice by martyrdom in the cause of peace. A glorious end for a noble life. With him were murdered twelve native Mission students and the Rev. O. Tomkins, a young, intelligent, and enthusiastic missionary, from whom much was expected.

Very pleasing is it to record the brotherly kindness that we received at the hands of the Sacred Heart Mission. None of our party belonged to their Communion, but from the Archbishop to the lowliest Brother we received nothing but the friendliest treatment. Nor would we omit our thanks to the good Sisters for the cheerful way in which they undertook the increased cares of catering which our presence necessitated. The insight which we gained into the ethnography of the Mekeo District is solely due to the good offices of the various members of the Sacred Heart Mission.

In the course of the following pages I often refer to Mr. John Bruce, the Government Schoolmaster on Murray Island. It would be difficult to exaggerate the influence he exerts for good by his instruction, advice, and unostentatious example. His help and influence were invaluable to us, and when our researches are finally published, anthropologists will cordially admit how much their science owes to “Jack Bruce.”

We found Mr. Cowling, of Mabuiag, very helpful, not only at the time but subsequently, as he has since sent us much valuable information, and he also deserves special thanks.

Our visit to Sarawak was due to a glowing invitation I received from Mr. Charles Hose, the Resident of the Baram District. I have so frequently referred in print and speech to his generosity and erudition, that I need only add here that his University has conferred on him the greatest honour it is in her power to bestow—the degree of Doctor in Science honoris causa.

But it was Rajah Sir Charles Brooke’s interest in the expedition that made many things possible, and to him we offer our hearty thanks, both for facilities placed at our disposal and for the expression of his good-will.

At Kuching we received great hospitality from the white residents. Particular mention must be made of the Hon. C. A. Bampfylde, Resident of Sarawak; on our arrival he was administrating the country in the absence of the Rajah, who was in England; nor should Dr. A. J. G. Barker, Principal Medical Officer of Sarawak, and Mr. R. Shelford, the Curator of the Museum, be omitted.

Great kindness and hospitality were shown us by Mr. O. F. Ricketts, Resident of the Limbang District. We had a most enjoyable visit to his beautiful Residency, and he arranged for us all the details of our journey up-river.

One fact through all our journeyings has continually struck me. Travellers calmly and uninvitedly plant themselves on residents by whom they are received with genuine kindness and hospitably entertained with the best that can be offered. Experience, information, and influence are cheerfully and ungrudgingly placed at the disposal of the guests, who not unfrequently palm off, without acknowledgment, on an unsuspecting public the facts that others have gleaned.

The warm welcome that one receives is as refreshing to the spirit as the shower-bath is to the body and daintily served food to the appetite when one has been wandering in the wilds.

In order to render my descriptions of the places and people more continuous I have practically ignored the exact order in which events happened or journeys were made. For those who care about chronology I append a bare statement of the location of the various members of the expedition at various times. I have also not hesitated to include certain of my experiences, or some of the information I gained, during my first expedition to Torres Straits in 1888-9; but the reader will always be able to discriminate between the two occasions.

The following is the system of spelling which has been adopted in this book:—

• a as in “father.”
• ă as in “at.”
• e as a in “date.”
• ĕ as in “debt.”
• i as ee in “feet.”
• ĭ as in “it.”
• o as in “own.”
• ŏ as in “on.”
• ö as German ö in “schön.”
• ò as aw in “law.”
• u as oo in “soon.”
• ŭ as in “up.”
• ai as in “aisle.”
• au as ow in “cow.”

The consonants are sounded as in English.

• ng as in “sing.”
• ngg as in “finger.”

CONTENTS

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

The photographs for Plates i.-iv. A., vi. B., vii. B., viii. B.-xi. A., xii. A., xiii.-xvi., xvii. A., xviii. A., xix.-xxii. were taken by the late A. Wilkin; those for Plates xvii. B., xxv. A., xxvii. B., xxx. A. were taken by C. G. Seligmann; Plate iv. B. by Dr. C. S. Myers; xii. B. by H. Oldland; and the Frontispiece and Plates v., vii. A., viii. A., xviii. B., xxiii., xxiv., xxv. B., xxvi., xxvii. A., xxviii., xxix., xxx. B., xxxi. by the Author. Plates vi. A. and xi. B. were drawn from photographs taken by the Author by his brother Trevor Haddon. With the exception of Plate xxx. B. none of the photographs have been retouched.

The [skulls depicted on the cover] are drawn from a photograph of a trophy collected by the Author at Mawatta, [p. 115].

LIST OF FIGURES IN THE TEXT

All the above illustrations except Figs. 13, 14, 17, and 19 were drawn by the Author.

LIST OF MAPS

THE LOST LEGION

And some of us drift to Sarawak,

And some of us drift up the Fly.

The Seven Seas, by Rudyard Kipling

HEAD-HUNTERS
BLACK, WHITE, AND BROWN

CHAPTER I
THURSDAY ISLAND TO MURRAY ISLAND

We arrived at Torres Straits early in the morning of April 22nd, 1898, and dropped anchor off Friday Island, as the steamers of the Ducal Line are not allowed now to tie up at the hulk at Thursday Island. Shortly afterwards we were met by the Hon. John Douglas, the Resident Magistrate, and Dr. Salter, both of whom were old friends who had shown me much kindness during my previous expedition. They were accompanied by Seligmann, who had left London some months previously in order to visit Australia, and as a handsel had already done a little work on a hitherto unknown tribe of North Queensland natives.

The township of Thursday Island, or Port Kennedy, as it is officially termed, had increased considerably during the past decade. This was partly due to the natural growth of the frontier town of North Queensland, and partly to the fact that it has become a fortified port which commands the only safe passage for large vessels through these dangerous straits. So assiduous have been the coral polyps in defending the northernmost point of Australia, that although the straits measure some eighty miles between Cape York and the nearest coast of New Guinea, what with islands and the very extensive series of intricate coral reefs, there is only one straightforward passage for vessels of any size, and that is not more than a quarter of a mile wide.

Although the town has increased in size its character has not altered to any considerable extent. It is still the same assemblage of corrugated iron and wooden buildings which garishly broil under a tropical sun, unrelieved by that vegetation which renders beautiful so many tropical towns. It is true a little planting has been done, but the character of the soil, or perhaps the absence of sufficient water, render those efforts melancholy rather than successful.

Many of the old desert lots are now occupied by stores and lodging-houses. The characteristic mountains of eviscerated tins, kerosine cases, and innumerable empty bottles which betoken a thirsty land, have been removed and cast into the sea. Thriving two- or three-storied hotels proclaim increase in trade and comparative luxury.

There is the same medley of nationalities—British, Colonial, French, German, Scandinavian, Greek, and other European job lots, in addition to an assortment from Asia and her islands. As formerly, the Pacific islands are well represented, and a few Torres Straits islanders are occasionally to be seen. Some of the latter are resident as policemen, others visit the island to sell pearl-shell, bêche-de-mer, and sometimes a little garden produce, and to purchase what they need from the stores.

One great change in the population is very striking, and that is the great preponderance of the Japanese. So far as I remember they were few in number ten years previously, and were, I believe, outnumbered by the Manila men; now they form the bulk of the population, much to the disgust of most of the Europeans and Colonials. Various reasons are assigned for this jealousy of the Japanese, and different grounds are taken for asserting that the influx should be checked, and restrictions enforced on those who have already settled.

It appeared to me that the bed-rock of discontent was in the fact that the Japanese beat the white men at their own game, mainly because they live at a lower rate than do the white men. A good proportion of the pearl-shelling industry is now carried on by the Japanese, who further play into each other’s hands as far as possible. A good example of their enterprise is shown by the fact that they have now cut out the white boat-builders. A few years ago, I was informed, some Japanese took to boat-building and built their first boats from printed directions in some English manual. Their first craft were rather clumsy, but they discovered their mistakes, and now they turn out very satisfactory sailing boats. It is impossible not to feel respect for men who combine brains with diligence, and who command success by frugality and combination.

The white men grumble that the Japanese spend so little in the colony and send their money away; but the very same white men admit they would themselves clear out as soon as they had made their pile. Their intentions are the same as are the performances of the Japanese; but the white men cannot, under the present conditions, make a fortune quickly, and certain of them cannot keep what they do make. There are white men acting as divers for coloured men’s pay who some years ago owned boats of their own. The fall in value of pearl-shell a few years since is scarcely the sole reason for this change of fortune; bad management and drink have a good deal to answer for.

Some white men contend that as this is a British colony, and has been developed by British capital and industry, the Japanese should not be allowed to reap the benefit; but a similar argument might be applied to many of the industrial enterprises of the British in various parts of the world. As an outsider, it appears to me that it is some of those very qualities that have made the British colonist what he is that manifest themselves in the Japanese. In other words, the Japanese are feared because they are so British in many ways, saving perhaps the British expensive mode of life. It is probably largely this latter factor that renders the Japanese such deadly competitors.

Formerly there were in Torres Straits regular bêche-de-mer and copra industries, now there is very little of the former, and none of the latter. Large, slimy, leathery sea-slugs gorge the soft mud on the coral reefs; these when boiled and smoke-dried shrivel into hard rough rolls, which are exported in large numbers to China. These bêche-de-mer, or, as the Malays call them, “tripang,” are scientifically known as Holothuria, and are related to sea-urchins and starfish. Copra is the dried kernel of the coconut.

When one walks about the township and sees the amount of capital invested, and when one considers what is spent and how much money is sent away, it is hard to realise that all this wealth comes out of pearl-shell and pearls. During the past thirty years very many thousands of pounds have been made out of pearl-shell in Torres Straits; but now the waters have been overfished, and unless measures are taken to protect the pearl oysters, the harvest will become yet scantier and scantier. In any case the time for big hauls and rapid fortunes is probably over.

About the year 1890 gold was found in some of the islands, but I believe that the working only pays in one island, though it may be resumed at Horn Island, which at one time promised to be a lucrative goldfield.

At Thursday Island we met with much helpful kindness. Mr. Douglas entertained a couple of us, and did all he could to expedite matters. Unfortunately he was then without a steamer, and so could not tranship us and our gear to Murray Island, which otherwise he would have gladly done. It took a week to overhaul our baggage, get in stores, and to arrange about transport, and eventually I arranged with Neil Andersen to take us across; but even then there was neither room for all our baggage nor accommodation for the whole of our party. Rivers, Ray, and Seligmann and myself went on in the Freya, leaving the others to follow in the Governor Cairns, an official schooner that was shortly to start for Darnley Island.

It was not till the late afternoon of Saturday, April 30th, that we actually started, and then we were only able to beat up the passage between Thursday Island and Hammond Island, and anchored about six o’clock in the lee of Tuesday Island. There are very strong tides between these islands, and I have seen even a large ocean steamer steaming full speed against a tide race, and only just able to hold her own, much less make way against it.

The Freya was a ketch, a kind of fore-and-aft schooner, 47 feet 6 inches long and 11 feet 2 inches in the beam, and could carry about twenty tons of cargo. We had a strange medley of races on board—European skipper and passengers, our Javanese “boy,” the Japanese diver, two Polynesian sailors from Rotumah, and three Papuans from Parama, near the mouth of the Fly River. Our captain was a fine, big man, probably a good type of the Dubhgaill, or “black (dark) strangers,” who a thousand years ago ravaged the southern and eastern coast of Ireland as far north as Dublin. We “turned in” early—this consisted in wrapping oneself up in a blanket, extemporising a pillow, and lying on the deck.

Left Tuesday Island at 4 a.m. in a stiff breeze and chopping sea, and so could only make Dungeness Island by 4 p.m. Twelve hours to go fifty-five miles! We landed at the mangrove swamp, but there was little of interest. We hoped to have reached Darnley Island next day, but only fetched Rennel Island by 5.30 p.m. This is a large vegetated sandbank, on which we found traces of occupation, mainly where the natives had camped when bêche-de-mer fishing. We all suffered a good deal from sunburnt feet, the scorching by the sun being aggravated by the salt water. Some of our party were still seasick; one lay on the deck as limp as damp blotting-paper, and let the seas break over him without stirring even a finger. We had a wet night of it, what with the rain from above and the sea-water swishing in at the open stern and flooding the sleepers on the deck.

We made an early start next morning and reached Erub, or Darnley Island, at three in the afternoon. Immediately on landing I went to Massacre Bay to photograph the stratified volcanic ash that occurs only at this spot in the island, and which is the sole visible remains of the crater of an old volcano. The rest of the island is composed of basalt, which rises to a height of over 500 feet, and is well wooded and fertile—indeed, it is perhaps the most beautiful island in Torres Straits. Save for rocky headlands which separate lovely little coves fringed with white coral sand, the whole coast is skirted with groves of coconut palms and occasional patches of mangroves. The almost impenetrable jungle clothes the hills, except at those spots that have been cleared for “gardens.” Even the tops of the hills are covered with trees.

Very shortly after landing, a fine, honest-faced Murray Island native, Alo by name, who was visiting Erub, came up and greeted me very warmly. I regret to say I had quite forgotten him, but he perfectly remembered me, and he beamed with pleasure at seeing me. We walked along the coast to the village where the chief lives, and saw Captain H⸺, and I made arrangements with Koko Lifu, a South Sea man, to lighter our goods off the Governor Cairns and to take the cargo and our three comrades to Murray Island.

Captain H⸺ is one of those remarkable men one so constantly meets in out-of-the-way places. It is the common man one comes across at home. On the confines of savagery and civilisation one meets the men who have dared and suffered, rugged like broken quartz, and maybe as hard too, but withal streaked with gold—ay, and good gold too. Captain H⸺ started in life as a middy in the Navy; owing to a tiff with his people he quitted the Service and entered the Merchant Service. He advanced quickly, and when still very young obtained a command. He has made two fortunes, and lost both owing to bank failures, and is at present a ruined old recluse, living on a remote island along with Papuans, Polynesians, and other races that now inhabit Erub. He is a kind of Government Agent, and patrols the deep-water fishing grounds. I have previously mentioned that the ordinary fishing grounds for pearl-shell are practically exhausted, and the shellers have to go further afield or have to dive in deeper water in order to get large shells. Near Darnley Island are some good fishing grounds, but the water is so deep as to render the fishing dangerous to life, and the Queensland Government has prohibited fishing in these waters. There are, however, always a number of men who are willing to run the risk for the sake of increased gain, and it is all they can do to dodge the vigilance of the wary old sea-dog.

Captain H⸺ lives entirely by himself, and has no intercourse with the natives beyond what is absolutely necessary. He puts in his spare time in attending to his gardens and reading. Amongst other accomplishments he is a fluent speaker of French and Italian, and it was a strange experience to meet a weather-worn old man in frontier dishabille acting and speaking like a refined gentleman.

As on previous nights, except the first, Andersen made a tent for us on board the Freya out of the mainsail, the boom forming the ridge-pole. Ontong, the cook I had engaged at Thursday Island, woke us up at 2.30 a.m. to tell us tea was ready, and it was too! The pungent smell of the smoke prevented me from going to sleep for some time. In the morning Ontong said he thought it was “close up daylight”; and with an energy which is not usually credited to the Oriental character, he had made tea so as to be prepared for an early start.

We started early next morning with Alo as pilot; for the coral reefs between Darnley and Murray are extensive, intricate, and mainly uncharted. Andersen started for the “big passage” that large boats always take; but after some time it was discovered that Alo did not know this passage, but another one to the south-west of Darnley. As half the tide had by this time turned and the weather was very squally and the reefs could not be seen with certainty, we returned to our old anchorage by 9.30, and so another day was lost. We spent a lazy day to give our sore legs a rest. Alo left us in the evening, as he said he was “sick.” The truth was he did not care about the job, so Andersen went ashore and brought another pilot, named Spear. His father was a native of Parama; his mother was an Erub woman. Spear told us he had first married a Murray Island girl, and then half a dozen New Guinea women; but Dr. Macfarlane, the pioneer missionary in these parts, had made him “chuck” the latter.

Next day we started betimes, and sailed down channels in the reefs not marked in the charts. The day was dull, and the little wind was southerly when we wanted it easterly, whereas the previous day the reverse was the case. Later it became squally with rain, and finding it hopeless to reach Murray Island, Spear piloted us to a sheltered spot in the lee of a reef and close to a sandbank. We were only about four miles from our destination, and we could hear the roaring of the breakers of the Pacific Ocean as they dashed themselves against the Great Barrier Reef ten miles distant.

We had a very disturbed night. About eight o’clock, whilst we were yarning, the skipper jumped up and said the anchor was dragging. Then ensued a scene of intense excitement, as we were close not only to the sandbank, but also to a jagged coral reef. It was horrid to feel the boat helplessly drifting, for not only were the sails down, but the mainsail was unlashed below to make our tent, and further, it was tied down in various places. The first thing to do was to haul up the anchor, and furl the jib and mainsail, and unship the tent. We all lent a hand to the best of our ability, and soon we were sailing down the narrow passage. Andersen’s voice was hoarse and trembling with excitement, but he kept perfectly cool, and he never lost his temper, though in the confusion and babel of tongues some lost their heads through fright and did not do the right thing at the right moment, and each of the crew was ordering the others about in his own language.

After sailing about a little we made another attempt to anchor, and again the anchor dragged and we had another little cruise. Again we tried and again we failed, and it may be imagined that our sensations were not of a very cheerful nature, as we were in a really grave predicament; sometimes we actually sailed over the reef, and might any moment have knocked a hole in the ship’s bottom or have become stranded. If he could not effect an anchorage, two courses were open to Andersen. One was to cruise about all night, and it was very dark, keeping the reef in sight, or rather sailing up and down the passage, for if he had sailed out into the open he would probably strike a reef or coral patch that was unnoticed. The second alternative was to run the boat on to the sandbank and let it float off at high water in the morning. The reason why we drifted was because the anchor was let down on a steep gravelly slope, and the movement of the boat, which was naturally away from the bank, prevented the flukes from getting a firm grip.

On the fourth essay the anchor was put on the sandbank in a depth of three fathoms while we swung in fourteen or fifteen fathoms. After waiting some time in anxiety, we found to our relief that the anchor held, and we wrapped ourselves up in our blankets and slept on deck, pretty well exhausted. We had such confidence in the skill and alertness of Andersen, whom we knew to be a pre-eminently safe man, that we soon composed ourselves and slept soundly.

Friday, May 6th.—Again the wind was against us and the weather was squally, and it was not till one o’clock that we dropped anchor off the Mission premises at Murray Island.

I have briefly described our tedious trip to Murray Island, not because there was anything at all unusual in it, but merely to give some idea of the difficulty and uncertainty in sailing in these waters. There is no need, therefore, for surprise at the isolation of Murray Island, a fact which had influenced me in deciding to make it the scene of our more detailed investigations.

On landing we were welcomed by Mr. John Bruce, the schoolmaster and magistrate. He is the only white man now resident on the island, and he plays a paternal part in the social life of the people. I was very affectionately greeted by Ari the Mamoose, or chief of the island, and by my old friend Pasi, the chief of the neighbouring island of Dauar, and we walked up and down the sand beach talking of old times, concerning which I found Pasi’s memory was far better than mine.

I found that one of the two Mission residences on the side of the hill that were there ten years before was still standing and was empty, so I decided to occupy that, although it was rather dilapidated; and it answered our purpose admirably. The rest of the day and all the next was busily spent in landing our stuff and in unpacking and putting things to rights. We slept the first night at Bruce’s house, which is on the strand. When I went up next morning to our temporary home I found that the Samoan teacher Finau and his amiable wife had caused the house to be swept, more or less, and had put down mats, and placed two brightly coloured tablecloths on the table, which was further decorated with two vases of flowers! It seemed quite homely, and was a delicate attention that we much appreciated.

I engaged two natives, Jimmy Rice and Debe Wali, to get wood and water for us and to help Ontong. We had various vicissitudes with these two “boys,” but we retained them all through our stay, and they afforded us much amusement, no little instruction, and a very fair amount of moral discipline. The legs of two of our party were still so sore that they had to be carried up the hill, and on Saturday night we were established in our own quarters, and eager to commence the work for which we had come so far.

We had a deal of straightening up to do on Sunday morning, but I found time to go half-way down the hill to the schoolhouse, and was again impressed, as on my former visit, with the heartiness of the singing, which was almost deafening. The congregation waited for me to go out first, and I stood at the door and shook hands with nearly all the natives of the island as they came down the steps, and many were the old friends I greeted. I invited them to come up and see some photographs after the afternoon service.

We made the place as tidy as possible, and we had a great reception in the afternoon. Nearly all my old friends that were still alive turned up, besides many others. To their intense and hilarious delight I showed them some of the photographs I had taken during my last visit, not only of themselves, but also of other islands in the Straits. We had an immense time. The yells of delight, the laughter, clicking, flicking of the teeth, beaming faces and other expressions of joy as they beheld photographs of themselves or of friends would suddenly change to tears and wailing when they saw the portrait of someone since deceased. It was a steamy and smelly performance, but it was very jolly to be again among my old friends, and equally gratifying to find them ready to take up our friendship where we had left it.

Next morning when we were yarning with some natives others solemnly came one by one up the hill with bunches of bananas and coconuts, and soon there was a great heap of garden produce on the floor. By this time the verandah was filled with natives, men and women, and I again showed the photographs, but not a word was said about the fruit. They looked at the photographs over and over again, and the men added to the noise made by the women. On this occasion there was more crying, which, however, was enlivened with much hilarity. Then the Mamoose told Pasi to inform me in English, for the old man has a very imperfect command even of the jargon English that is spoken out here, that the stack of bananas and coconuts was a present to me. I made a little speech in reply, and they slowly dispersed.

On Tuesday evening McDougall, Myers, and Wilkin arrived, and our party was complete.

CHAPTER II
THE MURRAY ISLANDS

Torres Straits were discovered and passed through in August, 1606, by Luis Vaez de Torres. They were first partially surveyed by Captain Cook in 1770, and more thoroughly during the years 1843-5 by Captain Blackwood of H.M.S. Fly, and in 1848-9 by Captain Owen Stanley of H.M.S. Rattlesnake. H.M. cutter Bramble was associated with both these ships in the survey. But in the meantime other vessels had passed through: of these the most famous were the French vessels the Astrolabe and Zélée, which in the course of the memorable voyage of discovery under M. Dumont d’Urville were temporarily stranded in the narrow passage of the Island of Tut in 1840.

Bampton and Alt, the adventurous traders and explorers of the Papuan Gulf, came in the last years of the eighteenth century, and since then there have not been wanting equally daring men who, unknown to fame, have sailed these dangerous waters in search of a livelihood.

Mr. John Jardine was sent from Brisbane in 1862 to form a settlement at Somerset, in Albany Pass; but the place did not grow, and in 1877 the islands of Torres Straits were annexed to Queensland, and the settlement was transferred from the mainland to Thursday Island.

The islands of Torres Straits, geographically speaking, fall into three groups, the lines of longitude 140° 48′ E. and 143° 29′ E. conveniently demarcating these subdivisions.

The western group contains all the largest islands, and these, as well as many scattered islets, are composed of ancient igneous rocks, such as eurites, granites, quartz andesites, and rhyolitic tuff. These islands are, in fact, the submerged northern extremity of the great Australian cordillera that extends from Tasmania along the eastern margin of Australia, the northernmost point of which is the hill of Mabudauan, on the coast of New Guinea, near Saibai. This low granitic hill may be regarded as one of the Torres Straits islands that has been annexed to New Guinea by the seaward extension of the alluvial deposits brought down by the Fly River. Coral islets also occur among these rocky islands.

The shallow sea between Cape York peninsula and New Guinea is choked with innumerable coral reefs. By wind and wave action sandy islets have been built up on some of these reefs, and the coral sand has been enriched by enormous quantities of floating pumice. Wind-wafted or water-borne seeds have germinated and clothed the sandbanks with vegetation. Owing to the length of the south-east monsoon, the islands have a tendency to extend in a south-easterly direction, and consequently the north-west end of an island is the oldest, hence one sometimes finds that in the smaller islands a greater vegetable growth, or the oldest and largest trees, is at that end of an island; but in time the vegetation extends uniformly over the whole surface. The islands of the central division are entirely vegetated sandbanks.

The eastern division of Torres Straits includes the islands of Masaramker (Bramble Cay), Zapker (Campbell I.), Uga (Stephen’s I.), Edugor (Nepean I.), Erub (Darnley I.), and the Murray Islands (Mer, Dauar, and Waier), besides several sandbanks, or “cays.”

All the above-named islands are of volcanic origin. The first five consist entirely of lava with the exception of two patches of volcanic ash at Massacre Bay, in Erub, to which I have already referred. Mer, the largest of the Murray Islands, is composed of lava and ash in about equal proportions, while Dauar and Waier consist entirely of the latter rock. It is interesting to note that where the Great Barrier Reef ends there we find this great outburst of volcanic activity. It was evidently an area of weakness in one corner of the continental plateau of Australia. In pre-Carboniferous times the tuffs were ejected and the lava welled forth that have since been metamorphosed into the rocks of the Western Islands; but the basaltic lavas of the Eastern Islands belong to a recent series of earth movements, possibly of Pliocene age.

MAP OF TORRES STRAITS

Strictly speaking, to the three islands of Mer, Dauar, and Waier should the name of Murray Islands, or Murray’s Islands, be confined; but in Torres Straits the name of Murray Island has become so firmly established for the largest of them that, contrary to my usual custom, I propose to adopt the popular rather than the native name.

Mer, or Murray Island, is only about five miles in circumference, and is roughly oval in outline with its long axis running roughly north-east to south-west. The southerly half consists of an extinct crater, or caldera, which is breached to the north-east by the lava stream that forms the remainder of the high part of the island. This portion is very fertile, and supports a luxuriant vegetation, which, when left to itself, forms an almost impenetrable jungle; it is here that the natives have the bulk of their gardens, and every portion of it is or has been under cultivation. The great crescentic caldera valley, being formed of porous volcanic ash and being somewhat arid, is by no means so fertile; the vegetation, which consists of grass, low scrub, and scattered coconut palms, presents a marked contrast to that of the rest of the island. The slopes of the hills are usually simply grass-covered.

Fig. 1. The Hill of Gelam, Murray Island

The most prominent feature of Mer is the long steep hill of Gelam, which culminates in a peak, 750 feet in height. It extends along the western side of the island, and at its northern end terminates in a low hill named Zomar, which splays out into two spurs, the outer of which is called Upimager and the inner Mĕkernurnur. Gelam rises up from a narrow belt of cultivated soil behind the sand beach at an angle of 30 degrees, forming a regular even slope, covered with grass save for occasional patches of bare rock and low shrubs. At the southern end the ground is much broken. The termination of the smooth portion is marked by a conspicuous curved escarpment; beyond this is a prominent block of rock about half-way up the hill. This is known as the “eye.” The whole hill seen from some distance at sea bears a strong resemblance to an animal, and the natives speak of it as having once been a dugong, the history of which is enshrined in the legend of Gelam, a youth who is fabled to have come from Moa. The terminal hill and the north end of Gelam represents the lobed tail of the dugong, the curved escarpment corresponds to the front edge of its paddle, while the “eye” and the broken ground which indicates the nose and mouth complete the head.

The highest part of Gelam on its landward side forms bold, riven precipices of about fifty feet in height. A small gorge (Werbadupat) at the extreme south end of the island drains the great valley; beyond it rises the small, symmetrical hill Dĕbĕmad, which passes into the short crest of Mergar. The latter corresponds to Gelam on the opposite side of the island; it terminates in the steep hill Pitkir.

Fig. 2. Murray Island from the South, with its Fringing Reef

Gelam and Mergar form a somewhat horseshoe-shaped range, the continuity of which is interrupted at its greatest bend, and it is here the ground is most broken up. The rock is a beautifully stratified volcanic ash, with an outward dip of 30 degrees. Within this crater is a smaller horseshoe-shaped hill, which is the remains of the central cone of the old volcano. The eastern limit of the degraded cone is named Gur; the western, which is known as Zaumo, is prolonged into a spur called Ai. In the valley (Deaudupat) between these hills and Gelam arises a stream which flows in a northerly and north-easterly direction, and after receiving two other affluents empties itself into the sea at Korog. It should be remembered that the beds of all the streams are dry for a greater portion of the year, and it is only during the rainy season—i.e. from November to March, inclusive—and then only immediately after the rain, that the term “stream” can be applicable to them. There are, however, some water-holes in the bed of the stream which hold water for many months.

The great lava stream extends with an undulating surface from the central cone to the northern end of the island. It forms a fertile tableland, which is bounded by a steep slope. On its west side this slope is practically a continuation of the sides (Zaumo and Ai) of the central cone, and bounds the eastern side of the miniature delta valley of the Deaudupat stream. At the northern and eastern sides of the island the lava stream forms an abrupt or steep declivity, extending either right down to the water’s edge or occasionally leaving a narrow shore.

A fringing coral reef extends all round Mer, but has its greatest width along the easterly side of the island, where it forms an extensive shallow shelf which dries, or very nearly so, at spring tides, and constitutes an admirable fishing ground for the natives.

A mile and a quarter to the south of Mer are the islands of Dauar and Waier. The former consists of two hills—Au Dauar, 605 feet in height, and Kebe Dauar, of less than half that height. Au Dauar is a steep, grassy hill like Gelam, but the saddle-shaped depression between the two hills supports a luxuriant vegetation. There is a sand-spit at each end.

Waier is a remarkable little island, as it practically consists solely of a pinnacled and fissured crescentic wall of coarse volcanic ash about 300 feet in height. There is a small sand-spit on the side facing Dauar, and a sand beach along the concavity of the island. At these spots and in many of the gullies there is some vegetation, otherwise the island presents a barren though very picturesque appearance.

Fig. 3. Waier and Dauar, with their Fringing Reef

Dauar and Waier are surrounded by a continuous reef, which extends for a considerable distance towards the south-east, far beyond the region that was occupied by the other side of the crater of Waier. We must regard Dauar and Waier as the remnants of two craters, the south-easterly side of both of which having been blown out by a volcanic outburst, but in neither case is there any trace of a lava stream.

The climate, though hot, is not very trying, owing to the persistence of a strong south-east tide wind for at least seven months in the year—that is, from April to October. This is the dry season, but rain often falls during its earlier half. Sometimes there is a drought in the island, and the crops fail and a famine ensues. During the dry season the temperature ranges between 72° and 87° F. in the shade, but in the dead calm of the north-west monsoon a much greater temperature is reached, and the damp, muggy heat becomes at such times very depressing.

The reading of the barograph shows that there is a wonderful uniformity of atmospheric pressure. Every day there is a remarkable double rise and fall of one degree; the greatest rise occurs between eight and ten o’clock, morning and evening, while the deepest depression is similarly between two and four o’clock. In June, that is in the middle of a dry season, the barograph records a pressure varying between 31 and 33, which gradually decreases to 28 to 30 in December, again to rise gradually to the midsummer maximum. These data are obtained from inspection of the records made on the island by Mr. John Bruce on the barograph we left with him for this purpose.

Like the other natives of Torres Straits, the Murray Islanders belong to the Melanesian race, the dark-skinned people of the West Pacific who are characterised by their black frizzly or woolly hair. They are a decidedly narrow-headed people. The colour of the skin is dark chocolate, often burning to almost black in the exposed portions. The accompanying illustrations give a far better impression of the appearance and expression of the people than can be conveyed by any verbal description. Suffice it to say, the features are somewhat coarse, but by no means bestial; there is usually an alert look about the men, some of whom show decided strength of character in the face. The old men have usually quite a venerable appearance.

PLATE I

ARI, THE MAMOOSE OF MER

PASI, THE MAMOOSE OF DAUAR

Their mental and moral character will be incidentally illustrated in the following pages, and considering the isolation and favourable conditions of existence with the consequent lack of example and stimulus to exertion, we must admit that they have proved themselves to be very creditable specimens of savage humanity.

The Murray Islanders have often been accused of being lazy, and during my former visit I came across several examples of laziness and ingratitude to the white missionaries. As to the first count, well, there is some truth in it from one point of view. The natives certainly do not like to be made to work. One can always get them to work pretty hard in spurts, but continuous labour is very irksome to them; but after all, this is pretty much the same with everybody. Nature deals so bountifully with the people that circumstances have not forced them into the discipline of work.

The people are not avaricious. They have no need for much money; their wants are few and easily supplied. Surely they are to be commended for not wearing out their lives to obtain what is really of no use to them. The truth is, we call them lazy because they won’t work for the white man more than they care to. Why should they?

As to ingratitude. They take all they can get and, it is true, rarely appear as grateful as the white man expects; but this is by no means confined to these people. How often do we find exactly the same trait amongst our own acquaintances! They may feel grateful, but they have not the habit of expressing it. On the other hand, it is not beyond the savage mind for the argument thus to present itself. I did not ask the white man to come here. I don’t particularly want him. I certainly don’t want him to interfere with my customs. He comes here to please himself. If he gives me medicines and presents that is his look-out, that is his fashion. I will take all I can get. I will give as little as I can. If he goes away I don’t care.

Less than thirty years ago in Torres Straits might was right, and wrongs could only be redressed by superior physical force, unless the magic of the sorcery man was enlisted. For the last fifteen years the Queensland Government has caused a court-house to be erected in every island that contains a fair number of inhabitants, and the chief has the status of magistrate, and policemen, usually four in number, watch over the public morality.

The policemen are civil servants, enjoying the following annual emoluments—a suit of clothes, one pound sterling in cash, and one pound of tobacco. In addition, they have the honour and glory of their position; they row out in their uniforms in the Government whale-boat to meet the Resident Magistrate on his visits of inspection to the various islands, and they go to church on Sundays dressed in their newest clothes. There are doubtless other amenities which do not appear on the surface.

The Mamoose, or chief, being a great man, “all along same Queen Victoria,” as they proudly claim and honestly imagine, is not supposed to receive payment. I well remember the complex emotion shown on my former visit by the Mamoose of Murray Island, who was torn by conflicting desires. Whether to share the golden reward with his subordinates, or to forego the coin on account of his being a great man, was more than he could determine; it was clear that he preferred the lower alternative—for what worth is honour if another man gets the money? I suspected he almost felt inclined to abdicate his sovereignty on the spot for the sake of one pound sterling; but the Hon. John Douglas, who was then on his tour of inspection, kept him up to the dignity of his position, and pointed out that great men in his position could not take money like policemen. Possibly the poor man thought that reigning sovereigns ruled simply for the honour and glory of it, and had no emoluments. Mr. Douglas’ intention was solely to support the dignity of Ari’s office, for, to do him justice, when old Ari visited the Government steamer on the following morning a little matter was privately transacted in the cabin which had the effect of making Ari beamingly happy.

But there are recognised perquisites for the Mamoose in the shape of free labour by the prisoners. It would seem as if such a course was not conducive to impartial justice, for it would clearly be to the judge’s interest to commit every prisoner; this temptation is, however, checked by the fact that all trials are public, and popular opinion can make itself directly felt.

Most of the cases are for petty theft or disputes about land. It is painful to have to confess that during our recent stay in Murray Island many of the cases were for wife-beating or for wife-slanging. The Mamoose is supplied with a short list of the offences with which he is empowered to deal and the penalties he may inflict. The technical error is usually made of confusing moral and legal crimes. I gathered that very fair justice is meted out in the native courts when left to themselves.

The usual punishment is a “moon” of enforced labour on any public work that is in operation at the time, such as making a road or jetty, or on work for the chief, such as making a pig-sty or erecting fences. The alternative fine used to be husking coconuts and making copra; the natives in some cases had to supply their own coconuts for this purpose—the number varied from 100 to 1,000, according to the offence. This was chiefly the punishment of the women, the copra was one of the Mamoose’s perquisites. Fines are now paid in money.

At night-time the prisoners are supposed to sleep in jail—an ordinary native house set apart for this purpose—but at the present time in Murray Island, owing to the absence of a jail, they sleep at home! and during the whole of the time they are under the surveillance of one or more policemen. Very often it appeared to me that a policeman’s chief duty consisted in watching a prisoner doing nothing. Very bad, or often repeated, offenders are taken to Thursday Island to be tried by the Resident Magistrate.

CHAPTER III
WORK AND PLAY IN MURRAY ISLAND

The first thing we did after arranging the house was to convert a little room into a dispensary, and very soon numbers of natives came to get medicine and advice. McDougall, Myers, and Seligmann worked hard at this, partly because they were really interested in the various cases, and partly since it brought natives to the house who could be utilised for our other investigations.

The doctors also paid visits to bad cases in their homes. As the former white missionaries on the island in days gone by had been accustomed to dispense, to the best of their ability, from their somewhat large assortment of drugs, the natives took it for granted that we should do the same; hence there were no special signs of gratitude on their part. Bruce, too, does what he can for the natives, but his remedies are naturally of a simple, though often drastic, character.

The medical skill and gratuitous advice and drugs of our doctors did a great deal to facilitate the work of the expedition. Towards the end of our time, hearing Captain H⸺ of Darnley Island was seriously ill, McDougall volunteered to go over and nurse him, and he remained there for a week or two.

It was a great safeguard for us, too, having so many doctors about; but fortunately we only required their aid, or they each other’s, for malarial fever or for minor ailments like sores. Only on three occasions during the time we were away, till we left Borneo, were there sufficiently bad cases of fever to cause the least anxiety. So, on the whole, we came off remarkably well on the score of health.

Although we have a fair amount of information about the external appearance, the shape of the head, and such-like data of most of the races of mankind, very little indeed is known about the keenness of their senses and those other matters that constitute the subject commonly known as experimental psychology. My colleagues were the first thoroughly to investigate primitive people in their own country, and it was the first time that a well-equipped psychological laboratory had been established among a people scarcely a generation removed from perfect savagery.

Dr. Rivers undertook the organisation of this department, and there were great searchings of heart as to what apparatus to take out and which to leave behind. There was no previous experience to go upon, and there was the fear of delicate apparatus failing at the critical time, or that the natives would not be amenable to all that might be required of them. Fortunately the latter fear was groundless. It was only in the most tedious operations, or in those in which they were palpably below the average, that the natives exhibited a strong disinclination to be experimented upon. Sometimes they required a little careful handling—always patience and tact were necessary, but taking them as a whole, it would be difficult to find a set of people upon whom more reliable and satisfactory observations could be made. I refer more particularly to the Torres Straits islanders.

In his work in Murray Island, Rivers was assisted by Myers and McDougall. During his trips to New Guinea, Seligmann made some supplemental observations of interest. The subjects investigated included visual acuity, sensitiveness to light, colour vision, including colour blindness, binocular vision, and visual space perception; acuity and range of hearing; appreciation of differences of tone and rhythm; tactile acuity and localisation; sensibility to pain; estimation of weight, smell, and taste; simple reaction times to auditory and visual stimuli, and choice reaction times; estimation of intervals of time; memory; strength of grasp and accuracy of aim; reading, writing, and drawing; the influence of various mental states on blood-pressure, and the influence of fatigue and practice on mental work.

The visual acuity of these people was found to be superior to that of normal Europeans, though not in any very marked degree. The visual powers of savages, which have excited the admiration of travellers, may be held to depend upon the faculty of observation. Starting with somewhat superior acuteness of vision, by long attention to minute details coupled with familiarity with their surroundings, they become able to recognise things in a manner that at first sight seems quite wonderful.

The commonest defect of eyesight among Europeans is myopia, or short-sightedness, but this was found to be almost completely absent amongst savages. The opposite condition, hypermetropia, which is apparently the normal condition of the European child, was very common among them.

The colour vision of the natives was investigated in several ways. A hundred and fifty natives of Torres Straits and Kiwai were tested by means of the usual wool test for colour-blindness without finding one case. The names used for colours by the natives of Murray Island, Mabuiag, and Kiwai were very fully investigated, and the derivation of such names in most cases established. The colour vocabularies of these islands showed the special feature which appears to characterise many primitive languages. There were definite names for red, less definite for yellow, and still less so for green, while a definite name for blue was either absent or borrowed from English.

The three languages mentioned, and some Australian languages investigated by Rivers, seemed to show different stages in the evolution of a colour vocabulary. Several North Queensland natives (from Seven Rivers and the Fitzroy River) appeared to be almost limited to words for red, white, and black; perhaps it would be better to call the latter light and dark. In all the islands there was a name for yellow, but in Kiwai, at the mouth of the Fly River, the name applied to green appeared to be inconstant and indefinite, while there was no word for blue, for which colour the same word was used as for black. In Torres Straits there are terms for green. In Murray Island the native word for blue was the same as that used for black, but the English word had been adopted and modified into bŭlu-bŭlu. The language of Mabuiag was more advanced; there was a word for blue (maludgamulnga, sea-colour), but it was often also used for green. In these four vocabularies four stages may be seen in the evolution of colour languages, exactly as deducted by Geiger, red being the most definitive, and the colours at the other end of the spectrum the least so. As Rivers has also pointed out, it was noteworthy, too, that the order of these people in respect to culture was the same as in regard to development of words for colours. Rivers found that though the people showed no confusion between red and green they did between blue and green. The investigation of these colour-names, he thought, showed that to them blue must be a duller and darker colour than it is to us, and indeed the experiments carried out with an apparatus known as Lovibond’s tintometer afforded evidence of a distinct quantitative deficiency in their perception of blue, though the results were far from proving blindness to blue.

Numerous observations were made by Rivers on writing and drawing, the former chiefly in the case of children. The most striking result was the ease and correctness with which mirror writing was performed. Mirror writing is that reversed form of writing that comes right when looked at in a looking-glass. In many cases native children, when asked to write with the left hand, spontaneously wrote mirror writing, and all were able to write in this fashion readily. In some cases children, when asked to write with the left hand, wrote upside down.

Experiments were made on the estimation of time. The method adopted was to give signals marking off a given interval; another signal was then given as the commencement of a second interval, which the native had to finish by a similar signal when he judged it to be equal to the previous given interval. Rivers found that this somewhat difficult procedure met with unexpected success, and intervals of ten seconds, twenty seconds, and one minute, were estimated with fairly consistent results.

The conditions for testing acuity of hearing were very unfavourable on Murray Island, owing to the noise of the sea and the rustle of the coconut palms. Myers found that few Murray Islanders surpassed a hyper-acute European in auditory acuity, while the majority could not hear as far. No great weight, however, could be attached to the observations, because all the men were divers, an occupation that certainly damaged the ears to some extent. To investigate their range of hearing a Galton’s whistle was used, and it was found they could hear very high notes. Twelve Murray Islanders were tested for their sense of rhythm; this was found to be remarkably accurate for 120 beats of the metronome to the minute, and somewhat less so for 60 beats.

Myers tested their sense of smell by means of a series of tubes containing solutions, of varying strength, of odorous substances like valerian and camphor, and the results, while not altogether satisfactory, tended to show that they had no marked superiority in this respect over the members of the expedition.

With regard to taste it was very difficult to get information, as the natives, naturally enough, did not like strange substances being put into their mouths. Sugar and salt were readily recognised, acid was compared to unripe fruit, bitter is most uncertain, and there is no distinctive name for it in the Murray Island vocabulary.

Numerous time reaction experiments were made by Myers. The time of the simple reaction is not sensibly longer, but probably in many cases even shorter, than would be that given by a corresponding class of Europeans. Myers points out that the experiments clearly showed the great difference of temperament among the individuals investigated. There was at one extreme the slow, steady-going man, who reacted with almost uniform speed on each occasion; at the other extreme was the nervous, high-strung individual, who was frequently reacting prematurely.

There is a consensus of opinion that savages are less sensitive to pain than Europeans, but there is always the doubt whether they are really able to bear pain with fortitude. However, the conclusion McDougall arrived at, that the Murray Islanders were distinctly less sensitive than the Europeans in the expedition, was supported not only by their statements, but also by tests depending on simple pressure of the skin made by a small piece of apparatus. It should be understood that the degree of pain produced was in all cases so slight as not to spoil the pleasure and interest of the subjects in the proceedings.

It was found that the natives had points on their skin specially sensitive to cold, exactly as in the case with Europeans. As to touch, when tested by McDougall to see how close the points of a pair of compasses must be put on the skin before they cease to be felt as two, their sensitiveness was in general better than that of the members of the expedition.

A series of tin canisters of the same size and appearance, but variously weighted, was prepared by McDougall; another series having the same weight, but of different sizes, was also provided: the first experiment was to test the delicacy of discrimination of the differences of weight, and the second to determine the degree of their suggestibility by the effect of size, as appreciated by sight and grasp, on the judgment of weight. It was interesting to find that although the abstract idea of weight seemed entirely new to the minds of these people, who had no word to express it, and who, moreover, could have had no practice, yet they were more accurate than a practised European.

It would be tedious to recount all the work that was accomplished in the psychological laboratory; but it was most interesting to watch the different operations and to see what earnestness, I may say conscientiousness, most of the subjects exhibited in the performance of the tasks set them. We never knew what they thought of it all, or of us—perhaps it was as well that we did not.

In the preliminary report Rivers has published, he notes that our observations were in most cases made with very little difficulty, and, with some exceptions, we could feel sure that the natives were doing their best in all we asked them to do. This opinion is based not only on observation of their behaviour and expression while the tests were being carried out, but on the consistency of the results; the usually small deviations showed that the observations were made with due care and attention.

Attempts were made, but with very little success, to find out what was actually passing in the minds of the natives while making these observations.

One general result was to show very considerable variability. It was obvious that in general character and temperament the natives varied greatly from one another, and very considerable individual differences also came out in our experimental observations. How great the variations were as compared with those in a more complex community can only be determined after a large number of comparative data have been accumulated.

Another general result pointed out by Rivers is that these natives did not appear to be especially susceptible to suggestion, but exhibited a very considerable independence of opinion. This observation is of importance, as there is a widely spread idea that the reverse is the case for backward peoples. Leading questions were found not to be so dangerous as was expected.

Whenever possible I spent the mornings in measuring the natives. In this I was helped by Wilkin, who also photographed them. It is not always easy to obtain good portraits when the accessories of a well-lighted studio are absent, but the expedition is to be congratulated on the success of Wilkin’s labours. Most of the Murray Island photographs were developed on the spot, and in a considerable number of cases copies of the portraits were given to the sitters in consideration for their submitting to be psychologised.

Nearly all the Torres Straits and New Guinea photographs were taken by Wilkin, and it is greatly to his credit that there were very few failures.

Wilkin also paid some attention to native architecture in Torres Straits and on the mainland of New Guinea, and to the laws regulating land tenure and inheritance of property in Torres Straits.

As Seligmann did not return with Ray, Wilkin, and myself after our trip to the Central District of British New Guinea, he had only two and a half weeks on Murray Island. During that time he collected some natural history and botanical specimens, and paid attention to native medicine and surgery as well, and he also made some clinical observations on the diseases of the natives. During his New Guinea trips, and when he rejoined us in the western islands of Torres Straits, he continued on much the same lines; so that in the end he gained a very fair insight into “folk-medicine.” He also at various times made some interesting ethnological observations and measured some tribes I was not able to visit. Frequently he assisted Rivers and myself in our investigations in Mabuiag.

Myers and McDougall left Murray Island on August 24th, so as to get up the Baram River, Sarawak, before the north-east monsoon set in. The work carried on in Kiwai and Mabuiag and other of the western islands of the Straits was very much of the same character as that which we did in Murray Island. Fewer psychological observations could be made, owing to the fact that most of the apparatus had been taken on to Borneo. The subjects investigated were chiefly visual acuity and colour vision, auditory acuity, smell and touch, writing and drawing.

Ray was engaged practically the whole of every morning in studying the Miriam language with Ari, the Mamoose of Mer, and Pasi, the Mamoose of Dauar. He worked them very hard, and often I had to go into the inner room in which he studied and liberate the poor chiefs, who frequently were quite done up, while Ray himself was as keen and fresh as ever. The good men conscientiously turned up regularly, though I am sure they must often have been heartily sick of the whole concern. Giving the names of things is one matter, but it is quite a different affair to plod through empty phrases in all their possible moods and tenses, hour after hour, day after day, and week after week. They were not the first, nor will they be the last, to feel repugnance at the study of grammar.

The construction of the language was found to be very complex, modifications of sense in the verb being expressed by an elaborate system of prefixes and suffixes, for example:—

• Kaka mari natagfri, I tell you.
• Kaka abi detageri, I tell him.
• E wiabi daratagereda, he tells them.
• E netat le detageri, he tells one man.
• E neis le daratagri, he tells two men.
• Neis netat le abi detagridare, three men tell him.

Nouns are declined through several cases by means of suffixes: e.g. tulik, a knife; tuliku, by means of a knife; tulikra, of a knife; tuliklam, from a knife, etc.

Ray distinguishes two groups of languages in British New Guinea, which he has termed respectively “Papuan” and “Melanesian.” The former he regards as indigenous to New Guinea, or at all events it may be regarded as such for all practical purposes. The latter group of languages bears such close resemblances to the language spoken in the great chain of islands in the Western Pacific (or Melanesia) that there is no doubt they are all derived from the same source. A third group of languages, current in this part of the world, is that spoken on the Australian continent. It is thus a matter of some interest to discover to which linguistic group we must assign the languages of Torres Straits.

I have to thank my colleague for giving me the following information, which will sufficiently explain the differences between these three groups of languages.

The Papuan languages agree with one another in very few characteristics, and totally differ in vocabulary and constructive particles. Consonantal sounds are very fully used, but closed syllables are not common except in the western languages. Demonstrative words indicating the place or direction of actions are numerous. Nouns and pronouns are declined through various cases by means of suffixes. Adjectives precede substantives. The pronoun in some languages has a trial as well as a singular, dual, and plural; but the inclusion or exclusion of the person addressed is rarely indicated. The verb is very complicated, and is modified by prefixes and suffixes, its forms indicating the number of subject and object, as well as tense and mood. Numeration is limited, and rarely goes beyond two. Parts of the body are much used in counting.

The Melanesian languages have a very general agreement among themselves in grammatical construction and vocabulary. They use consonants very freely and have some consonantal sounds which are difficult to transliterate. Many syllables are closed. Demonstrative words pointing hither and thither are much used. Nouns are divided into two classes, with or without pronominal suffixes, according to the nearness or remoteness of the connection between possessor or possessed. Words may represent any part of speech without change, but the use of a word is sometimes shown by prefix or affix. Number and case are shown by separate words preceding the noun. Adjectives follow the noun. Pronouns are numerous, and often of four numbers—singular, dual, trial, and plural. The first person always has forms including or excluding the person addressed. Any word is made into a verb by the use of a preceding particle, which usually marks tense and mood, and in some languages person and number. Verbs have a causative, reciprocal, frequentative and intensive form. Numeration is extensive, and there is counting up to high numbers.

The Australian languages are in some respects similar to the Papuan, though prefixes are not commonly used. Certain consonantal sounds are rarely heard. Nouns and pronouns are declined by means of suffixes through various cases. Adjectives precede the noun. The pronoun has no trial number, and some languages have the inclusive and exclusive forms in the first person. The verb is modified as to time and mood, and sometimes number, by suffixes, and has numerous but, as a rule, simple forms. Numeration does not proceed beyond two, or three at the utmost.

The grammar of the Murray Island (or Miriam) language bears no resemblance to the Melanesian, and but little to the Australian. It must therefore be regarded as belonging to the Papuan group. The speech used by the Mission is a debased form of the original, as Pasi told Ray “they cut it short.” Ray is of opinion that as most of the young people know English, it is very probable the pure language will die out with the older folk.

Several of the elder men used to come and talk to me at various times, but they came more regularly after we had witnessed the Malu performances, and while the excitement about them was still fresh. Baton and Mamai were the first to come, they were policemen during my previous visit, and were consequently old friends. I obtained, however, more valuable information from Enocha and Wano, who were pillars of the Church, but being old men they also knew about the past; unfortunately there were very few alive at the time of our stay in the island who knew first-hand about those matters that interested us most.

These good people enjoyed describing the old ceremonies. Often they brought me something that was formerly employed in their mysteries or a model of it.

When any action was described the old fellows jumped up and danced it in the room, sometimes two or three would perform at once. I always had a drum handy to be in readiness when they broke forth into song, and for the dance they took bows and arrows or whatever may have been appropriate from the stack of implements that was in a corner of the room.

We had many interesting séances, and it enabled us to get a glimmer of the old ceremonies that was most tantalising. If only we could have seen the real thing, how different would the description be! How little, after all our efforts, could we accomplish by mere hearsay! But even an undress rehearsal or an imperfectly performed representation was better than nothing at all.

For example, Bruce and I were independently trying to work out the rain-making ceremony or charm. We obtained more or less full descriptions that agreed on the whole and which supplemented each other. He got some zogo mer, or “sacred words”—that is, the magical incantation employed—from Gasu, a noted and credited rain-maker. I tried these on Ulai, a somewhat disreputable old man, who has been of considerable use to us, and who at the same time gave us much amusement; he immediately reeled off a lot more words. Gasu then admitted that most of these were correct. I next tried Enocha, who had the reputation of being a great master in the art of rain-making. He passed most of Ulai’s words, denied others, and gave me fresh ones. Eventually we arrived at a version that may be taken as authentic; but doubtless each rain-maker has his traditional formula, which may differ in details from that of a rival magician.

A little incident was rather curious. Late one evening, when Gasu was teaching Bruce the zogo mer of the rain charm, a smart little shower came suddenly and unexpectedly from an apparently cloudless sky. There was not a native next morning who had not his own opinion as to the origin of the shower.

It seemed very strange to us that our informants, however friendly and anxious to help us, so often kept back something till their hands were forced, so to speak, by information gained from another source. Then it became possible to go one step further. I think this was due in many cases simply to a lack of appreciation of what we wanted to know; in other instances there appeared to be an ingrained reticence which prevented their speaking freely about sacred or magical ceremonies. When, however, it became evident to them that we already knew something about the ceremony or formula in question, there was but little reluctance in giving information, especially when they did not know how much or how little we knew.

I mention these details in order to give some idea of the method we adopted of gaining our information. It is comparatively easy to get an account of a ceremony or custom from one man, but we invariably checked this information by inquiring from other men, always selecting the oldest men available. Even amongst ourselves no two people will describe any occurrence in the same manner, and one will emphasise a certain point which another may omit. Hence, in collecting from natives, we were very careful to obtain as many versions as possible and to sift the evidence. The results often appear meagre for the really considerable amount of time and pains we spent on attaining them; but, on the other hand, we feel fairly confident as to their accuracy. Interesting as all this was, it involved a great deal of very tedious work. One had to let the old men ramble on, and it often happened that they got on to side issues and barren narrations; but even so our patience was occasionally rewarded by a hint of something which we would not otherwise have come across, and which, followed out later, led to a really interesting record. Tact and patience are necessary in extracting reliable information from primitive folk.

I should perhaps add that although we communicated with one another in jargon, or pidgin-English, we used native words whenever there was a possibility of a misunderstanding arising, and by the context we could usually make certain as to the significance of new or obscure native terms. If the context failed to elucidate the meaning, we arrived at it by questioning all round the subject, or by allowing our informant to give his explanation in his own way. I have given several examples of the pidgin-English spoken, in the Torres Straits in the course of this narrative. It is a quaint, though not an ideal mode of communication of ideas, but with practice and the employment of suitable illustrations and similes, one can get along fairly well. I found, too, one could often elucidate a statement by acting it, or by using sticks and stones as dummies; it is remarkable what can be done in that way, and the natives quite enter into the spirit of the thing.

One day Bruce surprised me by showing a minute bull-roarer that was hung round the neck of a doiom, A doiom is the stone effigy of a man that is used in the rain-making ceremony. I had all along felt that a bull-roarer should appear in the performance, but I could not hear of one. Well, here it was, worn as a neck pendant, with two seed rattles. I showed it to Ulai; he said it was not correct, and brought me another model, which was much larger. Then I showed them both to Enocha. He scoffed at Gasu’s little bull-roarer, admitted that Ulai’s was more correct, but added that Ulai didn’t know about it. He then promised to let me have the correct thing. This was probably little more than professional jealousy, as Gasu was noted as a successful rain-maker.

That same morning Enocha and Wano were alone with me, and I turned the conversation to rain-making; then a happy inspiration seized me, and I asked them to give me a demonstration. They agreed. I provided one of the several doioms I had already collected, and we adjourned to the shade of a neighbouring tree, where, hidden by bushes, we would be quite unobserved and undisturbed. Although we had not the proper appurtenances, a pantomime was gone through, and I jotted down full notes. It was strange to see these dear old men doing everything half seriously, and at the same time laughing as if they were truant schoolboys at some forbidden pleasure. By a strange coincidence the school children were singing “Auld Lang Syne” in the schoolhouse down the hill, whilst the old men were rehearsing “old-time fashion” a short distance off.

A couple of days later Gasu gave us a complete demonstration at the other end of the island, with all the accessories. Four large plaited coconut leaves were erected to represent rain clouds; there was a blackened patch on each of these to mimic the blackness of a rain cloud, and one or two pendant leaves imitated the falling rain. The four screens inclosed a small space in which a hole was made in the ground. The doiom was decorated with certain leaves, and packed in a banana leaf with various minced leaves and numbers of red seeds; the leaf was filled with water and placed in the hole, the rain-maker all the while muttering the magical formulæ. During part of the performance a lighted brand was waved about, and at another a bamboo clapper was rattled. Thus were simulated the lightning and thunder. Several instances came to my notice during my recent and earlier visits to Murray Island of the employment of this ceremony.

When I was arranging for the purchase of Gasu’s doiom, Jimmy Dei, the sergeant of the police—a very intelligent man and a devout churchgoer—objected to the transaction, as they might not be able to obtain rain in the future when they required it. The very day after I had bought Gasu’s doiom he wanted it back, and would gladly have returned the goods I gave him in exchange, for his was a very famous charm, and it even had the proud distinction of having a name of its own. Sometimes even a potent charm like this will fail in its function, and once this mischance befell this particular doiom, whereat Gasu was much enraged and threw it on the ground, and, alas! the head broke off; then Gasu repented, and fastened the head on again with wire. I must confess I felt very sorry for Gasu when he regretted having yielded to my importunity and wanted his doiom back, but the collecting instinct was stronger than pure sentiment, and I had to inform him that it was then too late. Recently I have had a letter from Mr. Bruce, in which he says, “Gasu is always speaking of you and his doiom, and adds, ‘Mind you, if he had not asked for it, I would not have given it to the Professor.’” Poor old Gasu! he was half blind when we were there, now he has completely lost his eyesight, and I am afraid he does not bear a pleasing memory of our visit, but still mourns the loss of his old and powerful charm.

PLATE II

RAIN SHRINE

DOIOM WITH BULL-ROARER

In the same letter Bruce writes: “We have still some very powerful doioms left on the island. The new church was badly injured last year by the foundations settling, owing to the rain of a very heavy thunderstorm, but all the natives maintained it was the thunder that did the damage. But the storm must have been made by someone. Enocha was first suspected, but he denied his ability to do so, as he says he does not make thunder and lightning to spoil things; he only makes good rain to make men’s gardens grow, and ‘besides,’ he said, ‘I am an ekalesia, I did not spoil the sacred house.’ So they had to fall back on Wali, as he was not an ekalesia, or member of the Church, and he had been angry with Finau, the teacher, about something. They have now made Wali an ekalesia to protect the building from further damage.”

The worthy Finau never appeared to realise the nature of our work or its effect upon the natives. He evidently thought that the interest we took in the old customs and ceremonies would tend to a recrudescence of paganism, and there is little doubt that he intentionally hindered and hampered our investigations. He was not sufficiently alert to appreciate the fact that we were really playing into his hands. We bought and took away many legendary and magical stones, including a large number of rain charms, and in having representations of the Malu ceremonies we must have stripped off some of the glamour that ignorance throws round the unknown. We doubtless revived impressions in the memory of a few old men, but the younger men would be disillusioned by what they witnessed. It is needless to add that we never undermined his influence as a teacher, nor did anything that would be a stumbling-block to the feeblest of his adherents.

Finau often preached loudly against native dancing, and consigned those who attempted a little of it to hell, where, he informed them, they would have kerosene poured over them, and then they would be burnt; but, perhaps as he was himself a Samoan, he allowed certain South Sea dances, which the natives constantly practised under the tuition of a native of Rotumah who was living on Murray Island. These dances were to be performed at the opening of the new church in Darnley, which was to take place in several months’ time, and doubtless the opening of the church Finau was building in Murray Island would be commemorated in its turn in a similar manner.

In the Rotumah dances that we saw the men stood side by side in three or four rows, and went through rather graceful movements with heads, arms, and legs. Most of the movements appeared to be conventionalised representations of hauling ropes and other nautical actions. After a series of evolutions had been performed the front rank retired behind, and the second rank took its place. All was gone through again, and so on in succession until the last rank had danced in the front row.

One evening soon after our arrival there was a “play” in a village close by. It now seems to be the fashion for the people on one side of the island to learn new songs from Thursday Island or from the crews of fishing-boats. When they consider themselves proficient they go to other villages on the opposite side of the island and there sing them. Shortly afterwards a return visit is paid.

This custom of one side of the island challenging the other in friendly rivalry is apparently an old one, and seems to point to a dual division of the population such as we found later in the western tribe, and which is of fundamental, social importance among the Australians and many Papuan and Melanesian peoples. Dr. Rivers has gathered a good deal of information on this point, but he has not yet had time to work up his material. This particular performance was certainly trivial and mean; but surely the white man and not the native must be criticised for this. The visitors from Las and other villages were all dressed in their Sunday best, the girls stood in a clump in the middle and sang Japanese and other songs. Then a man blowing a whistle walked round and round and called out, “Twenty-five cents a ride,” or something to that effect. Next a number of men ranged themselves in pairs, like the spokes of a wheel radiating from a hub of girls. The latter sang, and the men walked round and round the girls, gradually going faster and faster. This was in imitation of a merry-go-round which had paid a couple of visits to Thursday Island. So popular was this merry-go-round that I was informed the owners made a profit of £1,600 for three months’ work!

To a sing-song tune of “la, la, la—la, la, la,” sundry very solemn couples of girls separated themselves from the throng and danced a polka—of a sort—slowly and carefully. One or two pairs of men danced more vigorously. I saw only two couples of opposite sex dancing together, and though these good people are considerably emancipated from the past and were actually copying a white-man’s dance, still their feeling of delicacy was too strong to permit them to indulge in promiscuous dancing.

One funny man, dressed in a long figured-calico dressing-gown, danced by himself; his antics were greatly appreciated. Some of the girls had covered their faces with white, and had painted a dab of red pigment on each cheek, perhaps in imitation of the Japanese women of the settlement in Thursday Island, which goes by the name of “Yokohama.”

A few days after our arrival we gave an evening entertainment in the schoolhouse, at which there was a large attendance. I opened the proceedings with an address in jargon English, and referred to my last visit and told them what we wanted to do this time. Ray next gave a couple of tunes on the phonograph, Myers was to have performed on his violin, but unfortunately the violin had suffered from damp, had become unglued and had fallen to pieces. I showed a number of lantern slides of local interest by means of a lantern Wilkin had brought out at my request. I commenced with a copy of the plate in Juke’s Voyage of the “Fly”, which illustrated Captain Blackwood’s reception at Murray Island in 1845. In this interesting picture the ship’s boats are surrounded by a noisy, gesticulating crowd of naked savages. The second slide I showed was the present of fruit which they themselves had given me four days previously, and which Wilkin had photographed and made into a lantern-slide. After showing photographs I took ten years previously of a congregation in the building in which we were then assembled, I showed a photograph of a wedding that had taken place in the same room two days previously. Several other slides were shown made from the photographs I had taken on my last visit; these were received with great excitement, and the audience quickly recognised the various views and people, many of the latter were actually present, a few were dead. When a group of children taken ten years before was thrown on the screen I asked if any of them were present, and a lad and a lass came before the screen and stood beside their portraits. Then followed a phonographic interlude, and I gave a second lantern show, mostly of slides of native decorative art and native drawings of animals. Wilkin, who kindly acted as “operator,” then showed a number of his comic slides which were much appreciated, finishing off with the children’s perennial favourite of rats running down a snoring man’s throat. I made a point of procuring this slide before I left England, and my anticipations of its popularity were not unfounded, it simply brought down the house, and “Man he sleep, he kaikai mokeis,” was always vociferously welcomed. A couple of phonograph records concluded the performance.

Our friends were greatly pleased, and all behaved remarkably well. Of course I expected them to behave properly, but I did not think they would have so much control over their excitable feelings, and I suspected they might be carried away in the exuberance of their joy. Continually the more uproarious were called to order by various members of the audience.

Every now and again we ran one thing hard on Murray Island; for example, for a week or so some of us studied “cat’s cradle” games. McDougall soon became fascinated by these, and Myers eventually succumbed. But kamut, as the natives call their string puzzles, is a very different matter from the uninteresting and simple performance to which we were accustomed as children.

Two distinct kinds of operations may be performed with string, namely, tricks and puzzles. The former usually are movements which appear to form knots or ties, but which really run out freely. The puzzles are complicated figures which are supposed to bear some resemblance to natural objects. Our “cat’s cradle” belongs to the latter category, but we have also numerous string tricks.

Some of the string tricks are the same as those practised at home. One was intended to represent some food held in the hand which was offered to the spectator, but when the latter attempted to take it, saying, “You got some food for me?” the food disappeared as the player replied, “No got.” A similar, apparently knotted puzzle terminated in two loops, which represented a mouse’s ears, but on attempting to catch it the whole ran out.

Some of the string puzzles represented divers objects, as a bird’s nest, coconut palm, the setting sun, a fish spear, a crab, a canoe, and many others. Quite a number were moving puzzles—working models, in fact; such were, for example, a sea-snake swimming, a man dancing, and so forth. Some of these were indelicate. The most interesting was a fight between a Dauar man and a Murray Islander. In this kamut, by working the strings, two loose knots collided in the centre and became mixed up, but eventually one knot returns with a loop on it, which is the successful Murray Islander returning with the head of his adversary!

Little songs are sung to many string puzzles as they are being played, which may be the relics of some magical formulæ. Several kamut puzzles illustrate legendary beings such as Geigi, the boy king-fish, or his mother Nageg, the trigger-fish. One represents the taboo grounds of Gazir and Kiam, where some of the Malu ceremonies were held.

We learnt a good many of these kamut, but they were very difficult to remember, owing to the extreme complication of the processes in making the figures, and we had to practise them constantly. Eventually we invented a system of nomenclature, by means of which we found it possible to write down all the stages of manipulation; and we found as a rule the more complex the figure the easier it was to describe. By rigorous adherence to our system it will be possible for others to reproduce the Murray Island figures and to record others from elsewhere. Generally Rivers and Ray first learnt a particular puzzle, and gradually worked out the description by slowly performing the movements and dictating the processes to me, but I did not watch what they were doing.

Then one of them read out the description while I endeavoured to reproduce the puzzle from the verbal description alone. We were never satisfied until it can be so done without any possibility of mistake. We had many fights over the descriptions, and always felt very proud of ourselves when one account was satisfactorily finished. But I can very well imagine that had we been observed some people would have thought we were demented, or, at least, were wasting our time.

One afternoon some of us went to a kaikai, or feast. The word kaikai means food, a meal, a feast, or to eat. It is in use all over the South Seas, and is derived from the Polynesian kai (food). The Miriam (i.e. the Murray Island) name for a feast is wetpur. This was a funeral feast for the son of “Captain Cook,” of Erub; the boy had died about a year previously.

The proceedings opened with a kolap, or top-spinning match. Top-spinning was a great institution in Murray Island during the time of our stay there. On one occasion there were thirty tops spinning at the same time. The men sang songs, and there was great cheering-on of slackening tops, and shouting and jeering when one stopped. At the critical time, as a top was dying, great care was taken to shelter it from the wind so as to prolong its “life” a few seconds longer. At one match we timed the four best tops, and found they span for 27½, 26¾, 25¼, and 24 minutes respectively.

The tops are made of a fine-grained volcanic ash, and have the shape of a split-pea, with a diameter of from about 4 to 7½ inches. There is a long palm-wood stem. The flat upper surface of the top is almost invariably painted in coloured rings or with various devices, red, white, yellow, and blue being the usual colours. Objects or incidents of everyday life are often drawn, but not infrequently their legends are depicted.

The top is spun by repeated slow, steady, sliding movements of the outstretched palms. Formerly the tops were spun on pieces of shell, now pieces of broken crockery, or the under surface of a cup or saucer are usually employed. The tops are kept in specially made round baskets, in which a nest of calico is often placed as a further protection to the top. It is very amusing to see grown men gingerly carrying with both hands a top ensconced in its basket, with at least as much care and seriousness as a young wife carries her firstborn. We have seen men of all ages engaged in these matches, the grizzled taking as much interest in the performance of their tops as the young men. Usually one section or side of the island is pitted against another.

There is a decided tendency for the enthusiasm of the natives to carry their amusements beyond bounds. One time it will be Tamar, and the good people will so impoverish their gardens by vying with one another in heaping up food that scarcity often results. During our stay top-spinning became almost a debauch, and the men played kolap so assiduously every weekday that they had no time to attend to their gardens, and on Saturdays they did not bring in enough food to last till the Monday. The Puritan Sabbath is in full force, and none would dream of breaking it by getting food on Sunday, consequently numbers of children came to school on Monday morning without having had any breakfast. This made them peevish and inattentive, so Mr. Bruce had to complain to the Mamoose, and an edict was issued prohibiting the kolap matches on Saturday, and the men were told to go to their gardens on that day as heretofore.

PLATE III

ULAI

A TOP-SPINNING MATCH

PLATE IV

REMOVING SAND FROM A COPPER MAORI

A MURRAY ISLAND FEAST

After this particular match two “copper Maoris” were opened. A “copper Maori,” or earth-oven, is a large shallow hole in the ground, in which stones are placed and a fire lighted—this makes the stones red hot. “Native food” of various kinds—yams, sweet potatoes, taro, etc.—is wrapped in banana leaves and placed on the hot stones. Small pigs are put in whole. The food is then covered over with leaves, and sometimes mats and earth are heaped over all. In an hour or two the food is cooked to perfection. It is the best method of cooking food, as the juices and flavours are retained.

The name “copper Maori,” or kŏpa Mauri, as it is here pronounced, is now common all over the Pacific, though this method of cooking has everywhere in the West Pacific its local name, and therefore is an indigenous and not introduced custom. In Torres Straits the earth-oven is called ame or amai, but the introduced word alone is used when speaking to foreigners. The word kopa is the Maori name for the ordinary earth-oven, or more correctly for the hole in the ground. The similarity of sound between kopa and “copper” has led to the current belief that as the whalers in New Zealand used large coppers for boiling down the blubber, the native method of cooking came to be called “copper Maori,” that is, the Maori copper.

By this time a mat was spread apart from the others, to which we were invited along with the two Mamooses, Ari and Pasi. We had pork, yams, pumpkins and bananas, and green coconuts to drink. Most of the men sat on each side of a long row of mats, the food being placed down the middle. They ate from the packets with their fingers, and munched chunks of roast pork with evident gusto. They gave us plates and knives and forks, but I preferred a banana leaf, native fashion, to a plate. The women and children had their food apart in various family groups.

After all was over the women placed their baskets in two rows, and the hosts filled each with an equal amount of raw native food. The party then broke up.

CHAPTER IV
THE MALU CEREMONIES

In various parts of the world there are very important ceremonies in which the lads are formally received into the community of men. Before undergoing these initiation ceremonies they have no social position, but subsequently they are recognised as men, and are at liberty to marry. There may be numerous grades of rank through which it may take many years to pass, but the first series of ceremonies are all-important.

Initiation ceremonies are observed all over Australia and throughout the greater part of Melanesia, as well as in portions of the Indonesian Archipelago, not to mention other regions of the earth. It would take too long if I were to attempt even the briefest description and analysis of the various customs connected with these important rites in this quarter of the globe; but the following features are fairly widely spread.

When the lads show by the sprouting hair on their face that they are attaining manhood, their male relations agree that they shall be initiated. This ceremony may take place annually or at intervals of two or three years.

The lads are secluded in a tabooed spot in the bush, access to which is strictly prohibited to any non-initiated person. Sacred emblems are frequently shown to the lads; these are often masked men who symbolise some legendary or mystical person or event. Usually a flat, thin piece of wood shaped like a willow leaf is shown to them, this is the so-called bull-roarer. It is fastened to one end of a piece of string, the other being lashed on to a stick. The apparatus is whirled round and round above the head of the operator, and according to its size and shape it makes a buzzing or a humming noise; the movement may be varied by violently lashing it backwards and forwards, when it gives rise to a siren-like shriek. The weird and mysterious sounds issuing from the bush terrify the women and children, who regard them as the voices of spirits. The secret is soon learnt by the young initiate, who is given a bull-roarer and warned never to show it to a woman or child on penalty of death.

Whatever may be done, or shown, or told to the lads is to be kept secret by them, and by way of emphasising this they are usually frightened in various ways or subjected to severe treatment.

Certain restrictions, or taboos, are generally placed on the lads for a variable time, and during the probationary period they are instructed in the moral code, social customs, and sacred legends of the community, and, in fact, all that it behoves a “man” to know.

Every tribe is composed of several divisions or clans, and it is the rule in Australia and in some parts of Melanesia for each clan to be intimately associated with at least one class of animals, plants, or natural objects. This animal, or whatever it may be, is spoken of as the totem of the clan or individual, and it should be borne in mind that the totem is a species of animal, or plant, not an individual one. Thus all cassowaries, and not any one particular bird, are the totem of the whole cassowary clan, or of each member of that clan. It is the business of the clan relatives of the boy to see that he is duly instructed in the duties and prohibitions that his particular totem imposes on him.

In communities at this stage of culture there are certain definite restrictions as to marriage and intercourse with women. It is now nearly universally the rule that a man may have nothing to do with a woman who belongs to the same totem as himself. In some cases the group from which he may choose his wife is yet more restricted. Any infringement of this rule is a most heinous offence, for the perpetration of which the death penalty may be inflicted on one or both offenders.

Although a tribe may be subdivided into quite a number of clans, these usually fall into two groups. For example, the clan groups of “Eaglehawk” and “Crow” are very widely spread throughout Australia. Members of any particular clan of one tribe have friendly relations with the members of a corresponding clan in another tribe; these two clans may or may not have the same totem, but in either case they are recognised as affiliated.

In the foregoing account I have very briefly sketched some of the main features of a totemistic society. It is probable that in its more primitive stage all the members of a community had an approximately equal position according to their grade and irrespective of their particular clan or totem. We find, however, in the present day that there are various interesting stages of the disintegration of this old social system; especially is this the case in Melanesia.

Speaking in general terms, what happens is as follows. One clan or group becomes more influential than the others and arrogates privileges to its members, who thus constitute a powerful secret society. Although at first membership was restricted to those who were born into the clan, eventually it seems as if anyone who could afford to pay the charges might be admitted.

Other secret societies or clubs would be formed by ambitious men, which might in turn acquire more or less power, or, on the other hand, might prove of no account. Gradually the system breaks down—as Dr. Codrington has shown us was the case in Melanesia—and in Florida, for example, the old men sat and wept over the profanation of the ancient mysteries and the loss of their own power and privilege.

In our travels we came across peoples in various stages of culture, as will be narrated in due course. In Murray Island true totemism does not exist now, whatever may have been the case in the past; but there is an important secret society or brotherhood, the power of which was broken by the missionaries.

For a long time I had been trying to get the natives of the village of Las, on the eastern side of the island, to give us a demonstration of the ancient initiation ceremonies connected with the Malu cult. All was supposed to be ready on Thursday afternoon, July 28th, so we walked over, but found no preparations made. We were greatly disappointed, and I spoke rather strongly to some of the influential men, but I did not feel at all hopeful as to the result.

After a meal in Gododo’s house, we spent the evening yarning and recording some songs on the phonograph.

Next day, after an early breakfast, I walked to Ulag to inquire after a star-shaped stone club that was used in the old Malu ceremonies; this I borrowed, and also arranged for a similar club and the sacred drum to be brought. Of all the paraphernalia appertaining to this cult only these three implements remain.

In the afternoon matters began to look more lively, and it was soon evident that something was about to happen.

We were taken to the taboo ground at Gazir, and shortly afterwards the men assembled and went through a representation of the first ceremony, at which the sacred masks were shown to the lads (kersi) who were to be initiated. Now no masks remain, and we had to be content with an exceedingly poor counterfeit of what must have been a very awe-inspiring ceremony. There were just sufficient echoes of it, as it were, to enable us to catch something of the old solemnity. The meaning of the reiterated couplet that was sung on this occasion is to the effect that Malu had bad teeth! Could anything be more trivial? It quite pained me when I heard the translation of the chant.

When this was over we hastened down to the sand beach at Las, and shortly afterwards the second ceremony was performed, very much as I had seen it ten years before. There were many discordant elements in the performance, but these it is now impossible to eliminate.

What threatened to be a fiasco turned out to be quite a success, and several points that were obscure to me before were cleared up. Myers helped me a great deal, and as he has noted down quite a number of the Malu songs and tunes, we can now restore the ceremonies at Gazir, Las, and Dam with a very fair degree of accuracy.

After this exhibition we spent many days in going over the details of the ceremonies and songs. Information of this kind which appears so simple when written is surprisingly difficult and tedious to collect. It is by no means easy to get the natives to understand precisely what one requires. There is also little doubt that they do not care to speak freely about the sacred rites they revered in the past. I allude, of course, to the old men, for even the middle-aged know very little of their ancient customs, and the young men nothing at all.

The habit of secrecy was too ingrained to be readily relinquished. In nearly every inquiry of this sort we found there were certain zogo mer, or “sacred words,” which it was always very difficult to obtain. Sometimes these are magical phrases, as in the charm for making rain, or a formula that was known to but a very few men, like that employed at Tomog Zogo. Naturally the zogo mer of the Malu ceremonies were not to be repeated lightly.

There were some sacred words which they disliked mentioning: for example, the culture hero in the “Myth of Origin” of these ceremonies is always spoken of as Malu, and this name is known to women and children—it is, in fact, what they call an au ne, i.e. a “big” or “general” name; but his real name is Bomai—this is the zogo ne (sacred name) or gumik ne (secret name), which only initiates may learn, and is one of those “unspeakable words which it is not lawful for a man to utter.”

On the occasion of my previous visit to Murray Island I quite failed to get models made of the Malu masks, and it was not till the close of the present visit that I could persuade anyone to make us some; but by this time we had worked up a temporary recrudescence of interest in these and other ceremonies, and eventually our good friends Wano and Enocha agreed to make the models for me, but on the understanding that I should give each of them ten shillings, which they particularly requested should be paid in gold, as they wanted to put it in the plate at the annual missionary meeting. I provided them with the requisite cardboard, as it was out of the question to get the masks constructed of turtle-shell (“tortoise-shell”) like the originals. Nearly every day one or other came to tell me how well they were getting on, and how pleased I should be with the result; they were evidently hugely delighted with themselves.

One evening, on their way to the weekly prayer-meeting, they brought the masks very carefully hidden, and by this time I was almost as excited as they were. Both models were slightly different from what I expected, but there is no doubt they are as accurate representations of the old masks as it is now possible to obtain. The face-mask is of open work, painted red, and stuck on it are scattered white feathers. The raised nose is made of beeswax; the eyes are two red seeds; a ring of wax represents the lips. Cardboard models represent the beard of human lower jawbones. Above are feathers of the Torres Straits pigeon and croton leaves. Behind is a model of a turtle.

Next morning I incautiously showed these masks to a woman who happened to be about the place. Later in the day Enocha came to me in a great hurry and besought me not to let any woman see them, and, of course, I respected his wish. This was an interesting proof of the sanctity in which the original was held. The ceremonies had not been held for a quarter of a century, the people are all Christian, and yet even now a woman may not see cardboard models of the tabooed masks!

We had many male visitors to see the masks, and it was quite pathetic to see the expressions of pleasure tempered with sadness manifested by the old men. They shook their heads and clicked, and even the tears started to their eyes. Ichabod!

I seized the opportunity of the possession of these models to induce some of my friends to give us another performance of that part of the Malu ceremony in which masks were worn. Two days before we left the island we went to Kiam, the other taboo ground where the ceremony was held. One year it was held at Gazir, and the following at Kiam, on the opposite side of the island. Gadodo, Kilerup, and another man dressed up, and I had the satisfaction of being able to take a cinematograph picture of the processional dance. The grotesque masks worn by ruddled men, girt with leafy kilts, had a strange effect as they emerged from the jungle, and very weird was the dance in the mottled shade of the tropical foliage, a fantasy in red and green, lit up by spots of sunshine.

Fig. 4. Model of the Bomai Mask of the Malu Ceremonies

In order to give the reader a substantially accurate idea of the Malu ceremonies, I do not propose to describe exactly only what we saw, but I shall endeavour, as briefly as possible, to resuscitate the past. Full details will be published elsewhere. The kersi, painted and decorated in a peculiar manner, were marshalled on the taboo ground by some elders; beyond was the round house, in which the emblems were kept. Between the hut and the boys was an avenue of men with long staves, who performed rhythmic movements, which bore some resemblance to those made in energetically punting a boat. Near the kersi sat the drum-beaters, and round about in their allotted places, according to their clans, were former initiates. The kersi sat tailorwise in a semicircle, with hands resting on their legs, feeling very frightened. Suddenly the fearsome procession appeared at the other end of the avenue of men, and the three Zogole slowly marched with peculiar movements. They alone wore leafy girdles (it should be remembered that at that time the Torres Straits men invariably went nude except the performers of certain ceremonies). The head of the first zogole was covered with a ruddled turtle-shell mask, representing a human face, which had a beard of human jawbones; above the face were leaves and feathers, and hanging from it behind was a painted carapace of a turtle, the latter was supported by a long string by the second zogole. The third zogole bore a turtle-shell mask representing a hammer-headed shark, on which was a human face; it was provided with human arms and hands, and decorated with leaves, feathers, and turtle-shell figures of birds, frogs, and centipedes. When the zogole came to the semicircle of kersi they turned round and kicked out behind. They retired and advanced again, and then once more. The sacred words were uttered and the chant sung. The kersi were told the hidden name, and they had to make a present of food to the zogole.

This was certainly the essential initiation ceremony; it was followed by another, which had not the same sacred character, as women and children were allowed to be present. The latter was, in fact, a public recognition service, an acknowledgment that the kersi had been duly initiated, and that henceforth, after the completion of all the ceremonies, they were to rank as members of the fraternity.

The second ceremony took place in the afternoon or early evening on the sand beach between the village of Las and the sea. The spectators sat in a confused crowd along the village fence, the newly initiated lads occupying a prominent position.

PLATE V

THE DANCE OF THE MALU ZOGOLE

PLATE VI

THE MALU CEREMONY AT LAS

ULAI SINGING MALU SONGS INTO A PHONOGRAPH, GASU IS BEATING THE MALU DRUM

The drum-men appearing from behind a point at the southern end of the beach, ran forward and beat their drums with the characteristic staccato rhythm, and as the chant slowly augmented in sound, all the other voices were hushed, and the audience sat motionless in hushed expectancy.