Two Years with the Natives in the Western Pacific Part 2

A little distance off-sh.o.r.e we dropped anchor, and were soon surrounded by boats, from which the inhabitants came on board. A kind planter brought me and my belongings ash.o.r.e, and I took up my quarters in the only hotel in Port Vila, the so-called "blood-house," thus named because of its history.

Vila is merely the administration centre, and consists of nothing but a few stores and the houses of the Condominium officials. There is little life, and only the arrival of the ships brings some excitement, so that the stranger feels bored and lonely, especially as the "blood-house " does not offer many comforts and the society there is not of the choicest.

I immediately went to present my letters of introduction to the French Resident. The offices of the British Residence were still on the small island of Iariki, which I could not reach without a boat. The French Residence is a long, flat, unattractive building; the lawn around the house was fairly well kept, but perfectly bare, in accordance with the French idea of salubrity, except for a few straggling bushes near by. Fowls and horses promenaded about. But the view is one of the most charming to be found in the islands. Just opposite is the entrance to the bay, and the two points frame the sea most effectively, numerous smaller capes deepening the perspective. Along their silhouettes the eye glides into far s.p.a.ces, to dive beyond the horizon into infinity. Iariki is just in front, and we can see the well-kept park around the British Residence, with its mixture of art and wilderness; near by is the smooth sea shining in all colours. While the sh.o.r.es are of a yellowish green, the sea is of every shade of blue, and the green of the depths is saturated with that brilliant turquoise tint which is enough to put one into a light and happy humour. This being my first sight of a tropical landscape, my delight was great, and made up for any disappointment human inefficiency had occasioned.

The French Resident, Mr. C, received me most kindly, and did me the honour of inviting me to be his guest. I had planned to stay in Vila a few weeks, so as to get acquainted with the country and hire boys; but the Resident seemed to think that I only intended a short visit to the islands, and he proposed to take me with him on a cruise through the archipelago and to deposit me at the Segond Channel, an invitation I could not well refuse. My objection of having no servants was overruled by the Resident's a.s.surance that I could easily find some in Santo. I therefore made my preparations and got my luggage ready.

In the afternoon, Mr. C. lent me his boat to go and pay my respects to Mr. Morton King, the British Resident. The difference between the two residences was striking, but it would be out of place to dwell on it here. It may be caused by the fact that the French Resident is, as a rule, recalled every six months, while the British Resident had been at Vila for more than three years. Mr. King received me most cordially and also offered his hospitality, which, however, I was unable to accept. Later on Mr. King a.s.sisted and sheltered me in the most generous manner, so that I shall always remember his help and friendship with sincere grat.i.tude.

I also had the honour of making the acquaintance of the British judge and of most of the Condominium officials.

It was a dull morning when we left Vila on board the French Government yacht. In days gone by she had been an elegant racing-boat, but was now somewhat decayed and none too clean; however, she had been equipped with a motor, so that we were independent of the wind.

Besides the Resident and myself there were on board the French judge, the police commissioner, and a crew of boys from the Loyalty Islands near New Caledonia. These are excellent sailors and are employed in Vila as French policemen. They are very strong and lively and great fighters, and would be perfect material for a police force were they not such confirmed drunkards. Because of this defect they all had to be dismissed soon afterwards and sent back to their own country, as in Vila, instead of arresting drunken natives, they had generally been drunk themselves and were often fighting in the streets. But on board ship, where they had no opportunity to get drunk, they were very willing and always cheerful and ready for sport of any kind.

We did not travel far that first day, but stopped after a few hours'

sail in Port Havannah, north of the Bay of Mele. This port would be one of the best harbours in the group, as it is almost entirely landlocked; only, the water is so deep that small craft cannot anchor. Yet it would be preferable to Port Vila, as the climate is much better, Vila being one of the hottest, stuffiest and rainiest spots in the group, and its harbour is becoming too small for the increased traffic of the last few years. Port Vila only became the capital of the islands when the English influence grew stronger, while all the land round Port Havannah belonged to a French company.

We spent the afternoon on sh.o.r.e shooting pigeons. Besides a few ducks, flying-foxes and wild pigs, pigeons are the only game in the islands; but this pigeon-shooting is a peculiar sport and requires a special enthusiasm to afford pleasure for any length of time. The birds are extremely shy and generally sit on the tops of the highest trees where a European can hardly discover them. The natives, however, are very clever in detecting them, but when they try to show you the pigeon it generally flies off and is lost; and if you shoot it, it is hard to find, even for a native. The natives themselves are capable of approaching the birds noiselessly and unseen, because of their colour, so as to shoot them from a short distance. My pigeon-shooting usually consisted in waiting for several hours in the forest, with very unsatisfactory results, so that I soon gave it up.

We were all unsuccessful on this particular day, but it ended most gaily with a dance at the house of a French planter.

We slept on board, rocked softly by the ship, against which the waves plashed in cosy whispering. The sky was bright with stars, but below decks it was dark and stuffy. Now and then a big fish jumped out of the black sea, otherwise it was quiet, dull and gloomy as a dismal dream.

Next day we rose early and went shooting again. Probably because we had been given the best wishes of an old French lady the result was as unsatisfactory as the evening before. We then resumed our journey in splendid weather, with a stiff breeze, and flying through blue s.p.a.ces on the bright waves, we rapidly pa.s.sed several small islands, sighted "Monument Rock," a lonely cliff that rises abruptly out of the sea to a height of 130 m., and arrived late in the afternoon at Maei, our destination.

CHAPTER II

MAEI, TONGOA, EPI AND MALEKULA

Maei is a small island whose natives have nearly all disappeared, as is the case on most of its neighbours. There is one small plantation, with the agent of which the Resident had business. After we had pa.s.sed the narrow inlet through the reef, we landed, to find the agent in a peculiar, half-mad condition. He pretended to suffer from fever, but it was evident that alcohol had a good deal to do with it, too. The man made strange faces, could hardly talk and was quite unable to write; he said the fever had deprived him of the power of using his fingers. He was asked to dinner on board, and as he could not speak French nor the Resident English, negotiations were carried on in biche la mar, a language in which it is impossible to talk about anything but the simplest matters of everyday life. Things got still worse when the agent became more and more intoxicated, in spite of the small quant.i.ties of liquor we allowed him. I had to act as interpreter, a most ungrateful task, as the planter soon began to insult the Resident, and I had to translate his remarks and the Resident's answers. At last, funny as the whole affair was in a way, it became very tiresome; happily, matters came to a sudden close by the planter's falling under the table. He was then taken ash.o.r.e by his native wife and the police-boys, who enjoyed this duty immensely. We smoked a quiet pipe, looked after the fish-hooks--empty, of course--and slept on deck in the cool night air. Next morning the planter came aboard somewhat sobered and more tractable. He brought with him his wife, and their child whom he wished to adopt. As the native women do not as a rule stay with their masters very long, the children are registered under the formula: "Child of N. N., mother unknown," an expression which sounds somewhat queer to those who do not know the reason for it.

After having finished this business, we weighed anchor and set sail for Tongoa. This is one of the few islands whose native population does not decrease. The Presbyterian missionary there gives the entire credit for this pleasant fact to his exertions, as the natives are all converted. But as in other completely Christianized districts the natives die out rapidly, it is doubtful whether Christianity alone has had this beneficial effect, and we must seek other causes, though they are hard to find.

After a clear night we sailed along the coast of Epi. The bright weather had changed to a dull, rainy day, and the aspect of the landscape was entirely altered. The smiling islands had become sober, lonely, even threatening. When the charm of a country consists so entirely in its colouring, any modification of the atmosphere and light cause such a change in its character that the same view may look either like Paradise or entirely dull and inhospitable. What had been thus far a pleasure trip, a holiday excursion, turned suddenly into a business journey, and this change in our mood was increased by a slight illness which had attacked the Resident, making the jovial gentleman morose and irritable.

The stay in Epi was rather uninteresting. Owing to the dense French colonization there the natives have nearly all disappeared or become quite degenerate. We spent our time in visits to the different French planters and then sailed for Malekula, anchoring in Port Sandwich.

Port Sandwich is a long, narrow bay in the south of Malekula, and after Port Vila the most frequented harbour of the group, as it is very centrally located and absolutely safe. Many a vessel has found protection there from storm or cyclone. The entrance to the bay is narrow, and at the anchorage we were so completely landlocked that we might have imagined ourselves on an inland lake, so quiet is the water, surrounded on all sides by the dark green forest which falls in heavy waves down from the hills to the silent, gloomy sea.

Immediately after our arrival my companions went pigeon-shooting as usual; but I soon preferred to join the son of the French planter at Port Sandwich in a visit to the neighbouring native village. This was my first sight of the real, genuine aborigines.

No one with any taste for nature will fail to feel the solemnity of the moment when he stands face to face for the first time with primitive man. As the traveller enters the depths of the virgin forest for the first time with sacred awe, he feels that he stands before a still higher revelation of nature when the first dark, naked man suddenly appears. Silently he has crept through the thicket, has parted the branches, and confronts us unexpectedly on a narrow path, shy and silent, while we are struck with surprise. His figure is but slightly relieved against the green of the bushes; he seems part of the silent, luxuriant world around him, a being strange to us, a part of those realms which we are used to imagine as void of feeling and incapable of thought. But a word breaks the spell, intelligence gleams in his face, and what, so far, has seemed a strange being, belonging rather to the lower animals than to human-kind, shows himself a man, and becomes equal to ourselves. Thus the endless, inhospitable jungle, without open s.p.a.ces or streets, without prairies and sun, that dense tangle of lianas and tree-trunks, shelters men like ourselves. It seems marvellous to think that in those depths, dull, dark and silent as the fathomless ocean, men can live, and we can hardly blame former generations for denying all kinship with these savages and counting them as animals; especially as the native never seems more primitive than when he is roaming the forest, naked but for a bark belt, with a big curly wig and waving plumes, bow and arrow his only weapons. When alarmed, he hides in the foliage, and once swallowed up in the green depths which are his home and his protection, neither eye nor ear can find any trace of him.

But our ideas change when we enter his village home, with its dancing-grounds with the big drums, the sacred stone tables, idols and carved tree-trunks, all in a frame of violently coloured bushes--red, purple, brown and orange. Above us, across a blue sky, a tree with scarlet flowers blows in the breeze, and long stamens fall slowly down and cover the ground with a brilliant carpet. Dogs bark, roosters crow and from a hut a man creeps out--others emerge from the bush and from half-hidden houses which at first we had not noticed. At some distance stand the women and children in timid amazement, and then begins a chattering, or maybe a whispered consultation about the arrival of the stranger. We are in the midst of human life, in a busy little town, where the sun pours through the gaps in the dark forest, and flowers give colour and brightness, and where, after all, life is not so very much less human than in civilization.

Then the forest has lifted its veil, we have entered the sanctuary, and the alarming sensation of nature's hostility is softened. We white men like to talk about our mastery over nature, but is it not rather true that we flee from nature, as its most intense manifestations are oppressive to us? Is not the savage, living so very close to nature, more its master, or at least its friend, than we are? We need s.p.a.ce and the sight of sun and sky to feel happy; the night of the forest, the loneliness of the ocean are terrible to us, whilst to the native they are his home and his element.

It is evident that under our first strong impression of the native's life we overlook much--the filth, the sores, the brutality of social life; but these are really only ripples on an otherwise smooth existence, defects which are not less present in our civilization, but are better concealed.

The next day we followed the coast of Malekula southward. There are immense coral reefs attached to the coast, so that often the line of breakers is one or two miles away from the sh.o.r.e. These reefs are a solid ma.s.s of cleft coral stones constantly growing seaward. Their surface is more or less flat, about on a level with the water at low tide, so that it then lies nearly dry, and one can walk on the reefs, jumping over the wide crevices in which the sea roars and gurgles with the rise and fall of the breakers outside. These ever-growing reefs would surround the whole coast were it not for the fresh water that oozes out from the land and prevents the coral from growing at certain points, thus keeping open narrow pa.s.sages through the reef, or wider stretches along the coast free from rocks. These basins form good anchorages for small craft, as the swell of the open sea cannot cross the reef; only the entrances are often crooked and hard to find.

Our captain brought us safely into a quiet lagoon, where the yacht lay in deep green water, smooth as gla.s.s, while beyond the reef the breakers dashed a silver line across the blue ocean.

Of course we immediately went shooting on the reef. I did not have much sport, as I could see nothing worth shooting, but I was much interested in wading in the warm water to observe the multiform animal life of the reef. There was the "beche-de-mer," the sea-cuc.u.mber, yellow or purplish-black, a shapeless ma.s.s lying in pools; this is a delicacy highly valued by the Chinese and therefore a frequent article of exportation. The animals are collected, cut open, dried and shipped. There was the ugly muraena, which goes splashing and winding like a snake between boulders, and threatens the intruder with poisonous looks and snapping jaws. Innumerable bright-coloured fish shot hither and thither in the flat pools, there were worms, sea-stars, octopus, crabs. The wealth of animal life on the reef, where each footstep stirs up a hundred creatures, is incredible, and ever so many more are hidden in the rocks and crevices.

The plants that had taken root in the coral were mostly mangrove bushes with great forked roots.

CHAPTER III

THE SEGOND CHANNEL--LIFE ON A PLANTATION

When the tide rose, we returned to the yacht and continued our cruise northward, pa.s.sed the small islands of Rano, Atchin, Vao and others, crossed the treacherous Bougainville Strait between Malekula and Santo, and came to anchor in the Ca.n.a.l du Segond formed by Santo and Malo. This channel is about eight miles long and three-quarters of a mile wide at its narrowest point. On its sh.o.r.es, which belong to a French company, is a colony of about a hundred and fifty Frenchmen. The Segond Channel would be a good harbour but for very strong currents caused by the tides, which are unfavourable to small boats; its location, too, is not very central. The sh.o.r.es are flat, but rise abruptly at some points to a height of 150 m. There are level lands at the mouth of the Sarrakatta River and on the tablelands.

The Sarrakatta is one of the sights of the New Hebrides, and a pull up the narrow stream affords one of the most impressive views to be had of tropical vegetation. The river cuts straight through the forest, so that the boat moves between two high walls of leafy green. Silently glides the stream, silently broods the forest, only the boat swishes softly, and sometimes a frightened fish splashes up. Every bend we round shows us new and surprisingly charming views: now we pa.s.s a giant tree, which towers up king-like on its iron-hard trunk far above the rest of the forest, trunk and limbs covered with a fine lacework of tender-leaved lianas; now we sweep along a high bank, under a bower of overhanging branches. The water caresses the tips of the twigs, and through the leaves the sun pours golden into the cool darkness. Again we glide into the light, and tangled shrubbery seams the river bank, from which long green strands of vines trail down and curl in the water like snakes. k.n.o.bby roots rise out of the ground; they have caught floating trunks, across which the water pours, lifting and dropping the wet gra.s.ses that grow on the rotten stems. Farther up the bushes are entirely covered with vines and creepers, whose large, thick leaves form a scaly coat of mail under which the half-strangled trees seem to fight in vain for air and freedom. In shallow places stiff bamboos sprout, their long yellow leaves trembling nervously in an imperceptible breeze; again we see trees hung with creepers as if wearing torn flags; and once in a while we catch sight of that most charming of tropical trees, the tree-fern, with its lovely star-shaped crown, like a beautiful, dainty work of art in the midst of the uncultivated wilderness. As if in a dream we row back down stream, and like dream-pictures all the various green shapes of the forest sweep by and disappear.

The Resident introduced me to the French planters, Mr. and Mrs. Ch., and asked them to take me in, which they agreed to do. Having rented an old plantation from the French company, they had had the good fortune to find a regular frame house ready for them.

After I had moved into my quarters the Resident returned to Vila, and I remained on the borders of the wilderness. What followed now was a most unsatisfactory time of waiting, the first of many similar periods. Having no servants, I could undertake nothing independently, and since the planters were all suffering from lack of hands, I could not hire any boys. As the natives around the French plantations at the Ca.n.a.l du Segond are practically exterminated, I saw hardly any; but at least I got a good insight into the life on a plantation, such as it was.

With his land, Mr. Ch. had rented about thirty boys, with whom he was trying to work the completely decayed plantation. Many acres were covered with coffee trees, but owing to the miserable management of the French company, the planters had changed continually and the system of planting just as often. Every manager had abandoned the work of his predecessor and begun planting anew on a different system, so that now there was an immense tract of land planted which had never yet yielded a crop. In a short time such intended plantations are overgrown with bush and reconquered by the wilderness; thus thousands of coffee trees were covered with vines and struggled in vain for light and air. It seem incredible that in two weeks, on cleared ground, gra.s.s can grow up as tall as a man, and that after six months a cleared plantation can be covered with bushes and shrubs with stems as thick as one's finger. The planter, knowing that this overwhelming fertility and the jealous advances of the forest are his most formidable enemies, directs his most strenuous efforts to keeping clear his plantation, especially while the plants are young and unable to fight down the weeds. Later on, weeding is less urgent, but in the beginning it is the one essential duty, more so than planting. Mr. Ch. had therefore an enormous task before him, and as he could not expect any return from the coffee trees for two or three years, he did as all planters do, and sowed corn, which yields a crop after three months.

His labourers, dark, curly-haired men, clad in rags, were just then occupied in gathering the big ears of corn. Sluggishly they threw the golden ears over their shoulders to the ground, where it was collected by the women and carried to the shed on the beach--a long roof of leaves, without walls. Mr. Ch. urged the men to hurry, as the corn had to be ready for shipment in a few days, the Pacific, the French mail-steamer, being due. Produce deteriorates rapidly in the islands owing to the humid climate, so it cannot be stored long, especially where there is no dry storehouse. Therefore, crops can only be gathered just before the arrival of a steamer, making these last days very busy ones everywhere. It is fortunate for the planters that the native labourers are not yet organized and do not insist on an eight-hour day. As it was, Mr. Ch. had to leave more than half his crop to rot in the fields, a heavy rain having delayed the harvesting.

The humidity at the Segond Channel is exceptionally great. As we stood on the fine coral sand that forms the sh.o.r.es of the channel, our clothes were damp with the rain from the weeds and shrubs which we had pa.s.sed through while stumbling through the plantation. The steel-grey sea quivers, sleepy and pulpy looking; in front of us, in a grey mist, lies the flat island of Aore, the air smells mouldy, and brown rainclouds roll over the wall of primeval forest surrounding the clearing on three sides. The atmosphere is heavy, and a fine spray floats in the air and covers everything with moisture. Knives rust in one's pocket, matches refuse to light, tobacco is like a sponge and paper like a rag. It had been like this for three months; no wonder malarial fever raged among the white population. Mr. Ch., after only one year's sojourn here, looked like a very sick man; he was frightfully thin and pale and very nervous; so was his wife, a delicate lady of good French family. She did the hard work of a planter's wife with admirable courage, and, while she had never taken an active part in housekeeping in France, here she was standing all day long behind a smoky kitchen fire, cooking or washing dishes, a.s.sisted only by a very incapable and unsophisticated native woman.

On our return to the house, which lies about 200 metres inland, we found this black lady occupied with the extremely hard and puzzling task of laying the table. It seemed to give her the greatest trouble, and the deep distrust with which she handled the plates found eloquent expression in queer sighs and mysterious exclamations in her native tongue, in resigned shakes of the head and emphatic smacking of the lips. She was a crooked bush-woman from the north of Malekula, where the people, especially the women, are unusually ugly and savage. A low forehead, small, deep-set eyes, and a snout-like mouth gave her a very animal look; yet she showed human feeling, and nursed a shrieking and howling orphan all day long with the most tender care. Her little head was shaved and two upper teeth broken out as a sign of matrimony, so she certainly was no beauty; but the sight of her clumsy working was a constant source of amus.e.m.e.nt to us men, very much less so to her mistress, to whom nothing but her sincere zeal and desire to help could make up for her utter inefficiency.

It cannot be denied that the women from those islands, where their social standing is especially low, are not half so intelligent and teachable as those from places where they are more nearly equal to the men; probably because they are subdued and kept in degradation from early youth, and not allowed any initiative or opinions of their own. But physically these women are very efficient and quite equal to the men in field work, or even superior, being more industrious.

The feat of setting the table was accomplished in about an hour, and we sat down to our simple meal--tinned meat, yams and bananas. Then the foreman came in. Only a short time ago he was one of the finest warriors in the interior of Malekula, where cannibalism is still an everyday occurrence. He, too, wears his hair short, only, according to the present fashion, he lets the hair on his forehead grow in a roll-shaped bow across the head. He is well built, though rather short, and behaves with natural politeness. His voice is soft, his look gentle and in the doorway his dark figure shines in the lamplight like a bronze statue.

Mr. Ch. tells him that the boys will have to work all night, at the same time promising an encouragement in the shape of a gla.s.s of wine to each. The natives' craving for alcohol is often abused by unscrupulous whites. Although the sale of liquor to natives is strictly forbidden by the laws of the Condominium, the French authorities do not even seem to try to enforce this regulation, in fact, they rather impressed me as favouring the sale, thus protecting the interests of a degraded cla.s.s of whites, to the detriment of a valuable race. As a consequence, there are not a few Frenchmen who make their living by selling spirits to natives, which may be called, without exaggeration, a murderous and criminal traffic.

Others profit indirectly by the alcoholism of the islanders by selling liquor to their hands every Sat.u.r.day, so as to make them run into debt; they will all spend their entire wages on drink. If, their term of engagement being over, they want to return to their homes, they are told that they are still deep in debt to their master, and that they will have to pay off by working for some time longer. The poor fellows stay on and on, continue to drink, are never out of debt, and never see their homes again. This practice has developed of late years in consequence of the scarcity of labour, and is nothing but slavery. It might easily be abolished by a slight effort on the part of the Government, but there is hardly any supervision over French plantations outside Port Vila, and in many plantations conditions exist which are an insult to our modern views on humane treatment. On English plantations there is but little brutality, owing to the Government's careful supervision of the planters and the higher social and moral standing of the settlers in general.

My host had some European conscience left, and treated his hands very humanely, but I dare say that in course of time, and pressed by adverse circ.u.mstances, even he resorted to means of finding cheap labour which were none too fair. The French by-laws permit the delivery of alcohol to natives in the shape of "medicine," a stipulation which opens the door to every abuse.