Chapter VI

A VISIT TO MR PARKINSON--NATIVE MARKETS--THE DISEASED CONDITION
OF THE KANAKAS--CULTIVATION OF TARO--THE ISLAND PRODUCTS--THE
USES OF BAMBOO AND COCOANUT-PALM

A drive through cool, sequestered, leafy shades, skirting for the last part of the way the low, picturesque shore, brought me to the residence of Mr Parkinson. The tropical vegetation, the plantations, the blue sea lapping on a strand overshadowed with the waving foliage of the cocoanut-trees, whilst opposite the “Mother” looked menacingly down on the placid waters of the bay, are my recollections of the distance traversed.

The road was fair, the low pony-carriage comfortable, and my host beguiled the way with interesting conversation, for probably nobody has a greater knowledge of the colony than this gentleman whose acquaintance with the Archipelago began as early as 1875. He was then living at Samoa, where expeditions to these islands were frequent, for “boys” were procured from them for plantation work in Samoa. His studies of the Melanesians, however, commenced in 1882, when he settled in New Britain. At that date, little was known of the coasts, and the reef-engirdled shores were answerable for many mishaps. During the last decade the German Government has sent out a small vessel, _The Möwe_, to chart the hitherto unexplored coasts.

Knowing that my companion was fully posted up concerning the peoples inhabiting these islands, and as I wanted to have a clear understanding as to how far the ethnology of New Britain had been discovered, I asked: “Beside the Gazelle kanakas, the Sulkas, and the Bainings, what other races are known in the island?”

“There are the Taulils, numbering only three hundred souls, who are a distinct people having a language of their own. They live in a hilly, well-watered district, lying south-west of the Vunakokor, between the Gazelle kanakas and the South Bainings,” was his reply; adding, “they are an agricultural folk, growing sweet potatoes, taro and bananas, at the same time sporting, for they spear wild pigs, cassowaries, and catch fish in the streams, which are numerous in their country. Although they live in the depths of the forest, probably they will die out as the Butans before them.”

“Who were the Butans?” I inquired, as I had never heard of them previously.

“I only know them by repute,” explained he. “In 1880, it seems, they were completely wiped out, but that is a common thing in these parts.”

It appeared on further inquiry that the Butans and Taulils were ethnographically related, and that they also, like the Gazelle kanakas, had migrated from New Ireland. There were most probably successive waves of immigrating tribes from the neighbouring islands, extending over a large period of time, Mr Parkinson thought. He proceeded to explain how energetically the Fathers of the Roman Catholic Mission had set to work to learn the various dialects and languages of the island. Personally, he was much indebted to Father Eberlein for many details concerning the Taulils. Another missionary had been equally diligent in studying a race who, in different but allied groups, live about and to the west of the volcanic group represented by “the Father and Sons,” and who are known as the Nakanai. Further west, very little has as yet been discovered of the coastal natives living in the vicinity of Wilhelm’s Peninsula. Apparently the nearer Dampier Strait, which divides New Britain from New Guinea, is approached, the more noticeable is the predominance of the Papuan type, the broad nose and coarse features gradually giving place to what has been called the Semitic type of New Guinea. My informer related many of the incidents of his frequent coastal excursions, and it seemed clear to my mind that what with endless fighting and the inroads of European disease, such as the small-pox which, in 1894–96 introduced from Java, decimated the inhabitants of the French Isles, a group lying to the west of New Britain, that there were many checks to over-population in operation in these parts.

Villages, which have been known to exist, have been wiped out a few years later, and not a trace of them left remaining. On one expedition, the ship in which Mr Parkinson sailed had anchored off a large village, with some forty huts, in the Stelliner Bay. He had gone further along the coast, but returned shortly to find the place completely wrecked, the huts in ashes, and the smell of dead bodies so offensive that he and his companions speedily retreated from the deserted spot. These natives never fight in the open, each party endeavours to ambush the other; when once taken by surprise, flight is the only objective. Thus in the general insecurity nothing approaching national existence is to be found in New Britain. The Gazelle kanakas, it seems, look down upon the Nakanai, and “well they might,” observed my host, for they were scarcely human. He had seen men and women stretched in slumber beside their beloved pigs on Wilhelm’s Peninsula on the north coast. They have, however, abundance of food, yams, taro, sweet potatoes, bananas, whilst wild pigs and dogs furnish them with animal sustenance.

As we approached Mr Parkinson’s, I saw that the market was already in full swing. A crowd of bush kanakas, mostly women and young boys, were sitting in a semicircle, their baskets beside them, whilst above, on the verandah, Mrs Parkinson was superintending the proceedings. She received me with the kindness which has earned for her the title of “The mother of the Archipelago.” She wore a long white dress gathered into a yoke at the neck, but there was no attempt to confine the waist; a ribbon just catching the voluminous folds together is generally all that is attempted with this costume, which many ladies, including Her Excellency, patronise in this hot climate. My hostess, who is half-sister to “Queen Emma,” was a fine woman with amiability stamped on her comely features. I inquired the object of the market, since the produce purchased was far more than the household could dispose of, and was given to understand that those planters who could not grow sufficient on their provision grounds to feed their plantation labourers, held similar markets, when the bush people walked in to Herbertshöhe, or its neighbourhood, to dispose of eggs, fowls and products they cultivated, such as yams and taro. For cocoanuts they were paid in coin, for edible commodities, sticks of coarse tobacco, which is dearly loved by the natives. I saw three eggs taken from an old woman who produced them from some hidden receptacle in her scanty but filthy clothing, and she was given two sticks in return, and seemed well satisfied. There is a regular tariff, so that there can be no discontent, since the planters all pay alike.

Mrs Parkinson pointed out one poor creature who looked to me exceedingly ill; she was half crazed. Her companions on either side seemed to be kind and sympathetic, but it was explained that compassion was not the motive which made them pay her marked attention. They were kind to her because they wanted to conciliate the spirit that was in her. The sickly condition of these kanakas generally, was noticeable. Here were backs and chests covered with ringworm, on the legs horrible wounds and sores, the toes frequently injured. They all looked old, haggard, weary and half-starved, and I remarked upon their sad appearance, for I had never seen such a devitalised crowd of human beings.

“They are physically a weak race, the women carry enormously heavy weights very long distances, and that makes them look old before they are young,” observed Mr Parkinson. Pointing to a old withered man, with a goat-like beard, he added: “That man has looked exactly like that since I have been in the Archipelago! One cannot guess their age from their looks.”

“Oh, but they are lazy! They are born tired,” said his wife, who in reality is most philanthropic towards them.

Assisting her mistress on the verandah, my attention had been attracted by a very fine native girl, whose skin was nearly black, and, so far as I could judge, she was one of the indoor servants.

“What do you take her for?” I was asked. “If she had slightly thicker lips I should think she was an African,” was my answer. “Many strangers have said the same,” Mr Parkinson rejoined; “she comes from Buka, and she is a fine sample of a Solomon islander.”

At length the market was over. After sitting and chatting with each other a little while, the women slowly and dejectedly adjusted their burdens, consisting of babies, and now empty baskets. On the grass below were purchased cocoanuts, bananas and other articles heaped up separately into goodly piles.

We then entered the house, and apparently there is a _leit motif_ running through every kind of planter’s house all over the world. A large central living-room, entered from the verandah which surrounds the dwelling, is the distinctive feature, leading out of which, on either side, are bedrooms or others, whilst at the back a number of oddments, in the shape of outbuildings, serve for various utilitarian purposes. They are to be met with in both hemispheres. The traveller knows them well!

A capital lunch, consisting of island fare, fish freshly caught on the reef, and good fowls, awaited us. One of the vegetables I had never previously tasted. This was taro, the most nutritious food of any, and the most highly prized. Europeans soon get accustomed to it. I confess I did not want a second helping, but all over the Archipelago it seems not only in great request but the staple article of native diet. It is placed between two red-hot stones and baked; on the present occasion it was boiled. This vegetable (_Colocasia antiquorum_, var. _esculenta_) is cultivated in marshy land, but another kind is successfully grown in the high-lands. The natives, when an European agricultural implement is unprocurable, use their pointed sticks, which serve every purpose, so far as tillage is concerned. These are about a yard in length, and they insert them into ground previously cleared, working them round and round to enlarge the aperture and at the same time to harden the sides of the conical groove. Into this the shoot is gently pressed and the hole is kept open for two months, during which time all leaves and _débris_ are carefully removed.

In the third month all but two or three of the young leaves are picked off. Then the work of the husbandman is over, and in six or seven months the tuber is ripe. The natives are most observant of all growing plants. They have names for them, and for every part of them, moreover they are rudimentary botanists, in so far as they can distinguish between the different species. In the Gazelle over fifty kinds of bananas have been recognised, the difference being sometimes so small that an expert even has to be careful in their classification. The yam (_Dioscorea_), though second in importance, possesses this advantage over taro, that it can be kept for weeks, whereas the latter spoils after four or five days’ keeping. Sweet potatoes are also cultivated; sea-water is used to flavour these comestibles. I was much interested to hear of an isolated industry my host had come across in his expeditions. In the neighbourhood of Möwehafen, on the south coast of New Britain, he had found natives procuring salt by a very simple process of evaporation and selling it, or exchanging it, with tribes living inland. Low huts were built, well-roofed to keep out the rain, but having both sides left open to permit of the introduction of a rough framework holding dried pandanus leaves arranged like troughs, into which sea-water was poured which, exposed to the heat of the sun, evaporated. This process constantly repeated left a crust of salt behind; when it was thick enough, the pandanus leaves were rolled up in bundles ready for use. The seclusion in which isolated communities live, possibly accounts for this being the only known locality where the process is carried on. It was curious that those kanakas, whom at least I had so far seen, were such a miserable-looking set, since there seemed an abundance of food procurable, without the necessity of cultivating yams, taro and sweet potatoes. Fish was plentiful, every kind edible; the forests furnished wild pigs, roast pork being the dish _par excellence_, not only in the Gazelle Peninsula, but all over the Archipelago, no feasting or dancing taking place when the delicacy is not _en évidence_. I had already smelt it in my walks at Herbertshöhe.

Flying foxes are highly esteemed and in parts where the tortoise is found, the eggs and flesh are eaten with great relish. For fruit, the cocoanut, the mango and bananas, with other well-known tropical delights, grow in the island. The dogs which help to chase the wild pig are often eaten: they deserve a better fate. It seems that their teeth, with the tusks and bristles of the speared boars, are all used in various ways to ornament the person, also flowers. I noticed in many of the drives I took, that frequently beside the humble cultivations the glorious blaze of the double red hibiscus would stand out from a background composed of the variegated foliage of crotons and colias. The gardenia is also a favourite flower.

The natives, unacquainted as they are in New Britain with the arts of pottery and weaving, have done very well in making use of what they found ready to hand before the advent of the white man. When one remembers that nothing more than a bamboo knife, an obsidian splinter, or possibly a sharp shell, is all they had for cutting purposes, it is surprising to think that they could make seaworthy canoes, capital fishing-nets, and in some cases waterproof dwellings. Perhaps of all the island products the bamboo and the cocoanut-palms possess more utilitarian uses than any other. Bamboo poles adroitly fastened together form serviceable rafts upon which the kanaka will venture long distances out to sea. They are invaluable in building his dwelling, to construct the fence which encircles the huts of his _gunan_, or clan. To cross rivers and streams, he constructs out of bamboo poles a fragile, but for all practical purposes a safe bridge; the hard outer layer furnishes him with a good substitute for a knife. Bamboo, moreover, is used to make the primitive musical instruments which do duty at their Sing-Songs, often to the discomfiture of the European. The hollow reed is also used to carry water long distances.

It is really almost impossible to say what in native life is not made from the cocoanut-palm. To begin with, copra, the hacked kernel, is the basis of the islands’ economic conditions, the milk is a highly esteemed beverage, the oil is used for the anointing of their skins at festivals, and doubtless for many other purposes, such as mixing with soot and coloured clays for colouring matter. There are other fibrous plants, but for native rope the fibre of the cocoanut is, I believe, the strongest. For their fishing-nets the finer threads of the _Pueraria Novo Guineensis_, somewhat analogous to our flax, are preferred. The wood of the cocoanut-tree is, unless exposed to damp, durable and serviceable; the husky shell is used as a vessel to hold oil and other articles, it is frequently carved to ornament the wooden masks worn at native dances. The dried leaves are used for torches when fishing by night on the reef to attract the fish to the surface. One sees them with those of the pandanus palm and the banana used to roof huts throughout the islands. From the mid-ribs of the leaves, baskets and mats are woven and brooms are made.

Recently, rubber has been successfully introduced, also the cassava plant for tapioca. Before I left, Mr Parkinson showed me some curious wooden masks used at festivals and other articles which he had collected during his long sojourn in New Britain. A huge package was destined for the Museum of Chicago.

I was most curious to witness some of the dances I had heard so much of, especially the Duk Duk, which is the variety mostly practised in this part of the Gazelle.

Fortunately we were approaching the month of May, said Mr Parkinson, that being at present the only time when it was permitted by the German Government to take place. I was to learn more of these native entertainments later on.