III

Let us imagine that we are sailing along the South coast of New Guinea towards its Eastern end. At about the middle of Orangerie Bay we arrive at the boundary of the Massim, which runs from this point north-westwards till it strikes the northern coast near Cape Nelson (see Map II). As mentioned before, the boundary of the district inhabited by this tribe corresponds to definite geographical conditions, that is, to the absence of natural, inland fastnesses, or of any obstacles to landing. Indeed, it is here that the Great Barrier Reef becomes finally submerged, while again the Main Range of mountains, which follows up to this point, always separated from the foreshore by minor ranges, comes to an end.

Orangerie Bay is closed, on its Eastern side, by a headland, the first of a series of hills, rising directly out of the sea. As we approach the land, we can see distinctly the steep, folded slopes, covered with dense, rank jungle, brightened here and there by bold patches of lalang grass. The coast is broken first by a series of small, land-locked bays or lagoons; then, after Fife Bay, come one or two larger bays, with a flat, alluvial foreshore, and then from South Cape the coast stretches in an almost unbroken line, for several miles, to the end of the mainland.

The East End of New Guinea is a tropical region, where the distinction between the dry and wet season is not felt very sharply. In fact, there is no pronounced dry season there, and so the land is always clad in intense, shining green, which forms a crude contrast with the blue sea. The summits of the hills are often shrouded in trailing mist, whilst white clouds brood or race over the sea, breaking up the monotony of saturated, stiff blue and green. To someone not acquainted with the South Sea landscape it is difficult to convey the permanent impression of smiling festiveness, the alluring clearness of the beach, fringed by jungle trees and palms, skirted by white foam and blue sea, above it the slopes ascending in rich, stiff folds of dark and light green, piebald and shaded over towards the summit by steamy, tropical mists.

When I first sailed along this coast, it was after a few months’ residence and field work in the neighbouring district of the Mailu. From Toulon Island, the main centre and most important settlement of the Mailu, I used to look towards the East end of Orangerie Bay, and on clear days I could see the pyramidal hills of Bonabona, of Gadogado’a, as blue silhouettes in the distance. Under the influence of my work, I came to regard this country within the somewhat narrow native horizon, as the distant land to which perilous, seasonal voyages are made, from whence come certain objects—baskets, decorated carvings, weapons, ornaments—particularly well formed, and superior to the local ones; the land to which the natives point with awe and distrust, when speaking of specially evil and virulent forms of sorcery; the home of a folk mentioned with horror as cannibals. Any really fine touch of artistic taste, in Mailu carvings, would always be directly imported or imitated from the East, and I also found that the softest and most melodious songs and the finest dances came from the Massim. Many of their customs and institutions would be quoted to me as quaint and unusual, and thus, I, the ethnographer working on the borderland of two cultures, naturally had my interest and curiosity aroused. It seemed as if the Eastern people must be much more complex, in one direction towards the cruel, man-eating savage, in the other towards the finely-gifted, poetical lord of primitive forest and seas, when I compared them with the relatively coarse and dull native of Mailu. No wonder, therefore, that on approaching their coast—travelling on that occasion in a small launch—I scanned the landscape with keen interest, anxious to catch my first glimpse of natives, or of their traces.

The first distinctly visible signs of human existence in this neighbourhood are the patches of garden land. These big clearings, triangular in shape, with the apex pointing uphill, look as if they were plastered on to the steep slopes. From August to November, the season when the natives cut and burn the bush, they can be seen, at night, alight with slowly-blazing logs, and in daytime, their smoke clings over the clearings, and slowly drifts along the hill side. Later on in the year, when the plantation sprouts, they form a bright spot, with the light green of their fresh leaves.

The villages in this district are to be found only on the foreshore, at the foot of the hills, hidden in groves of trees, with here and there a golden or purplish bit of thatch showing through the dark green of the leaves. In calm weather a few canoes are probably not far off, fishing. If the visitor is lucky enough to pass at the time of feasts, trading expeditions, or any other big tribal gathering, many a fine sea-going canoe may be seen approaching the village with the sound of conch shells blowing melodiously.

In order to visit one of the typical, large settlements of these natives, let us say near Fife Bay, on the South coast, or on the island of Sariba, or Roge’a, it would be best to go ashore in some big, sheltered bay, or on one of the extensive beaches at the foot of a hilly island. We enter a clear, lofty grove, composed of palms, bread fruit, mangoes, and other fruit trees, often with a sandy subsoil, well weeded-out and clean, where grow clumps of ornamental bushes, such as the red-flowering hybiscus, croton or aromatic shrub. Here we find the village. Fascinating as may be the Motuan habitations standing on high piles in the middle of a lagoon, or the neat streets of an Aroma or Mailu settlement, or the irregular warren of small huts on the Trobriand coast, all these cannot compete in picturesqueness or charm with the villages of the Southern Massim. When, on a hot day, we enter the deep shadow of fruit trees and palms, and find ourselves in the midst of the wonderfully designed and ornamented houses hiding here and there in irregular groups among the green, surrounded by little decorative gardens of shells and flowers, with pebble-bordered paths and stone-paved sitting circles, it seems as if the visions of a primeval, happy, savage life were suddenly realised, even if only in a fleeting impression. Big bodies of canoes are drawn high up the beach and covered with palm leaves; here and there nets are drying, spread out on special stands, and on the platforms in front of the houses sit groups of men and women, busy at some domestic work, smoking and chatting.

Plate V 

Scenes on the Beach of Silosilo (Southern Massim District).

These represent phases of a big annual feast, the so’i. (See Div. III., and compare also Ch. XXI.) Note the prominent part taken by women in the proceedings; the use of the “ceremonial” axe handles; the manner of carrying pigs, and the canoes beached on the shore.

Plate VI 

Village Scenes During a So’i Feast.

These show types of Southern Massim and their decorations again note the prominent part taken by women in the ceremonial actions. (See Div. III.)

Walking along the paths which lead on for miles, we come every few hundred yards on another hamlet of a few houses. Some of these are evidently new and freshly decorated, while others are abandoned, and a heap of broken household objects is lying on the ground, showing that the death of one of the village elders has caused it to be deserted. As the evening approaches, the life becomes more active, fires are kindled, and the natives busy themselves cooking and eating food. In the dancing season, towards dusk, groups of men and women foregather, singing, dancing, and beating drums.

When we approach the natives closer and scan their personal appearance, we are struck—if we compare them with their Western neighbours—by the extreme lightness of their skin, their sturdy, even lumpy stature, and a sort of soft, almost effete general impression which their physique produces. Their fat, broad faces, their squashed noses, and frequently oblique eyes, make them appear quaint and grotesque rather than impressively savage. Their hair, not so woolly as that of the pure Papuans, nor growing into the enormous halo of the Motuans, is worn in big mops, which they often cut at the sides so as to give the head an oblong, almost cylindrical shape. Their manner is shy and diffident, but not unfriendly—rather smiling and almost servile, in very great contrast to the morose Papuan, or the unfriendly, reserved South Coast Mailu or Aroma. On the whole, they give at first approach not so much the impression of wild savages as of smug and self-satisfied bourgeois.

Their ornaments are much less elaborate and more toned down than those of their Western neighbours. Belts and armlets plaited of a dark brown fern vine, small red shell disks and turtle shell rings as ear ornaments are the only permanent, every-day decorations worn. Like all Melanesians of Eastern New Guinea, they are quite cleanly in their persons, and a personal approach to them does not offend any of our senses. They are very fond of red hibiscus flowers stuck in their hair, of scented flower wreaths on their head, of aromatic leaves thrust into their belts and armlets. Their grand, festive head-dress is extremely modest compared with the enormous erections of feathers used by the Western tribes, and consists mainly of a round halo of white cockatoo feathers stuck into their hair (see Plate V and VI).

In olden days, before the advent of white men, these pleasant, apparently effete people were inveterate cannibals and head-hunters, and in their large war-canoes they carried on treacherous, cruel raids, falling upon sleeping villages, killing man, woman and child, and feasting on their bodies. The attractive stone circles in their villages were associated with their cannibal feasts.6

The traveller, who could settle down in one of their villages and remain there sufficiently long to study their habits and enter into their tribal life, would soon be struck by the absence of a well recognised general authority. In this, however, the natives resemble not only the other Western Melanesians of New Guinea, but also the natives of the Melanesian Archipelago. The authority in the Southern Massim tribe, as in many others, is vested in the village elders. In each hamlet the eldest man has a position of personal influence and power, and these collectively would in all cases represent the tribe and carry out and enforce their decisions—always arrived at in strict accord with tribal tradition.

Deeper sociological study would reveal the characteristic totemism of these natives, and also the matrilineal construction of their society. Descent, inheritance, and social position follow the female line—a man always belongs to his mother’s totemic division and local group, and inherits from his mother’s brother. Women also enjoy a very independent position, and are exceedingly well treated, and in tribal and festive affairs they play a prominent part (see Plates V and VI). Some women, even, owing to their magical powers, wield a considerable influence.7

The sexual life of these natives is extremely lax. Even when we remember the very free standard of sex morals in the Melanesian tribes of New Guinea, such as the Motu or the Mailu, we still find these natives exceedingly loose in such matters. Certain reserves and appearances which are usually kept up in other tribes, are here completely abandoned. As is probably the case in many communities where sex morals are lax, there is a complete absence of unnatural practices and sex perversions. Marriage is concluded as the natural end of a long and lasting liaison.8

These natives are efficient and industrious manufacturers, and great traders. They own large sea-going canoes, which, however, they do not manufacture themselves, but which they import from the Northern Massim district, or from Panayati. Another feature of their culture, which we shall meet again, consists of their big feasts, called So’i (see Plates V and VI), associated with mortuary celebrations and with a special mortuary taboo called gwara. In the big inter-tribal trading of the Kula, these feasts play a considerable rôle.

This general, and necessarily somewhat superficial description, is meant to give the reader a definite impression of these tribes, provide them, so to speak, with a physiognomy, rather than to give a full account of their tribal constitution. For this the reader is referred to Professor C. G. Seligman’s treatise, our main source of knowledge on the Melanesians of New Guinea. The above sketch refers to what Professor Seligman calls the Southern Massim, or more exactly to the portion marked off in the Ethnographic sketch Map No. III as “V, the Southern Massim”—the inhabitants of the Easternmost mainland and the adjacent archipelago.