Chapter XIII

THE SHOOTING-GROUND--HORNBILL DANCE--SECRET SOCIETIES--THE
DUK DUK--INGIET

In the course of these pages reference has often been made to the native dances which accompany almost every event of importance in the life of the South Sea islanders. During the last ten days of my sojourn in New Britain, Queen Emma arranged a Sing-Song for my benefit. It took place in the “shooting-ground,” where tennis and archery are the attractions, and where residents generally assemble about 4 p.m. for coffee and gossip. Picturesquely situated, bounded on one side by high cliffs covered with vegetation, the neatly-trimmed lawns and the summer-house compare very favourably with pleasure-gardens of the kind in Europe. Here Queen Emma presided over her little court, and very smart were some of the gay muslins worn by the planters’ wives and one or two others on these occasions, whilst the gentlemen present were clad in those white suits which are so suitable for tropical wear. The programme commenced with the dancing of New Ireland “boys,” who were to be followed by the kanakas of the Gazelle. All taking part were _employés_ of the firm of Forsyth, and since the number of labourers employed in their various undertakings number about one thousand two hundred, there were plenty at Ralum, the headquarters of the industry, to make a goodly show.

We had taken tea when the noise and dust made by the approaching natives arrested my attention. Gaily bedecked and happy, they advanced towards us, carrying all the musical instruments which compose the native orchestra. They soon found a convenient spot on the grass, and the crowd which followed on their heels grouped themselves at the far end under the cliffs in a semicircular ring behind the musicians, preparing to do their part in the screeching which accompanies the dancers’ movements. Their countenances expressed the utmost satisfaction with the arrangements and with their own appearance, full dress being _de rigueur_. Oiled and polished, their brown skins shone in the afternoon light to the last degree of fitness. My hostess, surveying the human menagerie, remarked that they must have raided her stores for the lubricating medium so generously employed in embellishing their persons.

The general impression left upon the visitor was that scarlet was the favourite colour. Magnificent rosettes of the scarlet double hibiscus were fastened to the top of neatly-trimmed heads, flanked for the most part with cassowaries’ feathers, or those from the domestic fowl, and their lava-lavas were of the same brilliant hue.

Presently all eyes were turned towards the garden entrance, and over the heads of the bystanders masked dancers became visible as they approached us. It was the first time I had seen these curious figures, though they are common enough in the Archipelago. These New Ireland “boys,” who probably came from the north of that island, where the culture is on a higher plane than in the Gazelle Peninsula, and where they excel in pantomimic dances, had chosen for this occasion to perform a totemic dance. It was pointed out that the painted wooden masks with long beaks represented the hornbill, and probably some of those present belonged to that locality where this bird is the sacred emblem of their tribe, or clan. In the dance which followed, it was decidedly interesting to perceive how carefully the bird’s motions had been studied by these mimics. On a framework of bamboo, extending from the waist to the knees, completely hidden from view, many layers of dried fern leaves were fastened, and the effect at a distance was that of a ballet-girl’s skirts; the shoulders and head were completely enveloped in the heavy wooden mask and ornamented with feathers and greenery. Flowers and grass were thrust through the carved beaks, and white circles were painted round the slits left for the wearer’s eyes to look through.

First of all one masked dancer came forward from a group who kept themselves in the background, with the quick, short running movements of the hornbill, peering this way and that. In a few moments the bird was supposed to espy her mate, and shook with excitement at the glad sight of him, remaining, however, stationary. We looked around us, and on the opposite side of the garden there hopped out of the bushes another dancer, who in the same way thrilled with delight at the sight of his lady-love. With short, sharp movements of the head each peered around, as if not only shy to approach, but fearing that other hornbills would note their movements. Then came an advance from the one nearest us, then a halt and another searching of the landscape, another quick run and another stop to reconnoitre, till finally the two dancers met, then taking each other’s hands they danced round and round in quick, tiny steps, until it was time for another couple to repeat the procedure, during which they stood with legs apart in a semi-crouching attitude.

Compared with the vigorous, intelligent mimicry of the hornbill dance, that of the Gazelle kanakas was not impressive. It consisted of a series of bodily movements swaying backwards and forwards, to the right and to the left, languid and graceful perhaps, but to an onlooker there was nothing in it. As I watched the performance, I involuntarily recalled the words I had repeatedly heard, to the effect that these “natives were born tired.” After the “boys” had danced some time they were motioned aside, and a party of girls, belonging to the neighbourhood, had a turn. They wore wreaths of flowers and carried garlands, waving them to and fro as they sang and danced, much in the same way as the Gazelle “boys” already described.

Then labourers from the island of New Guinea, enveloped from head to foot in a huge, outstanding cloak of banana leaves, fastened also on to a bamboo framework, completely concealed by the thick foliage, wearing tall, pointed cocoanut masks, painted and adorned with a high erection, surmounted by pigeons’ and cocks’ feathers, entered upon the scene. The back view of these dancers was somewhat grotesque, reminding one forcibly of an archbishop’s cope and mitre. The dance seemed to consist in hopping round one or two musicians. Some said it was a devil-dance, which others disputed. Doubtless the Sing-Song would have been prolonged till next day if it had been permitted, but at dusk they were dismissed.

It was about this time that Mrs Parkinson arranged for me to see a Duk Duk dance, which I was also eager to witness, especially as it may only take place in the month of May. Perhaps it may be desirable, before proceeding further, to give some idea of the secret societies which are to be found throughout Melanesia. In New Ireland and in New Hanover apparently they are connected with a species of ancestor worship. In Buka, a similar institution is known as Kokorra.

In the Gazelle Peninsula, as far inland as Vunakokor and westwards to Weberhafen, the Duk Duk and the Ingiet societies include many members. The former, so far as this locality is concerned, is not more than sixty years old; its introduction into the Gazelle Mr Parkinson places about 1850, and the success it has since obtained may be attributed to ingrained savage cupidity. As a fraudulent system for acquiring tamboo, it ranks as _primus inter pares_. The latter, a religious society of unknown origin, has grown with the people’s growth, and has struck its roots deep down in the life of the Gazelle kanaka. Little of its doings is so far known, but it may be defined as the home of magic.

Formerly the Duk Duk was much more in evidence than it is to-day. Its meetings and dances took place so continuously that in the early days of the colony plantation labour was often in consequence quite disorganised, and they were the occasions of so much extortion, with other evils, that the administration found themselves compelled to limit the festivities to the month of May. The missionaries also bring their influence to bear upon the natives, for the suppression of these secret societies. To them the attendant crimes are nothing less than the work of the devil made manifest; the result being that nowadays the Duk Duk is mild when compared with its former character.

After thirty years’ of experience in the Archipelago, Mr Parkinson considers that none of these secret societies are based on any deep underlying bond of union, or principle of action, their chief object being to obtain material enjoyments, better food, greater opportunities for idleness and love-making.

By encircling their movements with a halo of sanctity, and by creating a great impression of their power and authority in the minds of women and the uninitiated, as well as by imposing upon the credulity of their superstitious brethren, tamboo may be easily filched from them.

The novice who enters the Duk Duk pays a good sum for the privilege of membership. He is taught ghastly stories of the spirit world, of horrible apparitions. In artificially-produced noises he is told to listen to the spirits talking, and above all he is enjoined to divulge none of the wonderful things he hears.

The place of assembly where the masks are kept is called Tariau, and it is held so sacred that death, in pre-German days, was meted out to the woman who profanely stepped over it--even in these times an intruder must pay a heavy fine. The persons of the dancers when masked were also possessed with the same sanctity, and in the costume of the Duk Duk could rob or murder, without anyone daring to stop him. Women and children rushed into the bush at their approach, a circumstance which points to cannibalistic practices being formerly associated with these dances.

The Tariau is generally so situated that strangers would never discover it. Beside the bushes which generally encircle the spot, on festal occasions native-woven mats screen it from view, and here the costumes are arranged. Two kinds of masks are used. The Tabuan, conically-shaped, crowned with a tuft of parrots’ feathers, has large, white rings painted round the eyes. The Duk Duk mask is different; it is long and pointed; sometimes it is as much as two yards high; its ornamentation with feathers, or carvings decorated with flowers, is according to the taste of its wearer. Strangely enough, the Duk Duk societies occasionally include one or two old women in their number. Those entitled to wear the Tabuan hold the highest office in the institution, which they have either inherited or bought, and it takes a rich man to discharge its duties in a satisfactory manner. The idea connected with the Tabuan is that it represents either a female deity or the feminine principle, but this is not clear. The Duk Duk are her children.

It is to the Tabuan to whom the father or uncle applies for the admission of a son or nephew to Duk Dukship, and a lengthy notice beforehand is requisite to ensure the necessary payment being forthcoming on the day appointed. The signal which commences the proceedings is the loud cry of the Tabuan resounding through the bush. The candidates are then brought to the Tariau, when they form a circle round the presiding Tabuan who, in full dress, howls, dances and uses the switch he holds over the shoulders of the neophytes, whilst others standing outside assist in the castigation. This task completed, the entrance fees are collected from the parents, the lads being regaled meanwhile with roast fish and roast taro; after this, the Tabuan, once more the centre of an admiring circle, takes off all his attire and shows himself to the candidates, making them believe that the spirits keep the leafy covering fastened to his body.

They are now instructed in the steps and evolutions of the Duk Duk’s dance. Then a wide circle is formed and an official presents everyone with three or four yards of shell-money. This renders the birth of the Duk Duk complete. The following day each of these newly-made members sets out to visit the neighbourhood and to collect tamboo, repairing every night to the Tariau to sleep, and this daily pilgrimage lasts for a month. At the end of the period a great feast is prepared, after which the Duk Duks are all considered dead, and depart to their respective homes.

On the shore at Herbertshöhe during May, one of the quaintest sights is to be seen, when a number of natives push off to accompany a Tabuan with the newly-born Duk Duks who, wearing their leafy dress and heavy masks, dance from end to end of their frail canoes.

This was what the Danish lady and myself were invited to witness from Mrs Parkinson’s residence. That lady being privileged to visit the Tariau, had asked for the performance on our behalf. Torrential rain prevented a large gathering, and since those present alleged that their leafy costumes would be spoilt, we, too, thought it would be a pity to wash the paint off the masks, and returned to Herbertshöhe as quickly as an ancient pony and a tropical storm permitted.

Of far greater importance, on account of its deeply magical nature, is the working of the society known as Ingiet, in the life of the kanaka of the Gazelle Peninsula. Owing to the secrecy which the native preserves with regard to its dealings, it is difficult for the European to gain much exact knowledge with regard to the special kinds of witchcraft practised.

The Government may legislate against the Duk Duk, and the missionaries’ influence can go a long way to lessen its criminal extravagance; but the widespread Ingiet societies’ magic is so firmly rooted in the nature of these Melanesians, that it is a problem whether time and Christianity will ever wholly eradicate it.

Mariwot is the name of the place where the members assemble, and it is always surrounded with a thick hedge, so that women and children shall not be able to watch the proceedings, which include many objectionable practices. These spots are generally selected in the depths of the forest, and figures supposed to represent sharks, snakes, dolphins, etc., are carved out of the bark of the trees and painted black, white and red. A small sum of shell-money admits to membership, and quite young boys are admitted. The secrets of the society may only be divulged by one of its chief officials, and all undergo instruction from their appointed instructor. Their dances are accompanied by simultaneous stamping of the feet, and such precision must be attained, that it takes much practice to become expert. Many of the accompanying songs are sung in falsetto.

The mysteries of Ingiet appertain solely to the region of witchcraft. Spells and incantations, with the accompanying ceremonies of gesticulation to procure material benefit, protection from bad spirits, from sickness, are taught, also those which bring about the death, the illness, or ruin of an enemy, and on these occasions, the number of evil spirits invoked is legion, almost every object within the native’s sphere of cognisance being possessed with devilships of varying degrees of malevolence.

In the Duke of York Islands, in St George’s Channel, Ingiet is universal, and possibly the natives are even more superstitious than in the Gazelle, yet Australian Methodists, with their Samoan and Fiji catechists and helpers, have worked there for thirty years!

There is nothing of a totemic character about this secret society, although in the group just mentioned the inhabitants show more traces of totemism than those of the peninsula, where only the most elementary forms of it exist, firstly, in the two moieties which in the north-east of the Gazelle are distinguished on the one part by the use of _we_, and on the other by the use of _they_; secondly, in their exogamous marriages; and thirdly, in the children always belonging to the mother’s family.