Chapter III: The Belief in Immortality Among the Samoans (2)

[42] Ch. Wilkes, _Narrative of the United States
Exploring Expedition_, ii. 142 _sq._; J. E. Erskine, _Journal of
a Cruise among the Islands of the Western Pacific_, pp. 109
_sq._; W. T. Pritchard, _Polynesian Reminiscences_, pp. 129-132;
Violette, "Notes d'un Missionnaire sur l'archipel de Samoa,"
_Les Missions Catholiques_, iii. (1870) p. 135; G. Turner,
_Samoa_, pp. 119-121; S. Ella, "Samoa," _Report of the Fourth
Meeting of the Australasian Association for the Advancement of
Science, held at Hobart, Tasmania, in January 1892_, p. 636; J.
B. Stair, _Old Samoa_, pp. 143 _sq._; G. Brown, _Melanesians and
Polynesians_, pp. 304 _sq._, 305, 315, 434.

Sec. 4. _Rights of Property_

In Samoa the rights of private property, both personal and landed, were fully recognised, but with certain limitations. The lands were owned alike by chiefs and by heads of families; the laws regulating their possession were very definite. In no case did the whole of the land belong to the chiefs. Every family owned portions of land not only in the village and adjoining gardens, but far away in the unreclaimed forests of the interior. The title, which passed by inheritance, generally vested in the family; but the family was represented by the head, who often claimed the right to dispose of it by sale or otherwise. Yet he dared not do anything without consulting all concerned; were he to persist in thwarting the wishes of the rest, they would take his title from him and give it to another. Sometimes, however, the title to landed property vested in individual owners. The legitimate heir was the oldest surviving brother, but occasionally he waived his right in favour of one of the sons. Women might hold land when the male side of a family was extinct. The boundaries of land were well defined, being marked by pathways, natural limits, such as a river, or by trenches and stones half buried in the ground. Every inch of ground had its owner, even to the tops of the mountains. Trespass by a neighbouring village would be resisted, if necessary, by force of arms.[43]

[43] G. Turner, _Samoa_, pp. 176 _sq._; J. B. Stair,
_Old Samoa_, pp. 83 _sq._; G. Brown, _Melanesians and
Polynesians_, pp. 287 _sq._, 314, 339.

In regard to personal property it may be said that, like landed property, it belonged rather to the family than to the individual; for no Samoan could refuse to give, without an equivalent, anything which any member of his family asked for. In this way boats, tools, garments, and so forth passed freely from hand to hand. Nay, a man could enter the plantation of a relative and help himself to the fruit without asking the owner's leave; such an appropriation was not considered to be stealing. Under this communistic system, as it has been called, accumulation of property was scarcely possible, and industry was discouraged. Why should a diligent man toil when he knew that the fruit of his labour might all be consumed by lazy kinsfolk? He might lay out a plantation of bananas, and when they were full-grown, bunch after bunch might be plucked and eaten by his less industrious relations, until, exasperated beyond endurance, the unfortunate owner would cut down all the remaining trees. No matter how hard a man worked, he could not keep his earnings; they all soon passed out of his hands into the common stock of the clan. The system, we are told, ate like a canker-worm at the roots of individual and national progress.[44]

[44] G. Turner, _Samoa_, pp. 160 _sq._; G. Brown,
_Melanesians and Polynesians_, pp. 247, 262 _sq._, 434.

Sec. 5. _Government, Social Ranks, Respect for Chiefs_

The native government of Samoa was not, like that of Tonga, a centralised despotism. Under the form of a monarchy and aristocracy the political constitution was fundamentally republican and indeed democratic. The authority of the king and chiefs was limited and more or less nominal; practically Samoa consisted of a large number of petty independent and self-governing communities, which sometimes combined for defence or common action in a sort of loose federation.[45]

[45] J. Williams, _Narrative of Missionary Enterprises
in the South Sea Islands_, p. 454; H. Hale, _Ethnography and
Philology of the United States Exploring Expedition_, p. 29; T.
H. Hood, _Notes of a Cruise in H.M.S. "Fawn" in the Western
Pacific_ (Edinburgh, 1863), p. 118; G. Turner, _Samoa_, p. 173;
S. Ella, "Samoa," _Report of the Fourth Meeting of the
Australasian Association for the Advancement of Science, held at
Hobart, Tasmania, in January 1892_, p. 631; J. B. Stair, _Old
Samoa_, pp. 83 _sq._, 89; G. Brown, _Melanesians and
Polynesians_, p. 333.

To a superficial observer the aristocratic cast of Samoan society might at first sight seem very marked. The social ranks were sharply divided from each other, and the inferior orders paid great formal deference to their superiors. At the head of all ranked the chiefs (_alii_); but even among them the ordinary chiefs were distinct from the sacred chiefs (_alii paia_), who enjoyed the highest honours. These sacred chiefs preserved their pedigrees for twenty or more generations with as great care as the oldest and proudest families in Europe, and they possessed many feudal rights and privileges which were as well known and as fully acknowledged as are, or were, those of any lord of a manor in England. The task of preserving a record of a chief's pedigrees was entrusted to his orator or spokesman, who belonged to a lower social rank (that of the _tulafales_).[46] The influence of chiefs was supported by the belief that they possessed some magical or supernatural power, by which they could enforce their decisions.[47] Their persons were sacred or taboo. They might not be touched by any one. No one might sit beside them. In the public assemblies a vacant place was left on each side of the seat of honour which they occupied. Some chiefs were so holy that they might not even be looked at by day. Their food might not be handed to them, but was thrown to them, and it was so sacred that no one might eat any of it which they had left over.[48]

[46] H. Hale, _op. cit._ p. 28; Violette, _op. cit._ p.
168; G. Turner, _Samoa_, pp. 173 _sqq._; J. B. Stair, _Old
Samoa_, pp. 65 _sqq._; G. Brown, _Melanesians and Polynesians_,
pp. 283, 430.

[47] G. Brown, _Melanesians and Polynesians_, p. 431.

[48] G. Brown, _Melanesians and Polynesians_, pp. 280,
283, 285; Violette, _op. cit._ p. 168 (as to chiefs too holy to
be seen by day).

"The sacredness attributed to many chiefs of high rank gave rise to observances which were irksome to their families and dependents, since whatever they came in contact with required to undergo the ceremony of _lulu'u_, or sprinkling with a particular kind of cocoanut-water (_niu-ui_); both to remove the sanctity supposed to be communicated to the article or place that had touched the chief, and also to counteract the danger of speedy death, which was believed to be imminent to any person who might touch the sacred chief, or anything that he had touched; so great was the mantle of sanctity thrown around these chiefs, although unconnected with the priesthood. Thus the spot where such a chief had sat or slept was sprinkled with water immediately he had left it, as were also the persons who had sat on either side of him when he received company, as well as all the attendants who had waited upon him.

"This remarkable custom was also observed on other occasions. It was always used on the occasion of deposing a chief, and depriving him of his _Ao_, or titles, in which case the ceremony was performed by some of those who had either conferred the titles or had the power to do so. In the case of O le Tamafainga, the usurper who was killed in A'ana in 1829, his body was first sprinkled with cocoanut-water, and his title of _O le Tuia'ana_ recalled from him, before he was hewn in pieces. The ceremony consisted of sprinkling the body with cocoanut-water, and the officiating chief or _Tulafale_ saying, 'Give us back our _Ao_,' by which means the title was recalled, and the sacredness attaching to it was dispelled. It was also used over persons newly tattooed, and upon those who contaminated themselves by contact with a dead body. In each of these cases the ceremony was carefully observed, and reverently attended to, as very dire consequences were considered certain to follow its omission."[49] Thus the sacredness of a chief was deemed dangerous to all persons with whom he might come, whether directly or indirectly, into contact; it was apparently conceived as a sort of electric fluid which discharged itself, it might be with fatal effect, on whatever it touched. And the sacredness of a chief was clearly classed with the uncleanness of a dead body, since contact with a dead body involved the same dangerous consequences as contact with the sacred person of a chief and had to be remedied in precisely the same manner. The two conceptions of holiness and uncleanness, which to us seem opposite and even contradictory, blend in the idea of taboo, in which both are implicitly held as it were in solution. It requires the analytic tendency of more advanced thought to distinguish the two conceptions, to precipitate, as it were, the components of the solution in the testing-tube of the mind.

[49] J. B. Stair, _Old Samoa_, pp. 127 _sq._ Compare
Violette, _op. cit._ p. 168; G. Brown, _Melanesians and
Polynesians_, pp. 231, 280, 285. In this work Dr. Brown remarks
(p. 231) that there is no clear explanation of the custom of
sprinkling coco-nut water as a purificatory rite. But the
explanation given by Stair, which I have quoted in the text, is
clear and satisfactory, and elsewhere (p. 285) Dr. Brown
implicitly adopts the same explanation, where he says that the
man who had served kava to a sacred chief "sprinkled himself all
over to wash away the sacredness (_paia_)."

The profound respect which the Samoans entertained for their chiefs manifested itself in yet another fashion. A special form of speech was adopted in addressing a chief, in conversing in his presence, or even in alluding to him in his absence. Thus there arose what is called a chiefs' language, or polite diction, which was used exclusively in speaking to or of a chief, whether the speaker was a common man or a chief of lower rank. But it was never used by a chief when he was speaking of himself. Persons of high rank, in addressing others and alluding to themselves, always employed ordinary language and sometimes the very lowest terms; so that it was often amusing to listen to expressions of feigned humility uttered by a proud man, who would have been indignant indeed if the same terms which he applied to himself had been applied to him by others. Thus, for example, the actions of sitting, talking, eating, sleeping, and dying were expressed by different terms according as the agent was a chief or a common man. The ordinary word for a house was _fale_; but a chief's house was called _maota_. The common word for anger was _ita_; the polite term was _toasa_. To sleep in ordinary language was _moe_, but in polite language it was _tof[=a]_ or _toa_. To be sick in common speech was _mai_, but in polite language it was _ngasengase, faatafa, pulu pulusi_. To die was _mate_ or _pe_ (said of animals), or _oti_ (said of men); but the courtly expressions for death were _maliu_ ("gone"), _folau_ ("gone on a voyage"), _fale-lauasi, ngasololo ao_, and a number of others. The terms substituted in the court language sometimes had a meaning the very opposite of that borne by the corresponding terms in the ordinary language. For example, in the court language firewood was called _polata_, which properly means the stem of the banana plant, a wood that is incombustible. If the use of an ordinary word in the presence of a chief were unavoidable, it had to be prefaced by the apologetic phrase _veaeane_, literally "saving your presence," every time the word was spoken. Nay, the courtly language itself varied with the rank of the chief addressed or alluded to. For example, if you wished to say that a person had come, you would say _alu_ of a common man; _alala_ of a head of a household or landowner (_tulafale_); _maliu_ of a petty chief; _susu_ of a chief of the second class; and _afiu_ of a chief of the highest rank.[50] The same respect which was shown in the use of words descriptive of a chief's actions or possessions was naturally extended to his own name, when he belonged to the class of sacred chiefs. If his name happened to be also the name of a common object, it ceased to be used to designate the thing in question, and a new word or phrase was substituted for it. Henceforth the old name of the object was dropped and might never again be pronounced in the chief's district nor indeed anywhere in his presence. In one district, for example, the chief's name was Flying-fox; hence the ordinary word for flying-fox (_re'a_) was dropped, and that species of bat was known as "bird of heaven" (_manu langi_).[51] Again, when the chief of Pango-pango, in the island of Tutuila, was called Maunga, which means "mountain," that word might never be used in his presence, and a courtly term was substituted for it.[52] This is only one instance of the ways in which the dialects of savages tend to vary from each other under the influence of superstition.

[50] H. Hale, _Ethnography and Philology of the United
States Exploring Expedition_, pp. 28 _sq._; Violette, "Notes
d'un Missionnaire sur l'archipel de Samoa," _Les Missions
Catholiques_, iii. (1870) p. 190; J. B. Stair, _Old Samoa_, pp.
67 _sqq._; G. Brown, _Melanesians and Polynesians_, pp. 380
_sq._ Compare G. Turner, _Samoa_, p. 175.

[51] G. Brown, _Melanesians and Polynesians_, pp. 280,
381.

[52] J. E. Erskine, _Journal of a Cruise among the
Islands of the Western Pacific_, p. 44.

Yet despite the extraordinary deference thus paid to chiefs in outward show, the authority which they possessed was for the most part very limited; indeed in the ordinary affairs of life the powers and privileges of a chief were little more than nominal, and he moved about among the people and shared their everyday employments just like a common man. Thus, for example, he would go out with a fishing party, work in his plantation, help at building a house or a canoe, and even lend a hand in cooking at a native oven. So strong was the democratic spirit among the Samoans. The ordinary duties of a chief consisted in administering the law, settling disputes, punishing transgressors, appointing feasts, imposing taboos, and leading his people in war. It was in time of war that a chief's dignity and authority were at their highest, but even then he could hardly maintain strict discipline.[53] However, the influence of chiefs varied a good deal and depended in great measure on their personal character. If besides his hereditary rank a chief was a man of energy and ability, he might become practically supreme in his village or district. Some chiefs even used their power in a very tyrannical manner.[54]

[53] G. Turner, _Samoa_, pp. 174 _sq._; S. Ella,
"Samoa," _Report of the Fourth Meeting of the Australasian
Association for the Advancement of Science, held at Hobart,
Tasmania, in January 1892_, pp. 631 _sq._; J. B. Stair, _Old
Samoa_, p. 70; G. Brown, _Melanesians and Polynesians_, p. 286.

[54] J. B. Stair, _Old Samoa_, p. 70; G. Brown,
_Melanesians and Polynesians_, p. 286.

But for the abuse of power by their nominal rulers the Samoans had a remedy at hand. When a chief rendered himself odious to his people by tyranny and oppression, the householders or gentry (_tulafales_) and neighbouring chiefs would not uncommonly depose him and transfer his office to another; in extreme cases they might banish him or even put him to death. The place of banishment for exiled chiefs was the island of Tutuila. Thither the fallen potentate was conveyed under custody in a canoe, and on landing he was made to run the gauntlet between two rows of the inhabitants, who belaboured him with sticks, pelted him with stones, or subjected him to other indignities. He was lucky if he escaped with nothing worse than bruises, for sometimes the injuries inflicted were severe or actually fatal.[55] Chieftainship was hereditary in the male line, but did not necessarily pass from father to son; the usual heir would seem to have been the eldest surviving brother, and next to him one of the sons. But a dying chief might nominate his successor, though the final decision rested with the heads of families. Failing a male heir, a daughter might be appointed to, or might assume, the prerogative of chieftainship.[56]

[55] J. Williams, _Narrative of Missionary Enterprises
in the South Sea Islands_, p. 454; H. Hale, _Ethnography and
Philology of the United States Exploring Expedition_, p. 28;
Violette, "Notes d'un Missionnaire sur l'archipel de Samoa,"
_Les Missions Catholiques_, iii. (1870) p. 119; G. Turner,
_Samoa_, p. 177; J. B. Stair, _Old Samoa_, pp. 71 _sqq._

[56] Violette, _op. cit._ p. 119; G. Turner, _Samoa_,
p. 174; S. Ella, _op. cit._ p. 631; G. Brown, _Melanesians and
Polynesians_, pp. 282, 286, 430.

In addition to their hereditary nobility chiefs might be raised to higher rank by the possession of titles (_ao_), which were in the gift of certain ruling towns or villages. When four or, according to another account, five of these titles were conferred upon a single chief, he was called _o le tupu_, or King of Samoa. But if the constituencies were not unanimous in their choice of a candidate, the throne might remain vacant for long periods. Thus the monarchy of Samoa was elective; the king was chosen by a hereditary aristocracy, and his powers were tempered by the rights and privileges of the nobility. Yet under the show of a limited monarchy the constitution was essentially a federal republic.[57] The ceremony of anointing a King of Samoa in ancient times appears to have curiously resembled a similar solemnity in monarchical Europe. It took place in presence of a large assembly of chiefs and people. A sacred stone was consecrated as a throne, or rather stool, on which the king stood, while a priest, who must also be a chief, called upon the gods to behold and bless the king, and pronounced denunciations against such as should fail to obey him. He then poured scented oil from a native bottle over the head, shoulders, and body of the king, and proclaimed his several titles and honours.[58]

[57] Violette, _op. cit._ pp. 118 _sq._; J. B. Stair,
_Old Samoa_, pp. 65 _sqq._; G. Brown, _Melanesians and
Polynesians_, p. 283. Compare H. Hale, _Ethnography and
Philology of the United States Exploring Expedition_, p. 29.

[58] S. Ella, "Samoa," _Report of the Fourth Meeting of
the Australasian Association for the Advancement of Science,
held at Hobart, Tasmania, in January 1892_, p. 631.

Next below the chiefs ranked an inferior order of nobility called _tulafales_ or _faipules_, who are variously described as householders, councillors, and secondary chiefs. They formed a very powerful and influential class; indeed we are told that they generally exercised greater authority than the chiefs, and that the real control of districts often centred in their hands. They usually owned large lands: they were the principal advisers of the chiefs: the orators were usually selected from their number: the _ao_ or titles of districts were always in their gift; and they had the power, which they did not scruple to use, of deposing and banishing an unpopular chief. Sometimes a chief contrived to bring them into subjection to himself; but as a rule they were a sturdy class, who did not shrink from speaking out their minds to their social superiors, often uttering very unpalatable truths and acting with great determination when the conduct of a chief incurred their displeasure. In short, they made laws, levied fines, and generally ruled the village.[59]

[59] H. Hale, _op. cit._ p. 28; Ch. Wilkes, _op. cit._
ii. 152; Violette, _op. cit._ p. 119; S. Ella, _op. cit._
p. 629; J. B. Stair, _Old Samoa_, pp. 70 _sq._; G. Brown,
_Melanesians and Polynesians_, pp. 285 _sq._, 287.

Below the _tulafales_ ranked the _faleupolu_ or House of Upolu, and the _tangata nuu_ or Men of the Land. The former were considerable landowners and possessed much influence; the latter were the humblest class, bearing arms in time of war, and cultivating the soil, fishing, and cooking in time of peace. But they were far from being serfs; most of them were eligible for the position of head of a family, if, when a vacancy occurred, the choice of the family fell upon them.[60] For the title of head of a family was not hereditary. A son might succeed his father in the dignity; but the members of the family would sometimes pass over the son and confer the title on an uncle, a cousin, or even a perfect stranger, if they desired to increase the numerical strength of the family.[61]

[60] J. B. Stair, _Old Samoa_, pp. 74 _sq._; G. Brown,
_Melanesians and Polynesians_, p. 432.

[61] G. Turner, _Samoa_, p. 173.

The villages of the Samoans were practically self-governing and independent communities, though every village was more or less loosely federated with the other villages of its district. Each district or confederation of villages had its capital (_laumua_) or ruling town. These federal capitals, however, possessed no absolute authority over the other villages of the district; and though great respect was always shown to them, the people of the district, or even of a particular village, would often dissent from the decisions of the capital and assert their independence of action.[62] Of this independence a notable instance occurred when the Catholic missionaries first settled in Samoa. Under the influence of the Protestant missionaries a federal assembly had passed a decree strictly forbidding the admission of Roman Catholics to the islands, and threatening with war any community that should dare to harbour the obnoxious sect. The better to enforce the decree, prayers were publicly offered up in the chapels that God would be pleased to keep all Papists out of Samoa. To these charitable petitions the deity seems to have turned a deaf ear; for, in spite of prayers and prohibitions, two Catholic priests and a lay brother landed and were hospitably received and effectually protected by the people of a village, who paid no heed either to the remonstrances of the chiefs or to the thunders of the federal assembly.[63]

[62] G. Turner, _Samoa_, p. 180; G. Brown, _Melanesians
and Polynesians_, p. 333.

[63] Violette, "Notes d'un Missionnaire sur l'archipel
de Samoa," _Les Missions Catholiques_, iii. (1870) pp. 119
_sq._

The population of a village might be from two to five hundred persons, and there might be eight or ten villages in a district. Throughout the Samoan islands there were in all eight of these separate districts. The union of the villages in a district was voluntary; they formed by common consent a petty state for their mutual protection. When war was threatened by another district, no single village acted alone; the whole district, or state, assembled at their capital and held a special parliament to concert the measures to be taken.[64] The boundaries of the districts were well known and zealously guarded, if necessary, by force of arms against the aggression of a neighbouring state. The wardenship of the marches was committed to the two nearest villages on either side, the inhabitants of which were called Boundary-Keepers. Between two such villages in former days mutual ill-feeling constantly existed and border feuds were frequent.[65]

[64] G. Turner, _Samoa_, pp. 173, 180 _sq._ A third
local division, intermediate between the village and the
district, is mentioned by Stair, who calls it a settlement (_Old
Samoa_, p. 83); but the other authorities whom I have consulted
appear not to recognise such an intermediate division.

[65] J. B. Stair, _Old Samoa_, p. 83.

The form of government both of the village and of the district was parliamentary. Affairs were discussed and settled in a representative assembly (_fono_), composed of the leading men of each village or district. These representatives included the chiefs, together with the householders or landowners (_tulafales_) and the inferior gentry (the _faleupolu_). The more weighty affairs, such as declaring war or making peace, or any matters of importance which concerned the whole district, were debated in the general parliament of the district, while business of purely local interest was transacted in the parliament of the village. It was the privilege of the capital to convene the district parliament, to preside over its deliberations, to settle disputed points, to sum up the proceedings, and to dismiss the assembly. These meetings were usually conducted with much formality and decorum. They were always held in the large public place (_malae_ or _marae_) of the village or town. It was an open green spot surrounded by a circle of trees and houses. The centre was occupied by a large house which belonged to the chief and was set apart as a caravansary for the entertainment of strangers and visitors. Members of all the three orders which composed the parliament had the right to address it; but the speaking was usually left to the householders or landowners (_tulafales_). Each chief had generally attached to him one of that order who acted as his mouthpiece; and in like manner each settlement retained the services of a member of the order, who was the leading orator of the district. Decisions were reached not by voting but by general consent, the discussion being prolonged until some conclusion, satisfactory to the greater part of the members, and particularly to the most influential, was arrived at. One of the principal prerogatives of the king seems to have been that of convoking a parliament; though, if he refused to do so, when circumstances seemed to require it, the assembly would undoubtedly have met without him. The functions of these assemblies were judicial as well as legislative and deliberative. Offenders were arraigned before them and, if found guilty, were condemned and punished.[66]

[66] H. Hale, _Ethnography and Philology of the United
States Exploring Expedition_, p. 29; Ch. Wilkes, _Narrative of
the United States Exploring Expedition_, ii. 153 _sq._;
Violette, "Notes d'un Missionnaire sur l'archipel de Samoa,"
_Les Missions Catholiques_, iii. (1870) p. 119; G. Turner,
_Samoa_, pp. 177 _sqq._, 180 _sqq._; S. Ella, _op. cit._ pp. 632
_sq._; J. B. Stair, _Old Samoa_, pp. 84 _sqq._; G. Brown,
_Melanesians and Polynesians_, pp. 286 _sq._, 288 _sqq._

It says much for the natural ability of the Samoans that they should have attained to a level of culture so comparatively high with material resources so scanty and defective. Nature, indeed, supplied them with abundance of food and timber, but she denied them the metals, which were unknown in the islands until they were introduced from Europe. In their native state, accordingly, the Samoans were still in the Stone Age, their principal tools being stone axes and adzes, made mainly from a close-grained basalt which is found in the island of Tutuila. Of these axes the rougher were chipped, but the finer were ground. Shells were used as cutting instruments and as punches to bore holes in planks; and combs, neatly carved out of bone, were employed as instruments in tattooing. A wooden dibble served them instead of a plough to turn up the earth. The only skins they prepared were those of sharks and some other fish, which they used as rasps for smoothing woodwork. The art of pottery was unknown.[67] Food was cooked in ovens of hot stones;[68] fire was kindled by the friction of wood, the method adopted being what is called the stick-and-groove process.[69]

[67] G. Brown, _Melanesians and Polynesians_, p. 319;
G. Turner, _Samoa_, p. 158; J. B. Stair, _Old Samoa_, pp. 146,
149, 154, 159. As to the wooden dibbles, see Ella, _op. cit._ p.
635 (above, p. 166).

[68] G. Turner, _Samoa_, pp. 111 _sq._; G. Brown,
_Melanesians and Polynesians_, p. 130.

[69] G. Brown, _Melanesians and Polynesians_, p. 129.

We now pass to a consideration of the religion of these interesting people, especially in regard to the human soul and its destiny after death.

Sec. 6. _Religion: Gods of Families, Villages, and Districts_

The first missionary to Samoa, John Williams, was struck by the contrast between the religion of the Samoans and the religion of the other Polynesian peoples whom he had studied. "The religious system of the Samoans," he says, "differs essentially from that which obtained at the Tahitian, Society, and other islands with which we are acquainted. They have neither _maraes_, nor temples, nor altars, nor offerings; and, consequently, none of the barbarous and sanguinary rites observed at the other groups. In consequence of this, the Samoans were considered an impious race, and their impiety became proverbial with the people of Rarotonga; for, when upbraiding a person who neglected the worship of the gods, they would call him 'a godless Samoan.' But, although heathenism was presented to us by the Samoans in a dress different from that in which we had been accustomed to see it, having no altars stained with human blood, no _maraes_ strewed with the skulls and bones of its numerous victims, no sacred groves devoted to rites of which brutality and sensuality were the most obvious features, this people had 'lords many and gods many';--their religious system was as obviously marked as any other with absurdity, superstition, and vice."[70]

[70] John Williams, _Narrative of Missionary
Enterprises in the South Sea Islands_, pp. 465 _sq._

This account of the Samoan religion, written at a time when the islands were not yet fully opened up to Europeans, must be modified by the testimony of later writers, in particular with regard to the alleged absence of temples and offerings; but in its broad outlines it holds good, in so far as the Samoan ritual was honourably distinguished from that of many other islands in the Pacific by its freedom from human sacrifice and from the gross and licentious practices which prevailed in other branches of the Polynesian race. The notion of the Rarotongans that the Samoans were a godless people has proved to be totally mistaken. On closer acquaintance it was found that they lived under the influence of a host of imaginary deities who exercised their faith and demanded their obedience. Among these deities the most numerous and perhaps the most influential were the _aitu_, which were the gods of individuals, of families, of towns or villages, and of districts.[71] These gods were supposed to appear in some visible embodiment or incarnation, and the particular thing, or class of things, in which his god was in the habit of appearing, was to the Samoan an object of veneration, and he took great care never to injure it or treat it with contempt. In the great majority of cases the thing in which the deity presented himself to his worshippers was a class of natural objects, most commonly a species of animal, bird, or fish, less frequently a tree or plant or an inanimate object, such as a stone, the rainbow, or a meteor. One man, for example, saw his god in the eel, another in the shark, another in the turtle, another in the owl, another in the lizard, and so on throughout all the fish of the sea, the birds, the four-footed beasts, and creeping things. In some of the shell-fish, such as the limpets on the rocks, gods were supposed to be present. It was not uncommon to see an intelligent chief muttering prayers to a fly, an ant, or a lizard, which chanced to alight or crawl in his presence. A man would eat freely of the incarnation of another man's god, but would most scrupulously refrain from eating of the incarnation of his own particular god, believing that death would be the consequence of such sacrilege. The offended god was supposed to take up his abode in the body of the impious eater and to generate there the very thing which he had eaten, till it caused his death. For example, if a man, whose family god was incarnate in the prickly sea-urchin (_Echinus_), were to eat of a sea-urchin, it was believed that a prickly sea-urchin would grow in his body and kill him. If his family god were incarnate in the turtle, and he was rash enough to eat a turtle, the god would enter into him, and his voice would be heard from within the sinner's body, saying, "I am killing this man; he ate my incarnation." Occasionally, however, the penalty exacted by the deity was less severe. If, for instance, a man's god was in cockles, and he ate one of these shell-fish, a cockle would grow on his nose; if he merely picked up a cockle on the shore and walked away with it, the shell-fish would appear on some part of his person. But in neither case, apparently, would the kindly cockle take the life of the offender. It was not a bloodthirsty deity. Again, a man whose god was in coco-nuts would never drink the refreshing beverage which other people were free to extract from the nuts. But the worshipper who shrank from eating or drinking his god in the shape, say, of an octopus or of coco-nut water, would often look on with indifference while other people partook of these his divinities. He might pity their ignorance or envy their liberty, but he would not seek to enlighten the one or to restrain the other.[72] Indeed this indifference was sometimes carried to great lengths. For example, a man whose god was incarnate in the turtle, though he would not himself dare to partake of turtle, would have no scruple in helping a neighbour to cut up and cook a turtle; but in doing so he took the precaution to tie a bandage over his mouth to prevent an embryo turtle from slipping down his throat and sealing his doom by growing up in his stomach.[73] Sometimes the incarnate deity, out of consideration perhaps for the weakness of the flesh, would limit his presence to a portion of an animal, it might be the left wing of a pigeon, or the tail of a dog, or the right leg of a pig.[74] The advantages of such a restriction to a worshipper are obvious. A man, for instance, to whom it would have been death to eat the right leg of a pig, might partake of a left leg of pork with safety and even with gusto. And so with the rest of the divine menagery.

[71] W. T. Pritchard, _Polynesian Reminiscences_
(London, 1866), pp. 106 _sqq._; T. H. Hood, _Notes of a Cruise
in H.M.S. "Fawn" in the Western Pacific_, p. 141; G. Turner,
_Samoa_, pp. 16 _sqq._; J. B. Stair, _Old Samoa_, pp. 211, 215
_sqq._

[72] J. Williams, _Narrative of Missionary Enterprises
in the South Sea Islands_, p. 468; Ch. Wilkes, _Narrative of the
United States Exploring Expedition_, ii. 131 _sq._; T. H. Hood,
_Notes of a Cruise in H.M.S. "Fawn" in the Western Pacific_, p.
141; W. T. Pritchard, _Polynesian Reminiscences_, pp. 106
_sqq._; Violette, "Notes d'un Missionnaire sur l'archipel de
Samoa," _Les Missions Catholiques_, iii. (1870) p. 111; G.
Turner, _Samoa_, pp. 16 _sqq._, 40, 50 _sq._; J. B. Stair, _Old
Samoa_, pp. 211, 216 _sq._; G. Brown, _Melanesians and
Polynesians_, pp. 137, 218. The account of these deities given
by Dr. G. Turner is by far the fullest and best.

[73] G. Turner, _Samoa_, pp. 67 _sq._

[74] W. T. Pritchard, _op. cit._ p. 107. Similarly some
people had pig's heart for their god, or the embodiment of their
god, and they scrupulously avoided eating pigs' hearts lest
pigs' hearts should grow in their bodies and so cause their
death. See G. Turner, _Samoa_, p. 72.

However, even if the worst had happened, that is to say, if the deity had been killed, cooked and eaten, the consequences were not necessarily fatal to his worshippers; there were modes of redeeming the lives of the sinners and of expiating their sin. Suppose, for example, that the god of a household was the cuttle-fish, and that some visitor to the house had, either in ignorance or in bravado, caught a cuttle-fish and cooked it, or that a member of the family had been present where a cuttle-fish was eaten, the family would meet in conclave to consult about the sacrilege, and they would select one of their number, whether a man or a woman, to go and lie down in a cold oven and be covered over with leaves, just as in the process of baking, all to pretend that the person was being offered up as a burnt sacrifice to avert the wrath of the deity. While this solemn pretence was being enacted, the whole family would engage in prayer, saying, "O bald-headed cuttle-fish, forgive what has been done. It was all the work of a stranger." If they did not thus abase themselves before the divine cuttle-fish, they believed that the god would visit them and cause a cuttle-fish to grow internally in their bodies and so be the death of some of them.[75] Similar modes of appeasing the wrath of divine eels, mullets, stinging ray fish, turtles, wild pigeons, and garden lizards were adopted with equal success.[76]

[75] G. Turner, _Samoa_, pp. 31 _sq._

[76] G. Turner, _Samoa_, pp. 38, 58, 59, 69 _sq._, 72.

Apparently the Samoans were even more concerned to defend their village gods or district gods against injury and insult than to guard the deities of simple individuals. We are told that all the inhabitants of a district would thus unite for the protection of the local divinity.[77] For example, it happened that in a village where the first native Christian teachers settled one of them caught a sea-eel (_Muraena_) and cooked it, and two of the village lads, who were their servants, ate some of the eel for their supper. But the eel was the village god, and when the villagers heard that the lads had eaten the god, they administered a sound thrashing to the culprits, and dragged them off to a cooking-house where they laid them down in the oven pit and covered them with leaves in the usual way, as if the lads had been killed and were now to be cooked as a peace-offering to avert the wrath of the deity.[78] When John Williams had caused some Christian natives to kill a large sea-snake and dry it on the rocks to be preserved as a specimen, the heathen fishermen of the island at sight of it raised a most terrific yell, and, seizing their clubs, rushed upon the Christian natives, saying, "You have killed our god! You have killed our god!" It was with difficulty that Mr. Williams restrained their violence on condition that the reptile should be immediately carried back to the boat from which the missionary had landed.[79] The island in which this happened belonged to the Tongan group, but precisely the same incident might have occurred in Samoa. In some parts of Upolu a goddess was believed to be incarnate in bats, and if a neighbour chanced to kill one of these creatures, the indignant worshippers of the bat might wage a war to avenge the insult to their deity.[80] If people who had the stinging ray fish for the incarnation of their god heard that their neighbours had caught a fish of that sort, they would go and beg them to give it up and not to cook it. A refusal to comply with the request would be followed by a fight.[81]

[77] J. B. Stair, _Old Samoa_, pp. 216 _sq._

[78] G. Turner, _Samoa_, p. 58.

[79] J. Williams, _op. cit._ p. 469.

[80] G. Turner, _Samoa_, p. 57.

[81] G. Turner, _Samoa_, p. 75.

Accordingly, when the Samoans were converted to Christianity, they gave the strongest proof of the genuineness of their conversion by killing and eating their animal gods. Thus when a chief named Malietoa renounced heathenism, he caused an eel to be publicly caught, cooked, and eaten by many persons who had hitherto regarded the eel as their god. His own sons had a different sort of fish, called _anae_, for their private deity, and to demonstrate their faith in the new religion they had a quantity of the fish caught, cooked, and served up in the presence of a large party of friends and relations. There, with trembling hearts, they partook of the once sacred morsel; but, their fears getting the better of them, they immediately retired from the feast and swallowed a powerful emetic, lest the divine fish should lie heavy on their stomachs and devour their vitals.[82] As nothing particular happened after these daring innovations, the people took heart of grace, and concerted further plans for the destruction of their ancient deities. Among these was a certain Papo, who was nothing more or less than a piece of old rotten matting, about three yards long and four inches wide; but being a god of war and, in that capacity, always attached to the canoe of the leader when they went forth to battle, he was regarded with great veneration by the people. At the assembly convoked to decide on his fate, the first proposal was to throw him into the fire. But the idea was too shocking to the general sense of the community, and by way of making death as little painful as possible to the deity, they decided to take him out to sea in a canoe and there consign him to a watery grave. Even from this mitigated doom Papo was rescued by the efforts of the missionaries, and he now adorns a museum.[83]

[82] J. Williams, _op. cit._ pp. 373 _sq._

[83] J. Williams, _op. cit._ p. 375.

But even when the career of one of these animal gods was not prematurely cut short by being killed, cooked, and eaten, he was still liable to die in the course of nature; and when his dead body was discovered, great was the sorrow of his worshippers. If, for example, the god of a village was an owl, and a dead owl was found lying beside a road or under a tree, it would be reverently covered up with a white cloth by the person who discovered it, and all the villagers would assemble round the dead god and burn their bodies with firebrands and beat their foreheads with stones till the blood flowed. Then the corpse of the feathered deity would be wrapped up and buried with as much care and ceremony as if it were a human body. However, that was not the death of the god. He was supposed to be yet alive and incarnate in all the owls in existence.[84]

[84] G. Turner, _Samoa_, pp. 21, 26, 60 _sq._ Compare
W. T. Pritchard, _Polynesian Reminiscences_, pp. 110 _sq._

The offerings to these deities consisted chiefly of cooked food,[85] which was apparently deemed as essential to the sustenance of gods as of men, and that even when the gods were not animals but stones. For example, two oblong smooth stones, which stood on a platform of loose stones near a village, were regarded as the parents of the rain-god, and when the people were making ready to go off to the woods for the favourite sport of pigeon-catching, they used to lay offerings of cooked taro and fish on the stones, accompanied by prayers for fine weather and no rain. These stone gods were also believed to cause yams to grow; hence in time of dearth a man would present them with a yam in hope of securing their favour.[86]

[85] G. Turner, _Samoa_, p. 20.

[86] G. Turner, _Samoa_, pp. 24 _sq._

At the feasts the first cup of kava was dedicated to the god, the presiding chief either pouring it out on the ground or waving it towards the sky. Afterwards all the chiefs drank from the same cup according to their rank; then the food brought as an offering was divided and eaten there before the god.[87] Even within the circle of the family it was customary to pour out on the ground a little kava as an offering to the family god before any one else drank of it.[88]

[87] G. Turner, _Samoa_, p. 20; W. T. Pritchard,
_Polynesian Reminiscences_, pp. 121 _sqq._

[88] G. Brown, _Melanesians and Polynesians_, p. 229.

Annual feasts were held in honour of the gods, and the season of the feast was often in May, but sometimes in April or June.[89] In some cases the feasts were regulated by the appearance of the bird which was believed to be the incarnation of the god. Whenever the bird was seen, the priest would say that the god had come, and he would fix upon a day for the entertainment of the deity.[90] At these festivals all the people met in the place of public assembly, where they had collected heaps of cooked food. First, they made their offerings to the god and prayed to him to avert calamity and grant prosperity; then they feasted with and before their god, and after that any strangers present might eat. Some of the festivals included games, such as wrestling, spear-throwing, club exercises, sham-fights, and nocturnal dances; and they lasted for days.[91] At one of these annual festivals held in the month of June, the exercise with clubs assumed a serious and indeed sanguinary form. All the people, old and young, men, women, and children, took part in it, and battered their scalps till the blood streamed down over their faces and bodies. This proof of their devotion was supposed to be acceptable to the deity, who, gratified by the sight of their flowing blood, would answer their prayers for health, good crops, and victory in war.[92] At the feast of the cockle god in May prayers were offered up to the divine shell-fish that he would be pleased to cure the coughs and other ailments usually prevalent at that season, which in Samoa forms the transition from the wet to the dry months.[93] At the festival of an owl god, which fell about the month of April, the offerings and prayers were particularly directed towards the removal of caterpillars from the plantations; for these insects were believed to be the servants of the owl god, who could send them as his ministers of vengeance to lay waste the fields and orchards of the impious.[94] Elsewhere the owl was a war god, and at the beginning of the annual fish festivals the chiefs and people of the village assembled round the opening of the first oven and gave the first fish to the god.[95] A family, who had the eel for their household god, showed their gratitude to him for his kindness by presenting him with the first fruits of their taro plantation.[96] Another family believed their deity to be incarnate in centipedes; and if a member of the family fell ill or was bitten by a centipede, they would offer the divine reptile a fine mat and a fan, with a prayer for the recovery of the patient.[97] The utility of a fine mat and a fan to a centipede is too obvious to be insisted on. Sometimes offerings were made to a god, not to persuade him to come, but to induce him to go away. For example, where gods or spirits were believed to voyage along the coast, offerings of food were often set down on the beach as an inducement to the spirits to take the victuals and pass on without calling at that particular place.[98]

[89] G. Turner, _Samoa_, pp. 20, 26, 29, 41, 44, 47,
53, 57.

[90] G. Turner, _Samoa_, pp. 20 _sq._

[91] G. Turner, _Samoa_, pp. 20, 26, 29; W. T.
Pritchard, _Polynesian Reminiscences_, p. 123.

[92] G. Turner, _Samoa_, p. 57.

[93] G. Turner, _Samoa_, p. 41.

[94] G. Turner, _Samoa_, p. 47.

[95] G. Turner, _Samoa_, pp. 25 _sq._

[96] G. Turner, _Samoa_, pp. 70 _sq._

[97] G. Turner, _Samoa_, pp. 47 _sq._

[98] G. Brown, _Melanesians and Polynesians_, p. 229.

Formal prayers were offered to the god by the head of a family, and public prayer was put up when the men were setting out for war. On such occasions they prayed that stones, stumps of trees, and other obstacles might be taken out of the way of the warriors, and that their path might be wet with the blood of their foes. All their prayers were for temporal benefits, such as protection against enemies, plenty of food, and other desirable objects. They attached great importance to confession of wrongdoing in times of danger, but, so far as appears, they expressed no repentance, promised no amendment, and offered no prayer for forgiveness. If, for example, a canoe, crossing the channel between Savaii and Upolu, were caught in a squall and seemed likely to be swamped, the steersman would head the canoe to the wind, and every man on board would make a clean breast of his sins. One would say, "I stole a fowl at such and such a village." Another would confess an intrigue with a married woman somewhere else; and so on. When all had either confessed their guilt or declared their innocence, the helmsman would put the helm about and scud before the wind, in perfect confidence of bringing the canoe and crew safe to land.[99]

[99] G. Brown, _Melanesians and Polynesians_, pp. 229
_sq._

When a god was believed to be incarnate in a species of birds or animals or fish, omens were naturally drawn from the appearance and behaviour of the creatures. This happened particularly in time of war, when hopes and fears were rife among the people. Thus, if their war god was an owl, and the bird fluttered above the troops on the march, the omen was good; but if the owl flew away in the direction of the enemy, it was an evil omen, the god had deserted them and joined the foe;[100] if it crossed the path of the warriors or flew back on them, it was a warning to retreat.[101] So in places where the war-god was a rail-bird, if the bird screeched and flew before the army, the people marched confidently to battle; but if it turned and flew back, they hesitated. If the plumage of the rail showed glossy red, it was a sign to go to war; but if the feathers were dark and dingy, it was a warning to stay at home. And if the bird were heard chattering or scolding, as they called it, at midnight, it prognosticated an attack next day, and they would at once send off the women and children to a place of safety.[102] In like manner omens were drawn from the flight of herons, kingfishers, the _Porphyris Samoensis_, and flying-foxes, where these creatures were supposed to incarnate the war god.[103] People who saw their war god in the lizard used to take omens from a lizard before they went forth to fight. They watched the movements of a lizard in a bundle of spears. If the creature ran about the outside of the bundle and the points of the spears, the omen was favourable; but if it crept into the bundle for concealment, it was an evil sign.[104] The inhabitants of several villages looked upon dogs, especially white dogs, as the incarnation of their war god; accordingly if the dog wagged his tail, barked, and dashed ahead in sight of the enemy, it was a good omen; but if he retreated or howled, their hearts failed them.[105] Again, where the cuttle-fish was the war god, the movements of that fish at sea were anxiously observed in time of war. If the fish swam inshore while the people were mustering for battle, it augured victory; but if it swam far away, it portended defeat.[106]

[100] G. Turner, _Samoa_, pp. 25 _sq._

[101] G. Turner, _Samoa_, p. 60.

[102] G. Turner, _Samoa_, pp. 52, 61, 65.

[103] G. Turner, _Samoa_, pp. 35, 51, 54 _sq._, 64.

[104] G. Turner, pp. 46 _sq._

[105] G. Turner, _Samoa_, p. 49.

[106] G. Turner, _Samoa_, p. 29.