SOLOMON ISLANDS.

Marlborough Express, Volume XLIII, Issue 115, 13 May 1909, Page 7

SOLOMON ISLANDS.

A letter from Dr. Northcote Deck, of the Solomon Islands mission, has been placed at our disposal, and the following extracts will prove to be of general interest: — Round the weather coast of Malayta the fog is blowing in frpm the sea, great rollers, too, surge up out of the gloom and dash themselves in pieces on the rock-bound shore, while the wind howls, and the sea is lashed to a fury. Sometimes through the white curtain of mist can be seen great headlands, sheer to the water's edge, covered with dense forest, green from eternal rain, grim, stupendous, lost in clouds above and in flying spray below, where the ocean meets the land with a roar and a foaming tumble of waters. Then the great sea fog rolls in again and hides it all in a pall, and the only warning danger is the long low thunder of conflict from the jagged rocks on the shore. But again the fog thins, and now, dimly in the distance, a white ship can be seen bravely breasting out of a gap in the long wall of precipice—the opening at Manna Kwoi. The wind is dead ahead, and driven by an invisible engine she moves steadily on into the raging storm outside. In that land-locked harbour the storm had not been felt, or she would never have ventured out, but now clear of' the land she encounters the fierce blast, and though her engine throbs bravely and the screw swirls, still the pace slackens, and seas begin to climb aboard and send green showers of spray along the deck. Then the rain comes in torrents, and the crew, soaked to the skin, hold on desperately—black, dejected figures in that avalanche of water. At last the vessel has gained an offing, and stands north for Aiyo, but slower she goes, and.still slower, till she begins to lose ground and to drift towards the reef. We were in desperate case that day. Running up a jib for a moment brought her head round with a run, then as the engine gathered way the vessel swung round to edge along the reef. But not so easily did we win back to shelter. Suddenly the man at the wheel, threw up, his hands, crying out that she would not steer —the chain had fallen off its guiding pulley! In desperate haste the hatches were torn off in the blinding rain, and on the steep, sloping deck three men threw themselves down on their knees, and tried to hold the short iron tiller underneath, while great green seas hurled themselves at the rudder like sledge hammers. That row of six dripping hands looked very frail to keep the vessel to her course. Meanwhile I was feverishly undoing the bolts to replace the chain. It was done at last, and we breathed more freely, but we did not know that during the babel of shouts, one of the crew had fallen overboard, and was nearly lost. He was standing under the bowsprit to furl the jib, the line broke, and he fell underneath into the sea. The next surge, however, brought him near the gunwale, and Peter caught him round the. waist and dragged him aboard. We gained the entrance and anchored in safety. But still outside the storm raged, still the ocean fog and mist drifted, eddying and curling on to the dripping trees, and to the crest of the hills, and so away inland. That is a picture of the wild east coast in a physical sense, and yet still more truly is it a picture, an allegory of the spiritual condition of the land. Great clouds of superstitious idolatry sweep up the coast and like fog roll away inland.

The scene moves north toKwai. One morning at daybreak, on the white sand beach facing the mainland, very early, before the sun had appeared over the lip of the world, a war canoe was carried out to the clear green water. One man up to his waist in the sea steadies it, and keeps the bow pointed outwards, while nine brown, lithe, naked savages, bright with beads, gay with feathers, bristling with guns and spears, clamber dripping over the side, and carefully piling the weapons in the bow, seat them-

selves on the bottom for the long journey. Then nine spear-like paddles flash in the water, and as the canoe glides off the steersman swings himself into the high seat at the stern. With rapid strokes the canoe leaves the island, clears the surrounding reefs, and makes for the mainland to skirt along its shore. The paddles gently clank as they are drawn along the g\mwales, and the men grunt at each powerful stroke, while the light on the water dances, and long eddying ripples sweep out on either side over the glassy surface. Away down in.the south lives a chief called Homar. Living as he does on a tiny island., Anuta. in the south of the Maramasike Passage, he depends for his food on fish ing. And the fishing being bad. after consulting the usual witch doctor, it is discovered that an evil spell has been cast over the fishing nets by a man at Bedimannu, away up- the coast, so that the nets come up dripping, but empty of fish. The oniy course is to kill this man, and with true island simplicity and directness Homar offers so many pigs to be pa;a for the head of the offender. News like this travels fast and far, and so from distant Kwai in the early morning that canoe stole off in search or blood money. Steadily it goes, and swiftly, on its murderous mission. passing the bay in which Urn lies hidden, then along the high land wlncn bounds Sinarango and its stately harbour—on, and on, till the sun rises in its strength. The arms of the paddlers move more slowly, and thenbacks as they bend forward on their grim quest are wet and streaming from the heat and toil. Then on past Ulimburi, the beautiful, which is so far unoccupied by the mission, keeping well out to the sea to clear the reef, and so at last to shelter in the perfect little harbour which nestles on the land side of Aiyo Island. The Christian school and teacher are south of the harbour, the north side being "devil's ground." They spent the night and rested, and as they sat round the fire that evening they perfected the details of the morrow's murder, while the smoke was curling and eddying to the rafters and blackened leaf above, to mingle with that from the ring of pipes glowing with hot embers from the blaze. Then a few hours of fitful sleep on the mats around the fire, a yawn, a stretch, and the day had come. South-bound still, they paddled swiftly past Mannaquoi, to gain the shelter of the bush at Bedimannu, in the half light of early morning. Skirting along close inshore, like a venomous black snake, they landed on the point. The canoe, carried up into the bush and hidden, left no tell-tale witness of the men who presently flitted along one by one like silent shadows between the mangrove trunks towards their unconscious prey. Out on a commanding rock stood a bronze statue, patiently casting with a long rod, into the green beneath, watching intently the flash of the fish deep down, with never a thought for the tangle of bush behind

him. One by one the murderers flickered across the open to shelter here and to cover the prey with gun and arrow. Unconscious of evil he

threw again, then there was a flash— another—a double report— and as the smoke cleared away the statue was gone, but on the rock there writhed and twisted a human being, making departure from the world. Then the bush disgorged the murderers, who with horrid cries threw themselves on the poor victim, and finished their dreadful work. A little later a canoe stole rapidly out from the point, and in it the blood-stained savages made a triumphant passage tip the coast, back to Kwai, heroes all. feted and admired wherever they went. There is no redress, except that the men in that bay lie lurking round the shores with spears in their hands and murder in their hearts for the first man who lands. That is the East Coast, that tells the atmosphere, at Kwai. Do you wonder now that it is anxious work living there?