When death does visit a village there is a terrible time of mourning, the women sit and cry round the death-bed all day, and in the streets they can be seen squatting in corners moaning. You can meet women all huddled up giving vent to the most despairing groans, and they look as if they were literally wrapped up in grief; yet they may have never cared a snap of the fingers for the dear departed. But it is the custom for the women to mourn; and a more awful sight and sound than this moaning cannot be heard. The men show very few signs of grief, and evidently trust to their women-folk to do a double share. When a woman loses her husband she goes into mourning and will on no account be disturbed; for this rite her dress varies; certainly she looks a terrible fright, and I’m not surprised at her shrinking from public gaze. There is a special dress and general attire for this state of grief. They shave their heads completely, cover themselves all over with charcoal, and then put on long petticoats with {47} tassels of seeds. They also cover their necks with necklaces and their arms with trinkets. Having done all this they retire into a corner of their hut and remain there, away from the gaze of the public, until their sorrow is worn out or they are tired of being alone. One thing noticeable is that, however loud their moaning is, however hard they are crying, they will always stop to answer any question you like to put to them about their “late lamented,” if you have courage enough to beard them and refuse to go away. Then, as soon as you have gained all the information you require, they will quickly resume their tears as if nothing had happened to interrupt them. But this is not unique to the savage of New Guinea. I have met with the same extraordinary species of grief amongst the women of Great Britain,—it is world-wide, this interruptable grief. {48} CHAPTER V Some native dances and queer costumes—Novel blackmailing methods—Woman’s vanity and a censured dance. For some reason, unknown to the ordinary layman, the Church has taken a dislike to nearly all forms of savage dancing, and many missionaries, brave and good fellows though they be, have seen evil in these performances where other less cultivated men have seen nothing that suggests immorality. But often what appears immoral to the Western mind is quite free from any such suggestion to the mind of the savage. I do not say that these natives are paragons of virtue and morality, but in deference to them it is only fair to say that they stick to their code of morals, though it is not ours and may seem rather lax to us. [Illustration 13: A KAIVAKUKU, RORO TRIBE, CENTRAL DIVISION, BRITISH NEW GUINEA]