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Toby Weston

Scala for Java Developers

A Practical Primer
Toby Weston
London, UK

Any source code or other supplementary material referenced by the

author in this book is available to readers on GitHub via the book's
product page, located at www.apress.com/9781484231074 . For
more detailed information, please visit
http://www.apress.com/source-code .

ISBN 978-1-4842-3107-4 e-ISBN 978-1-4842-3108-1

https://doi.org/10.1007/978-1-4842-3108-1

Library of Congress Control Number: 2017963118

© Toby Weston 2018

This work is subject to copyright. All rights are reserved by the

Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned,
specifically the rights of translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations,
recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on microfilms or in any other
physical way, and transmission or information storage and retrieval,
electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar
methodology now known or hereafter developed.

Trademarked names, logos, and images may appear in this book.

Rather than use a trademark symbol with every occurrence of a
trademarked name, logo, or image we use the names, logos, and
images only in an editorial fashion and to the benefit of the
trademark owner, with no intention of infringement of the
trademark. The use in this publication of trade names, trademarks,
service marks, and similar terms, even if they are not identified as
such, is not to be taken as an expression of opinion as to whether
or not they are subject to proprietary rights.

While the advice and information in this book are believed to be

true and accurate at the date of publication, neither the authors nor
the editors nor the publisher can accept any legal responsibility for
any errors or omissions that may be made. The publisher makes no
warranty, express or implied, with respect to the material contained
herein.

Printed on acid-free paper

Distributed to the book trade worldwide by Springer

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the sole member (owner) is Springer Science + Business Media
Finance Inc (SSBM Finance Inc). SSBM Finance Inc is a Delaware
corporation.
In memory of Félix Javier García López
Preface
Audience
This book is for Java developers looking to transition to
programming in Scala.

The Structure of the Book

The book is split into four parts: a tour of Scala, a comparison
between Java and Scala, a closer look at Scala-specific features and
functional programming idioms, and finally a discussion about
adopting Scala into existing Java teams.
In Part I, we’re going to take a high-level tour of Scala. You’ll get
a feel for the language’s constructs and how Scala is similar in a lot
of ways to Java, yet very different in others. We’ll take a look at
installing Scala and using the interactive interpreter and we’ll go
through some basic syntax examples.
Part II talks about key differences between Java and Scala. We’ll
look at what’s missing in Scala compared to Java, vice versa, and
how concepts translate from one language to another.
Then in Part III, we’ll talk about some of the language features
that Scala offers that aren’t found in Java. This part also talks a
little about functional programming idioms.
Finally, we’ll talk about adopting Scala into legacy Java projects
and teams. It’s not always an easy transition, so we’ll look at why
you would want to, and some of the challenges you might face.

Compiling Code Fragments

Later in the book, I introduce the Scala REPL: an interactive tool for
working with Scala and the Scala version of Java’s JShell. You’ll see
REPL sessions prefixed with scala> .
When you do so, you can expect to be able to type in the code
following scala> in the REPL verbatim, hit enter, and see the
results. An example follows.

// an example REPL session

scala> val x = 6 * 9
x: Int = 54

If you don’t see the scala> prefix, assume the fragment may
depend on previous code examples. I’ve tried to introduce these
logically, balancing the need to show complete listings with trying to
avoid pages and pages of dry code listings.
If things don’t make sense, always refer to the full source code.
In short, you may find it useful to consult the full source while you
read.

Larger Fragments in the REPL

If you’d like to transpose some of the larger code fragments into
the REPL, you may notice compiler errors on hitting enter. The
REPL is geared up to evaluate a line at a time. Pasting larger
fragments or typing in long examples requires you to be in paste
mode .
Typing :paste enters paste mode, allowing you to type
multiple lines. Pressing Ctrl + D exits paste mode and
compiles the code.

scala> : paste
// Entering paste mode (ctrl-D to finish)
val x = 4
val y = 34
x + y * 2
// press Ctrl + D
res1: Int = 72

Infrequently, you may notice an ellipsis ( ... ) or triple question

marks ( ??? ) in code fragments. When you see this, it indicates
that the fragment is incomplete and will usually be followed by
additional code to fill in the blanks. It probably won’t compile. It’s
used when I’ve felt that additional code would be uninteresting,
distracting, or when I’m building up examples.

Source Code
The source code for this book is available at GitHub:
https://github.com/tobyweston/learn-scala-java-
devs . You can clone the repository or download an archive directly
from the site.
The source code is licensed under Apache 2.0 open source
license.

Source Code Appendix

The book often includes partial code fragments in an attempt to
avoid reams of distracting “scaffolding” code. Code may refer to
previous fragments and this may not be immediately obvious. Try to
read the code as if each example builds on what’s gone before.
If this style isn’t for you, I’ve also included a code listing
appendix. This offers complete listings for the more complex code,
in case you want to see all the code in one place. It’s not there to
pad out the book. Honest.
Acknowledgments
Thanks go out to James Maggs, Alex Luker, Rhys Keepence and
Xuemin Guan for their feedback on early drafts and Lee Benfield for
building the excellent CFR decompiler and sharing it with the
community.
Additionally, thank you to Amy Brown for providing an early
copyedit of this book.
Table of Contents
Part I: Scala Tour 1

Chapter 1:​The Scala Language

As a Functional Programming Language

The Past

The Future

Chapter 2:​Installing Scala

Getting Started

The Scala Interpreter

Scala Scripts

scalac

Chapter 3:​Some Basic Syntax

Defining Values and Variables

Defining Functions

Operator Overloading and Infix Notation

Collections

Tuples

Java Interoperability​

Primitive Types
Chapter 4:​Scala’s Class Hierarchy

AnyVal

Unit

AnyRef

Bottom Types

Chapter 5:​ScalaDoc

Chapter 6:​Language Features

Working with Source Code

Working with Methods

Functional Programming

Chapter 7:​Summary

Part II: Key Syntactical Differences 39

Chapter 8:​Classes and Fields

Creating Classes

Derived Setters and Getters

Redefining Setters and Getters

Summary

Chapter 9:​Classes and Objects

Classes Without Constructor Arguments

Additional Constructors
 Using Default Values

Singleton Objects

Companion Objects

Other Uses for Companion Objects

Chapter 10:​Classes and Functions

Anonymous Functions

Anonymous Classes

First-class Functions

Passing in Functions

Returning Functions

Storing Functions

Function Types

Functions vs.​Methods

Lambdas vs.​Closures

Chapter 11:​Inheritance

Subtype Inheritance

Anonymous Classes

Interfaces/​Traits

Methods on Traits

Converting Anonymous Classes to Lambdas

 Concrete Fields on Traits

Abstract Fields on Traits

Abstract Classes

Polymorphism

Traits vs.​Abstract Classes

Deciding Between the Options

Chapter 12:​Control Structures

Conditionals

Ifs and Ternaries

Switch Statements

Looping Structures:​do, while and for

Breaking Control Flow (break and continue)

Exceptions

Chapter 13:​Generics

Parametric Polymorphism

Class Generics

Method Generics

Stack Example

Bounded Classes

Upper Bounds (<U extends T>)

 Lower Bounds (<U super T>)

Wildcard Bounds (<?​extends T, <?​super T>)

Multiple Bounds

Variance

Invariance

Covariance

Contravariance

Variance Summary

Part III: Beyond Java to Scala 141

Chapter 14:​Faking Function Calls

The apply Method

The update Method

Multiple update Methods

Multiple Arguments to update

Summary

Chapter 15:​Faking Language Constructs

Curly Braces (and Function Literals)

Higher-Order Functions

Higher-Order Functions with Curly Braces

Call-by-Name
 Currying

Scala Support for Curried Functions

Summary

Chapter 16:​Pattern Matching

Switching

Patterns

Literal Matches

Constructor Matches

Type Query

Deconstruction Matches and unapply

Why Write Your Own Extractors?​

Guard Conditions

Chapter 17:​Map and FlatMap

Mapping Functions

It’s Like foreach

FlatMap

Not Just for Collections

Chapter 18:​Monads

Basic Definition

Option
 The map Function

Option.​get

Option.​getOrElse

Monadically Processing Option

The Option.​flatMap Function

More Formal Definition

Summary

Chapter 19:​For Comprehensions

Where We Left Off

Using Null Checks

Using flatMap with Option

How For Comprehensions Work

Finally, Using a For Comprehension for Shipping Labels

Summary

Part IV: Adopting Scala in Java Teams 197

Chapter 20:​Adopting Scala

Avoid Not Enough

Don’t Do Too Much

Purely Functional FTW?​

Chapter 21:​What to Expect

 The Learning Curve

The Learning Continuum

Goals

Chapter 22:​Tips

Be Clear

Get Guidance

Have a Plan

Chapter 23:​Convert Your Codebase

Chapter 24:​Manage Your Codebase

Conventions

What to Avoid

Other Challenges

Appendix A: Code Listings

Inheritance

Subtype Inheritance in Java

Anonymous Classes in Java

Subtype Inheritance in Scala

Anonymous Classes in Scala

Generics

Lower Bounds in Java

Multiple Bounds in Java

Lower Bounds in Scala

Multiple Bounds in Scala

Pattern Matching

Constructor Matches

Deconstruction Matches and Unapply

Map

Mapping Functions

FlatMap

Appendix B: Syntax Cheat Sheet

Index
About the Author and About the
Technical Reviewer
About the Author
Toby Weston
is an independent software developer based in London. He
specializes in Java and Scala development, working in agile
environments. He’s a keen blogger and writer, having written for
JAXenter and authored the books Essential Acceptance Testing
(Leanpub) and Learning Java Lambdas (Pact).

About the Technical Reviewer

Jeff Friesen
is a freelance teacher and software developer with an emphasis on
Java. In addition to authoring Java I/O, NIO and NIO.2 (Apress) and
Java Threads and the Concurrency Utilities (Apress), Jeff has written
numerous articles on Java and other technologies (such as Android)
for JavaWorld ( JavaWorld.com ), informIT ( informIT.com ),
Java.net, SitePoint ( SitePoint.com ), and other websites. Jeff
can be contacted via his website at JavaJeff.ca . or via his
LinkedIn profile ( www.linkedin.com/in/javajeff ).
Part I
Scala Tour
Scala Tour
Welcome to Scala for Java Developers: A Practical Primer. This book
will help you transition from programming in Java to programming
in Scala. It’s designed to help Java developers get started with
Scala without necessarily adopting all of the more advanced
functional programming idioms.
Scala is both an object-oriented language and a functional
language and, although I do talk about some of the advantages of
functional programming, this book is more about being productive
with imperative Scala than getting to grips with functional
programming. If you’re already familiar with Scala but are looking to
make the leap to pure functional programming, this probably isn’t
the book for you. Check out the excellent Functional Programming
in Scala 1 by Paul Chiusano and Rúnar Bjarnason instead.
The book often compares “like-for-like” between Java and Scala.
So, if you’re familiar with doing something a particular way in Java,
I’ll show how you might do the same thing in Scala. Along the way,
I’ll introduce the Scala language syntax.
Footnotes
1 http://amzn.to/1Aegnwj
© Toby Weston 2018
Toby Weston, Scala for Java Developers, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-1-4842-
3108-1_1

1. The Scala Language

Toby Weston1
(1) London, UK

Scala is both a functional programming language and an object-

oriented programming language. As a Java programmer, you’ll be
comfortable with the object-oriented definition: Scala has classes,
objects, inheritance, composition, polymorphism—all the things
you’re used to in Java.
In fact, Scala goes somewhat further than Java. There are no
“non”-objects. Everything is an object, so there are no primitive
types like int and no static methods or fields. Functions are objects
and even values are objects.
Scala can be accurately described as a functional programming
language because it allows and promotes the use of techniques
important in functional programming. It provides language level
features for things like immutability and programming functions
without side effects.
Traditional functional programming languages like Lisp or Haskel
only allow you to program using these techniques. These are often
referred to as pure functional programming languages. Scala is not
pure in this sense; it’s a hybrid. For example, you can still work with
mutable data, leverage the language to work with immutable data,
or do both. This is great for flexibility and easy adoption but not too
great for consistency and uniformity of design.
As a Functional Programming Language
In general, functional programming languages support:
1. First-class and higher-order functions.

2. Anonymous functions (lambdas).

3. Pure functions and immutable data.

It can be argued that Java supports these characteristics and

certainly Java has been trying to provide better support. However,
any movement in this direction has felt like an after thought and
has generally resulted in verbose syntax or tension with existing
idioms and language APIs.
It is unlikely that people will ever describe Java as a functional
programming language despite it’s advancements. Partly because
it’s clunky to use in this style and partly because of it’s long history
as an object-oriented language.
Scala on the other hand was designed as a functional
programming language from day one. It has better language
constructs and library support so it feels more natural when coding
in a functional style. For example, it has keywords to define
immutable values and the library collection classes are all
immutable by default.

The Past
Scala started life in 2001 as a research project at EPFL in
Switzerland. It was released publicly in 20041 after an internal
release in 2003. The project was headed by Martin Odersky, who’d
previously worked on Java generics and the Java compiler for Sun
Microsystems.
 It’s quite rare for an academic language to cross over into
industry, but Odersky and others launched Typesafe Inc. (later
renamed Lightbend Inc.), a commercial enterprise built around
Scala. Since then, Scala has moved firmly into the mainstream as a
development language.
Scala offers a more concise syntax than Java but runs on the
JVM. Running on the JVM should (in theory) mean an easy migration
to production environments; if you already have the Oracle JVM
installed in your production environment, it makes no difference if
the bytecode was generated from the Java or Scala compiler.
It also means that Scala has Java interoperability built in, which
in turn means that Scala can use any Java library. One of Java’s
strengths over its competitors was always the huge number of open
source libraries and tools available. These are pretty much all
available to Scala too. The Scala community has that same open
source mentality, and so there’s a growing number of excellent
Scala libraries out there.

The Future
Scala has definitely moved into the mainstream as a popular
language. It has been adopted by lots of big companies including
Twitter, eBay, Yahoo, HSBC, UBS, and Morgan Stanley, and it’s
unlikely to fall out of favour anytime soon. If you’re nervous about
using it in production, don’t be; it’s backed by an international
organization and regularly scores well in popularity indexes.
The tooling is still behind Java though. Powerful IDEs like
IntelliJ’s IDEA and Eclipse make refactoring Java code
straightforward but aren’t quite there yet for Scala. The same is
true of compile times: Scala is a lot slower to compile than Java.
These things will improve over time and, on balance, they’re not the
biggest hindrances I encounter when developing.
Scala’s future is tied to the future of the JVM and the JVM is still
going strong. Various other functional languages are emerging
however; Kotlin and Clojure in particular are interesting and may
compete. If you’re not interested in JVM based languages but just
the benefits of functional programming, Haskel and ELM are
becoming more widely adopted in industry.

Footnotes
1 See Odersky, “A Brief History of Scala” on Artima and wikipedia for more background.
© Toby Weston 2018
Toby Weston, Scala for Java Developers, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-1-4842-
3108-1_2

2. Installing Scala
Toby Weston1
(1) London, UK

Getting Started
There are a couple of ways to get started with Scala .
1. Run Scala interactively with the interpreter.

2. Run shorter programs as shell scripts.

3. Compile programs with the scalac compiler.

The Scala Interpreter

Before working with an IDE, it’s probably worth getting familiar with
the Scala interpreter , or REPL .
Download the latest Scala binaries (from http://scala-
lang.org/downloads ) and extract the archive. Assuming you
have Java installed, you can start using the interpreter from a
command prompt or terminal window straight away. To start up the
interpreter, navigate to the exploded folder and type1
 bin/scala

You’ll be faced with the Scala prompt.

scala> _

You can type commands followed by enter, and the interpreter

will evaluate the expression and print the result. It reads,
evaluates, and prints in a loop so it’s known as a REPL.
If you type 42*4 and hit enter, the REPL evaluates the input
and displays the result.

scala> 42*4
res0: Int = 168

In this case, the result is assigned to a variable called res0. You

can go on to use this, for example, to get half of res0.

scala> res0 / 2 res1: Int = 84

The new result is assigned to res1.

Notice the REPL also displays the type of the result: res0 and
res1 are both integers (Int). Scala has inferred the types based
on the values.
If you add res1 to the end of a string, no problem; the new
result object is a string.

scala> "Hello Prisoner " + res1 res2: String

= Hello Prisoner 84

To quit the REPL, type

:quit

The REPL is a really useful tool for experimenting with Scala

without having to go to the effort of creating the usual project files.
It’s so useful that the community provided a Java REPL2 as far back
as 2013. Interestingly, Oracle followed suit and introduced the
official Java REPL called JShell in Java 9 in 2017.

Scala Scripts
The creators of Scala originally tried to promote the use of Scala
from Unix shell scripts . As competition to Perl, Groovy, or bash
scripts on Unix environments it didn’t really take off, but if you want
to you can create a shell script to wrap Scala.

1 #!/bin/sh
2 exec scala "$0" "$@"
3 !#
4 object HelloWorld {
5 def main(args: Array[String]) {
6 println("Hello, " + args.toList)
7 }
8 }
9 HelloWorld.main(args)

Don’t worry about the syntax or what the script does (although
I’m sure you’ve got a pretty good idea already). The important thing
to note is that some Scala code has been embedded in a shell script
and that the last line is the command to run.
You’d save it as a .sh file—for example, hello.sh—and
execute it like this:

./hello.sh World!

The exec command on line 2 spawns a process to call scala

with arguments; the first is the script filename itself (hello.sh)
and the second is the arguments to pass to the script. The whole
thing is equivalent to running Scala like this, passing in a shell script
as an argument:

scala hello.sh World!

 Another Random Document on
Scribd Without Any Related Topics
patterns (scratched on their surfaces) which resemble those used in
ornamenting the similar lime boxes of New Guinea, Borneo, and
Sumatra.[123] The ornamental dance-clubs of Bougainville Straits
exactly resemble the clubs from New Ireland and possess those
singular distorted representations of the human face which
characterise New Ireland ornamentation.
[123] Exhibited in the British Museum Ethnological collection.

Caution is required in studying the modes of ornamentation of these

islanders. The remark made by the Rev. Mr. Lawes, in reference to
the women of the Motu tribe in New Guinea,[124] that they are glad
to get new tattooing patterns from the printed calicoes, is equally
applicable to some of the Solomon Island natives. On one occasion I
was gravely informed by a native, as a fact likely to add to their
interest, that some designs I was copying had this origin.
[124] Journ. Anthrop. Inst. vol. VIII., p. 369.

The Solomon Island songs, although often monotonous to the

cultivated ear, appeared to me to be in consonance with the wild
character of these islanders. Often when I have stopped to rest and
enjoy a pipe in the midst of my excursions, it may have been beside
a stream in the wood or on the edge of a tall cliff overlooking the
sea, my native companions have sat down and commenced their
monotonous chanting, which, discordant as it may have sometimes
seemed to me, appeared to be in unison with my surroundings. Now
raised to a high key, now sinking to a low, subdued drone, now
hurried, now slow and measured, these rude notes recalled to my
mind rather the sounds of the inanimate world around me, such as
the sighing of the wind among the trees or the shrill whistle of the
gale, the noise of the surf on the reef or the rippling of the waves on
the beach, the rushing of a mountain torrent or the murmuring of a
rivulet in its bed. My thoughts at such times recurred to those
unpolished ages in the history of nations when the bard attuned his
melody to the voices of the waves, the streams, and the wind, and
found in the mist or in the cloud his expression for the shadowy
unknown. At no time have the poems of Ossian appeared to my
mind to be invested with greater beauty than when I have been
standing in solitude in some inland dell or on some lofty hill-top in
these regions. The song of the bard of Selma, despite its
ruggedness, on such occasions, appealed more powerfully to my
imagination than many more finished verses, and seemed more in
keeping with scenes that owed to man nothing, remaining as they
had been for ages, Nature’s handiwork.
Frequently whilst descending some steep hill-slope or whilst
following the downward course of a ravine, my natives were wont to
make the woods echo with their shouts and their wild songs. The
natural impulse to make use of the vocal organs whilst descending a
mountain is worth a moment’s remark. Often I found myself
involuntarily shouting with my savage companions, when their loud
peals of laughter attracted my attention. Some years ago, when
visiting the Si-shan Mountains which lie behind the city of Kiukiang
on the south bank of the Yang-tse, I remember listening to the cries
of the Chinese wood-cutters as they returned in the evening down
the narrow gorges that led to their homes. As their shouts died away
in the higher parts of the mountain, the echo was caught by the
wood-cutters below, and was answered back in such a manner that
the men further down the gorges took up the cry.

WAR DANCE and CANNIBAL SONG.

 Play music.

No. 2.

Play music.

No. 3.
 Play music.

Note.—The vowels to be pronounced as follows: a as in

“tar,” e as in “obey,” i as in “ici,” o as in “so,” u as in
“rule.”

The training of natives of these islands by the Melanesian Mission at

Norfolk Island has shown that the compass of their voices and their
ear for music are capable of much cultivation. When staying with
Bishop Selwyn at Gaeta in the Florida Islands, I heard familiar hymn-
tunes sung with as true an appreciation of harmony as would be
found in the Sunday School of an English village, and sung by a
congregation of natives of both sexes, who, with the exception of
their teachers, had never left their island.
During our lengthened sojourn in Bougainville Straits, we became
very familiar with the popular tunes of the natives; and through the
exertions of Mr. Isabell, I have been able to reproduce in this work
three of the commonest airs.[125] The songs are usually sung in
chorus, and a droning accompaniment is often introduced by some
of the men which is especially well given in the second tune. There
appear to be four or five common airs. All are short and most of
them have refrains which are repeated over and over again. The first
tune is a cannibal song and is sung at the war dances. Its words, as
I learned from Gorai, the Shortland chief, are the address of a man
to his enemy, in which he informs him of his intention to kill and eat
him. The second tune, though not possessing words, is often sung
or rather chanted by the men. When sung by a number of persons,
its wild music is to an imaginative mind very suggestive of the
savage life. I have heard it sung by about forty men whilst passing
the night with them in the village of Sinasoro in Faro Island. The
tambu-house, in which we were, was dimly lighted, and the natives
were squatting around a wood-fire chanting their wild song in
chorus, and terminating it in a fashion that sounded very abrupt to
the white man’s ear. The third tune is a pretty air which the men of
the “Lark” used to play with the concertina in waltz time. The words,
accompanying it, have a music of their own. I learned from the
natives of Treasury Island that this tune was brought from Meoko
(Duke of York Islands) not long since.
[125] Mr. Isabell was indebted for assistance to Mr. Tremaine of Auckland,
N.Z.

The Pandean pipe is the musical instrument in common use amongst

the natives of the Islands of Bougainville Straits. I did not notice it in
St. Christoval and the adjacent islands at the other end of the group,
where it is either not known or but rarely used. The distribution of
this instrument in the Pacific is interesting. It is figured by D’Albertis
in his work on New Guinea, and there are specimens in the British
Museum Collection from Brumer’s Island off this coast, as well as
from the Admiralty Islands, the New Hebrides, the Tonga Group, and
New Zealand. The instruments from all these localities are
distinguished from the Solomon Island pan-pipe by the reeds being
arranged in a single row and being of a much smaller size. They are
also more neatly made. Those used by the Treasury and Shortland
natives are composed of a double row of from 6 to 8 reeds, the
second row being merely added to give support to the instrument.
The longest reed is usually a foot in length and three quarters of an
inch in bore; whilst the shortest reed is about 5 inches long and
rather less than half an inch in bore. Some natives prefer
instruments having twice this length. The Pandean pipes, played at
the public dances of Alu, are of very large size, the length of the
longest reed of one which I measured being between 31⁄2 and 4
feet. At such performances, the air is given by the smaller pipes;
whilst the bass notes of the larger pipes form a droning but
harmonious accompaniment. The music of these instruments, being
in the usual contracted compass, is of a somewhat monotonous
character. Those of Treasury Island are said to be only adapted for
playing one tune, which is the second air given on the page. I learn
from Mr. Isabell, who was interested in this matter, that the natives
vary the number of reeds in the instrument according to the air it is
intended to play. The musician accompanies his melody with a
nodding of the head and a swaying of the body on the hips,
movements which are anything but expressive and are in fact rather
ludicrous.
Jew’s harps of foreign manufacture are much in demand amongst
persons of both sexes and all ages throughout the Solomon Group.
In the eastern islands they fashion them of bamboo, as in the New
Hebrides and New Guinea;[126] but I did not observe any native-
made instruments amongst the people of Bougainville Straits. The
women of Treasury Island produce a similar though softer kind of
music by playing, somewhat after the fashion of a Jew’s harp, on a
lightly made fine-stringed bow about 15 inches long. This is held to
the lips and the string is gently struck with the fingers, the cavity of
the mouth serving as a resonator. . . . That school-boy’s delight, the
“paper-and-comb instrument,” finds its counterpart in these islands.
On one occasion, when I was enjoying a pipe and watching the surf
on the south coast of Stirling Island, a young lad, who accompanied
me, amused himself with some rude music by holding in front of his
lips, as he hummed a native air, a thick leaf in which he had made a
hole about half an inch wide, leaving the thin transparent epidermis
intact on one side; the vibration of this thin membrane gave a
peculiar twang to his voice.
[126] Mr. Mosely in his “Notes by a Naturalist” gives an illustration of a
Jew’s harp from the New Hebrides.

The drum in common use in the different islands we visited was

made of a portion of the trunk of a tree, 8 to 10 feet long, hollowed
out in its interior and possessing a slit in the middle. It is placed
lengthways on the ground, and is struck by two short sticks. Similar
drums are employed by the inhabitants of the New Hebrides[127] and
the Admiralty Islands.[128] This pattern may therefore be described
as the Melanesian drum. A kind of sounding-board, placed in a pit in
the ground and struck by the feet of the dancers, is described in my
account of the dances of these islanders (vide page 144).
[127] “A year in the New Hebrides” by F. A Campbell, p. 108. The drums
are placed erect in the earth.
[128] Mosely’s “Notes by a Naturalist on the ‘Challenger,’” p. 471.

As conches, the two large shells, Triton and Cassis are commonly
used. For this purpose, a hole is pierced for the lips on the side of
the spire.
Dancing is performed on very different occasions in these islands.
Besides the war, funeral, and festal dances, there are others which
partake of a lascivious character both in the words of the
accompanying chant and in the movements of the hands and body.
Whilst visiting the small island of Santa Catalina, I saw one of these
dances performed by young girls from 10 to 14 years of age. An
explanation of their reluctance to commence, which at first from my
ignorance of what was to follow I was at a loss to understand, soon
offered itself in the character of the dance, and evidently arose from
a natural sense of modesty that appeared strange when associated
with their subsequent performance. There are, however, other
dances, purely sportive in their nature. Of such a kind were some
which were performed for my benefit at the village of Gaeta in the
Florida Islands. About twenty lads, having formed a ring around a
group of their companions squatting in the centre, began to walk
slowly round, tapping the ground with their left feet at every other
step, and keeping time with a dismal drone chanted by the central
group of boys. Every now and then the boys of the ring bent forward
on one knee towards those in the middle, while at the same time
they clapped their hands and made a peculiar noise between a hiss
and a sneeze: the chant then became more enlivening and the
dancing more spirited. On the following day the women of the
village took part in a dance which was very similar to that of the
boys, except that there was no central group, and that they wore
bunches of large beans around the left ankle which made a rattling
noise when they tapped the ground at every other step with the left
foot. Bishop Selwyn, to whom I was indebted for the opportunity of
witnessing these dances in the village of Gaeta, informed me that in
the Florida Islands, dancing is often more or less of a profession,
troupes of dancers making lengthened tours through the different
islands of this sub-group.

During a great feast that was held in the island of Treasury, the
following dance was performed. Between thirty and forty women
and girls stood in a ring around a semi-circular pit, 5 feet across,
which was sunk about 4 feet in the ground. A board, which was
fixed in the pit about half way down, covered it in with the exception
of a notch at its border. On this board stood two women, and as
they danced they stamped with their feet, producing a dull hollow
sound, to which the women of the circle timed their dancing, which
consisted in bending their bodies slightly forward, gently swaying
from side to side, and raising their feet alternately. All the while, the
dancers sang in a spirited style different native airs. Now and then, a
pair of women would dance slowly round outside the circle, holding
before them their folded pandanus mats which all the performers
carried.[129]
[129] The employment of a hole in the ground as a resonator does not
appear to be common. Mr. Mosely in his “Notes by a Naturalist,” p. 309,
refers to a somewhat similar use of holes in the ground by the Fijians who
place a log-drum of light wood over three holes and strike it with a
wooden mallet.
I was present at a dance given on one occasion at Alu, preparatory
to a great feast which was about to be held. Soon after sunset the
natives began to assemble on the beach, and when Gorai, the chief,
arrived on the scene, between thirty and forty men arranged
themselves in a circle, each carrying his pan-pipe. They began by
playing an air in slow time, accompanying the music by a slight
swaying motion of the body, and by alternately raising each foot.
Then the notes became more lively and the movements of the
dancers more brisk. The larger pipes took the part of the bass in a
rude but harmonious symphony, whilst the monotonous air was
repeated without much variation in the higher key of the smaller
instruments. At times one of the younger men stopped in the centre
of the ring, tomahawk in hand, and whilst he assumed a half-
stooping posture, with his face looking upwards, the musicians dwelt
on the same note which became gradually quicker and louder, whilst
the dancing became more brisk, until, when the tip-toe of
expectation was apparently reached, and one was beginning to feel
that something ought to happen, the man in the centre who had
been hitherto motionless, swung back a leg, stuck his tomahawk in
the ground, and one’s feelings were relieved by the dull monotone
suddenly breaking off into a lively native air. . . On another occasion,
I was present at a funeral or mourning dance, which was held in
connection with the death of the principal wife of the Alu chief. It will
be found described on page 48.
I will conclude this chapter by alluding to a favourite game of the
Treasury boys which reminded me somewhat of our English game of
peg-tops. An oval pebble about two inches long is placed on a leaf
on the ground. Each boy then takes a similar pebble, around which a
piece of twine is wound; and standing about eight feet away, he
endeavours in the following manner to throw it so as to fall on the
pebble on the ground. The end of the twine is held between his
fingers; and as the twine uncoils, he jerks it backwards and brings
his pebble with considerable force on top of the other.
 CHAPTER VIII.
CANOES—FISHING—HUNTING.

n the eastern islands of the Solomon Group there is a

I considerable uniformity in the construction of the canoe. “Dug-

out” canoes are rarely to be seen, except in the sheltered
waters of some such harbour as that of Makira, when they are
provided with outriggers. In the case of the built canoes,
outriggers are not employed, and, in truth, the general absence of
outriggers is characteristic of this group. The small-sized canoe,
which is in common use amongst the natives of St. Christoval and
the adjacent islands, measures fifteen or sixteen feet in length and
carries three men. The side is built of two planks; whilst two
narrower planks form the rounded bottom. Both stem and stern are
prolonged upwards into beaks which are rudely carved; whilst the
gunwale towards either end is ornamented with representations both
of fishes, such as sharks and bonitos, and of sea-birds. The planks
are sewn together, and the seams are covered over with a resinous
substance that is obtained from the fruit of the Parinarium laurinum
which is a common tree throughout the group. This resinous
material takes some weeks to dry, when it becomes dark and hard.
Of the larger canoes, which are similarly constructed, I will take as
the type the war-canoe. Its length is usually from 35 to 40 feet: its
sides are of three planks; and the keel is flat, the stem and stern
being continued upwards in the form of beaks. Native decorative
talent is brought into play in the decoration of the war-canoe. Its
sides are inlaid with pieces, usually triangular in form, of the pearl-
shell of commerce (Meleagrina margaritifera); and the small and
large opercula belonging to shells of the Turbinidæ with flat spiral
discs produced by grinding down ordinary Cone-shells (Conidæ) are
similarly employed. Along the stem and beak there is usually
attached a string of the handsome white cowries (Ovulum ovum), or
of the pretty white Natica (Natica mamilla). In the island of Simbo or
Eddystone, where these shells are used in a similar manner to
decorate the large canoes, the white cowry marks the canoes of the
chiefs; whilst the Natica shell decorates those of the rest of the
people.
The pretty little outrigger canoes of Makira on the St. Christoval
coast are only nine inches across; and the native sits on a board,
resting on the gunwales of his small craft. From one side there
stretch out two slender poles four or five feet in length and
supporting at their outer ends a long wooden float which runs
parallel with the canoe.
The war-canoes have the reputation amongst resident traders of
being good sea-boats. They frequently make the passage between
Malaita and Ugi, traversing a distance of about thirty miles exposed
to the full force of the Pacific swell. A similarly exposed but much
longer passage of ninety miles is successfully accomplished by the
war-canoes of Santa Catalina, when the natives of this small island
pay their periodical visits to a friendly tribe on the coast of Malaita.
Skilfully managed, even the smaller canoes, which carry two or three
persons, will behave well in a moderately heavy sea. I frequently
used them and had practical experience of the dexterity with which
they are handled. On one occasion I was coasting along the west
side of the island of Simbo in an overladen canoe; and there was
just enough “lop” and swell to make the chances even as to whether
we should have to swim for it or not. It was astonishing to see the
various manœuvres employed by my natives to keep our little craft
afloat—now smoothing off with the blade of the paddle the top of
the wave as it rose to the gunwale, now dodging the swell and
taking full advantage of its onward roll, now putting a leg over each
side to increase the stability of the canoe; by such devices, in
addition to continuous baling, I managed to escape the
unpleasantness of a ducking.
Although the larger canoes of the Solomon Islanders are apparently
suited to the requirements of the natives, yet the want of an
outrigger must be often felt, especially in making the unprotected
sea passages from one island to another. The natives of Bougainville
Straits who, as referred to below, occasionally fit their war-canoes,
when heavy laden, with temporary outriggers of stout bamboo
poles, must evidently be aware of the deficiencies of their canoes,
unless thus provided: yet for some reason or other they make no
general use of this contrivance. Bishop Patteson in 1866 was
surprised to see on the St. Christoval coast an outrigger canoe which
had been built by the natives after the model of a canoe that had
been drifted over from Santa Cruz some years before.[130] He says
that the natives found it more serviceable than their own canoes for
catching large fish: yet in 1882 after a lapse of sixteen years, we
found no signs of this style of canoe having been adopted by the St.
Christoval natives. It seems to me that the explanation of the
outrigger canoe not being generally employed by the natives of
these islands lies in the arrangement of the larger islands of this
group in a double line enclosing a comparatively sheltered sea 350
miles in length, which is, to a great extent, protected from the ocean
swell. Thus, the head-hunting voyages of the New Georgia natives to
the eastward, which may extend to Malaita 150 miles distant, are
entirely confined to these sheltered waters. The passages between
Malaita and the eastern islands, which I have referred to above, are,
however, in great part exposed; but they are only undertaken in very
settled weather.
[130] “Life of Bishop Patteson,” p. 126 (S.P.C.K. pub.).

On account of the frequent communication which is kept up between

the different islands of Bougainville Straits, where open-sea passage
of from 15 to 25 miles have to be performed, the larger canoes are
in more common use and in greater number than in the eastern
islands of the group. These large canoes vary in length between 40
and 50 feet, are between 31⁄2 and 4 feet in beam, can carry from 18
to 25 men, and are paddled double-banked. They are stoutly built
with three lines of side-planking and two narrow planks forming the
bottom of the canoe: all the planks are bevelled off at their edges
and are brought, or rather sewn, together by narrow strips of the
slender stems of a pretty climbing fern (Lygonia sp.), the “asama” of
the natives, which have the pliancy and strength of rattan. The
seams are caulked with the same resinous material that is employed
for this purpose in the eastern islands, and is obtained from the
brown nearly spherical fruits of the “tita” of the native, the
Parinarium laurinum of the botanist.[131]
[131] The resin of this fruit is used for the same purpose in Isabel and
probably throughout the group. It is similarly used in the Admiralty
Islands. Narrative of the “Challenger,” page 719.

The natives of Bougainville Straits do not decorate their canoes to

any great extent; and in this they differ from those of St. Christoval,
who, as I have remarked, ornament the prows and gunwales with
carvings of fish and sea-birds, and inlay the sides with pearl-shell.
The stems and sterns of the large canoes of Faro and of Choiseul
Bay are continued up in the form of high beaks, which rise 12 to 15
feet above the water. I was at first at a loss to find the explanation
of these high beaks, which give the canoes of Bougainville Straits
such a singular appearance. In the narratives of the voyages of
Bougainville and Surville who observed those high-beaked canoes,
the former at Choiseul Bay in 1768,[132] and the latter at Port Praslin,
in Isabel, in 1769,[133] we find the explanation required, which is,
that these high prows, when the canoe is turned end on to the
enemy, afford shelter against arrows and other missiles.
[132] “Voyage autour du Monde:” 2nd edit. augment. Paris, 1772; Vol. II.,
p. 187. In this work there is an engraving of one of these canoes.
[133] “Discoveries of the French to the South-East of New Guinea,” by M.
Fleurieu. London, 1791 (p. 139).

For sea-passages, greater stability is sometimes given to the large

canoes of the Straits, by temporarily fitting them with an outrigger
on each side, in the form of a bundle of stout bamboos lashed to the
projecting ends of three bamboo poles placed across the gunwales
of the canoe. The large canoes, in crossing from one island to the
other in the Straits, employ often a couple of small lug-sails which
are made from calico or light canvas obtained from the traders. I
never saw any sails of native material: but it was worthy of remark
that in 1792, when Dentrecasteaux approached close to the west
coast of the Shortland Islands, he noticed “large canoes under sail,”
which, to quote directly from the narrative, “annonçoient une
navigation active dans cet archipel d’îles extrêmement petites.”[134]
Why the natives of these Straits no longer employ sails of their own
manufacture, it is difficult to say. The very recent introduction of
trade calico cannot have caused them to be set aside for those of
the new material, since when a native wants to have a sail, and has
no calico, he has no recourse to sails of his own manufacture.
Rather, it would appear, that the canoes under sail, which navigated
these Straits a century ago, belonged to a people more enterprising
than the present inhabitants of these islands.
[134] “Voyage de Dentrecasteaux,” rédigé par. M. de Rossel, Paris, 1808:
tom. I, p. 117.

To the stem of the canoe, just above the water-line, is sometimes

attached a small misshapen wooden figure, which is the little tutelar
deity that sees the hidden rock, and gives warning of an
approaching foe. One of these figures is shown in the accompanying
illustration. They are similarly employed by the natives of the
adjacent island of Simbo, and of other islands in this part of the
group. Often they are double-headed, so that the little deity may
keep a watchful look-out astern as well as ahead; and then they are
placed on the tops of the high beaks of the Faro canoes. Probably
the Chinese custom of painting eyes on the sides of the bows of the
junks, and the similar practice of the Maltese, in the case of their
boats, may date back to the little gods of wood that were attached
to the bows and stems of the canoes of their barbarous
predecessors. The origin of the figure-heads of our ships may
perhaps be traced back to times of savagery when a similar
superstitious practice prevailed.
“Dug-out” canoes are only to be found in the sheltered waters of
Treasury Harbour. They are from 16 to 18 feet long, are provided
with an outrigger, and are so narrow that the occupant sits on a
board placed on the gunwales with only his feet and legs inside the
canoe. In the quiet waters of the anchorage at Simbo, the natives
make use of a raft of poles lashed together somewhat after the
manner of a catamaran, such as I have seen on the coast of
Formosa.
A few remarks on the mode of paddling, and on the paddles
employed, may be here fitting. The long tapering blade,[135] which is
in common use in the eastward islands, gives place in Bougainville
Straits to the oval and sub-circular blades. All the paddles which I
saw had cross-handles. Those used by the women of the Straits are
unusually light, more finished, and are sometimes decorated with
patterns in red and black. According to the length of the journey,
one or other of two styles of progression is adopted. In short
distances, they often proceed by a succession of spurts with a stroke
of 60 and more to the minute, each spurt lasting a few minutes, and
being followed by a short interval of rest. In longer distances they
employ a slower stroke of from 40 to 50 to the minute, which is
varied by occasional spurts. On one occasion when taking a journey
of 12 miles in a war canoe, I was much struck with the different
kinds of strokes by which my crew of eighteen men varied their
exertions. They usually paddled along easily at about 50 strokes to
the minute: but every ten or fifteen minutes they began a series of
spurts, each spurt beginning with a short sharp stroke of about 60 to
the minute, and passing into a slow strong stroke of about 28 to the
minute. After a succession of these spurts, which occupied
altogether about five minutes, they settled down again into their
previous easy stroke of 50 to the minute. Frequent stoppages occur
during the course of a long journey, either for enjoying a chew of
the betel-nut or for smoking a pipe; and the average speed, from
this reason, would not exceed three miles an hour, whilst a day’s
run, between daylight and dusk, in fine weather would be from 25 to
30 miles.
 [135] See illustration.

When a corpse is being transported in a canoe to its last resting-

place in the sea by the natives of the Shortlands, they adopt a
funeral stroke, pausing between each stroke of the paddle, and by a
slight back-water movement partly arresting the progress of the
canoe. I remember on one occasion, whilst watching a large canoe
starting from Ugi to the opposite coast of St. Christoval, remarking
their singular style of paddling. At every other stroke each man
raised his arm and paddle much higher in the air, and gave a
vigorous dig into the water, a very effective style as regards speed,
and one likely to impress a timid enemy with fear. . . . . Before
leaving this subject, I should refer to the paddling-posture of these
natives. All of them in the different islands we visited squat down
with their legs crossed, facing the bow. The New Guinea practice of
standing up to paddle a canoe did not come under my observation
except in the case of outrigger canoes, and in such canoes it was
not the rule. I should infer that the posture of sitting or standing to
paddle a canoe varies in accordance with the use of or non-
employment of an outrigger. If, as in the case of the Solomon Island
canoes, outriggers are rarely used, then the sitting posture will be
found to be the one adopted, since the unaided stability of the
canoe does not permit of the standing posture. If, on the other
hand, outriggers are usually employed, it follows that, as in certain
parts of New Guinea, the more effective posture of standing is
preferred.
As fish form a staple diet of a large proportion of these islanders,
much ingenuity is shown in the methods devised for catching them.
In the eastern part of the archipelago, kite-fishing is commonly
employed. A kite[136] is flown in the air from the end of a canoe, and
to it a fishing-line is attached in place of the usual tail. Whilst the
man in the canoe paddles slowly ahead, the movement of the kite
whisks the bait about on the surface of the water; and when the fish
bites, the kite goes down. Instead of a hook and bait, the natives
usually employ for this mode of fishing some stout spider-web,
which gets entangled around the teeth and snout of the fish, and
can be used several times. The explanation of this plan of catching
fish is probably as follows. The kite swaying in the air offers some
resemblance to an aquatic bird hovering over the water where a
shoal of small fish occurs. It thus attracts the larger fish, who are
said to follow the movements of these birds, and are thus guided in
the pursuit of the smaller fry. It is with this object that the natives of
the Society Group tie bunches of feathers to the extremities of the
long-curved poles which, projecting from the fore-part of the canoe,
support the lines.[137] As bearing on this subject, I may remark that
it is not uncommon in these seas to observe porpoises, large fish,
and sea-birds joining together in the pursuit of small fry. On one
occasion, when in my Rob Roy canoe, I got into the thick of the fray.
A large number of sea-birds were hovering over the water, which
was alive with fish, about a foot in length, which, in pursuit of small
fry, were themselves pursued by a shoal of porpoises, and were
pecked at by the birds as, in their endeavour to escape, they leapt
out of the water. It was a lively spectacle. The fish jumped out of the
water all around me, whilst the birds hovering within reach of my
paddle swooped down on them; and the huge porpoises, joining
lazily in the sport, rose quietly to the surface within a few feet of the
canoe, showed their dorsal fins, and dived again in pursuit of their
prey. I stupidly fired three shots with my revolver into the hovering
flock of birds; but it was not until after the third report that they
temporarily suspended the chase. . . . Another common method of
fishing in the eastern islands, which resembles in its idea that of the
kite-fishing, consists in the use of a float of wood about three feet in
length and rather bigger than a walking-stick. It is weighted by a
stone at one end, so that it floats upright in the water, a fishing-line
with the spider-web bait being attached to its lower end. The upper
end of the float, which is out of the water, is rudely cut in imitation
of a wading-bird; and here we have the same idea exhibited which I
have described above in the case of kite-fishing, the figure of the
bird being supposed to attract the larger fish. There is, however, this
difference. A glance at one of these floats, one of which is figured
elsewhere, will convince anyone that a fish is not likely to be
deceived by such a sorry representation of a bird. Doubtless we have
here an instance of the survival of a more effective method of
fishing, in which the idea has been retained, but the utility has been
lost. This plan is in fact nothing more than the employment of a
float, which is thrown into the water by the fisherman, who follows it
up in his canoe and looks out for its bob.
[136] Some of these kites, which I saw, had a form rudely representing a
bird with expanded wings. Others had a squarish form and were made of
palm leaf.
[137] Ellis’s “Polynesian Researches,” Vol. I., p. 149-50.

In the eastern islands the fishing spear is frequently employed. With

this weapon in his hand, the native wades in the shallow water on
the flats of the reefs, and hurls it at any passing fish. The night-time
is often chosen for this mode of fishing. A party of natives provided
with torches, spread themselves along the edge of the reef and
stand ready to throw their spears as the fish dart by them. During
the day, when the reef-flats at low-tide are covered only by a small
depth of water, the fishermen advance in a semicircle until a fish is
observed, when the two wings close in, and the fish is surrounded.
The kind of fish-spear which they use much resembles that which
Mr. Ellis describes in his account of the Society Islands.[138] As shown
in the engraving (p. 74), the head of the fish-spear is composed of
five fore-shafts of hard wood, notched at their sides, and arranged
around a similar fore-shaft. These are bound together, and the
whole is fitted into the end of a stout bamboo, giving the weapon a
total length of about seven feet. . . . . The fish-spear does not
appear to be so commonly used by the natives of Bougainville
Straits. There, its place is often taken by the bow and arrow, which
are weapons that are not in use amongst the natives of St.
Christoval and the adjacent islands at the eastern end of the group.
[138] “Polynesian Researches,” vol. I., p. 143.

I should here remark that, when fishing on the reefs, natives are
sometimes struck by the gar-fish with such force that they die from
the wound. The possibility of this occurrence has recently been
doubted. But that such is the case, we incidentally learned from the
natives of the Shortlands. The people of Wano, on the north coast of
St. Christoval, believe that the ghosts which haunt the sea, cause
the flying-fish and the gar-fish to dart out of the water and to strike
men in the canoes; and they hold that any man thus struck will die.
[139] This superstitious belief could only have arisen from the
circumstance of natives having met their death in this manner; and
it is probable that in this respect the larger flying-fish would be quite
as much to be feared as the gar-fish. Mr. Moseley, in his “Notes by a
Naturalist,” p. 480, refers to such an event as not of uncommon
occurrence in some of the Pacific Islands.[140]
[139] “Religious Beliefs and Practices in Melanesia,” by the Rev. R. H.
Codrington, M.A. Journal of Anthropological Institute, vol. X.
[140] Vide also “Nature,” index of vol. XXVIII., for some further
correspondence on this subject.

The material, from which the natives of Bougainville Straits

manufacture the twine for their fishing-nets and lines, is usually
supplied by the delicate fibres lining the bark of the young branches
of a stout climber, which is known to the natives as the “awi-sulu.”
This climber, which is probably a species of Lyonsia, has a main stem
of the size of a man’s leg, which embraces a tree, whilst it sends its
offshoots for a distance of some 40 or 50 feet along the ground. It is
the delicate fibres lining the inside of the skin of the young
procumbent branches that the native selects for his purpose. By
scraping the thin bark or skin with the edge of a pearl-shell, the
fibres are first cleared of other material: they are then dried in the
sun; and when dry, they are arranged in small strands, three of
which are twisted together into a fine line by rolling them with the
palm of the hand on the thigh. The natives sometimes obtain the
material for their nets and lines from the common littoral tree, the
Hibiscus tiliaceus, which they name “dakatako.”
In making their nets, our common netting-stitch is employed, the
needle being of plain wood, 18 inches long, and forked at each end;
whilst the mesh employed is a piece of tortoise-shell, having for a
width of an inch a length of 21⁄2 inches. The method of netting
familiar to ourselves appears to be generally employed amongst the
native races of this portion of the globe. We learn from the Rev.
George Turner that in Samoa the same stitch and the same form of
needle are employed which are in use in Europe.[141] The natives of
Port Moresby, in New Guinea, net “so precisely in our mode that the
seamen of H.M.S. “Basilisk” took up their shuttles and went on with
their work.”[142] The needle employed at Redscar Bay, on the coast
of the same island, is more like our own, the mesh being of tortoise-
shell, two to three inches long.[143] When Captain Bowen, of the ship
“Albemarle,” was visited in 1791 by some natives of the Solomon
Islands who came off to him in their canoes, he thought he had
found in the apparently European workmanship of their nets a clue
to the fate of La Pérouse, a very pardonable error which receives its
explanation from the above facts.[144]
[141] “Nineteen Years in Polynesia” (London, 1861), p. 272.

[142] Moresby’s “New Guinea” (1876), p. 156.

[143] These specimens are in the British Museum Ethnological collection.

[144] Dillon’s “Discovery of the Fate of La Pérouse” (1829), vol I., p. lxix.

Fishing on the reef-flats with large hand-nets is a common

occupation of the men in the islands of Bougainville Straits. Some
five or six men form a party, each man carrying a pair of long hand-
nets in which the netting is stretched on a long bamboo some 20
feet in length and bent like a bow, as shown in the accompanying
figure. The fishing party wade about on the flat near the edge of the
reef, each man being about 20 paces apart, and dragging behind
him a pair of these clumsy-looking nets, one in each hand. When a
fish is perceived they close round; and every man spreads out his
nets, one on each side like a pair of wings, thus covering an extent
of some 40 feet. By skilfully dropping his nets, when it makes a rush
in his direction, the native secures the fish, which, dashing head first
against one of the nets, gets its snout caught in the meshes; and a
couple of blows on the head complete the capture. I have seen fish
of the size of an ordinary bass caught in this manner. Smaller nets, 4
to 6 feet in length, with a finer mesh, are used for catching fish of
less size. The large hand-net is known as the “sorau,” and the small
hand-net as the “saiaili.” Such is one of the commonest methods of
fishing in the Straits. For this purpose, fishing parties often visit the
uninhabited small islands and coral islets that lie off the coasts.
There they erect temporary sheds and remain for one or two weeks.
In the numerous uninhabited islets and small islands which I visited,
I frequently came on the temporary habitations erected by fishing
parties; whilst propped up against the trees were the long bamboo
poles on which the nets are stretched. The natives of St. Christoval
and the adjacent islands employ a similar method in fishing on the
reef-flats. Fishing parties often spend a week or two on the small
islands and reefs which lie off the St. Christoval coast; thus the men
of Wano visit for this purpose the islet of Maoraha, about 12 miles
down the coast; whilst those of Sulagina cross over to the Three
Sisters, which are about the same distance away.
Dip-nets, such as I have seen in common use on the banks of the
Chinese rivers, are here employed, though on a smaller scale, for
catching small fish. They are usually 7 or 8 feet across, and are
stretched on two crossed bamboos. Seine-nets, much prized by the
natives on account of the labour expended in making them, and
buoyed up with floats of the square fruits of the Barringtonia
speciosa, are commonly employed. There are other modes of net-
fishing, of which I am ignorant, some of which probably came under
the notice of the officers of the survey: and I hope that in reading
these remarks they may be induced to supplement them with
additional information.
The fish-hooks employed vary in form and workmanship in different
parts of the group. In the sheltered harbour of Makira, the natives
whiff in small outrigger-canoes for a small fish of the size of a smelt,
using very fine lines and small delicately made hooks of mother-of-
pearl. During our stay at the island of Simbo or Eddystone, one of
the principal articles of exchange between the natives and ourselves
was a somewhat clumsy kind of fish-hook used for catching large
fish. The shank is of pearl-shell cut in the shape of the body of a
small fish, 2 to 21⁄2 inches long, and rather less than half an inch
wide. The hook itself, which is destitute of barbs and is made of
tortoise-shell, is bound by strong twine to the tail-end of the shank.
Considerable labour must be expended in making one of these
hooks: but so eager were the natives for tobacco, that we were able
to obtain them for small pieces of this article which could not have
been worth more than half a farthing. It is worthy of note that in the
island of Treasury, about 80 miles to the north-west, these hooks are
not made by the natives, who were anxious to obtain from us those
which we had brought from Simbo. Very similar, though larger, hooks
are used by the natives of other Pacific groups; amongst them I may
refer to those employed by the Society Islanders[145] for catching
dolphins, albicores, and bonitos. These hooks, wherever they are
used, as I need scarcely add, answer the purpose of both hook and
bait. The fish-hooks of European manufacture, which are one of the
articles used in trading with the natives, are in demand in many
islands, though not in all. In some islands, in fact, the native fish-
hook is preferred.
[145] Ellis’s “Polynesian Researches,” vol. I. p. 146.

The various ingenious methods of ensnaring and decoying fish,

which are employed by the natives of this archipelago, would alone
afford, to a true enthusiast in the sport of fishing, materials for a
small volume. A plan which I saw employed at Ugi consisted in tying
a living fish to the end of a bamboo float and using it as a decoy for
other fish. The fisherman repairs to the reef when it is covered by a
depth of between 2 and 3 feet of water. Placing the fish and bamboo
float in the water, he follows them up either in his canoe or on foot.
The fish swims along, drawing the bamboo float after it: it soon
decoys some other fish from its retreat, when the fisherman watches
his opportunity and catches his fish in a hand-net which he carries
with him.
A singular mode of fishing, which Mr. Stephens of Ugi described to
me as being sometimes employed in that part of the group, may be
here alluded to. A rock, where fish resort, which lies 3 or 4 feet
below the surface, is first selected. On the surface of the water is
placed a ring of some supple stem so as to include within its
circumference the rock beneath. No fish on the rock will pass under
this ring, which is gradually contracted in size until the fish become
crowded together, when they are scooped up with a hand-net.
The following ingenious snare was employed on one occasion by my
natives in Treasury, when I was anxious to obtain for Dr. Günther
some small fish that frequented one of the streams on the north side
of the island. I was very desirous to have some of these fish, and my
natives were equally anxious to display their ingenuity in catching
them. They first bent a pliant switch into an oval hoop, about a foot
in length, over which they spread a covering of a stout spider-web
which was found in the wood hard by. Having placed this hoop on
the surface of the water, buoying it up on two light sticks, they
shook over it a portion of a nest of ants, which formed a large kind
of tumour on the trunk of a neighbouring tree, thus covering the
web with a number of the struggling young insects. This snare was
then allowed to float down the stream, when the little fish, which
were between 2 and 3 inches long, commenced jumping up at the
white bodies of the ants from underneath the hoop, apparently not
seeing the intervening web on which they lay, as it appeared nearly
transparent in the water. In a short time one of the small fish
succeeded in getting its snout and gills entangled in the web, when
a native at once waded in, and placing his hand under the entangled
fish secured the prize. With two of these web-hoops we caught nine
or ten of these little fish in a quarter of an hour.
As in other Pacific groups, the natives sometimes catch fish by
throwing small bits of some poisonous fruit on the water, when in a
short time the fish rise dead to the surface. The crushed kernels of
the fruits of the common littoral Barringtonia (B. speciosa) are thus
employed by the natives. I tried them on one occasion in a fresh-
water lake in Stirling Island, which abounded with fish, but after the
lapse of two or three hours, no dead fish appeared at the surface.
The use of dynamite for destroying fish, by white men in the group,
has led to its occasional employment for a similar purpose by the
natives, whenever white men have been thoughtless enough to give
them this substance. In August, 1882, I visited a village in the Bauro
district on the north coast of St. Christoval, which had lost its chief, a
few days before, from an injury to the hand, resulting from an
accidental explosion of dynamite whilst fishing. Such occurrences
must not be uncommon in these and other islands. In the previous
April, we met with a native teacher at Mboli Harbour who had lost
one of his hands from a similar cause.[146] At the end of May, 1884, I
removed the left hand of Captain Smith, the master of the labour-
schooner “Lavina,” who had received a very serious injury of the
hand whilst fishing with dynamite on the coast of Malaita. Some of
the fresh-water fish which I sent to Dr. Günther were obtained in this
way through the kindness of Mr. Curzon-Howe, the Government
agent of the “Lavina;” and as I witnessed the operation, I am in a
position to pronounce on the hazardous nature of the mode in which
the dynamite was employed. . . . . With reference to the natives,
there are two very obvious reasons why this explosive substance
should not be permitted to get into their hands, even if we disregard
the hazard that would attend its use. In the first place, they might
employ it against white men and against their fellows; and in the
next place, its employment for obtaining fish would tend to
encourage the already too indolent habits of these islanders.
 [146] Since writing the above, I have learned from my friend, Dr. Luther,
late of H.M.S. “Dart,” that he had to amputate on two occasions in the
cases of natives who had sustained severe injuries of the hand whilst
fishing with dynamite.

I pass on now to the subject of pig-hunting in these islands. Wild

pigs occurred in most, if not all, of the islands which we visited. I
was frequently warned by the natives, when undertaking a solitary
excursion, to look out for the boars, who attain a ferocity which, on
account of their powerful curved tusks, it would be dangerous to
provoke unarmed. On more than one occasion when alone, I came
unexpectedly in the bush on one of these boars, who are in
appearance by no means despicable antagonists. When they stand
their ground, it is necessary to be prepared for their onset; but as a
rule they only indicate their presence by the noise which they make
when scampering away. In the islands of Bougainville Straits, where
there are numerous plantations of sago palms, the wild pigs are very
fond of the fruit of this palm before the albumen of the seed attains
its stony hardness. They often select as their retreats the hollow
trunks of the palms which have been felled and emptied of the sago.
Their habit of frequenting the plantations of sago palms, and of
feasting on the remains of the palms that have been lately cut down
and the pith removed, was observed by Captain Thomas Forrest in
the island of Gilolo, in the Indian Archipelago.[147] On the approach
of any special occasion of feasting, pig-hunting becomes a necessary
sport with the natives; but in addition, they frequently take to it for
the sake of replenishing their larders. With his spear and a couple of
dogs, a man is usually successful in getting his pig. The dogs bring
the animal to bay, when he is speared by the hunter, who, if alone,
at once sets to work to quarter and roast his quarry, and thus
considerably lightens the weight he has to carry back. During my
excursions, my natives used to frequently leave me when their dogs
had roused a pig in the bush; and on one occasion, when, much to
my indignation, they had been absent for an hour, they came back
triumphantly with two large boars. Captain Forrest, in his account of
his voyage to New Guinea, gives an illustration of “Papua men in
their canoes hunting wild hogs”[148] off the island of Morty, near the
large island of Gilolo. These men are represented with the spear,
bow, and arrow, and a dog. Such a method of hunting pigs never
came under my notice in the Solomon Islands and must necessarily
be rarely employed.
[147] “A Voyage to New Guinea and the Moluccas.” London, 1779 (p. 39).

[148] Ibid., Plate XI. of book of plates.

Wild dogs are numerous in the bush in the interior of Alu. They
never attack the natives or the pigs and, as they always slink away
when alarmed, they are not often seen. They subsist on the
opossums (Cuscus), waiting to catch them at the foot of the trunks
of the trees as they descend to the ground at nightfall. When I was
away on an excursion with Gorai the Alu chief, the native dogs that
were with us ran down a wild dog and worried it to death. I came in
at the death, and was not very much pleased with the spectacle
which afforded much amusement to Gorai and his men. The
unfortunate dog was apparently of the native breed. How these
animals have come to prefer this mode of life I could not learn.
My native companions during my excursions rarely returned to their
homes without bringing back an opossum (Cuscus). Usually this
animal was caught without much trouble, as it slumbers during the
day and may be then surprised amongst the foliage of the tree
where it finds its home. Sometimes, however, when the keen eyes of
my natives discovered an opossum amongst the leafy branches
overhead, we were enlivened by an exciting hunt. On such
occasions, one man climbs the tree in which the animal is esconced
whilst three or four other men climb the trees immediately around.
By dint of shouting and shaking the branches, the opossum is
started from its retreat, and then the sport commences. This clumsy
looking creature displays great agility in springing from branch to
branch, and even from tree to tree. Suspended by its prehensile tail
to the branch above, the Cuscus first tests the firmness of the
branch next below, before it finally intrusts its weight to its support.
It runs up and down the stouter limbs of the tree like a squirrel; but
its activity and cunning are most displayed in passing from the
branches of one tree to those of another. At length, scared by the
shaking of the branches, and by the cries of the natives who have
clambered out on the limbs as far as they can get with safety, the
opossum runs out towards the extremity of the limb, proceeding
cautiously to the very terminal branchlets, until the weight of its
body bends down the slender extremities of the branch, and it hangs
suspended by its tail in mid-air about ten feet below. The gentle
swaying of the branches in the wind, aided probably by its own
movements, swings the opossum to and fro, until it approaches
within grasp of the foliage of the adjoining tree. Then the clever
creature, having first ascertained the strength of its new support,
uncoils its tail. Up goes the branch with a swish when relieved of its
weight; and in a similar manner the opossum swings by its tail from
the slender branches of the tree to which it has now transferred its
weight. Finally the opossum reaches the ground, where its awkward
movements render it an easy capture. It is then tied to a stick and
carried home alive on the shoulder of a native.
The Cuscus is a common article of food with these islanders; and in
some islands, as in Simbo or Eddystone, it is kept as a pet by the
natives. Out of seven opossums that were kept as pets on board the
“Lark,” all died within a few weeks, being apparently unable to
withstand captivity. Most of them, however, were young. The cause
of the death of one of them was rather singular. Immediately after
its death the skin of the animal was literally covered with small ticks
about the size of a pin’s head and distended with blood, whilst the
body presented the blanched appearance of an animal bled to death.
It had been ailing for a day or two before and was incessantly
drinking all liquids it could get, even its own urine: but the ticks had
not been sufficiently numerous to be observed; and in fact they
appeared to have covered the animal in the course of a single night.
As I was informed by the natives of Simbo, these animals subsist on
the shoots and young leaves of the trees: on board the “Lark” they
cared for little else than bananas. They make a curious clicking noise
when eating, and often hold the substance in their fore-paws. When
taken out in the day-time from their boxes they were half asleep,
and at once tried to get out of the bright light into the shade. In the
night-time they were very restless in their prisons, making continual
efforts to escape between the bars, and as soon as they were let out
they moved about with much activity. The older animals are
sometimes rather fierce. One of them which belonged to the men
used to spend a considerable portion of its time up aloft; and, when
in want of food, it would descend the rigging and go down to the
lower deck. Their naked tails have a cold clammy feeling; and with
them they were in the habit of swinging themselves from any object.
When the Cuscus was about to be taken up by its master, it moored
itself to the nearest object by means of its tail. It always descended
a rope head first, but kept its tail twined round the rope during its
descent so as to be able to withdraw itself at once if necessary, the
tail supporting the greater portion of its weight.
Although the natives, who accompanied me in my various
excursions, usually displayed their skill in following a straight course
through a pathless wood where they could only see a few yards on
either side of them, yet on more than one occasion they were, to
use a nautical phrase, completely out in their reckoning, and I had
to bring my compass into use and become the guide myself in order
to avoid passing the night in the bush. When in the interior of the
north-west part of Alu accompanied by Gorai, the chief, and a
number of his men, I was astonished at the readiness with which, in
the absence of any tracks, they found their way to the coast. Gorai
led the way; and on my asking him how he managed to know the
right direction in a thick forest with neither sun nor trade-wind to
guide him, he merely remarked that he “saveyed bush,” and pointing
with his hand in a particular direction, he informed me that “Mono
stopped there,” Mono being the native name for Treasury. There was
a little uncertainty among the natives as to whether the old chief
was guiding us aright; but there was no hesitation on the part of
Gorai, whose course as tested by my compass was always in the
same direction; he, however, disdained the use of the compass and
ultimately brought us back to the coast. When passing through a
district with which he is but little acquainted, the native frequently
bends the branches of the bushes as he passes, in order to strike
the same path on the way back. He must be frequently guided in his
course through the forest by noticing the bearing of the sun and the
swaying of the upper branches of the trees in the trade-wind, guides
which were often employed by myself when alone in the bush: but
when, as not uncommonly happens, there is such a dense screen of
foliage overhead, that neither the sun nor the upper branches of the
trees can be seen, he must employ other means of guidance. Rude
tracks, usually traversed the least frequented districts of the islands
which we visited; and their persistence appeared to be sometimes
due to the fact that they were used by the wild pigs.
Fallen trees commonly obstruct the most frequented paths in the
vicinity of villages: and there they remain until decay removes them,
for the native has no idea of doing an act for the public weal: with
him, in such and kindred matters, what is everybody’s business is
nobody’s. Captain Macdonald, in his capacity as a chief in Santa
Anna, adopted the serviceable method of employing natives, who
had committed petty offences, in making good walks in the vicinity
of the houses of the white residents. The example however was not
followed by the natives for the approaches to their own village of
Sapuna. Being quite content with their narrow footpaths, they
probably could not understand that whatever contributed to the
public good was also to the advantage of the individual.
 CHAPTER IX.
PREVALENT DISEASES.

have previously remarked that in these islands the duties of the

I sorcerer and the medicine-man are frequently combined. The

same man, who can remove a disease by exorcism and by ill-
wishing can bring sickness and death upon any obnoxious
individual, may also be able in the estimation of the people to
procure a fair wind for an intended voyage, or to bring about rain in
a season of drought. I had more than one opportunity of satisfying
myself of the fact that the medicine-man often trades upon the
credulity of his patients, and that he is himself aware that all his
charms and incantations are mere trickery. In Santa Anna his
services are often employed to procure the recovery of a sick man,
and by some form of incantation he pretends to appease the anger
of the offended spirit to whom the illness is attributed. Captain
Macdonald, who has long resided in this island, informed me that
when on one occasion he had relieved by medicine the sufferings of
a native who had in vain employed the exorcisms of the village
physician to effect his cure, the success of his treatment did not
detract in any way from the reputation of the medicine-man, who,
having informed himself of the progress of the patient, after Captain
Macdonald had given his remedy, foretold his recovery and took to
himself the whole credit of the cure.
In the island of Ugi chunam (burnt lime) is one of the domestic
remedies employed in sickness, being rubbed into the skin of the
patient by his friends. The chunam of some men is supposed to be
more efficacious than that of others, and messengers may be sent
from one end of the island to the other to procure it. One of our
Treasury natives, who was employed on board, had a reputation as
medicine-man. His method of treatment in the case of one of his
own comrades consisted in tying a particular leaf around the limbs
and joints to localize the pain, and in striking the affected part with
the same leaf. On one occasion this man was himself laid up with a
large abscess in the buttock, which he attempted to cure by tying a
strip of the leaf around the thigh and by placing another for a few
moments over the seat of the abscess. He would not let me do much
for him; and from absorption of the purulent matter into the blood, a
number of abscesses began to form in other parts of the body which
brought him into a serious hectic condition. The poor fellow’s cries of
“Agai” “Agai,” corresponding to our exclamations of pain, made me
feel acutely for him; but he placed little faith in our offices, his great
desire, as intimated by his frequent cries of “Feli” (Fire), was to be
placed beside a large wood fire. He was sent on shore and given in
charge of his wife on our arrival off Treasury. When I landed to see
him a few hours after, I found him with his wish at last gratified;
there he lay beside a roasting fire, the very last condition that
seemed likely to promote his recovery. However he slowly regained
his health, and I did what I could for him in buying sago and other
articles of food from his own people who were not very ready with
their supplies for the sick man.
This brings me to the subject of the indifference often displayed
towards the sick and invalids. The natives view these things in a very
matter-of-fact way. On more than one occasion when in the house of
sickness, the son or the brother of the sick man has remarked to
me, in the coolest manner, “Him too much sick. I think by-and-by
finish;” and it is astonishing to hear of the manner in which they
allow the sick to shift for themselves. In the islands of Bougainville
Straits the very aged, who are unable to get about or to be of any
service to themselves, are placed in a house in which they are left
alone although supplied with food; and there they remain until they
die. Two old and decrepit men, who were both fast hastening to
their ends, being the subjects of chronic lung affections, were placed
together in a house in Treasury where they were supplied with food
but rarely if ever visited. They were placed there to die as the
relations informed us; and there they remained day after day until
the end arrived. Mr. Stephens told me that in his island of Ugi, if a
cocoa-nut is placed by the side of the sick man, his friends consider
they have done all in their power. No attempt is made to alleviate
pain, or to soothe by companionship the tedious hours of the sick.
He lies deserted on his roughly plaited mat of palm-leaves, in his
wretched home where the sunlight rarely enters; and there he
awaits, perhaps without regret, his approaching death. When
consciousness leaves him, his friends regard him as already dead,
attributing the spasmodic breathing and the convulsive efforts of the
dying man to the agency of some evil spirit.
The influence of superstition probably explains the indifference
which prevails as to the welfare of the sick and aged. Those afflicted
with such an infirmity as blindness are kindly treated by their
fellows. I was particularly struck, whilst looking on at a feast in the
village of Treasury, by the attention that was paid to the wants of a
young blind man who sat aloof from the rest. He was blind from his
birth, and I particularly pleased him by sitting down beside him and
giving him a stick of tobacco.
In the case of those who have received some severe injury, such as
a gunshot wound, considerable care is shown by the friends in their
welfare. I saw much of the natives who were wounded during the
hostilities carried on between the natives of Treasury and the
Shortlands, and was astonished at the ease with which they
recovered from apparently hopeless injuries. My experience goes to
support the opinion laid down by Professor Waitz in his
“Anthropology of Primitive Peoples,”[149] that the healing power of
nature is greater among savage than among civilized races. The
principle of non-interference was literally carried out in defiance of
the laws of hygiene and of the experience of modern surgery. After
the unfortunate conflict on the islet of Tuluba, off the west coast of
Alu, I visited the wounded man and woman who had been brought
back to their homes. I found the woman lying in a dingy little house
in which I had to stand still for a few minutes before I could see my
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