Oceanic Mythology
Author: Roland B. Dixon
Date: 2026-03-13T00:00:00+00:00
Description: A classic early anthropological study of Pacific Island myths, exploring creation stories, culture heroes, and traditional folklore from Polynesia, Melanesia, Micronesia, and surrounding regions
Publisher: Global Grey ebooks

This ebook edition was published by Global Grey.
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Contents

Author’s Preface

Introduction

Part 1. Polynesia

Chapter 1. Myths Of Origins And The Deluge

Chapter 2. The Maui Cycle

Chapter 3. Miscellaneous Tales

Chapter 4. Summary

Part 2. Melanesia

Chapter 1. Myths Of Origins And The Deluge

Chapter 2. Culture Hero Tales

Chapter 3. Miscellaneous Tales

Chapter 4. Summary

Part 3. Indonesia

Chapter 1. Myths Of Origins And The Deluge

Chapter 2. Trickster Tales

Chapter 3. Miscellaneous Tales

Chapter 4. Summary

Part 4. Micronesia

Chapter 1. Myths Of Origins And The Deluge

Chapter 2. Miscellaneous Tales

Chapter 3. Summary

Part 5. Australia

Chapter 1. Myths Of Origins And The Deluge

Chapter 2. Animal And Miscellaneous Tales

Chapter 3. Summary

Conclusion

Author’s Preface

IN the following pages we shall seek to present an outline of the mythology of the Oceanic peoples. Although certain aspects of the mythic system of this area, as well as the myths of separate portions of it, have been treated by others, the present writer does not know of any recent endeavour to gather all available materials from the whole region, or to discuss the relationship of the mythologies of the various portions of Oceania to one another, and to the adjacent lands. The attempt has been made to go over all the myths of worth which have been published; but it is not impossible that valuable and important material has been overlooked. Some omissions, however, have been due to circumstances beyond control. A number of volumes containing material, probably of considerable value, were not to be found in the libraries of the United States, and disturbances consequent upon the European War have made it impossible to secure them; while other gaps are due to the author’s insufficient knowledge of Malay languages, which prevented the use of some collections of tales, published without translations.

The selection of the legends to be presented has offered considerable difficulty, this being especially marked in the class of what may be denominated, for convenience, miscellaneous tales. No two persons would probably make the same choice, but. it is believed that those which are here given serve as a fair sample of the various types and include those which are of widest interest and distribution. In the majority of cases the tales have been retold in our own words. For strictly scientific purposes exact reproductions of the originals would, of course, be required; but the general purpose of this series, and the limitations of space, have made this method impossible. References have in every case, however, been given; so that those who wish to consult the fuller or original forms of the tales can do so easily. These references, and all notes, have been put into an Appendix at the end of the volume, thus leaving the pages unencumbered for those who wish only to get a general idea of the subject. The Bibliography has, with few exceptions, been restricted to the titles of original publications; reprints and popular and semi-popular articles and volumes have been omitted. Every care has been taken to make the large number of references correct, though it is too much to hope that errors have not crept in.

In the brief discussions at the end of each section, and again at the end of the volume, we have sought to draw conclusions in regard to the probable origin of some of the myths and to point out the evidences of transmission and historical contact which they show. Merely to present the tales without offering any suggestions as to how they had come to be what they are and where they are, seemed to fail of attaining the full purpose of this series. No one is more conscious than the author that the hypotheses offered will not meet with universal acceptance; that they rest, in many cases, upon uncertain foundations; and that, plausible as they may look today, they may be fundamentally modified by new material and further study. Should this essay only serve to stimulate interest in this field, and lead to greater activity in gathering new material while yet there is time, he will be quite content.

ROLAND B. DIXON.

HARVARD UNIVERSITY, June 1, 1916.

Introduction

THE myths and tales in this volume have been gathered from all parts of Oceania, and it may be wise, therefore, at the outset to indicate just what area is included in our survey; to sketch very briefly the character of the peoples and the environment in which they live; and to state the general plan and purpose of the book.

The use of the term Oceania is, and has been, rather variable. By some it is taken to include only the smaller Wands of the Pacific Ocean, comprised for the most part within the limits of Polynesia and Micronesia, while others extend the application of the term so as to include also Melanesia as well as the whole group of the East Indies. In the present case it is this latter usage which is followed, and the great island-continent of Australia, together with its appendage of Tasmania, is further added. Thus by Oceania will be meant all island areas, great or small, from Easter Island to Sumatra and from Hawaii to New Zealand.

This great region may, for our purposes, be conveniently divided into five sections: (1) Polynesia, which may be roughly defined as including all the islands lying east of the 180th meridian, together with New Zealand; (2) Melanesia, comprising the huge island of New Guinea, together with all the islands and archipelagos extending therefrom to the east and southeast as far as Fiji and New Caledonia; (3) Indonesia, which includes all the islands often spoken of as the East Indies, and extends from the Moluccas on the east to Sumatra on the west, and from Java and Timor in the south to the northern extremity of the Philippines; (4) Micronesia, composed, as its name implies, mainly of small islands, and occupying the area north of Melanesia and east of the 130th meridian of east longitude; and lastly (5), but by no means least in importance, Australia, together with Tasmania.

As compared with all the other great divisions of the world, Oceania is unique in that, if we exclude Australia (which, although an island, is so enormous in size as to lose all insular characteristics), it is composed wholly of islands. These vary in size from mere reefs or islets, only a mile or so in diameter, to great land masses, like New Zealand or Borneo, whose areas are to be measured by hundreds of thousands of square miles. Some are low coral atolls elevated only a few feet above the surface of the sea; others are volcanic and mountainous, their summits rising into the realms of perpetual snow. Although the greater part of Oceania lies within the tropics and has the usual features of tropical environment in the way of climate, flora, and fauna, it extends here and there far into the temperate zone, and the snowy New Zealand Alps, with their huge glaciers, suggest Switzerland and Norway rather than anything else. In New Guinea, Borneo, and (to a less degree) in a few other islands the same great contrast in environment is produced by elevation alone, and one may thus pass from the barren peaks and snows of the highest ranges down through all the intermediate stages to the hot tropical jungle and fever-laden swamps of the coasts. Australia, in its vast expanses of terrible deserts, again presents a striking contrast to the other parts of the area, although one of a different sort.

The native peoples of the Oceanic area are almost as varied as are its natural features and environment. Some, like the recently discovered New Guinea pygmies or the now extinct Tasmanians, serve as examples of the lowest stages known in human culture. With their black skins, ugly faces, and short woolly hair they are in striking contrast to the often little more than brunette Polynesians, with their voluptuously beautiful forms and faces and long, wavy hair, or to the lithe, keen-faced, straight-haired Malay, both of whom attained to no mean development on the material as well as on the intellectual side of their respective cultures.

The origin, evolution, and affiliation of the various peoples of Oceania is a problem whose complexity becomes more and more apparent with increasing knowledge. While anthropologists are still far from satisfactorily explaining these matters., it is patent to all that the ethnic history of the region involves the recognition of a series of waves of migration from the westward, each spreading itself more or less completely over its predecessors, modifying them, and in turn modified by them, until the result is a complex web, the unravelling of which leads us inevitably back to the Asiatic mainland. It is obvious that, while migrations on land are not necessarily conditioned by the stage of culture of a people, in an island area, especially where the islands are separated by wide stretches of ocean, movement is impossible, or at least very difficult, for peoples who have attained only the rudiments of the art of seamanship. A glance at the map will show that, so far as Indonesia, much of Melanesia, and Australia are concerned, the difficulties in the way of the migration of a primitive people are far less than in the case of Micronesia and Polynesia. In the former areas, indeed, some land masses now separated were in comparatively recent times joined together, so that migrations were then possible which now would be difficult for a people without knowledge of any means of navigation; but to reach the widely separated islands farther out in the Pacific would have been impossible to those unprovided with adequate vessels and skill to use them. Thus we are forced to assume that it was not until man had attained a considerably higher development than that shown by the Tasmanians or Australians that these outlying and isolated parts of the Oceanic area could have been inhabited. It is indeed probable that they were, of all the occupied portions of the globe, the last to be settled.

From what has been said it may be seen how fertile and fascinating a field Oceania presents to the student of anthropology. In the following pages we are concerned, however, with one aspect only of the whole complex of human culture, namely, mythology. In order to make clear the differences between the various portions of the area, each of the five subdivisions will be considered by itself alone, and also in its relation to the others, while, in conclusion, an attempt will be made to sum up these results and to point out their wider bearings. Throughout the purpose has been, not only to sketch the more important types of myths, but to draw attention to resemblances and similarities between the myth-incidents of one area and another. In the present state of our knowledge the conclusions which are drawn are, it cannot be too strongly emphasized, only tentative--they must stand or fall according as they are substantiated or disproved by further material, both mythological and other.

A word may be said in regard to the method of treatment and point of view here adopted. In indicating similarities and suggesting possible relationships, individual incidents in myths have been largely taken as the basis.

The author is well aware how easily such a method may lead to wild and impossible conclusions; the literature of mythology and folk-lore affords only too many examples of such amazing discoveries; but where caution is observed, and due regard is paid to known or probable historical associations, the evidence to be derived from a study of the distribution of myth-incidents is often reliable and corroborated by collateral information derived from other fields.

It should also be pointed out that in the following pages we have endeavoured to present only the myths themselves, and have purposely refrained from all attempts at rationalizing them or explaining this as a lunar, that as a solar, myth. Such attempts are, we believe, almost wholly futile in the present state of our knowledge of Oceanic mythology, culture, and history. A dextrous imagination can evolve either a lunar or a solar explanation for any myth, and one needs to have but little personal experience with native peoples to realize how hopeless it is for the civilized inquirer to predicate what the symbolism of anything really is to the native mind.

The study of mythology has, in the last few years, also demonstrated to what a degree all myths are in a state of flux, new elements and incidents being borrowed and incorporated into old tales and modified to accord with local beliefs and predispositions. Thus, what starts out, perhaps, as a solar incident may come to be embodied in another myth of quite different origin, and in so doing may wholly lose its former significance; or an entire myth, originally accounting for one thing, may become so modified by transmission that its first meaning becomes lost.

Lastly, we may again point out that at present the available material is still so imperfect that all conclusions must be accepted with reserve. Not only are there large areas from which no data whatever have been collected (and even some from which, owing either to the extinction of the population or their greatly changed manner of life, none can ever be obtained), but very little, comparatively, of what has been gathered has been recorded in the language of the people themselves.

Misunderstandings, conscious or unconscious colouring of statements to accord with preconceived ideas of what the people ought to think, statements made by natives who obligingly tell the investigator just what they think he wants to hear--these and other sources of error must be eliminated so far as possible before we can be sure of our ground. In spite of all this, however, it is worth while to take account of stock, as it were, and to see, as well as we can, where we stand. By so doing we may at least recognize the gaps in our knowledge and be spurred on to try to fill them while yet there is time.

Part 1. Polynesia

THAT portion of Oceania whose mythology is both most is widely known and to which reference is most frequently made is undoubtedly Polynesia. One of the chief reasons for this lies in the character of the legends themselves, for they are both pleasing and in many respects unusual. We may well begin then with Polynesia in presenting an outline of Oceanic mythology.

The people of these Happy Isles have, from the beginning, been of great interest to anthropologists; but although much has been learned regarding them, the problems of their origin and ethnic history are still far from being settled. Most students of the subject, however, are now agreed that in the Polynesians we must see a somewhat complex blending of several waves of immigration, bringing relatively fair-skinned peoples from the Indonesian area (or perhaps from still farther west) eastward through Melanesia into the Pacific. That there have been at least two, and probably more, such great waves, and that these have in varying degree mixed with the dark-skinned people of Melanesia in transit, seems clear; but whether other racial elements also enter into the question is not yet certain. Although older and younger waves are probably represented in all the island-groups of Polynesia, the oldest seems especially noticeable in two of the most outlying portions of the whole region, i. e. New Zealand and Hawaii. The detailed study of the spread of these waves can as yet however be said only to have begun.

Chapter 1. Myths Of Origins And The Deluge

IN considering the mythology of these peoples it will be most convenient to begin with the cosmogonic myths, for these are not only in themselves very interesting, as presenting unusual features, but also show, in an unmistakable manner, the composite character of the mythology as a whole. It is usual to speak of the Polynesian origin-myths as if they formed a substantially uniform system, to comment on their rather surprisingly philosophic aspect, and to indulge in somewhat vague theorizing in an attempt to explain conditions and the peculiar resemblances to the myths of other parts of the world. When, however, careful study and comparison of the available material are made, it is clear that the problem is by no means as simple as it looks at first sight, and that we have here one of the most interesting of all fields for mythologic investigations.

Comparing the various myths and myth fragments in which the cosmogonic ideas of the Polynesians have been preserved, it appears that these may be separated quite easily into two types: one (usually assumed to be the normal or only form) in which we have what may be called a genealogical or evolutionary development of the cosmos and the gods from an original chaos; the other, in which there is a more or less definite act of creation by a deity or deities. To make clear the differences between these two types and to define the problem raised by the presence of these two contrasted sets of beliefs, it will be advisable to consider the two groups of myths separately.

The Genealogical or Evolutionary Type.--Omitting for the moment such variations as exist between the versions current in the different islands, the essential elements of this form of the myth may be stated as follows. In the beginning there was nothing but Po, a void or chaos, without light, heat, or sound, without form or motion. Gradually vague stirrings began within the darkness, moanings and whisperings arose, and then at first, faint as early dawn, the light appeared and grew until full day had come.

Heat and moisture next developed, and from the interaction of these elements came substance and form, ever becoming more and more concrete, until the solid earth and overarching sky took shape and were personified as Heaven Father and Earth Mother. At this point, as a rule, the evolutionary sequence stops and all further things, both natural phenomena and all the myriad gods, are the offspring of bright Heaven by Earth or some other female principle.

This conception of a self-evolving cosmos, of a universe declared by some to be only the body or shell of a great primal cause, is a most surprising one to find among a people upon the plane of culture in which the Polynesians were living at the time of their discovery. As an explanation of the riddle of the universe, and as a philosophic system, it would seem far more appropriate to early Greek or Hindu speculation; and indeed, in the form which was preserved in Hawaii, we really find an extraordinary echo of the doctrines of early Hellas and India; while the resemblances to Scandinavian mythology are also striking. Before attempting, however, to discuss the origin of these beliefs in Polynesia, it will be necessary to consider somewhat more in detail the varied forms which they take in the different island groups within the Polynesian area.

As pointed out above, New Zealand presents us with what is, in many respects, one of the oldest and simplest forms of Polynesian culture, and we may, therefore, well begin a consideration of the origin-myths. by examining those found in this extreme south-western corner of the Polynesian area. From New Zealand a number of versions have been recorded, the forms, traditional among different tribes being often quite variable. A comparatively brief account is given by the Nga-i-tahu of the South Island. “Po begat Te-ao (light), who begat Ao-marama (daylight), who begat Ao-tu-roa (long-standing light), who begat Kore-te-whiwhia (did not possess), who begat Kore-te-rawea (was not pleased with), who begat Kore-te-tamaua (was not held), who begat Kore-te-matua (without parent), who begat Maku (damp). Maku took to wife Ma-hora-nui-a-tea (great spreading out of light) and begat Raki (Rangi).” After this Rangi, by various wives (whose origins are seldom recorded), begat a great number of descendants, many of them deities; and one of these spouses was originally the wife of Tangaroa, the sea-god of whose provenance little is said. Angered by her faithlessness, Tangaroa attacked Rangi and wounded him in the thigh with a spear.

It will be seen at once why the term “genealogical” has been applied to this class of origin-myths, the successive stages in the development of the cosmos being individualized and personified and each being regarded as the offspring of the next preceding. A different, and in some ways more interesting, version of creation recorded from the New Zealand region is as follows:

“Te Kore
The Void

Te Kore-tua-tahi
The First Void

Te Kore-tua-rua
The Second Void

Te Kore-nui
The Vast Void

Te Kore-roa
The Far-Extending Void

Te Kore-para
The Sere Void

Te Kore-whiwhia
The Unpossessing Void

Te Kore-rawea
The Delightful Void

Te Kore-te-tamaua
The Void Fast Bound

Te Po
The Night

Te Po-teki
The Hanging Night

Te Po-terea
The Drifting Night

Te Po-whawha
The Moaning Night

Hine-maki-moe
The Daughter of Troubled Sleep

Te Po
The Night

Te Ata
The Dawn

Te Ao-tu-roa
The Abiding Day

Te Ao-marama
The Bright Day

Whai-tua
Space.”

In Whai-tua two existences without shape were formed: Maku (“Moisture”), a male; and Mahora-nui-a-rangi (“Great Expanse of Heaven”), a female; and from these sprang Rangi-potiki (“The Heavens”), who took to wife Papa (“Earth”) and begat the gods. The sequence here, leading from the original undifferentiated void through -various stages of darkness and light to space, in which the parents of the bright sky took form, illustrates at once the dual character of this type of myth; for here we find both the idea of progressive development and the individualization of the successive stages in this evolution as a genealogic series.

One more example of this type may be given:

“From the conception the increase
From the increase the swelling
From the swelling the thought
From the thought the remembrance
From the remembrance the consciousness, the desire.
The word became fruitful:
It dwelt with the feeble glimmering
It brought forth night;
The great night, the long night,
The lowest night, the loftiest night,
The thick night, the night to be felt,
The night touched, the night unseen.
The night following on,
The night ending in death.
From the nothing, the begetting,
From the nothing the increase
From the nothing the abundance,
The power of increasing, the living breath;
It dwelt with the empty space,
It produced the atmosphere which is above us.
The atmosphere which floats above the earth,
The great firmament above us,
The spreadout space dwelt with the early dawn,
Then the moon sprang forth;
The atmosphere above dwelt with the glowing sky,
Forthwith was produced the sun,
They were thrown up above as the chief eyes of Heaven:
Then the Heavens became light, the early dawn, the early day,
The mid-day. The blaze of day from the sky.
The sky which floats above the earth
Dwelt with Hawaiki.”

From these came various lands and gods.

Apparently it has been generally assumed that this evolutionary, genealogical myth was entirely typical of Maori mythology; but in reality the matter is far from being so simple, for the New Zealand beliefs appear to be somewhat confused on the subject of the origin of Rangi and Papa. The version just outlined ascribes to Rangi a long ancestry and development, but other legends allude to a primeval sea, out of which the earth (Papa) grew, later to be taken to wife by Rangi, the Sky Father. Other myths, again, omit all reference to an original chaos, and without attempting to account for Rangi and Papa simply assume their existence, and then go on in much detail to describe the birth of Rangi’s various progeny by a series of wives, who are usually given as six. By the first, Poko-ha-rua-te-po (“Pit of the Breath of Night”), he had as offspring Ha-nui-o-rangi (“Great Breath of Heaven”), Ta-whiri-ma-tea (“Beckoned and Desired”), and a whole series of winds, as well as rites and incantations, all personified. By the second, Papa-tu-a-nuku (“Flat, Resembling the Earth”), he was the parent of Rehua, Tane, Paia, Tu, Rongo, Ru, and a host of other minor deities. Now Papa-tu-a-nuku was the wife of Tangaroa, but had deserted him, coming to Rangi while Tangaroa was away. When the latter returned and learned of his wife’s faithlessness, he attacked Rangi and speared him in the thigh; and during the time that the Sky Father was thus wounded, he begat another series of deities. Rangi’s third wife was Heke-heke-i-papa (“Coming Down to Earth”), by whom he had many children, the most important being Tama-nui-a-rangi (“Great Son of Heaven”). By his fourth wife, Hotu-papa (“Sobbing Earth”), he was the father of a host of children, for the most part of little note, though Tu and Rongo again appear among them. The offspring of the fifth and sixth wives were unimportant. Although Rangi is thus said to have had various wives, a comparison of the different accounts would seem to emphasize the pre-eminent importance in the Maori mind of the Heaven Father and Earth Mother pair; and, indeed, some versions do not seem to recognize any other. This conception, familiar in classical mythology and elsewhere, seems very characteristic of New Zealand, and apparently reached a higher development there than elsewhere in Polynesia. For the Sky Father an origin from the primeval night or chaos is, as we have seen, sometimes asserted; but no explanation of the origin of the Earth Mother is usually thought necessary. New Zealand thus exhibits, a type of cosmogony in which the evolutional element, although sometimes well marked, is not invariably present; and in which the belief in the Sky Father and the Earth Mother seems especially strong. The general character of the variants found in different versions suggests that these may bee the result of the blending of several sets of beliefs.

It is pretty well established that when New Zealand was discovered, its inhabitants were composed of two main elements: first, the descendants of the great influx of the fourteenth century, who formed the bulk of the population; and second, some remnants of older immigrants more or less mixed with the earliest dwellers found there by these original invaders. Unfortunately, little attempt has been made to recover the undoubtedly older mythology of these “aborigines,” so that we have little evidence as to what their beliefs may have been. Some light may be thrown on the question, however, by the fragments recovered from the Moriori of the Chatham Islands, which were colonized from New Zealand before the coming of the historic immigration. Unhappily, the actual cosmogonic myths recorded from the Moriori are very brief, but, so far as they go they make little mention of the evolutionary theme, ascribing the beginning of all things to Rangi and Papa, of whose origin almost nothing is said. We may, perhaps, regard this as a survival of the older New Zealand belief, which would thus seem to have lacked the evolutionary element, and we should thus be led tentatively to assume that this latter and more philosophic feature represents a later development.

Leaving Maori mythology and turning to the other island groups in Polynesia it is apparent that the cosmogonic myths current in the Marquesas present striking analogies to some of those in New Zealand. Here, again, in the beginning is the primeval void in which “arises a swelling, a seething, a dark surging, a whirling, a bubbling, and a swallowing--there arises a whole series of supports or posts, the great and the small, the long and the short, the crooked and the bent--there arise innumerable and endless supports. They riot in such contrasts and synonyms. There arises in particular the foundation--the firmness--there arises space and light and cliffs of various sorts.” The evolutionary or genealogical character is here strongly emphasized, both in its extent and intricacy, and the series of personified abstract qualities and contrasts rivals, and even exceeds, the similar examples from New Zealand. In comparison with New Zealand, accordingly, there seems to be a much greater development of the evolutional, or, as it might perhaps more accurately be termed, the developmental, theme. The antecedents of the existing universe comprise a bewildering series of abstract and partially personified, contrasted qualities; and there is an evident attempt to carry these, on the one hand, backward to an original, negative void, and on the other, forward to an ultimate, primitive substance. In other words, we have here more of a philosophic system: in New Zealand the briefer developmental series led only to the personified Sky Father; here it is the origin of all substance and of solid matter itself which is sought.

Another version serves as a transition to the forms found in the Society Group. According to this, Tanaoa and Mutuhei (“Darkness” and “Silence”) ruled supreme in the primeval Po. In the course of time Atea (“Light”) evolved or separated himself from Tanaoa, and drove him away; and after this, Ono (“Sound”) evolved himself from Atea and destroyed Mutuhei. From these two struggles arose Atanua (“Dawn”), whom Atea took to wife, and so begat a host of deities, besides creating the heavens and the earth. This second version introduces a new factor in the suggestion of a primeval deity, Tangaroa. This feature is usually regarded as foreign to New Zealand mythology, yet in a recent and most important contribution to our knowledge of Maori mythology there seems to be a clearly expressed idea of a supreme, primeval deity, Io, who was before all things, and who is in the ultimate analysis the origin and creator of the universe and all the gods.

The versions given from the Society Islands accord with that from the Marquesas in which Tanaoa ( = Tangaroa = Taaroa = Kanaloa) is regarded as a deity existent from the beginning, but carry this ascendancy of Tanaoa considerably further. One text recounts the origin as follows:

“He existed. Taaroa was his name.
In the immensity
There was no earth, there was no sky,
There was no sea, there was no man.
Taaroa calls, but nothing answers.
Existing alone, he became the universe.
Taaroa is the root, the rocks (foundation).
Taaroa is the sands.
It is thus that he is named.
Taaroa is the light.
Taaroa is within.
Taaroa is the germ.
Taaroa is the support.
Taaroa is enduring.
Taaroa is wise.
He erected the land of Hawaii,
Hawaii, the great and sacred,
As a body or shell for Taaroa.
The earth is moving.
O, Foundations, O, Rocks,
O, Sands, hither, hither,
Brought hither, pressed together the earth.
Press, press again.
They do not unite.
Stretch out the seven heavens, let ignorance cease.
Create the heavens, let darkness cease.

Let immobility cease.
Let the period of messengers cease.
It is the time of the speaker.
Completed the foundations,
Completed the rocks,
Completed the sands,
The heavens are enclosing,
The heavens are raised.
In the depths is finished the land of Hawaii.”

A second version is interesting in comparison with this. “Taaroa (whose origin is not described) embraced a rock, the imagined foundation of all things, which afterward brought forth the earth and sea. . . . Soon after this, the heralds of day, the dark and light blue sky, appeared before Taaroa, and solicited a soul for his offspring--the then inanimate universe. The foundation of all replied, ‘It is done,’ and directed his son, the Sky-producer, to accomplish his will. In obedience to the mandate of Taaroa, his son looked up into the heavens, and the heavens received the power of bringing forth new skies, and clouds, sun, moon, and stars, thunder and lightning, rain and wind. He then looked downwards, and the unformed mass received the power to bring forth earth, mountains, rocks, trees, herbs, and flowers, beasts, birds, and insects, fountains, rivers, and fish. Rai-tubu, or Sky-producer, then looked to the abyss, and imparted to it the power to bring forth the purple water., rocks and corals, and all the inhabitants of the ocean.”

It is obvious that we are now dealing with quite a different aspect from that with which we started. Tangaroa is here a sort of world soul; a self-evolving, self-existent, creative deity, who alone is ultimately responsible for the origin of the universe. The idea of a primeval, creative deity is, however, not wholly absent from New Zealand, as is shown by the following:

“Io dwelt within the breathing-space of immensity.
The Universe was in darkness, with water everywhere,
There was no glimmer of dawn, no clearness, no light.
And he began by saying these words,--
That He might cease remaining inactive:
’Darkness! become a light-possessing darkness.’
And at once light appeared.
(He) then repeated those self-same words in this manner,
That He might cease remaining inactive:
‘Light! become a darkness-possessing light.’
And again an intense darkness supervened,
And a third time He spake, saying:
‘Let there be one darkness above,
Let there be one darkness below (alternate),
Let there be a darkness unto Tupua,
Let there be a darkness unto Tawhito,
It is a darkness overcome and dispelled.
Let there be one light above,
Let there be one light below (alternate),
Let there be a light unto Tupua,
Let there be a light unto Tawhito,
A dominion of light,
A bright light.’
And now a great light prevailed.
(Io) then looked to the waters, which compassed him about,
And spake a fourth time, saying:
’Ye waters of Tai-kama be ye separate
Heaven, be formed’ Then the sky became suspended.
’Bring-forth, thou, Tupua-horo-riuku.’
And at once the moving earth lay stretched abroad.”

The cosmogonic ideas of the inhabitants of the Cook or Hervey Group are not clear. The form in which they are given is quite divergent from that in other islands, but the account really gives no true cosmogony, for it describes only the origin of several deities. The universe, of whose beginning nothing is said, is pictured as a hollow shell, in form like a beet, at the lower extremity of which is “The Root of All Existence,” above which comes “Breathing All Life” and the “Long-Lived.” Next above, where the walls of the shell come together, is Vari-ma-te-takere (“The Very Beginning”), a female deity who creates six other deities--Vatea (called Atea in the Marquesas, and Wakea in Hawaii), Tinirau (“Innumerable “), Tango (“ Support “), Tu-mute-anaoa (“ Echo “), Raka (“Trouble”), and Tu-metua (“Stick by the Parent”). Vatea, whose abode was “The Thin Land,” espoused Papa (“ Foundation” or “Earth”), the daughter of Tima-te-kore (“Nothing More”), and became the parent of the five great deities, Tangaroa, Rongo, Tonga-iti, Tangiia, and Tane. The account does not harmonize well with any of the preceding beliefs, almost its only point of contact being the union of Vatea (associated with the light or bright sky) and Papa, and their consequent begetting of the gods. It seems very probable that the real cosmogonic myths of this group have not been recorded.

Summing up the material thus far presented, it may be said that we have in New Zealand one form of cosmogonic myth which indicates a belief in the origin, from an initial chaos, of a Sky-God, Rangi, who, in conjunction with Papa (“The Earth”) and other female powers, becomes the father of gods and men. The accounts, as we have them, give the impression of being somewhat fragmentary, as well as composite, and they represent, it may be suggested, the overlaying of an older stratum by the type of origin-myth which was current in the Cook and Society Groups in the fourteenth century--the time of the historic emigration from this portion of central Polynesia which brought to New Zealand the ancestors of the great bulk of the population found there at the period of its discovery. This central Polynesian form of myth appears to be strongly developed in the Marquesas also, though with some modifications, notably in tracing the origin of Papa more definitely. Here, however, this type appears itself to be strongly modified in some versions by still another class of myth, that, namely, in which Tangaroa plays the part of a real creator. In the Society Group this feature is still more pronounced, and we have Tangaroa treated almost as a world soul, a deity of whom the cosmos is only a manifestation.

One of the most curious and interesting of Polynesian cosmogonic myths is that found in Hawaii, which, although differing in several important particulars from those just outlined, must yet be considered as belonging to the same general type. In the very beginning, however, a striking variation occurs, in that although we have the source of all things from chaos, it is a chaos which is simply the wreck and ruin of an earlier world. “And so, creation begins in the origin of a new world from the shadowy reflex of one that is past. . . .

“Unsteadily, as in dim moon-shimmer,
From out Makalii’s night-dark veil of cloud
Thrills, shadow-like, the prefiguration of the world to be.”

The drama of creation, according to the Hawaiian account, is divided into a series of stages, and in the very first of these life springs from the shadowy abyss and dark night. There is here, however, no long series of antecedent, vaguely personified entities ranged in genealogical sequence, but the immediate appearance of living things. At first the lowly zoophytes and corals come into being, and these are followed by worms and shellfish, each type being declared to conquer and destroy its predecessor, a struggle for existence in which the strongest survive. Parallel with this evolution of animal forms, plant life begins on land and in the sea--at first with the algae, followed by seaweeds and rushes. As type follows type, the accumulating slime of their decay raises the land above the waters, in which, as spectator of all, swims the octopus, the lone survivor from an earlier world. In the next Period Black Night and Wide-Spread Night give birth to leafy plants and to insects and birds, while in the darkness the first faint glimmering of day appears. The sea brings forth its higher forms, such as the medusae, fishes, and whales; and in the dim twilight monstrous forms creep in the mud. Food plants come into existence while all nature is thrown into an uproar under the stress of its birth-pains. The fifth period sees the emergence of swine (the highest mammal known to the Hawaiian), and night becomes separated from day. In the sixth, mice appear on land, and porpoises in the sea; the seventh period witnesses the development of various abstract psychic qualities, later to be embodied in man; while in the eighth, the turmoil and uproar having subsided, from peace and quiet, fructified by the light, which is now brilliant, woman is born, and also man, together with some of the higher gods.

The principal difference between this conception--which is truly remarkable for a savage people--and the myths previously outlined are fivefold: first, the derivation of the present world from the wreck of an earlier; second, the omission of much of the cosmic development, if it may so be called; third, the ascription of the origins of life to the earliest period of creation and the tracing of its evolution from lower to higher forms; fourth, the suggestion, at least, of the building up of the solid earth as due to the gradual accumulation of the products of decay of the first life; and, lastly, the absence of the Heaven Father and Earth Mother, figures which form so characteristic a part of the New Zealand myths. In spite of these divergencies, however, the fundamental idea of evolutionary sequence, as opposed to creation, is clearly marked; and here, as in the New Zealand myths, the gods; are a product of, or an emanation from, the universe, rather than the preexistent germ of all development. Nevertheless here, as in other Polynesian groups, there were several conflicting versions of the origin-myth; and we find, among others, one in which a triad of gods (not including Tangaroa, however) is said to have “existed from and before chaos.” The evolutionary myth, moreover, which has been outlined. above, itself shows indications of a complex origin; so that in Hawaii, as elsewhere in Polynesia, there is evidence that the beliefs of the people in regard to origins are far from presenting a uniform type.

The evolutionary motive has been shown to be well developed both in New Zealand and in Hawaii as well as in the Marquesas; but in the West it appears to survive only in more or less fragmentary form, being largely overlaid and supplanted by other themes. In Samoa one version of the origin-myth begins with a genealogical series of rocks or cliffs, from which at length arises the octopus, whose children are fire and water. Between their descendants arises a mighty conflict, in which water wins and the world is destroyed by a flood only to be recreated by Tangaloa. This element of world-destruction and re-creation suggests the Hawaiian myth already outlined, but the evolutionary feature is here reduced to a mere fragment. Another version,  in giving the genealogy of the Malietoa, or ruling chief, carries the ancestors back through a long series of pairs of deities or natural phenomena to “The High Rocks” and the “Earth Rocks,” as follows:

Male
Female
Progeny

The high rocks
The earth rocks
The earth

The earth
High winds
Solid clouds

Solid clouds
Flying clouds
Confused winds

Quiet winds
Boisterous winds
Land beating winds

Dew of life
Dew of Life
Clouds clinging to the heavens

Clouds flying about
Clouds flying about
Clear heavens

Shadow
Twilight
Daylight

Noonday
Afternoon
Sunset

Quiet winds
Beautiful clouds
Cloudless heavens

Cloudless heavens
Spread-out heavens
Tangaloa

In these forms we see very clearly the genealogical impulse and the developmental idea, but here the primeval pair is the solid rock rather than the formless chaos and silence of Marquesan and New Zealand myths. Another version recalls more strongly the Hawaiian type, since it presents a succession of forms of vegetable life following each other as offspring and parent, although the elaborateness and coherence of the Hawaiian evolution of life forms is far from being equalled. In the few fragments of the Tongan mythology which have been preserved no trace of this evolutionary theme appears.

The Creative Type.--Turning to the second of the main themes shown in the origin-myths, namely, that characterized by belief in a more or less definite creation, notable differences in distribution are at once apparent. In outline the legends of this class recount that in the beginning the gods dwelt in an upper sky-world, below which there was nothing but a wide-spread sea. Into this a deity cast a stone, which ultimately became the world, where, after some of the heavenly beings had descended, mankind later appeared. For the fullest versions of this myth we must turn to Samoa, on the western verge of the Polynesian area, where, it will be remembered, only fragments of the evolutionary theme still survive. From the high heavens Tangaloa saw a stone floating in the boundless sea beneath, and this he brought up to the skies, where he shaped it into human form, inspired it with life, and took it to wife. She bore him a bird, which he sent down from the sky-world, casting into the sea a great rock to serve it for a home. After a while the bird returned to Tangaloa, complaining of the shadeless character of the land, and so the god cast down a vine which grew and gave shadow, but afterward Tangaloa in anger sent worms, which fed upon the vines and killed them, and from the worms or maggots, developed from the rotting vines, man was later made. In this and in other versions from Samoa there is, as a rule, little of an actual fashioning or shaping of the world, although this element appears in one or two cases.

The important feature is the belief in a pre-existing world of the gods above, whence something from which the world is ultimately to be made is cast down into the universal sea below; and a further element is the appearance of the bird, who is the messenger or offspring of the sky-deity. A similar version is (or was) current in Tonga. Tama-pouli-alamafoa (“King of Heaven”), Tangaloa-eiki (“Celestial Chief “), Tangaloa-tufuga (“ Celestial Artisan “), and Tangaloa-atu-logo-logo (“Celestial Messenger”) dwelt in the heavens. Tangaloa, the divine messenger, was ordered to descend to this world to see if he could find any land, wherefore he departed on a bird, and after flying about for a long time descried a sandbank on which the waves broke. Returning to the skies, he reported that he could find no dry land, but the lords of heaven said to him, “Wait for seven days, and then go back and look again.” He did so and found the land already risen above the waters. Bringing back tidings of his discovery, he was again instructed to wait and to look once more, for this dry land which he had seen was indeed the earth. Tangaloa, the divine messenger, then complained that there was no place below where he could rest and was told to ask Tangaloa, the divine artificer, to cast down chips and shavings from his work. This he did, and the island of Eua arose. The divine messenger again descended and lo, there was land which thus had fallen from the skies. The lords of heaven now ordered him to go and live upon this land, but when he had visited it he returned again to heaven and said, “It is a great land that I have seen, but there is in it no plant or tree.” Then the divine chief gave him a seed, ordering him to plant it, and when he had done so, the seed germinated and grew, and a great vine arose, spreading until it covered all the land.

Outside of Samoa and Tonga this form of origin-myth scarcely occurs, except in so far as one may perhaps detect an echo of it in the statement that in the beginning there was nothing but a wide-extending sea, on which a deity floated or over which he flew. Thus, in the Society Group, a myth fragment states: ”In the beginning there was only the god Ihoiho. Afterward there was an expanse of waters that covered the abyss; and the god Timo-taata floated on the surface.” Similarly, in the Marquesas we find it stated that “In the beginning there was only the sea, on which Tiki, a deity existing from the first, floated in a canoe, and afterward fished up the land from the bottom of the ocean.” These-suggest the Samoan versions, according to which Tangaroa, in the beginning, flew far and wide over the boundless waters, seeking a place to rest. The theme is, perhaps, still more clearly recognizable in another version from the Society Group, according to which Taaroa existed alone in the heavens, where he created his daughter with whom, on the foundation of a rock in the sea, he made the earth, the sky, and the sea. Tongan mythology also refers to the primeval sea and to the realm of the gods far away, whence Maui sails to fish up the land of Tonga. This latter episode seems to represent a different element almost throughout Polynesia and probably should not be regarded as belonging to this theme.

Still another origin-myth, which is particularly interesting because of its similarities, is that of the cosmic egg. A fragment of a myth from the Society Group states, “In the beginning, Taaroa existed in an egg, in darkness, from which he later burst forth.” In Hawaii another version appears, according to which a bird laid an egg upon the primeval waters, and this afterward burst of itself and produced the world. A somewhat similar tale has been reported from New Zealand also, according to which a great bird flew over the primeval sea and dropped into it an egg, which burst after floating for some time. An old man and an old woman emerged with a canoe, and after they had entered it--together with a boy and a girl, one carrying a dog, the other a pig--it drifted to land in New Zealand. The resemblance shown to Hindu cosmogonic ideas is not a little striking, and leads to possible conclusions of importance regarding the period of Polynesian migrations, since, if this similarity be regarded as too great to be explained otherwise than by actual transmission, we should have evidence that the last wave of Polynesian immigrants must have left the Indonesian area at least as late as the first or second century A. D., by which time Indian civilization had become established in Java. Such a migration, coming into central Polynesia, might have brought this, together with other elements, which later were distributed north to Hawaii and south to New Zealand before the period of wide contact came to an end in the twelfth or thirteenth centuries.

The simple statement that the heavens and the earth, sun, moon, plants, and animals were all made or created by some deity is found in one form or other in every Polynesian group, and while such a declaration is not so significant as the more detailed forms, yet it serves to indicate a distinctly different conception from what has been called the “evolutionary” theme.

From the materials at present available it would appear that we may with reasonable certainty draw the conclusion that the cosmogonic myths of the Polynesian people are based on at least two themes, one of which may be called the evolutionary or genealogical, and the other the creative. The relative importance and geographic distribution of these two contrasted themes have, moreover, been shown to differ in that the former seems best developed in New Zealand and Hawaii and is largely modified or overlaid by the second in central and western Polynesia. This latter, although it is found almost everywhere in its simple contrast of creation as opposed to evolution, presents an altogether special form in Samoa, and perhaps also in the Marquesas and Society Groups. The evolutionary or genealogical element in Polynesian legends has always attracted attention, and to a certain extent the inborn interest in genealogy shown by all Polynesians is probably responsible for the growth of this side of the mythology. Everywhere chiefs, as well as common people, preserved lists of their ancestors extending back for many generations, and in the case of the chiefs a divine descent was claimed. To a people so infused with this genealogical habit the ascription of an ancestry not only to the gods, but to the world and to all natural phenomena, was not an illogical step. Other factors, however, also entered into the problem, for from the character of most of these primitive ancestral pairs it is clear that the Polynesian mind had something of a philosophic turn, and that it groped about for a real cause or beginning, seeking to derive the concrete and tangible from the abstract and intangible.

It has been most ingeniously suggested that the peculiar environment of the Polynesians had much to do with the development of their special type of cosmogony. Living, as they did, isolated on small islands in the midst of a wide-reaching expanse of ocean--with the contrast between the immobility and changelessness of their little lands and the ever-moving, ever-changing sea always before them--it would not be surprising if they were led to try to account for this stability in the midst of universal flux on some such basis as that which we actually find. On that theory it is evident that this type of cosmogonic myth would be said to be a strictly local product of the environment in which the Polynesians dwelt; but, on the other hand, there is not a little evidence that the germs, at least, of this type were present among the original immigrants. Theoretically, a quite different solution of the problem might be proposed, based on real or fancied resemblance to Hindu speculation. On this basis it might be argued, as previously in regard to the cosmic egg, that the last immigrant groups to reach Polynesia from the West did not leave the Indonesian region until after this had been influenced by Indian culture, already strong in south-eastern Asia at the beginning of our era; and although this theory meets with several serious difficulties, it must, nevertheless, be taken into consideration.

Further discussion of the question of possible Indian influence in Polynesia may, however, best be reserved for the final estimate of Oceanic mythology as a whole. Critical consideration and comparison of the creation theme must also be left until the Indonesian myths have been discussed, for this type, especially in the particular form in which it appears in Samoa and Tonga, is widely distributed in the more westerly area--a region in which, moreover, the proximate origin of the Polynesian peoples must be sought.

The myths thus far considered have been those which were concerned only with the source of the world; we have now to deal with those which describe the origin of man. As before, we may recognize more than one type of myth. There is, first, the form according to which the ancestors of mankind were directly created by one or other of the deities. A second type is that where the first human being, a woman, was thus immediately created by a deity and subsequently taken to wife by him, so that man, as his descendant, is thus in origin half divine. Related to this is a third form, where man is said to be the direct offspring of the deities, and so wholly divine. Lastly, we have the types in which human beings are thought to be the result of a sort of evolutionary process, developing from worms, which are shaped and moulded into human form.

Maori mythology offers examples of the type which ascribes the origin of man to direct creation. According to one version, Tane desired to make man, so he formed a model of earth. “The arms stood forth, and the head, and the feet, and the thighs, and the whole body; and all were fashioned to the design he had formed in his mind--made to resemble the body of man. He patted it with his hands into form from the soil of Hawaiki. When he had completed it, he raised it up and stood it erect . . . Tiki or Tiki-au-a-ha was the name Tane gave to the form he made of the earth, which was the first inhabitant of the world.” Tane next meditated how he could make a woman who should be a companion to Tiki-au-a-ha, so he again modelled the soil of Hawaiki and prayed, and Io-wahine was produced. Then he ordered her to live with Tiki as his wife, and by them all the world was peopled. According to other versions, however, it was Tiki himself who, as a deity, made the first man of red clay or of clay mixed with his own blood.

In Hawaii we also find the myth of the direct creation of man. Here it was said that the three great gods, Kane, Ku, and Lono, formed man of red earth and the spittle of the gods, shaping him in the likeness of Kane; and having made the image, they breathed into it, calling on it to rise, and it became alive. The ensuing episode of the creation of the first woman from one of the man’s ribs is clearly the result of missionary contact. A similar tale is given from Tahiti, where, however, Taaroa is the creative deity.

The second type of myth, that, namely, which recounts the creation of a female human being and her marriage to her creator, is found in numerous versions. One from New Zealand runs thus: ”Some time after this Tane desired to have his mother Papa for his wife. But Papa said, ‘Do not turn your inclination towards me, for evil will come to you. Go to your ancestor Mumuhango.’ So Tane took Mumuhango to wife, who brought forth the totara-tree. Tane returned to his mother dissatisfied, and his mother said, ‘Go to your ancestor Hine-tu-a-maunga (= the mountain maid).’ So Tane took Hine-tu-a-maunga to wife, who conceived, but did not bring forth a child. Her offspring was the rusty water of mountains, and the monster reptiles common to mountains. Tane was displeased, and returned to his mother. Papa said to him, ‘Go to your ancestor Ranga-hore.’ So Tane went, and took that female for a wife, who brought forth stone. This greatly displeased Tane, who again went back to Papa. Then Papa said, ‘Go to your ancestor Ngaore (= the tender one).’ Tane took Ngaore to wife. And Ngaore gave birth to the toetoe (a species of rush-like grass). Tane returned to his mother in displeasure. She next advised him, ‘Go to your ancestor Pakoti.’ Tane did as he was bid, but Pakoti only brought forth harekeke (= Phormium tenax). Tane had a great many other wives at his mother’s bidding, but none of them pleased him, and his heart was greatly troubled, because no child was born to give birth to Man; so he thus addressed his mother--’Old lady, there will never be any progeny for me.’ Thereupon Papa said, ‘Go to your ancestor, Ocean, who is grumbling there in the distance. When you reach the beach at Kura-waka, gather up the earth in the form of man.’ So Tane went and scraped up the earth at Kura-waka. He gathered up the earth, the body was formed, and then the head, and the arms; then he joined on the legs, and patted down the surface of the belly, so as to give the form of man; and when he had done this, he returned to his mother, and said, ‘The whole body of the man is finished.’ . . . Then he named this female form Hine-ahu-one (= the earth formed maid).”

Tane took Hine-ahu-one to wife. She first gave birth to Tiki-tohua--the egg of a bird from which have sprung all the birds of the air. After that, Tiki-kapakapa was born--a female. Then first was born for Tane a human child.

From another of the Maori tribes a briefer form is given. Tane took a tree to wife, but his offspring were trees, not men. He went, therefore, and took mud, and mixing it with sand upon the beach of Hawaiki, he made a figure of a woman from it. When he had formed her, he laid her down, covered her with garments, breathed into her mouth and left her; but after a while he returned, and found her moving and shaking and gazing on this side and on that to observe all that she could see. Looking behind her, she beheld Tane and laughed, so he put out his hand and took her, and made her his wife. A similar tale is found in the Society Group, according to Which Tii made a woman from the earth at Ati-auru and dwelt with her, thus becoming the parent of a daughter, from whom and Tii-maaraatai all men are descended. Some form of this story seems also to have been current in the Marquesas, where again it is Tiki who thus creates a wife for himself from the sands of the shore.

A belief in the direct descent of man from the gods seems not to be so clearly or explicitly stated in the Maori myths, although references to this type do occur. In the Cook Group,  three sons of Rongo are said to be the ancestors of all the peoples of Mangaia, though we are not told of the divine origin of their wives. The Marquesans appear also to have had a similar belief, since mankind was derived from Tii-tapu (the son of Tii, who was a descendant of Atea and Atanua) and Hina-ua.

Legends of this sort were current in Hawaii as well. In the long cosmogonic myth or chant already mentioned in speaking of the evolutionary type of creation-myths in Hawaii, mankind, like the greater gods themselves, is the direct offspring of the Bright Light and Pleasant Quiet, for the female being of cosmic origin thus engendered is the parent both of gods and of Kii (= Tii = Tiki), the ancestor of all men by incestuous union with his mother. Another version of what is apparently the same myth states that La’i-la’i, the first female being, was begotten of Po or Chaos. “The King who Opens the Heavens” (evidently a sky-deity), looking down, beheld her, and descending, took her to wife, and from these two all men are derived.

The most detailed form of the myth is, however, that from Tahiti. Hina, the daughter-wife of Taaroa said to him, “‘What shall be done, how shall man be obtained? Behold, classed or fixed are the gods of the po, or state of night, and there are no men.’ Taaroa . . . answered, ‘Go on the shore to the interior, to your brother.’ Hina answered, ‘I have been inland, and he is not.’ Taaroa then said, ‘Go to the sea, perhaps he is on the sea; or if on the land, he will be on the land.’ . . . When the goddess had departed, Taaroa ruminated within himself as to the means by which man should be formed, and went to the land, where he assumed the appearance and substance which should constitute man.

Hina, returning from her unsuccessful search . . . met him, but not knowing him said, ‘Who are you?’ ‘I am Tii-maaraatai,’ he replied. ‘Where have you been?’ said the goddess. ‘I have sought you here, and you were not; I went to the sea to look for Tii-maaraatai, and he was not.’ ‘I have been here in my house, . . . ‘answered Tii-maaraatai, ‘and, behold you have arrived, my sister, come to me.’ Hina said, ‘So it is you who are my brother; let us live together.’ They became man and wife, and the son that Hina afterward bore they called Tii. He was the first-born of mankind.”

A comparison of these various myths of the origin of mankind shows the presence of no little confusion. Tiki or Tii is at once the first man, and the creator or progenitor of man; other myths do not speak of the first woman made by Tane as human, but as a deity, whose descendant, Hine-nui-a-te-po, becomes the guardian and goddess of the underworld; and many or most of the characters in the myths are nothing more than thinly disguised personifications of natural phenomena.

All this obviously implies a confusion of the human and the divine--theories of actual creation, influenced by the deep-seated desire to trace ancestry back to a divine source.

A transition to the last type of myths explaining the origin of the human race is afforded, in some senses, by a legend from New Zealand which apparently ascribes an independent origin to man. According to this, ”an aquatic plant growing in swamps was the male procreating power which engendered the red clay seen in landslips, whence came the first man. This man was discovered by one of the gods before light had dawned on this world.”

“Seeking, earnestly seeking in the gloom.
Searching--yes, on the coastline--
On the bounds of light of day.
Looking into night
Night had conceived
The seed of night.
The heart, the foundation of night,
Had stood forth self-existing
Even in the gloom.
It grows in gloom--
The sap and succulent parts,
The life pulsating,
And the cup of life.
The shadows screen
The faintest gleam of light.
The procreating power,
The ecstasy of life first known,
And joy of issuing forth,
From silence into sound.
Thus the progeny
Of the Great extending
Filled the heaven’s expanse;
The chorus of life
Rose and swelled
Into ecstasy,
Then rested in
Bliss of calm and quiet.”

Inasmuch as the “man” thus discovered was the grandfather of him who separated heaven and earth, it is obvious that here again we have a confusion of terms, and that this man was not regarded as an ordinary human being in any sense, for his exploits are those of gods--exploits, indeed, expressly attributed to Tane and other deities in variant myths.

In the comparison of the legends of the origin of the world it has been seen that Samoa presented special features, and in its most generally received version of the provenance of man it shows a similar individuality and offers the best form of the last of the types of myths relating to human origins. According to the Samoan tale, after Tangaroa had created the world by casting down a rock from heaven and had sent earth and creeping plants to cover it and give it shade, these vines died or were killed, and from the worms which killed them or into which their rotting stalks were changed man either developed or was made.

“The earliest traditions of the Samoans describe a time when the heavens alone were inhabited, and the earth covered over with water. Tangaloa, the great Polynesian Jupiter, then sent down his daughter in the form of a bird called the turi (a snipe), to search for a resting-place. After flying about for a long time, she found a rock partially above the surface of the water. . . . Turi went up and told her father that she had found but one spot on which she could rest. Tangaloa sent her down again to visit the place. She went to and fro repeatedly, and every time she went up reported that the dry surface was extending on all sides. He then sent her down with some earth and a creeping plant, as all was barren rock. She continued to visit the earth and return to the skies. Next visit, the plant was spreading. Next time, it was withered and decomposing. Next visit, it swarmed with worms. And the next time, the worms had become men and women!”

It should be noted that, according to one of these versions, when man was first made or evolved from the worms, he was “formless,” the meaning apparently being that he did not yet have human shape. Outside of Samoa this myth does not occur in just this form, but in Tonga we find a tale describing the origin of man from worms scratched out of the sand by the sandpiper and left to rot in the sun. It was this bird which was the daughter of Taaroa in the Samoan myths, and which, in one version, brought to Taaroa the worms developed from the rotting vines that he might make them into man. Elsewhere in Polynesia we find little trace of this story, unless the fact that in the Society Group the first men were said to have been originally like a ball, their legs and arms being afterward pulled out, may be taken as comparable to the Samoan idea of an originally formless being. We shall see later that this conception of an amorphous being, afterward becoming human in shape, was also characteristic in parts of Indonesia and Australia.

Reference must be made to one other myth of the origin of mankind which, like the last, is confined to narrow limits, but whose affiliations run in quite a different direction. In the Chatham Islands (whose population, it will be remembered, represents largely a pre-Maori people) a myth has been recorded which states that man originated miraculously from a clot of blood placed by two deities in a hollow tree. Elsewhere in Polynesia mankind is not ascribed to such a provenance, but in Samoa it is given in several myths as the mode of origin of minor deities. It is, however, a wide-spread myth of the source of mankind or of individual human beings in various parts of Melanesia and would thus seem to suggest an early Melanesian element in western Polynesia and the Chatham Islands. An origin-myth of a still different sort is that found in the little island of Nieue, which lies between Tonga and the Cook Group, according to which the first man was born from a tree; and perhaps a trace of this same idea may be seen in the New Zealand myth of Tane marrying a tree which gave birth to living beings and minor deities.

In discussing the legends relating to the origin of the world it has already been pointed out that analysis reveals complexity, and that comparison suggests relationship beyond the limits of Polynesia. It is equally clear that in the accounts given of the origin of man there is an equally complex series with similar suggestions of affiliation far afield. This diversity in type within the Polynesian area, and the wide ramification of similarities in the areas lying farther west, will, as we proceed, be found to be no less characteristic of almost all portions of Polynesian mythology.

In a previous section it has been shown how, among the Maori, an evolutionary or genealogical type of cosmogonic myth led up to the conception of a Sky Father and Earth Mother who were the parents of a great group of deities and even (in some versions) of man himself. We must follow this concept onward and trace the further experiences of the divine pair. According to the New Zealand belief, Rangi, the Sky Father, felt love for Papa-tu-a-nuku (“The Earth”), who lay beneath him, so he came down to Papa. At that time “absolute and complete darkness prevailed; there was no sun, no moon, no stars, no clouds, no light, no mist--no ripples stirred the surface of ocean; no breath of air, a complete and absolute stillness.” And Rangi set plants and trees to cover the nakedness of Papa, for her body was bare, placing insects of all kinds appropriate to the various sorts of vegetation, and giving their stations to the shellfish and the crabs and various sorts of living things. Then Rangi clave unto Papa, the Earth Mother, and held her close in his embrace, and as he lay thus prone upon Papa, all his offspring of gods which were born to him, both great and small, were prisoned beneath his mighty form and lived cramped and herded together in darkness. “Because Rangi-nui over-laid and completely covered Papa-tua-nuku, the growth of all things could not mature, nor could anything bear fruit; . . . they were in an unstable condition, floating about the Ao-pouri [the world of darkness], and this was their appearance: some were crawling, . . . some were upright with arms held up, . . . some lying on their sides, . . . some on their backs, some were stooping, some with their heads bent down, some with legs drawn up . . . . some kneeling. . . . some feeling about in the dark . . . . they were all within the embrace of Rangi and Papa.” So for a long time the gods dwelt in darkness, but at last the desire came to them to better their condition, and for this purpose they planned to lift Rangi on high. The version of this myth of the raising of the sky, given by Sir George Grey, is one of the classics of Polynesian mythology, and deserves to be quoted almost in full.

“Darkness then rested upon the heaven and upon the earth, and they still both clave together, for they had not yet been rent apart; and the children they had begotten were ever thinking amongst themselves what might be the difference between darkness and light; they knew that beings had multiplied and increased, and yet light had never broken upon them, but it ever continued dark.... At last the beings who had been begotten by Heaven and Earth, worn out by the continued darkness, consulted among themselves, saying, ‘Let us now determine what we should do with Rangi and Papa, whether it would be better to slay them or to rend them apart.’ Then spake Tu-matauenga, the fiercest of the children of Heaven and Earth, ‘It is well, let us slay them.’

“Then spake Tane-mahuta, the father of forests and of all things that inhabit them, or that are constructed from trees, ‘Nay, not so. It is better to rend them apart, and to let the heaven stand far above us, and the earth lie under our feet. Let the sky become a stranger to us, but the earth remain close to us as our nursing mother.’

“The brothers all consented to this proposal, with the exception of Tawhiri-ma-tea, the father of winds and storms, and he, fearing that his kingdom was about to be overthrown, grieved greatly at the thought of his parents being torn apart. Five of the brothers willingly consented to the separation of their parents, but one of them would not agree to it. . . .

But at length their plans having been agreed on, lo, Rongo-ma-tane, the god and father of the cultivated food of man, rises up, that he may rend apart the heavens and the earth; he struggles, but he rends them not apart. Lo, next Tangaroa, the god and father of fish and reptiles rises up, that he may rend apart the heavens and the earth, but he rends them not apart. Lo, next Haumia-tikitiki, the god and father of the food of man which springs up without cultivation, rises up and struggles, but ineffectually. Lo, then, Tu-matauenga, the god and father of fierce human beings, rises up and struggles, but he, too, fails in his efforts. Then, at last, slowly uprises Tane-mahuta, the god and father of forests, of birds, and of insects, and he struggles with his parents; in vain he strives to rend them apart with his hands and arms. Lo, he pauses; his head is now firmly planted on his mother the earth, his feet he raises up and rests against his father the skies, he strains his back and limbs with mighty effort. Now are rent apart Rangi and Papa, and with cries and groans of wo they shriek aloud, ‘Wherefore slay you thus your parents? Why commit you so dreadful a crime as to slay us, as to rend your parents apart?’ But Tane-mahuta pauses not, he regards not their shrieks and cries; far, far beneath him he presses down the earth; far, far above him, he thrusts up the sky. . . .

Up to this time, the vast Heaven has still ever remained separated from his spouse the Earth. Yet their mutual love still continues--the soft warm sighs of her loving bosom still ever rise up to him, ascending from the woody mountains and valleys, and men call these mists; and the vast Heaven, as he mourns through the long nights his separation from his beloved, drops frequent tears upon her bosom, and men seeing these, term them dewdrops.”

Another Maori version introduces several other elements. “Raki, though speared by Takaroa, still adhered to the top of Papa; and Raki said to Tane and his younger brothers, ‘Come and kill me, that men may live.’ Tane said, ‘O old man! how shall we kill you?’ Raki said, ‘O young man! lift me up above, that I may stand separate; that your mother may lie apart from me, that light may grow on you all.’ Then Tane said to Raki, ‘O old man! Rehua shall carry you.’ Raki answered Tane and his younger brothers, ‘O young men! do not let me be carried by your elder brothers only, lest my eyes become dim. Rather all of you carry me above, that I may be elevated’, that light May dawn on you.’ Tane said to him, ‘Yes, O old man! your plan is right--that light may grow into day.’ Raki said to Tane, ‘It is right, O Tane! that I be taken and killed (separated from my wife), that I may become a teacher to you and your younger brothers, and show you how to kill. If I die, then will light and day be in the World.’ Tane was pleased with the reasons why his father wished them to kill him; and hence Tane said to another branch of the offspring of Raki . . . ‘Tread on Papa, tread her down; and prop up Raki, lift him up above . . . that the eyes of Raki, who is standing here, may be satisfied.’ . . . Now, this was the origin of the heaven. It was made by Tane and admired by him, and he uttered the words of his prayer to aid Rehua to carry their father above. . . . Tane now took Raki on his back; but he could put Raki no higher. Raki said to Tane, ‘You too, you and your younger brother (Paia) carry me.’ Then Paia prayed his prayer, and said:

‘Carry Raki on the back.
Carry Papa.
Strengthen, O big back of Paia,
Sprained with the leap at Hua-rau.’

Now, Raki was raised with the aid of this prayer, and spoke words of poroporoaki (farewell) to Papa, and said, ‘O Papa! O! you remain here. This will be the (token) of my love to you; in the eighth month I will weep for you.’ Hence the origin of the dew, this; being the tears of Raki weeping for Papa. Raki again said to Papa, ‘O old woman! live where you are. In winter I will sigh for you.’ This is the origin of ice. Then Papa spoke words of farewell to Raki, and said, ‘O old man! go, O Raki! and in summer I also will lament for you.’ Hence the origin of mist, or the love of Papa for Raki.

“When the two had ended their words of farewell, Paia uplifted Raki, and Tane placed his toko (pole) . . . between Papa and Raki. Paia did likewise with his toko . . . . Then Raki floated upwards, and a shout of approval was uttered by those up above, who said, ‘O Tu of the long face, lift up the mountain.’ Such were the words shouted by the innumerable men (beings) from above in approval of the acts of Tane and Paia; but that burst of applause was mostly in recognition of Tane’s having disconnected the heaven, and propped up its sides, and made them stable. He had stuffed up the cracks and chinks, so that Raki was completed and furnished, light arose and day began.”

Similar but briefer versions of this same myth are found in the Chatham Islands, where the raising of the heavens was done by a being called “Heaven-Propper,” the sky being lifted upon ten pillars, set one above the other. In the Cook Group, the raiser of the heavens was Ru. Originally the heavens were low, so low that they rested on the broad leaves of certain plants, and in this narrow space all the people of this world were pent up, but Ru sent for the gods of night and the gods of day to assist him in his work of raising the sky. He prayed to them, “Come, all of you, and help me to lift up the heavens.” And when they came in answer to his call, he chanted the following song:

“O Son! O Son! Raise my son
Raise my son!
Lift the Universe! Lift the Heavens!
The Heavens are lifted,
It is moving!
It moves,
It moves!”

The heavens were raised accordingly, and Ru then chanted the following song to secure the heavens in their place:

“Come, O Ru-taki-nuhu,
Who has propped up the Heavens.
The Heavens were fast, but are lifted.
The Heavens were fast, but are lifted.
Our work is completed.”

This conception, that the sky was originally low, resting on the leaves of plants, is also found in the Society Group, where Ruu is again the deity by whose aid the task of raising the heavens was accomplished. It likewise occurs in Samoa, and in somewhat similar form in the Union Group, whereas in Hawaii the incident of the separation of heaven and earth is referred to but vaguely and seems to play a very insignificant part in the beliefs of the people.

It will be observed that the idea of a Sky Father and Earth Mother, so characteristic in New Zealand, is lacking in central Polynesia. What is said is merely that once the sky was very low, and that one of the deities raised it to its present position. Now this form of the myth appears in the New Hebrides, where the heaven was said originally to have been so low that a woman struck it with her pestle as she was pounding food, whereupon she angrily told the sky to rise higher, and it did so. Almost identically the same type appears in the Philippines, and the simple theme of raising the heavens, which once were low, is frequent in several other parts of Indonesia as well as in the intervening area of Micronesia. It would seem, therefore, that the Maori form of the myth represents a special or locally developed form of this widespread theme, which reaches back almost without a break from central Polynesia to Indonesia.

In the foregoing legends of the raising of the sky this is accomplished by one or other of the gods, and it is clearly a cosmogonic feature, especially well brought out in New Zealand, as will be shown presently when the myths of the origin of the sun, moon, and stars are considered. The episode, however, appears in parts of Polynesia in quite another aspect, i. e. as one of the exploits of the hero Maui, but since the Maui cycle will be treated in a special chapter, discussion of the place of this episode in it may best be postponed for the present. Nevertheless, it should here be noted that whereas in Hawaii the theme occurs only in connexion with Maui, in New Zealand it is known solely as a cosmogonic myth, while both forms are found in central Polynesia.

The myths of origin relating to the heavens and the earth having been outlined, there remain those regarding the provenance of the sun, moon, and stars, the sea, and other natural features. Turning again to the Maori account of the separation of Rangi and Papa, it appears that Tane’s efforts did not cease with the parting of his parents, but that he sought to clothe and beautify them. “Tane saw that his father Raki was naked; so he went and obtained kura (red) to make his father look comely; but this did not suffice. He then went to bring the stars from . . . ‘The Mat of Dread’ and ‘The Mat of the Sacred Holding’. . . stars were the fastenings of these mats. . . . Tane placed the stars on Raki in the daytime, but they were not beautiful; but at night his father Raki looked grand.”

The sun and moon in the Maori myth seem generally to be regarded as Rangi’s offspring who were later placed for eyes in the sky, and similar beliefs prevailed in the Society Group and in Samoa. In the Cook Group the sun and moon were said to be eyes of Vatea, and other versions from this area give further details. According to these, Vatea and Tonga-iti (or Tangaroa, by one version) quarrelled as to the parentage of the first-born of Papa, each claiming to be the father, and to settle the dispute the child was cut in two, half being given to Vatea and half to Tonga-iti. Vatea took the upper portion, which was his, and threw it into the sky, where it became the sun, while Tonga-iti allowed his share, the lower half, to remain on the ground. Later, imitating Vatea, he also tossed his portion into the heavens, where it became the moon, but, owing to the fact that the blood had drained out of it and that it had partly decomposed, it shone with a paler light. The simple statement that the sun and moon were made by the deity is found in the Society Group, and little more seems to be recorded from Hawaii.

The origin of the sea, a feature of the environment of necessity particularly prominent for an island people, has already been mentioned in passing, but a few further points may well be added here. The conception of a primeval sea has been shown to be especially prevalent in central and western Polynesia, where we also find belief in the origin of the ocean from the sweat of Taaroa in his labours of creation. A variant appears in Samoa, where the sea is; said to have arisen from the bursting of the ink-sack of the primeval octopus, but in the Marquesas, on the other hand, it is stated that the ocean was derived from the amniotic liquor when Atanua, the wife of the Heaven-Deity Atea, suffered a miscarriage. One other Samoan myth fragment relating to the origin of the sea is of interest as evidencing the Melanesian influence to be found on this western margin of Polynesia. According to this tale, the sea was originally concealed and kept shut up, but was later let out, the result being a flood. More detailed versions of this incident are wide-spread in Melanesia, whence this Samoan fragment was probably derived.

The evolutionary growth and origin of plants and trees in Hawaiian mythology has already been outlined, and Rangi’s setting of plants and trees upon Papa in the Maori myth has also been noted, but some versions include a curious incident. According to these forms of the myth, Tane planted trees upon his mother, Earth, after the raising of Rangi. At first he set them with their heads (i. e. their roots) up and their feet down, but since he did not like their appearance he reversed them, and placed them with their heads in the earth and their feet up. With this he was much pleased, and so they grow to this day. The unusual idea of trees having formerly been upside down may perhaps be connected with the frequent Indonesian and Micronesian theme of the great tree hanging upside down in the sky, by whose branches men passed back and forth to the upper world.

The importance of flood-myths in Polynesia was apparently not very great. Deluge-episodes, of course, do occur; but so far as the published material goes, the floods referred to are merely incidents--and, as a whole, minor incidents--in other stories. For instance, Tawhaki is said to have caused a deluge by stamping on the floor of heaven, which cracked so that the waters flowed through and covered the earth; or, again, his mother is recorded to have wept at the actions of her son, her tears falling to earth and flooding it, thus overwhelming all men; while another version declares that Tawhaki, wishing to be avenged for the attempt to kill him, called upon the gods to send a deluge to overwhelm the world after he and his friend had taken refuge on the top of a mountain. Of a similar type are the references in Hawaiian mythology to the “Sea of Kahinalii.” According to this tale, Pele, the fire-goddess, once lived far to the south-west, but when her husband deserted her, she set out to try to find him. To aid her in the search, her parents gave her the sea to go with her and bear her canoes, and as she journeyed she poured forth the sea from her head, the waters rising until only the tops of the highest mountains were visible, but later retiring to their present level.

A somewhat more elaborate flood-myth is reported from Raiatea in the Society Group. According to this version, a fisherman once got his hook entangled in the hair of Rua-haku, a sea-god, who war, asleep at the bottom of the sea, but when the man tried to pull in what he fancied to be a great fish, he so enraged the deity that he was about to destroy his disturber. The fisherman, however, begged for mercy, and the god finally agreed to spare him, but insisted on revenging himself upon the rest of the world. By Rua-haku’s advice, the fisherman took refuge on an islet with a friend, a hog, a dog, and a couple of hens, and the sea then began to rise, continuing so to do until all the world was overflowed, and all the people had perished, after which the waters retired to their former level.

In Mangaia, in the Cook Group, a tale is told of a conflict between Aokeu and Ake, a sea-deity. The two quarrelled as to which was the more powerful, and Ake, to show his might, caused the sea to rise and dash upon the land in great waves, while Aokeu made rain to fall in floods, so that, between the two, the island was covered, except for a small bit which protruded. Rangi (not the deity, apparently), the first king of Mangaia, took refuge on this fragment of dry land, and, alarmed lest he should be drowned, prayed to Rongo to aid him, whereupon the latter deity forced the two contestants to cease their display of power, and the deluge subsided.

The two legends which have been recorded from Samoa are of a somewhat different type in that they are more a part of the cosmogonic tales. According to one version, in early times there was a flood which destroyed all beings, except one man, Pili, and his wife, who took refuge on a rock, these survivors subsequently becoming the ancestors of mankind. Another form of the myth states that when the flood came, Seve and a man called Pouniu alone saved themselves by swimming. Tangaloa saw them from the sky, and pitying their plight sent down two men from the heavens with hooks, who drew Samoa from under the sea to serve as a refuge for the two who were thus rescued.

Although there may be some question whether the end of the Raiatea story shows traces of missionary influence, all these flood-tales are probably aboriginal. As much cannot be said, however, for the versions from New Zealand, the Marquesas, and Hawaii, in all of which the Biblical parallel, extending even to names and details, is far too close to permit us to regard the tales as other than local adaptations of missionary teaching.

Chapter 2. The Maui Cycle

OF all the myths from the Polynesian area, probably none have been more frequently quoted than those which recount the deeds and adventures of the demigod Maui. Among the Polynesians themselves almost every group had its own versions of the tales, and the large number of variants, many of which have fortunately been recorded, make the Maui cycle one of the most important for the study of this whole area.

Maui, the hero of these tales, is generally described as one of a series of brothers, the number varying from three in Rarotonga to six in some of the New Zealand versions, although in Mangaia he is spoken of as having no brother. As in hero tales generally, he is usually the youngest child, and in New Zealand especially the older Mauis are described as stupid or forgetful, while Maui, the hero, is clever or mischievous. Thus the elder brothers used spears without barbs and eel-pots without trap-doors, and wondered why they were unsuccessful; but the youngest invented the barb on the spear and the trap-door for the eel-pot, and so succeeded where they failed. These two elements, i. e. that the hero is one of a number of brothers and that the others are stupid or foolish while he is wise and clever, are very strikingly developed in the Melanesian myths, which often record two brothers and in which there is sometimes a greater antithesis of good and evil than is. implied in the Polynesian myths. In the New Hebrides and vicinity, indeed, the hero at times appears under the name of Maui. While in the non-Maori parts of the Polynesian area Maui’s birth is generally not dissimilar to that of his other brothers, in New Zealand the hero is declared to have been an abortion, which his mother wrapped up in her apron or topknot, and either abandoned in the bush or threw into the sea. Although thus deserted by his parent, Maui survived, for the unformed child was tended by supernatural beings and reared to manhood, some versions declaring that he was taken up into the sky-world. There he grew up and engaged in a conflict with Maru (by one account, an elder brother) whose crops he ruined by sending rain or snow upon them, for which Maru revenged himself by causing frost to kill Maui’s crops, whereupon, in retaliation, the hero slew him. Having at length reached maturity, Maui determined to seek out his parents and brothers, and came upon the latter engaged in playing at niti or teka. In this game reeds, fern stalks, or spears are cast so as to rebound from a small hillock of earth and slide along the ground, the winner being he whose niti goes farthest. After the brothers had hurled their spears, Maui asked to be allowed to throw, and as he did so he shouted his name, but the others at once disclaimed him and said that he had no right to be called Maui. He asked them, however, to summon their mother that she might decide, yet when she came, she at once declared that he was no child of hers and bade him begone. Maui next asked her to recall her past, and then she remembered that which she had cast away. Maui declared this to have been his origin and that his ancestors had saved him and brought him up. His mother finally recognized him, declared him her youngest son, and made him her favourite. This episode of the return of the abandoned child is strikingly parallel to tales current in Melanesia, where a deserted child joins others who are playing a game and is ultimately recognized by his parent. So far as reported, this incident does not occur elsewhere in Polynesia, except in Nieue.

Of the many exploits of Maui three seem to be most widely spread, and these may, therefore, be first considered. They are fishing up the land, snaring the sun, and the quest of fire. As an example of the first of these feats we may take one of the New Zealand versions Maui had an ancestress to whom it was the duty of the elder brothers to carry food, but they neglected her and ate it themselves. Maui offered to take their place, but when he came to his ancestress, he found her ill, one half of her body being already dead, whereupon he wrenched off her lower jaw, made from it a fish-hook, which he concealed about him, and then returned to his home. His brothers did not like to have him accompany them on their fishing trips, but Maui hid in their canoe, and when they were out at sea next day, he disclosed himself. At first they were going to put him ashore, but finally they agreed to let him stay, since they thought that he could not fish if they did not give him a hook. Nothing dismayed, Maui took out his magic hook, struck his nose with his fist until it bled, and baited his hook with the blood. Lowering his line, he soon got a tremendous bite and at last hauled in the land, like a great fish, from the bottom of the sea. Telling his brothers not to cut it up, he went away, but they disobeyed him and began to hack with their knives, thus causing the great fish to struggle, break the canoe, and kill the brothers, while, owing to the cuts made by them, the land became rough and rugged. In some versions of the myth the land so hauled up was that of Tonga; in others, it was New Zealand, which some of the Maori called Te-ika-a-ma-ui, “The Fish of Maui.”‘ According to another account, the magic fish-hook was made from the jaw-bone of Maui’s oldest son, whom Maui had killed for this purpose, the bait being the ear of this same child; and for three moons he laboured to drag up the great fish with the aid of Rupe, a pigeon, to whom he gave one end of the line.

It is in New Zealand that the story of this exploit of the hero is told with the greatest wealth of detail, although Hawaii also furnishes versions nearly as full. Here the reason is given why the brothers did not like to have Maui go fishing with them. He was not a very good fisherman, but was full of mischievous tricks by which he secured the catch actually taken by his brothers. When one of them began to haul in a prize, Maui would cry, “Look out, we have both caught the same fish,” and would rapidly pull in his line, so manœuvring as to foul that of the other. As the fish was brought near the canoe, he would then slip his hook toward the head of the fish and flip it over into the canoe, thus causing his brother’s line to slacken, and then, holding up the fish, he would say, “Oh, you lost your fish. Why didn’t you pull steadily?” When at last the brothers allowed the tricky fellow to accompany them again, he baited his magic fish-hook with a bird, sacred to his mother, Hine; but the fish which he caught was so huge that he asked his brothers to help him haul it in, and as the land began to emerge from the sea, he cautioned them not to look back or the prize would be lost. One of the brothers disobeyed, and at once the line broke and the land also, so that, instead of a great single mass, it was fractured into a group of islands. Central Polynesia and Tonga present, so far as published materials go, much briefer accounts and in almost all cases attribute the same feat to Tangaroa also or some other deity or demigod. The episode seems to be but little known in Samoa. There it is attributed solely to Tangaroa and is a variant of the story of how, in the beginning, he cast a rock down from the sky to serve as an abiding place for his daughter, the snipe, in the world of waters. From the evidence it would appear that the episode was one which was a part of the older structure of Polynesian mythology and which in the central and western areas had been overlaid by later elements. Outside of the Polynesian region comparable myths have so far been noted in certain of the New Hebrides, Fotuna, Union Group, Gilbert Islands, and New Britain.

A Hawaiian version of the snaring of the sun may be taken as an example of Maui’s next exploit. Maui’s mother was much troubled by the shortness of the day, occasioned by the rapid movement of the sun; and since it was impossible to dry properly the sheets of tapa used for clothing, the hero resolved to cut off the legs of the sun so that he could not travel so fast. His mother, accordingly, made strong ropes for him and sent him to his blind old grandmother to get added assistance. He found her cooking bananas, and as she laid them down one after the other, Maui stole them. At length discovering her loss, but unable to see the culprit, she sniffed about angrily until she smelt a man, whereupon she asked who it was, and when Maui told her that he was her grandson, she forgave him and presented him with a magic club to aid him in his attack on the sun. Maui now went off eastward to where the sun climbed daily out of the underworld, and as the luminary came up, the hero noosed his legs one after the other and tied the ropes strongly to great trees. Fairly caught, the sun could not get away, and Maui gave him a tremendous beating with his magic weapon. To save his life, the sun begged for mercy, and on promising to go more slowly ever after, was released from his bonds.

Substantially the same form of the story is found in New Zealand. Maui “observed that the time between the sun’s rising and setting was very short, and he said to his brothers, ‘Let us tie the sun, that it may not go so fast, that man may have time to provide food for himself.’ But his brothers said, ‘Man cannot go near to the sun on account of the heat.’ Maui said, ‘You have seen the many acts that I have performed. I have taken the form of a bird, and again resumed that of a man, while you have ever had the form of men. And now, my brothers, I can do what I propose, and even greater acts than this.’ His brothers consented, and commenced to plait ropes. . . . When these had been made Maui took his weapon, made of the jaw-bone of his progenitor . . . and his brothers took their weapons and the ropes, and they . . . journeyed till they had got near where the sun came up. Maui, addressing his brothers, said, ‘Beware you do not surprise and unnecessarily startle the sun; but let his head and shoulders be fully within the noose, and be ready when I call to pull the opposite ends of the ropes. When the sun is caught, I will rise and beat him. But let the ropes be securely fastened that he may be held for some time. And O young men! do not heed his cry of pain. Then we will let him go.’

“The sun came up like blazing fire, and when his head and shoulders had entered the noose Maui encouraged his brothers to action by saying ‘Now pull.’ They did so, and the sun drew his limbs together with a twitch. Maui rushed at him with his weapon, and scarce had the sun time to call before Maui was belabouring him, and continued to so do for some time. When they let him go he went away crippled, and in the anguish of his pain he uttered another of his names, Tama-nui-a-te-ra (great child of the sun), and said, ‘Why am I so beaten by you, O man! I will have my revenge on you for having dared to beat the great child of the sun.’ He departed on his way, but was unable to travel so fast as before.”

It will be noted that this and other New Zealand versions, like all those so far recorded from the rest of Polynesia, lack the incident of the visit to the blind grandmother. This episode of the stealing of food from a blind person is, however, widely current in Polynesia, but is, as a rule, told in connexion with another hero, Tawhaki, whose adventures and relationship will be considered later. On the other hand, it is not uncommon in Melanesia, and is also found in Micronesia  and Indonesia. In the Society Group a somewhat different aspect is given to the story by the fact that the purpose was not to make the sun go more slowly, but to bring it nearer, so that it might more quickly heat the stones that Maui used in cooking his food. In Samoa the adventure, albeit in a somewhat abbreviated form, is attributed not to Maui but to the Sun-Child, some of whose other adventures are widely spread in Polynesia.

The third of the great exploits usually accredited to Maui is that of the fire-quest. As with much of the Maui cycle, the fuller versions have been best preserved in New Zealand. According to these, Maui and his brothers lived with their mother, but every morning she disappeared before they awoke, and none knew whither she went. Determining to solve the mystery, Maui stopped up every chink and cranny in the house, thus preventing the morning light from coming in, so that his mother overslept, and Maui, waking in time, saw her leave the house, pull up a clump of reeds or grass, and disappear down the opening thus revealed. Adopting his favourite disguise of a bird, he followed, flying down the aperture: to the world below, where he revealed himself to his parent and demanded food. The fire being out, his mother was about to send a servant to secure some, when Maui volunteered to bring it and accordingly went to the house of his ancestor Mafuike, an old woman who was the owner and guardian of fire. Of her he begged a brand, and she gave him one of her fingers, in which fire was concealed. He started away, but when out of sight, quenched it in a stream and returned for more. She gave him another finger, which he extinguished in a similar manner, and thus got from her in succession all her fingers and toes, except the last, with which, in anger, she set the world afire. Maui fled, but was pursued by the flames, which threatened to consume everything, so that in distress he called upon rain, snow, and hail to aid him, and they, coming to his assistance, succeeded in putting out the conflagration and thus saved the world. In some versions Maui then returned to this world, having conquered the fire-deity; but in others the latter threw the last of the fire into various trees, which since then have preserved the germ of fire, which can be called forth by friction. Similar tales have been recorded from several of the other Polynesian groups. The practical absence of this myth from the Society Group is probably due to the very small amount of myth material so far published from there; on the other hand, the whole Maui cycle is apparently less important in this Group than elsewhere.

The various versions of this legend which have been recorded in the Polynesian area present minor differences which would seem to be significant, and a consideration of some of the separate incidents of this myth may, therefore, be instructive. In the first place, the idea that fire was originally obtained from the underworld (a feature found in all these Polynesian versions) is one which also occurs in Melanesia; although, on the other hand, a more usual explanation in this area is that fire was either brought from another land by some animal after several unsuccessful attempts or was accidentally discovered. In the Polynesian versions of Maui’s exploit the method by which his parent and he reached the underworld varies considerably. Thus, in the form outlined above, the opening to the nether world is concealed under a tuft of reeds or grass, and this same idea appears in both the Samoan version and in that from Nieue. Forms of the tale from New Zealand, Samoa, and Mangaia (Cook Group), however, state that the parent went to a rock or cliff, and repeating a charm caused it to open, thus revealing the entrance to the lower world. This “Open Sesame” incident by itself is found in numerous other myths from New Zealand,” as well as from the Chatham Islands and Tahiti, and is reported also from British New Guinea and from Halmahera. Still another way of descent to the underworld, namely, by pulling up one of the house posts, occurs in one of the Maori versions, as it does in that from Manihiki.

In the New Zealand myths the underworld deity from whom Maui secures fire is described as an old woman, whereas in practically all the other portions of Polynesia where the myth is found this divinity is male--a distinction which is possibly significant in view of the fact that in Melanesia we find an old woman as the owner or guardian of fire, from whom it is stolen or by whom it is given to mankind.

Again, when Maui asks the New Zealand fire-goddess for fire, she takes off and gives to him one of her fingers or toes, the igneous element thus being obtained from the body of its owner. This incident is also found in the Chatham Island versions, and in a slightly modified form in the Marquesas, though it is lacking in other portions of Polynesia; but it is interesting to note, on the other hand, that this same conception of the obtaining of fire from the body of its owner occurs both in Melanesia and in Micronesia. Where this myth is recorded in the Polynesian area, Maui is given merely a firebrand by the deity. In the Maori tales Maui has no fight with the owner of fire, but this is an important element in the versions elsewhere. In some cases (Mangaia, Manihiki, Marquesas, Society Group) Maui kills the fire-god, although in the Manihiki myth he miraculously restores him to life afterward. In Samoa (and in one version from the Marquesas) he does not kill the fire-god, but in wrestling with him tears off one of his arms, sparing the other at the deity’s urgent request, a feature which seems to have analogues in Micronesia and Melanesia.

The incident of the rain being invoked to extinguish the conflagration which threatens to destroy the world is also known from the Melanesian area. From the foregoing it would appear that we must admit that Melanesian elements are to be recognized particularly in the New Zealand and Chatham Island versions of the myth, and perhaps in the Marquesas as well.

It will be noticed that in discussing this exploit of Maui no reference has been made to Hawaiian versions, this being due to the significant fact that Hawaii, alone of all the Polynesian groups, lacks the tale completely, although it possesses one of wholly different character. According to the Hawaiian story, when Maui and his three brothers were out fishing, they saw a fire burning on the shore, but on going in search of it, the birds (mud-hens) who had made it put it out and ran away. After several attempts to surprise them, Maui stayed on shore and sent his three brothers out in the canoe, thinking thus to fool the clever birds; but when they perceived that one of the Maui brothers was missing from the boat, they refused to build a fire. At last Maui hit upon a stratagem. Setting up in the canoe a roll of tapa arranged to look like a man, he hid on shore while his brothers put to sea with the dummy. The birds were deceived and set to work to build a fire, but before they had finished, Maui, who could not restrain his impatience, rushed up and caught one of them, threatening to kill it unless it divulged the secret of how to make fire. The bird tried to cheat him several times by giving him false information, but at last, in peril of its life, told him the correct sorts of wood to use, and so the mystery was learned. In revenge for their attempted treachery Maui then rubbed the head of the bird with a firebrand, and so ever since these birds have had a red spot on the top of their heads.

In speaking of the more usual version of Maui’s exploit it was pointed out that a wide-spread myth of the origin of fire in Melanesia and Indonesia declared that animals or birds brought it from a distant land. While this is by no means an exact parallel to the Hawaiian tale, it presents the nearest approach to it of any of the myths of the origin of fire that are known from the whole Pacific area.

One of the exploits attributed to Maui is that of raising the sky. In recounting the cosmogonic myths it has been shown that in New Zealand, and also in portions of central and western Polynesia, this elevation of the heavens was performed by one or other of the great gods and is thus in reality a portion of the cosmogonic beliefs. As an episode of the Maui cycle, the incident seems to be lacking in New Zealand, while prevalent in central and western Polynesia and Hawaii. In Hawaii and Samoa the versions are nearly similar. The heavens were formerly, it is said, very low, and Maui volunteered to raise them if a woman would give him a draught of water from her gourd. She agreed, and by a series of exertions Maui lifted the sky, first to the level of the tree-tops, next to the mountain-tops, and then by a mighty effort thrust it up to its present height. The deed is here accomplished in a rather commonplace manner, wholly by Maui, or Tiitii, as he is called in Samoa, and no question of any deity whatever is involved. In Hawaii no other form of the episode seems to exist, but in Samoa there are several variants, according to which the sky is raised by another being at the behest of Tangaloa. Two types appear in the remainder of central Polynesia from which we have material available. There is, first, that where the action is attributed to one of the deities, usually Ru; and secondly, that form which ascribes the deed to Maui, aided by Ru. Almost throughout this area the myth is characterized by the statement that before the sky was raised it was held up by plants, which owe their flat leaves to the pressure so exerted. As was suggested on a previous page, the episode of the elevation of the heavens seems to have been originally a part of the cosmogonic myths prevalent throughout the Polynesian area, with the exception of Hawaii. In New Zealand it remained such, owing to the rupture of all communication with the rest of Polynesia after the period of the great migrations of the fourteenth century; but in central Polynesia, on the other hand, it largely lost its true cosmogonic character and was assimilated by the Maui cycle, being carried as such to Hawaii, which lacks any other form, though vestiges of the older cosmogonic type linger in the central area.

In the Maui cycle Hawaii presents a local and characteristic version of the fire-quest, a theme which seems universally present in one form or other. New Zealand, on the contrary, shows an episode not found in any other portion of Polynesia--Maui’s attempt to secure immortality for mankind. One cannot do better than quote Grey’s version of this tale.

“Maui . . . returned to his parents, and when he had been with them for some time, his father said to him one day, ‘Oh, my son, I have heard from your mother and others that you are very valiant, and that you have succeeded in all feats that you have undertaken in your own country, whether they were small or great; but now that you have arrived in your father’s country, you will, perhaps, be at last overcome.’

“Then Maui asked him, ‘What do you mean, what things are there that I can be vanquished by?’ And his father answered him, ‘By your great ancestress, by Hine-nui-te-po, who, if you look, you may see flashing, and as it were, opening and shutting there, where the horizon meets the sky.’ And Maui replied, ‘Lay aside such idle thoughts, and let us both fearlessly seek whether men are to die or live forever.’ And his father said, ‘My child, there has been an ill omen for us; when I was baptizing you, I omitted a portion of the fitting prayers, and that I know will be the cause of your perishing.’

“Then Maui asked his father, ‘What is my ancestress Hine-nui-te-po like?’ and he answered, ‘What you see yonder shining so brightly red are her eyes, and her teeth are as sharp and hard as pieces of volcanic glass; her body is like that of man, and as for the pupils of her eyes, they are jasper; and her hair is like the tangles of long seaweed, and her mouth is like that of a barracouta.’ Then his son answered him, ‘Do you think her strength is as great as that of Tama-nui-ite-Ra, who consumes man, and the earth, and the very waters, by the fierceness of his heat? . . . But I laid hold of Tama-nui-ite-Ra, and now he goes slowly.’ . . . And his father answered him, ‘That is all very true, O, my last born, and the strength of my old age; well, then, be bold, go and visit your great ancestress who flashes so fiercely there, where the edge of the horizon meets the sky.’

“Hardly was this conversation concluded with his father, when the young hero went forth to look for companions to accompany him upon this enterprise: and so there came to him for companions, the small robin, and the large robin, and the thrush, and the yellow-hammer, and every kind of little bird, and the water wag-tail, and these all assembled together, and they all started with Maui in the evening, and arrived at the dwelling of Hine-nui-te-po and found her fast asleep.

“Then Maui addressed them all, and said, ‘My little friends, now if you see me creep into this old chieftainess, do not laugh at what you see. Nay, nay, do not I pray you, but when I have got altogether inside her, and just as I am coming out of her mouth, then you may shout with laughter if you please.’ And his little friends, who were frightened at what they saw, replied, ‘Oh sir, you will certainly be killed.’ And he answered them, ‘If you burst out laughing at me as soon as I get inside her, you will wake her up, and she will certainly kill me at once, but if you do not laugh until I am quite inside her, and am on the point of coming out of her mouth, I shall live, and Hine-nui-te-po will die.’ And his little friends answered, ‘Go on then, brave sir, but pray take good care of yourself.’

“Then the young hero started off, and twisted the strings of his weapon tight round his wrist, and went into the house, and stripped off his clothes, and the skin on his hips looked mottled and beautiful as that of a mackerel, from the tattoo marks, cut on it with the chisel of Uetonga, and he entered the old chieftainess.

“The little birds now screwed up their tiny cheeks, trying to suppress their laughter; at last the little Tiwakawaka could no longer keep it in, and laughed out loud, with its merry cheerful note; this woke the old woman up, she opened her eyes, started up, and killed Maui.”

This version lacks one element which appears in some, i. e. that, to accomplish his purpose, Maui must pass through into the world of night or death and then return, for thus, and thus only, could man survive the coming fate. In his attempt he succeeds in the first portion of the self-appointed task, yet is caught and killed just as the victory is all but gained. Although this is one of the favourite tales of Maui in New Zealand, there are variant recensions of his attempt to secure immortality for man, and these have considerable interest because, like that just discussed, they seem to be confined to New Zealand and to show unmistakable relationship to the tales of other areas. According to the other myths, it is the moon who is responsible for the fact that death is lasting. Maui wished that man might not die forever, and so said to Hina, the moon, “Let death be very short--that is, Let man die and live again, and live on forever,” whereupon Hina replied, “Let death be very long, that man may sigh and sorrow.” Maui again said, “Let man die and live again, as you, the moon, die and live again,” but Hina said, “No let man die and become like soil, and never rise to life again.” And so it was.

We have here one of those simple tales, told in some form or other by many peoples, which account for death by declaring it to be the result of a dispute between two persons, one wanting immortality for man, the other not. Often, as in this instance, the case is settled merely by fiat; in others there is some form of conflict or other means of victory by one of the disputants; while very frequently the desired regeneration is compared to that of the snake which casts its skin and is thus renewed. This type of myth appears to be wholly lacking in Polynesia outside of New Zealand, with the exception of Tahiti, where the incident is, however, not related of Maui, and where the moon takes the positive instead of the negative side. It is perhaps significant that similar tales, or those ascribing the origin of death to some mistake or misunderstanding, are widely current both in Melanesia and in Indonesia. The prevalence of legends of this character in New Zealand and of the more elaborated theories of the origin of death, as shown in the myth of Maui and Hine-nui-te-po, may well be interpreted, in view of their occurrence in Melanesia, as part Of the demonstrated Melanesian influence in Maori mythology. Their absence in the rest of Polynesia, taken in connexion with their presence in Indonesia, is not so easy to explain, unless on the ground that they have been overlooked or not recorded.

The capture and imprisonment of the winds is one of the minor feats often attributed to Maui in New Zealand, where he is said to have caught and confined in caves all but the west wind, which eluded him. In Samoa the winds are gathered up and put in a canoe or coco-nut; while in the Chatham Islands they are collected in a basket, not by Maui, but by another hero, Tawhaki.

Two other episodes forming part of the New Zealand cycle of Maui stories remain to be considered. In the first of these Maui turns his brother-in-law into a dog, usually as a result of being angered by some action, such as that of eating up the bait prepared for fishing. There are many variants of the tale. In some the unsuspecting brother-in-law is transformed while Maui is cleaning his head; in others Maui moulds and models the sleeping victim into his canine shape; while in others again he produces the result by hauling his canoe over the body of his brother-in-law, whom he has asked to serve as a skid. So far as published material goes, this tale is not found outside of New Zealand.

The other episode is that where Maui kills Tuna, the eel lover of his wife. The latter went one day to the stream to get water, and while she stood on the bank, Tuna came up in the guise of a great eel, struck her with his tail, knocked her into the stream, and maltreated her. Angry at this, Maui laid down two logs on which Tuna might cross over, and then, hiding, killed the eel as he came, after which various plants, trees, fish, and monsters of the deep were derived from the creature’s head and body. Unlike the previous episode, this seems to be more or less closely related to other incidents found elsewhere in Polynesia.

In Samoa, the Union Group, Mangaia, and Tahiti a myth told to account for the origin of the coco-nut must be regarded as related. According to the Mangaian version, Ina, a maiden, was accustomed to bathe in a certain pool. One day a great eel crept up to her and touched her, and this occurred again and again until finally the eel threw off his disguise and revealed himself as a beautiful youth named Tuna, who thereafter, accepted by Ina, became her lover and visited her in human form, resuming his animal shape when he left. At last Tuna declared that he must depart for ever, but that on the following day he would make one final visit as an eel in a. great flood of water, when Ina must cut off his head and bury it. She did this, and according to his request visited the spot daily. For some time nothing was to be seen, but at length a green shoot became visible and finally grew into a beautiful tree. In course of time this produced fruits, which were the first coco-nuts, and on each nut, when husked, the eyes and face of Ina’s lover can still be seen. In this form the tale occurs only in tropical Polynesia, i. e. in the region where the coco-nut is found; but in New Zealand, where this fruit does not grow, the legend seems to have assumed a slightly different aspect, and it is apparently lacking in Hawaii, although the coco-nut is abundant there.

Two aspects of this myth are worthy of further consideration. The “Beauty and the Beast” incident (i. e. the lover who comes in animal guise) is one widely current in parts of Melanesia  and Indonesia, but apart from this central and western portion it does not appear to be common in Polynesia. The origin of the coco-nut from the buried head of an animal or person is very wide-spread in Melanesia and occurs also in Indonesia. The myth is, to be sure, one to which the general resemblance of the coco-nut to the human head might be expected to give rise, and in view of this its absence from Hawaii is interesting.

Chapter 3. Miscellaneous Tales

WE have thus far considered the Polynesian cosmogonic myths and those which group themselves in a cycle about the hero Maui; but there is also a considerable mass of myth material which, although less systematic, is nevertheless of great importance in any survey of the mythology of the area. It is obviously impossible to consider all of this data, so that we must restrict ourselves to a selection of what seems most typical and most significant. As the available material is particularly abundant from New Zealand, it follows that to a large extent the examples chosen must be taken from there; although reference will likewise be made, so far as is possible, to data from other island groups.

In Maori mythology a number of tales cluster about a hero-deity named Tawhaki and his grandson Rata; and we may well begin the consideration of the residuum of Polynesian mythology with an outline of this story. Whaitari or Whatitiri (“Thunder”) was a female divinity of cannibalistic propensities who lived in the sky. Hearing of a man in this world, a warrior known as Kai-tangata, or “Man-Eater” (apparently not to be confused with the Kai-tangata, son of Rehua, who was killed by Rupe) and supposing from his name that he, too, was fond of human flesh, she determined to marry him. Descending to earth, therefore, she slew one of her slaves and carried the reeking heart to Kai-tangata as an offering, but he indignantly refused to accept it and explained that his name had reference merely to his warlike prowess. Although disappointed, Whaitari married him and bore several children, one of whom was Hema; but to appease her fondness for human flesh she continued to slay men and accidentally thus killed and ate certain of her husband’s relatives. Not knowing who they were, he used their bones to make fish-hooks, but when Whaitari ate of the fish caught with these hooks, she was stricken blind as a punishment for her evil deeds. Soon after this, displeased at certain remarks which her husband made about her, she resolved to leave him and return to the sky, but before going she told Hema not to attempt to follow her, although she said that if he had children they might be successful in reaching the heavens. In some versions these instructions were given to Kai-tangata’s other wife, who duly reported them to the sorrowing husband. Whaitari herself ascended to the sky in a cloud which came and enveloped her.

Hema grew up, married, and had as children Tawhaki and Karihi, but when his wife had been carried off by evil beings, Hema went to rescue her, only to be himself overcome and killed by them. Meanwhile Tawhaki’s cousins were jealous of him, for owing to his beauty and prowess he won the favour of all the maidens; so one day his kinsmen attacked him while he was bathing and left him for dead. Found by his wife, he was nursed back to health and revenged himself amply on those who sought his death, by overwhelming them in a flood sent by the gods in answer to his prayers.

Tawhaki now resolved to seek and rescue his mother. He successfully accomplished the long journey to the distant land where she was kept captive and found that she had to remain outside the great house in which her goblin captors lived, and rouse them daily at dawn. With her he concocted a plan by which their enemies were destroyed. Concealing himself in the house, he waited until all the occupants were inside and asleep, whereupon, aided by his mother, he silently stopped up every cranny by which light could enter and thus kept all imprisoned until it was broad daylight. Then, when the door was suddenly opened, those within were dazzled by the unaccustomed glare and thus fell an easy prey to Tawhaki, who rushed from his place of concealment and slew them all.

Hema, the father of Tawhaki, had now to be sought, and on this quest Tawhaki was accompanied by his brother, Karihi. The order of events varies in different versions, but the incidents, as a rule, are much the same. The two set off in a canoe to seek for their father, and after crossing the sea they came to a land where they found a blind old woman who was none other than Whaitari, their grandmother. She was busy counting over and over a series of yams or baskets of food, and Tawhaki (as in some versions of the Maui stories) quietly snatched away one after another until she became aware that something was wrong. She sniffed in all directions, hoping to detect the thief and catch him, for she was a cannibal and hungry for human flesh; but at last Tawhaki made himself known as her grandson, and then restored her sight, either by anointing her eyes with his spittle mixed with clay or by slapping them with his hand.

From his grandmother he learned of the way to reach the upper world, which could be attained only by climbing a spider’s web which hung down to earth. Up this Tawhaki accordingly went, his brother, who tried to ascend first, being driven back by the winds so that he fell and was killed. Arrived in the sky-world, Tawhaki inquired from an aged woman whom he met where his father’s bones were to be found and discovered that they were kept in a house. Paying no further attention to them, apparently, he then proceeded to climb to the highest heaven of all that he might learn from a deity there the most powerful incantations and charms. He was successful and brought them back to this world for the use of man. Some versions have him take a wife in the upper world and remain there as a deity of lightning; although if we may believe others, his ascent to the sky was in quest of his wife. While he still lived on earth, according to this latter form of the myth, a beautiful sky-maiden was enamoured of him and came down to earth secretly at night to visit him, later deciding to remain openly as his wife and bearing him a daughter. As a result of a disagreement, she determined to return to her celestial home and did so, taking her child with her, whereupon, disconsolate over his loss, Tawhaki resolved to seek her, had his encounter with the blind old woman, and climbed to the upper world by means of the spider’s web. Arrived in the sky, he assumed the guise of an old man, and was forced by a group of people engaged in making a canoe to carry their axes for them; but returning secretly he completed the boat unaided in a marvellously short time, after which he: resumed his normal form, openly sought and found his wife, and lived with her in the sky-world. However Tawhaki secured his wife, she bore him a son, Wahieroa, who married in his turn, but when his wife was about to give birth to her child, she requested that a certain sort of rare food, to be obtained only in far-away lands, be brought to her. Wahieroa, accordingly, went off to a distant eastern country to secure it, but was there caught and killed by a cannibal giant named Matuku. The child, a son, was born, and named Rata.

When Rata had grown up, he asked his mother about his father and learned from her how he had been killed in a distant land, so he resolved to be avenged and accordingly set about building a canoe. Selecting a great tree, he cut it down, but was amazed the next day, on coming to continue his work, to find the tree again erect and quite unharmed. A second time he cut it down, only to discover it intact and standing when he returned. A third time he felled the tree and then hid himself to observe what happened. Soon he heard voices singing:

“It is Rata. Rata you are
Felling the forest of Tane.
Fly this way, the splinters of Tane;
Stick together and hold.
Fly this way, the chips of Tane;
Yes, stick together, hold tremblingly.
Fly this way, the ribs of Tane;
Yes, sticking together; yes, holding.
Stand straight up. O! stand up green and fresh.
Lift up; stand growing green.”

And as he watched, the chips that he had cut flew together to the stump, and the tree slowly rose and became whole once more. Rata then recognized the work of the little forest spirits (in some versions said to have come in the guise of birds), but when he called to them and asked them to desist, they informed him that he had done wrong in not having made the fitting sacrifices and said the proper charms before beginning his work. The wood spirits took pity on him, however, and told him that if he would go home, they would complete his canoe for him overnight; and so indeed it happened, for in the morning the work was all done, and a fine new boat stood beside the door.

The canoe, thus magically provided, was soon launched, and Rata, setting out with his followers to avenge his father, came, after long voyaging, to an island where one of the cannibal giants lived. This monster first tried to swallow the whole party at once, but by his power Rata multiplied his followers so greatly that they spread over all the shore, and the giant, huge as he was, could not accomplish the feat. Failing in this, he tried to induce them, after they had entered his house, to sit on mats cleverly contrived to conceal traps below, but this fate they also escaped. They would not eat the food with which he sought to tempt them, and after a vain search for water, for which they asked, he returned cold and tired. This was Rata’s opportunity, and promising the giant some warm and strengthening food, he threw into the monster’s great mouth some red-hot stones from the fireplace, which caused him to burst and killed him. The arch-cannibal, Makutu, who lived in a great underground cave, remained, but by spreading nooses over the opening, the giant was finally enticed to come out by the abundant food which he hoped to secure. As he emerged, the nooses caught him and were drawn tight, and although he struggled tremendously, his wings (in some accounts he was winged) were broken, and he was finally overcome and killed. Rata then gathered up the bones of his father and with them returned to his home.

The whole story of Whaitari, Tawhaki, and Rata does not appear to exist in other parts of Polynesia, at least in this form, so that the best and easiest method of discussing it and its relationships, both within and without Polynesia, will be to consider the various incidents separately. In no portion of Polynesia do tales involving cannibals and cannibalism appear quite so prominently as in New Zealand. Whaitari was, as has been seen, a female cannibal who, coming down from the sky to secure men for food, used to capture them with a net; and a somewhat similar idea is shown in a tale from Mangaia, where a sky-cannibal lets down a basket in which he catches and hauls up his human prey; while in Rotuma (a small island west of Samoa, containing a mixed Polynesio-Melanesian population) we again find something analogous, in that cannibal deities from the upper world were said to descend to earth to fish and to catch men, carrying them back with them to the sky.

Outside of New Zealand the Tahitian version alone brings in the cannibalistic ancestress, although in a somewhat different way, forming a prologue, as it were, to the tale as a whole. According to this story, a female deity named Haumea married Ro’o-nui, who came up from the underworld; but as a result of a quarrel between the two, Ro’o-nui abandoned his wife and child, Tuture, and returned to the lower world. Angry at this, Haumea became a cannibal, and Tuture feared for his life. He therefore constructed a magic canoe which the gods transported to the shore for him. In order to get a good start in his projected flight he secretly pierced holes in the bottom of the gourds used to carry water and then asked his mother to bring him a supply from a distant spring. She found the vessels empty on her return and at length, after several attempts to bring water in them, discovered the trick, whereupon she at once set out after Tuture to kill him. He had meanwhile fled in his canoe, but swimming in pursuit, she rapidly caught up with him and was about to swallow man and canoe when he threw into her open mouth some stones heated red-hot in the fire, and thus destroyed her. She was not really killed, however, for her body drifted ashore and there, coming to life again, she changed her name to Nona (Rona) and continued her cannibalistic practices. She bore a daughter who, when she grew up, had as lover one of the last survivors of the people, most of the rest of whom her mother had eaten. This lover kept himself hidden in a cave which opened at a magic word, but the cannibal mother at last discovered the secret, and going instead of her daughter, repeated the charm, entered the cave, and killed and ate the fugitive. In her anger she then determined to devour her daughter also, but the latter, placing a log of wood in her bed to deceive her mother, fled, only to be pursued by the relentless ogress. The daughter took refuge with an old man whom she begged to protect her. This he did, and when Nona came, he succeeded in killing her, after which he married the daughter, one of whose children was Hema, the father of Tawhaki.

In this episode and in the New Zealand myth the cannibalistic feature is strongly marked, but in general cannibals are not prominent figures in Polynesian mythology. On the other hand, they are very frequently mentioned in Melanesia and Indonesia, where they are commonly described as living in or perching on trees and seem, as will be pointed out in more detail later, to be possibly associated with or derived from vampire spirits. Apart from the cannibal element, another aspect of this initial part of the tale deserves attention in that here we have a sky-maiden who comes down to earth to become the wife of a mortal and later leaves him to return to the upper world. Now, while this lacks certain rather characteristic elements of the familiar “swan-maiden” episode, it at least contains suggestions of it which, in view of the commonness of the “swan-maiden” tale in the adjacent portion of Melanesia and the practical absence of any similar myth in other parts of Polynesia may be significant. The “swan-maiden” tale so wide-spread in many parts of the world appears in quite characteristic form in the New Hebrides, but--so far as noted--nowhere else in Melanesia, except in the western end of Dutch New Guinea. It is, on the other hand, almost universal in Indonesia, as will be seen later.

The remainder of the first portion of the tale, up to Tawhaki’s search for his father, does not seem to be told outside of New Zealand, although Hema and the two children occur with the same names in Hawaii and in Tahiti. The episode of the attempted murder of Tawhaki, found in the Cook and Society Groups in somewhat different forms, seems to be absent from Hawaii. In Tahiti the search for and rescue of the mother is replaced, more or less, by an episode lacking in New Zealand and elsewhere. According to this form of the tale, Arihi and a company of companions went off on an expedition to slay certain evil man-killing monsters. Tafa’i (= Tawhaki) wanted to go with them, and although they refused to consent, he determined to outwit them, so that, by securing a powerful charm, he was enabled to ride over the sea on a great shark and reach the destination first, surprising Arihi and the others, who found him already there when they arrived. The first menace to be overcome was a magic kava-plant which stabbed and killed all who approached it, but after some of Arihi’s followers had been slain, Tafa’i conquered and destroyed it. A man-killing monster was similarly disposed of, and then, his tasks accomplished, the hero returned home on his magic shark, once more arriving before Arihi and the rest. When they came, he induced all but Arihi to climb into trees which, by his magic power, he caused to grow tall and bend over; and he then struck the trees, whereupon the men who had tried to prevent him from accompanying Arihi fell off into the sea and were transformed into porpoises.

The episode of the blind old woman, which occurs in substantially the same form in Mangaia and Tahiti, has already been discussed in connexion with certain versions of Maui’s snaring of the sun. The most important difference in the episode as told of Tawhaki lies in the attempts made by the blind ogress to capture her tormentors. In one Tahitian version obtained in the Tuamotu, Kui the Blind at first tried to entangle Tawhaki and Arihi in a net, the usual cannibal custom, but failing in this, she essayed several other methods in vain until at last she swung her great fish-hook, with which she succeeded in catching Arihi. In the other version from here and in that from Mangaia the hook seems to be the only weapon. At her first attempt her only prize was a log, but finally she succeeded in taking her human prey, which she released when she discovered that it was her grandson. In Mangaia the whole episode is attributed to Tane, not to Tawhaki, and several incidents are added which are not found in the other versions. According to this form of the story, Tane agreed to go with a friend, a chief named Ako, to aid him in prosecuting his suit for the hand of a beautiful maiden; but Tane himself fell in love with the fair one and endeavoured--though in vain--to win her away from his friend. Disgusted at his failure, he sought his canoe in order to return home, only to find that Ako had punctured the boat in revenge for Tane’s faithlessness. As it began to sink, Tane, to save himself from drowning, leaped into a tree near the shore, and swaying it violently, swung himself across the sea to a distant land. Then he met Kui the Blind, and the episodes of stealing her food and restoring her eyesight took place.

Here again there is a repetition of the incident of the swaying tree, for Tane, having climbed to the top of a tall coco-nut-tree, caused it to bend far over until its top was above his own home, whereupon he shook off the nuts and then caused the tree to spring back to its original position. This twice-repeated incident of the tree bending over to bring a person to a distant land appears in slightly different form in the Tahitian account of Tawhaki’s deeds,  but seems not to be known elsewhere in Polynesia, although it occurs in Melanesia as well as in Indonesia. Whether the incident of Kui the Blind is to be regarded as originally belonging to the Tawhaki myth, which has been assimilated by the Maui cycle in certain cases, or vice versa, it is impossible to say. Tawhaki’s search for his father involves the episode of the ascent to the sky in the New Zealand story, a feat usually accomplished by climbing a spider’s web, although in some versions this is replaced by a cord or a vine, said to be let down by his heavenly ancestress. In the other recensions of the story, a journey to a distant land serves as a substitute. In the Rarotonga tale there are various dangers to be encountered, chief of which is the island or land of fierce women, all of whom wish to marry a rash intruder. Possibly it is not too hazardous to see in this an echo of the Melanesian tale of the “island of fair women”--a veritable Cythera where a man was in danger of dying of love if he should be enticed to land.

The incident of the ascent to the upper world, as told in the New Zealand tale, appears in several myths and is quite widespread. In Polynesia, the spider’s web as a means of approach seems to occur outside of New Zealand only in Hawaii, although farther afield it has been noted in the New Hebrides and the Carolines. A rope, on the other hand, is not specifically referred to elsewhere in Polynesia, but is found in Melanesia and Indonesia, whereas ascent by means of a vine seems to appear only in Indonesia. The Hawaiian fragmentary version of Tawhaki (Kaha’i) makes him and his brother, Karihi (Aliki), reach the upper world by travelling on the rainbow, there to inquire of Tane and Tangaloa where their father, Hema, had gone. The Hawaiian Tawhaki myth is only a fragment, and may perhaps, as Fornander thinks, have been a direct importation from the south (Marquesas and Tahiti) by the immigrants who came thence to Hawaii. Nowhere else in Polynesia and Melanesia, however, so far as observed, does the rainbow appear as a heavenly road, although it is so regarded in Indonesia, whence the incident may be taken as one of several such purely Indonesian elements which occur in Hawaii but not elsewhere in Polynesia. It might be noted here that all the forms of the tale state that the captors of Tawhaki’s father were cannibals, and the same is also true of the following legend, for Rata’s parents were cannibals in some versions. These cannibalistic people are, moreover, described as black. In rationalizing these myths, Smith and others regard this as referring to ancient encounters with Melanesian peoples in the islands west of Polynesia.

Although the primary cause for Tawhaki’s ascent to the sky was to seek for his father, in the New Zealand version he paid little attention to his parent’s bones when found, but set off to seek powerful charms in the highest heavens. In the versions from the Cook Group and Tahiti the thread of the story is better sustained. In Rarotonga Tawhaki rescued his father from his enemies just as they were about to kill and roast him. In Tahiti, on the other hand, he found that his parent had been buried in filth by his captors, and from this unpleasant predicament Tawhaki rescued him, after which the hero stretched nets about the house in which the perpetrators of this insult were gathered, set fire to the dwelling, destroying them all, and brought his father back in safety. According to the Hawaiian version, Tawhaki himself was killed while searching for his father, and it was Rata, his grandson, who finally obtained his revenge.

The quest and capture or death of Wahieroa at the hands of an evil monster appears also in Hawaii, Tahiti, and the Cook Group, although in somewhat different form. In the Tahitian version Wahieroa and his wife left their child) Rata, in charge of Ui the Blind when they went off on a fishing expedition, but while they were gone, they were seized by a great bird, Matu’u-ta’u-ta’uo, who swallowed Wahieroa and carried his wife to a distant land. Rata, who had never known, his parents, was one day playing games with other children, but when he proved to be the victor, they angrily taunted him with being a foundling. Indignantly he asked the aged Ui, who at last confessed the truth, after trying to put him off, and told him how his parents had been abducted. Rata at once determined to seek for them and refused to be influenced by the accounts of the dangers on the way. Next follows the incident of the building of Rata’s canoe, so that, in slightly varying form, the story of the magic resurrection of the tree by the wood spirits and of their subsequent completion of the canoe for the hero in one night appears in several parts of Polynesia.”

The version from Aitutaki treats the incident in a somewhat different light. Here Rata, on his way to cut a tree for a canoe, passed a heron and a snake who were fighting, and though the bird asked him for help, he went on unheeding and chopped down his tree. Returning the next day, he found it re-erected, so he felled it a second time, only to see it again erect and sound on the following day. At this he remembered the heron who had asked his aid and its declaration that his canoe-making could not be finished without its help, so he sought for the combatants, now nearly exhausted, and killed the snake. Once more he cut down the tree, and then the heron, grateful for the aid rendered, assembled all the birds, who miraculously completed the canoe and carried it to Rata’s house. Outside Polynesia the incident of the magic canoe appears in much the same form both in Melanesia and Indonesia. The New Zealand version gives only a meagre account of Rata’s voyage, whereas in the Cook Group this part of the story is amplified by several incidents. After his crew had been picked, and just as he was about to start, a man named Nganaoa asked to be allowed to go with him, offering to take care of the sails, to bale out the boat, or to do anything that Rata might wish.

His request was refused, and the canoe sailed away, but Nganaoa had secreted himself on board and was discovered soon after Rata was out of sight of land. Angered at this trick, Rata threw his unasked companion overboard, thinking thus to be rid of him; but soon afterward, seeing a great gourd floating in the sea, Rata took it aboard, only to find Nganaoa concealed within it. This time the persistent fellow was threatened with death, but was finally permitted to remain with the party on his promising to aid Rata in destroying the monsters which beset the way. This promise Nganaoa made good, killing first a giant clam which threatened to close upon the canoe; next an enormous octopus which tried to drag the boat under the waves; and lastly a whale which was about to swallow the whole party. In this latter crisis Nganaoa first wedged the monster’s jaws open with his spear and then jumped down its throat. In its belly the hero found his mother and father, who had, while fishing, been devoured by it; and with his fire-sticks Nganaoa kindled a flame inside the whale, which rushed ashore in agony, so that all came forth in safety. The episode of being swallowed by a sea-monster, the building of a fire within it, and the subsequent escape appears both in Melanesia and Indonesia and very widely in a closely related form.

Rata’s conflicts with the two cannibal giants, as told in the New Zealand versions, afford further points of comparison. The trap of the concealed pitfall covered by mats, on which the first giant tried to induce Rata and his men to sit, seems to be lacking elsewhere in Polynesia, but is found in Melanesia, and appears also to be known in Indonesia. The destruction of a cannibal giant or monster by means of red-hot stones is likewise an incident of wide distribution, occurring in Hawaii and Tahiti within the Polynesian area, as well as in parts of Melanesia and Indonesia.

Having now considered in some detail the series of legends which group themselves about Tawhaki and Rata, we may turn to a few other myths which do not form in any sense a connected series. Going back to the group of Maui tales, it will be remembered that one of the hero’s exploits was the transformation of his brother-in-law into a dog. According to the New Zealand version of the story, Maui’s sister, Hina-uri, was so distressed at the fate of her husband that in despair she threw herself into the sea. For many months her body drifted about until at last it was washed ashore, where it was found by two brothers, who brought it to their house and by their care restored it to life. Since Hina-uri was a beautiful woman, the two brothers fell in love with her and made her their wife, not knowing who she was; but after some time Tinirau, the chief of this district, heard of the charming stranger and took her from the brothers to be his own spouse. Tinirau already had two wives who at once became jealous of the new favourite and tried to kill her, but by her superior magic power she destroyed them. Although her famous brother, Maui, was not troubled over her loss, one of the younger Mauis (later known as Rupe) was deeply grieved and set out to search for her. In vain he sought her everywhere and finally determined to ascend to the heavens to consult his ancestor, Rehua, one of the children of Rangi and Papa. At last he penetrated from the lower heavens to the tenth, where he found his godlike ancestor, to whom he made himself known. To provide refreshment for his visitor, Rehua shook from his heavy hair a flock of birds, which he ordered to be cooked, but Rupe, fearing the tabu of Rehua’s sacred head, refused to touch them. Learning from his ancestor where Hina-uri was, Rupe turned himself into a pigeon and flew down to the place in which she was living as the wife of Tinirau. Some of the chief’s people tried to spear the bird, but he dodged their weapons and at last was recognized by his sister. Seizing his opportunity, Rupe took both her and her child and flew away with them to the heaven of Rehua, where he performed another task, an Augean labour, in that he cleansed the courtyard of Rehua’s house, which had become incredibly filthy in course of time.

With this we may compare a tale from Mangaia. One day Ina or Hina was left alone by her parents and charged to watch carefully over the precious ornaments belonging to the family. These were coveted by Nanga, a great thief, who could work, however, only when the bright rays of the sun were clouded. Taking advantage of such an opportunity, he crept up and persuaded Ina to let him try on the beautiful ornaments, after which, by a ruse, he escaped from the house in which Ina thought to confine him and fled with the treasure. When her parents returned, they were very angry with Ina and beat her until she determined to run away. In her distress she called upon the fish to aid her and one after another they came and tried to carry her across the sea to the island-home of Tinirau, the king of fishes; but all were too small and weak for the task until a shark appeared who was able to bear the burden. Ina had with her two coco-nuts to serve as food and drink on the way, but when she broke one of them on the head of her fishy steed he became angry, and diving deep left Ina struggling in the waves. The greatest of all sharks, however, came to her rescue and bore her to her journey’s end, where she found Tinirau’s house, though he himself was absent. She accordingly beat upon a great drum which was there, and when Tinirau hurried back to see who had dared to invade his premises, he found Ina and took her as his wife. Ina’s younger brother, Rupe, was sorrowing for his sister and resolved to seek her, therefore he entered into a small bird who flew across the sea to where his sister was. Here he disclosed himself and then, returning with the news of his sister’s safety, brought both her Parents to visit her and celebrated a festival in honour of her children. Other versions are known from Nieue and the Chatham Islands, but the tale seems not to have been recorded elsewhere in the Polynesian area. One or two of the incidents will repay brief examination. The quest of a woman by a hero in the guise of a bird is, as has been seen, a feature of both versions outlined. This episode appears as one of Maui’s minor deeds in Hawaii and in a somewhat variant form occurs likewise in legends from New Britain and the Admiralty Islands in Melanesia; while Ina’s journey on a shark finds its counterpart in several tales where fish or sea-monsters act in a similar manner. The special incident of the coco-nut being cracked on the head of a shark is also reported from New Britain.

Several stories in the Polynesian area introduce the episode of the descent to the underworld of the dead, familiar to us from the classical myths of Orpheus, and in New Zealand, for instance, the origin of tatuing is thus explained. One day Mataora was asleep in his house when a party of Turehu (a people living in the underworld) came and discovered him. At first they made fun of Mataora, not knowing whether he was a man or no, for the Turehu were not as other folk; but while they were debating, he awoke, and proving himself to be a man, offered the visitors food. They, however, would not eat it, since it was cooked, and they ate only uncooked food, wherefore Mataora provided them with some raw fish, and when they had finished eating, they danced. Nuvarahu, one of the women of the Turehu, was very fair, and Mataora fell in love with her at first sight and took her for his wife. For a time all went well, but then, becoming jealous of his brother, who admired Nuvarahu, a quarrel arose in which Mataora beat his wife for her conduct. Angry at this treatment, she fled back to the underworld, but her husband grieved for his lost wife and resolved to seek her. From a man whom he met he learned that Nuvarahu had passed that way, and thus at length he reached the entrance to the underworld of Po, where he descended and sought news of Nuvarahu, learning that she had passed, weeping bitterly. Finally he arrived at the village of his father-in-law Uetonga, who was engaged in tatuing a person. Until this time people in the world above had only painted the designs upon their faces, but Uetonga cut the patterns deeply into the flesh, so that not only were the figures shown by the pigment, but the skin itself was carved. The people of the lower world laughed at Mataora, and when with their hands they had rubbed off the painting on his face, they showed him that their way of decorating, or “moko,” could not be removed, for it was permanent. Mataora was pleased at this and asked to have his face tatued in the same way, whereupon Uetonga agreed, and as he chiselled the patterns, Mataora sang to ease the pain. The sound came to the ears of Nuvarahu, who was weaving a mat near by, and from the song she recognized her husband. She cared for him while the tatu-wounds were healing, and for a time the pair lived happily together; but Mataora yearned to return to the world above and begged his wife to accompany him. At first reluctant, she at last consented, and they started on their way. Coming to the foot of the ascent, they met Tiwaiwaka, a bird, who asked where they were going; but when he was told, he counselled them to go back, for the upper world was full of evil, and not to return until summer, when it would be safe to make the ascent. This advice they followed, and as they started again up the slope to this world, they were induced to take with them the young of the owl, the bat, the rail, and the fan-tail, who thus came to the earth. At last Mataora and his wife reached the door leading into this world, but here a misfortune occurred, for Nuvarahu tried to carry with her a sacred garment made in the underworld. The guardian at the door discovered this and forced her to leave it behind; and when they had passed, he shut the door, so that never again might living men descend to the world below, but only the spirits of the dead.

The episode of the descent to the underworld to seek a lost wife also appears in stories told of Tane. After the earth had been formed, Tane desired a spouse, and shaping woman out of earth, he endowed her with life. A daughter was born whom he called Hine-i-tau-ira and whom he also took to wife when she had grown up. Becoming curious to know who her father was, she inquired, and learning that Tane himself was her parent, she killed herself for shame. Descending to the underworld, she then became Hine-nui-te-po, the great goddess of night, whom later Maui tried in vain to conquer. Tane was saddened by the loss of his wife and resolved to seek her in the world below. Passing one guardian after another, he at last reached the house where she had taken refuge, but although he knocked, he could not gain admittance. He begged her to return with him to the world of light above, but she refused, telling him that he must go back alone to nourish their progeny in the light of day, while she remained below to drag them down to darkness and death. So in sorrow Tane departed, and as he went, he sang this lament:

“Are you a child,
Am I a parent,
That we are severed
By Rohi-te-kura (trembling red bloom)?
Throbbing is my lonely heart,
Being left by you.
In Te Rake-pohutukawa . . .
I will enter and cry;
I will pass out of sight through the door
Of the house called
Pou-tere-rangi . . . O me!”

In Mangaia of the Cook Group we also find a myth embodying this same episode. Eneene’s wife, Kura, with her sister was one day gathering sweet-smelling flowers from a great bua-tree, but in trying to get more than her just share she leaned far out on a branch which broke and precipitated her to the ground. At this moment the earth opened, and Kura fell through into the underworld, whose people took her prisoner and tied her to a post in a house to be kept until they were ready to kill and eat her, placing her under the guard of a blind old man who continually called to her and whom she answered, so that he knew that she was still safe. Her husband, discovering his loss, determined to seek her and by the aid of his guardian deity also penetrated to the underworld, where, after much searching, he heard the blind guardian calling Kura’s name and so discovered her whereabouts. Stealthily climbing a tree, he gathered some coco-nuts and spread the scraped meats along the eight paths which led to the house in which his wife was imprisoned. The rats, smelling the good food, came in droves, and covered by the turmoil of their quarrelling over the booty, Eneene, the husband, was able to break through the roof of the house. Here he quickly cut the bonds of his wife and told her to run to the place where he had descended from the upper world while he stayed in her stead, imitating her voice as best he could whenever the blind guardian called. Having given her a good start, he then slipped away himself, joined his wife, and together they fled to the world of light, just escaping the pursuit of the baffled denizens of the world of shades.

The Hawaiian tale of Hiku, and Kawelu brings in some additional points of interest. According to this version, Hiku was a youth who had been brought up by his mother far away among the mountains and had never beheld other mortals until at last his desire to see the world induced him to leave his secluded retreat. Taking his magic arrow, he shot it into the air, and following its flight, watched where it fell. Travelling to this place, he shot it again, and thus led by it, he approached a village where the shaft dropped at the feet of a fair maiden named Kawelu, who quickly hid it. Hiku at first was puzzled, but calling out to his arrow, it answered him and thus revealed the hiding-place. So made acquainted, the pair fell in love and were married. One day Hiku, remembering his mother’s injunction to return and see her, eluded his wife, who endeavoured to prevent his going, and escaped from the house where she tried to keep him prisoner; but when Kawelu discovered his absence she was heartbroken and soon died of grief. Apprised of her sorrow, Hiku returned in haste, but was too late and could only weep over her corpse. In despair, and stung by the taunts of his wife’s friends who upbraided him for leaving his love, he determined to try to bring her spirit back from the underworld. With the help of his friends, he made a great length of rope, took with him a hollow coconut, and anointing himself with rancid oil, that he might smell like a corpse, had himself let down through the opening to the world below, the odour of the fetid oil being so strong that all the shades were deceived, even Miru, the lord of the dead. The long rope or vine on which Hiku had been lowered formed a most excellent swing, and the denizens of the underworld were all anxious to try it, among these being Kawelu, who recognized her husband and gained permission to swing with him. So interested was she in finding him and so greatly pleased was she with the swing that she did not notice the signal which Hiku gave to his friends above, who began to haul up the vine. When she was aware of the trick, she transformed herself into a butterfly and tried to escape; but Hiku was ready, and catching the fluttering thing in his coco-nut-shell, he was drawn rapidly to the upper world. With his precious burden he hastened to where the corpse of Kawelu lay, and making a hole in the great toe of the left foot, he forced the unwilling spirit to re-enter the body which it had left, and thus restored his wife to life and strength.

A strikingly close parallel to this Hawaiian tale is found in New Zealand. Pare was a maiden of the highest rank, so high that there was none of her own tribe who could marry her. One day, when the people were amusing themselves with games at a festival, a stranger, a chief of high rank named Hutu, arrived by chance and joined in the contests. His skill was great, especially in throwing the niti, and once, when he hurled this, it flew far away and fell at Pare’s feet. Quickly seizing the dart, she hid it in her house, but Hutu soon came in search of his lost plaything and asked Pare to return it. She refused, and smitten with love for the handsome stranger, begged him to take her as his wife; but ignoring all her entreaties, and in spite of force, he refused to accede to her wishes, and escaping, fled away, whereupon Pare shut herself up in her house in despair and hanged herself.

When her relatives heard of this, they were full of anger and determined that Hutu must die, since he had been the cause of Pare’s death; wherefore he was waylaid and brought a captive to the house in which her body lay. Told that he must die, he said: “It is good, but do not bury Pare’s corpse. Allow me to depart. I will be absent three or four days, and then I will be here again. It is right that you kill me to appease your sorrow.” Believing his promise to return, the people allowed him to depart, and Hutu accordingly hastened to the abode of the spirits of the dead to find Pare and bring her back to life. He came to Hine-nui-te-po and asked of her the way, giving her presents to bribe her into telling him the truth. She showed him the road, cooked food for him, and told him to husband this supply, for, she said, “If you eat of the food belonging to the world of spirits, you will not be able to come back to this world.” Descending to the nether realm, he sought for Pare and at last found where she was staying, but could not induce her to ascend, wherefore he joined with the other shades in games before her house in the vain attempt to lure her forth. At last he thought of a new device. Planting a tall pole in the ground and tying a rope to the top, he ordered the people to pull upon it until the top of the pole was bent nearly to the ground. Then seating himself upon the tip of the pole, he took one of the company on his back and called to the people, “Let go your hold of the ropes and let the top of the tree fly up.” They obeyed, and Hutu and his companion flew high in the air to the great delight of the people.

Tidings of this new mode of swinging were carried to Pare, who from curiosity went to watch it; and at last her desire to try the sport was so great that she begged Hutu to let her swing with him. This was just what he had planned, and telling her to hold him firmly, he called to the people, “Pull the head of the tree down, even to the earth.” They did so, and when the ropes were let go, the tree sprang up with so prodigious a jerk that the ropes were flung clear to the sky and were caught among the roots of the grasses and bushes growing in the world above. This was Hutu’s opportunity, and climbing the ropes, he seized the grass at the entrance to this world and pulled himself up. Carrying his precious burden, he hastened to the house where the corpse of Pare was lying, and there the spirit of Pare, which he had brought from the world of shades, entered into her body, which became alive again. Then acceding to her request, Hutu took her to be his wife.

A somewhat different version of this Orpheus theme occurs also in Samoa, and it thus seems to be quite widely distributed in Polynesia. In Melanesia the episode appears, so far as noted, in the New Hebrides, Banks Islands, and German New Guinea, and in the first two, at least, instead of being ascribed to merely mythical persons, it is actually told of recent men. For Indonesia the episode does not seem to be reported.

An incident whose distribution is instructive is told by the Maori regarding Tura. He once journeyed to a distant country, where he married a wife from the strange folk who inhabited it; but they were not human, for they preferred raw food to cooked, and Tura had to teach them the use of fire. When the time approached for his wife to bear a child, her female relatives came with obsidian knives. Curious to know why these were brought, Tura asked, and was told by his wife that her relatives intended to cut open her body in order that her child might be born, for this was the custom of her country, adding that she herself must die as a result. Shocked at the ignorance of the people, her husband told her that death was unnecessary and instructed her in the ways of human beings, after which he built a house of retreat where her child was born in normal fashion, and her life saved. With this we may compare a Rarotongan tale. Near a certain village was a spring from which, at the time of the full moon, a man and woman, whose home was in the underworld, used to emerge to steal food from the gardens of mortal men, taking this back with them and eating it raw. The villagers determined to catch the thieves, and so one night, after the latter had come up as usual, a net was spread in the spring, and when the pair returned the woman was caught, although the man escaped. The captive madden, who was very fair, was taken to wife by the chief, and when, in due course of time, she told her husband that she was about to bear him a son, she begged him, after cutting open her body, to bury her carefully and cherish their child. Horrified at her proposal, which, she said, was the customary procedure in the underworld, he refused, with the result that the child was born in the normal manner, and the life of his spirit wife was saved. A similar tale is known from Nieue and Rotuma, in the latter instance the “unnatural people” being described as cannibals living in the sky. A Melanesian legend closely similar is reported from the Santa Cruz Group, and is also known from Micronesia.

Quite unlike these tales in character and feeling is the Maori story of Tama-nui-a-rangi and his wife Ruku-tia. Once upon a time Tu-te-koro-punga visited Tama-nui-a-rangi, and becoming enamoured of his wife, took advantage of his host’s temporary absence and carried her off. Apprised of her faithlessness by his eldest child, Tama-nui-a-rangi hastened back and wept over his children, asking them why they had deserted their mother. ‘They replied; “She has forsaken you on account of your ugliness and has become enamoured of Tu-te-koro-punga, the noble-looking man.” Telling them to remain at home, Tama-nui-a-rangi went off, and transforming himself into a crane, flew away to a strange country where he was trapped and caught. Resuming his human form, he told his captors that he had come to learn from them the way in which they marked their faces so beautifully and permanently, for his face-decorations washed off whenever he bathed. The people referred him to his ancestors, and going to visit them, he begged them to “moko” (carve) his face. The operation was very painful, and Tama-nui-a-rangi fainted several times, but at last it was completed, and now he was even more beautiful than he who had stolen Ruku-tia’s affections. Returning to his home, he comforted his children and set out to seek his wife. Her abductor had placed all sorts of obstructions in the way, but Tama-nui-a-rangi successfully forced a path through them until, disguised as an old man in filthy garments, he came to the place where his wife lived. That evening, as he sat unrecognized in the house of his enemy, Ruku-tia got up to dance, but by his charms he made her weep so that she was unable to continue; and later, removing his disguise, he secretly revealed himself to his wife, who begged him to take her home, for she no longer loved Tu-te-koro-punga, who beat her. But Tama-nui-a-rangi said: “No, stay with your husband. You left me because I was an ugly man. Now you must stay with Tu-te-koro-punga. Yet, if you wish to return with me, climb up upon a food-stage, and when the first streaks of day are seen, call out in a loud tone:

‘Shoot up, O rays,
Of coming day!
And also, moonbeams,
Shine ye forth,
To light the path
Of the canoe of my
Husband Tama.”‘

This said, the injured husband left at once and returned to his home, where he gathered a crew and sailed again for the island where Ruku-tia was living. As the dawn appeared, she climbed upon a food-stage and called out as Tama-nui-a-rangi had told her. Tu-te-koro-punga, hearing her song, could not believe that Tama-nui-a-rangi had been able to overcome the obstructions in his way; but the latter called out to Ruku-tia to jump into the sea and swim to him. This she did, and as she came near the side of the canoe, he caught her by the hair and with his axe cut off her head, thus punishing her for her evil deeds. Wrapping it up carefully, he turned swiftly homeward and buried the head by his house. He now had his revenge, but was full of remorse, still mourning and yearning for his dead wife; and as he wept, he chanted this song:

“Her praise is ever heard--
‘Tis praise of kindness.
I am shorn of all,
And live in silence,
Friendless and alone.
I would, could I
But haste me
Far up to the heavens.
Oh! that wanderers from above
Would come,
That I might weep
In the house of
Him, the god of
Blood-red crime!
O spreading heaven!
Urge me to be brave,
And not with tears
Atone for my spouse.
Stir up my inmost
Soul to deeds of daring
For my fell calamity.
Has Me-rau . . .
Become extinct,
That I for ever
Still must weep
Whilst day on day
Succeeds, and each
The other follows?
Grief to grief now
Gathers all my woe,
And floods my heart with weeping;
Yet I dread agony,
And withdraw me
At fear of e’en
One drop of rain.
At eventide,
As rays of twinkling stars
Shine forth, I’ll weep
And gaze on them,
And on the paths they take.
But, Oh! I float
In space for nought.
Oh! woe is me!
Like Rangi am,
And Papa once divided.
Flows with flood
The tide of keen regret,
And, severed once,
For ever severed
All our love.”

So Tama-nui-a-rangi lived alone in sorrow, but in the spring, when all the trees were blossoming, he heard a faint sound, as of the buzzing of a fly, which seemed to come from where he had buried the head of Ruku-tia; and uncovering the place, what was his joy to find her sitting there restored to life. All radiant with smiles, she rose to greet him, and each forgiven by the other, they started life anew.

Another tale is told of Rupe’s sister, Hine. She was taken to wife by Tinirau, but he tired of her and left her for another. When Hine knew that she was soon to bear a child, she sent for Tinirau that he might prepare a special retreat for her and supply her with food; but though he came, he again left her alone after providing a secluded place. His neglect grieved her, and when the child was born, she called upon her brother Rupe, who, in the form of a pigeon, came and flew away with her and her child. In vain Tinirau begged her to return, but this she would not do, though partially relenting she dropped the infant, which Tinirau caught and tenderly cared for. When the boy grew up he excelled all his playmates in games, and in retaliation they angrily taunted him with having no mother. Smarting under their jibes, the boy, Tu-huru-huru, asked where his mother was, and though Tinirau at first refused to say, he at last told the lad, who determined to set out immediately to find her. His father accordingly gave him much advice, bidding him to blacken himself with soot that he might look like a slave, and also telling him that, if he was asked to pour water for Rupe to drink, he should pour it on his nose; and that if his mother should dance, he must repeat a certain chant. Thus counselled, Tu-huru-huru set out, and coming to the village where Hine lived, was promptly taken to Rupe’s house as a slave. Carrying out his father’s instructions, he angered Rupe, who struck him, whereupon Tu-huru-huru wept and murmured to himself, “I thought, when I came, that Rupe was my relation, and Hine-te-iwa-iwa, was my mother, and Tinirau was my father”; but Rupe did not hear him. Later his mother danced, and when he repeated the chant which his father had taught him, she became angry and struck the boy, who repeated his lament as above. His mother heard and realized that she had beaten her own son. Her joy in the discovery was great, and she and Rupe accompanied Tu-huru-huru back to his home, where Tinirau held the baptismal ceremony for him, and he was baptized by Kae. Now Kae wished to return to his home and begged from Tinirau the loan of his pet whale, who carried him wherever he wanted to go. With many misgivings Kae’s request was granted, and Tinirau gave him instructions as to how to treat the whale, but Kae disregarded them, and running the whale upon the beach, he killed it and cut it up. Tinirau waited many days for his pet to return, but in vain, until at last the south wind brought the sweet savour of the whale’s flesh, which was being cooked by Kae and his friends. Thus Tinirau knew of Kae’s faithlessness and resolved to be revenged; but the culprit was very clever and could be caught only by a ruse. So Tinirau sent his wife and several women to find Kae, telling them that they might know him by his broken tooth, and instructing them to dance and sing comic songs so as to make people laugh, since only by this means would they be able to discover the telltale mark. All this they did, and thus detected the criminal. That night they repeated a charm which threw all the inmates of the house into a deep sleep, and seizing Kae, they carried him to their canoe and brought him, still insensible, to Tinirau’s home, where they laid the captive in a position in the house exactly similar to that in which he had been lying in his own, lit a fire, and set out food. Then Tinirau waked Kae, saying, “O, old man, look and see if this is your own bed”; and Kae, dazed, and not realizing but that he was still at home, said, “Yes, it is my own bed.” Then Tinirau asked him to come and have food, directing him to sit upon a bed of leaves and ferns that had been placed over a heated area to conceal it. After Kae had seated himself and reached out to take of the food offered him, the women poured water on the leaves and ferns, and when this penetrated to the hot stones below, the steam rushed up and scalded Kae to death.”

Recalling some of the earlier tales of cannibals, the Maori story of Houmea presents certain other interesting features. One day when Uta, the husband of Houmea, returned from catching fish for his wife and two children, he summoned her to the shore to help carry up his catch; but she did not come, and when he went to the house to upbraid her, she excused herself, saying that she had been prevented by the disobedience of the children. Leaving Uta at the house, she then went down to the canoe, where she ate up all the fish, scattering the grass and trampling down the bushes, after which she made many tracks, both large and small, in the sand, that it might look as though a marauding party had come and stolen them. Returning to the house all out of breath, she declared that the fish had been stolen and that from the tracks the thieves were evidently of supernatural origin. Uta pretended to be convinced and went to sleep.

Next day he again went fishing, and on his return his wife once more failed to come when called. She gave the same excuse, but as he started off, Uta secretly sent the two children to spy upon her; and they, quickly coming back, told their father the truth, so that when Houmea returned and a second time pretended that the fish had been stolen, Uta convicted her out of the mouths of the boys. She loudly denied her guilt, however, and in her heart resolved to be avenged upon the children. Accordingly, on the following day, after Uta had gone fishing as usual, she sent one of them off to get water, and then enticing the other boy to her, she swallowed him whole. When the first child returned, she gulped him down also, and lay groaning on the floor when Uta came home. He asked her what was the trouble, and she said she was ill, and when asked where the children were. declared that they had gone away; but Uta knew that she was lying and by a powerful charm soon caused her to disgorge the two boys, who were none the worse for what they had experienced.

It was clear that Houmea was a very dangerous person, and so Uta and his children resolved to escape before it was too late. Counselling his sons not to obey him when he asked them to go for water, he thus induced Houmea to go instead; but after she had left Uta, by a charm, caused the water to dry up and retreat before her, so that she was obliged to go very far before she could find any. When the ogress had departed, Uta and the children fled to the canoe, after ordering the house, the trees, and various objects round about to answer for them, should Houmea call; and then, without losing more time he paddled hastily away. At last Houmea returned with the water, and not seeing any one as she approached, called out to Uta and the children. First one thing and then another answered for them, and Houmea went hither and thither, each time thinking that she heard their voices until at last she discovered the ruse and realized that her prey had escaped. Looking out to sea, she beheld the canoe, now a mere speck on the horizon, and resolving to follow, she entered into the body of a shag and hurried after the fugitives. As she approached, Uta was overcome with fear and hid beneath the deck of the canoe, but Houmea came on, her mouth wide open to swallow all, and asked the two children, “Where is my food?” They first cast her some fish, but she was not satisfied and asked for more, whereupon, telling her to open her mouth wide, as they were about to give her a large fish, they took a hot stone from the oven with the wooden tongs, and throwing it down her throat, burned her to death.

A Maori tale that purports to record some of the reasons for the traditional emigration from the ancestral fatherland includes incidents which are of value from a comparative standpoint. A dog belonging to Houmai-tawaiti had committed an act of desecration on Uenuku for which it had been killed and eaten by the latter and Toi-te-hua-tahi. Tama-te-kapua and his brother, the sons of the owner of the dog, sought for it everywhere, calling it by name. When they came to the village where Toi-te-hua-tahi lived, the dog howled in his belly, and though Toi-te-hua-tahi held his mouth tightly shut, the dog kept howling loudly inside him so that Tama-te-kapua discovered the guilty person. Resolved to be avenged, Tama-te-kapua and his brother returned home and made a pair of stilts on which, when night came, they went and ate the fruit from the poporo-tree belonging to Uenuku. This continued for several nights until the fruit was nearly gone, but at last Uenuku discovered the theft, and looking for traces of the robber, found the marks of the stilts. Lying in wait the next night with some of his followers, he succeeded in catching Tama-te-kapua’s brother, but Tama himself ran away. He was, however, caught on the shore, and his captors said, “Chop down his stilts so that he may fall into the sea,” whereupon Tama-te-kapua called out, “If you fell me in the water, I should not be hurt, but if you cut me down on shore, the fall will kill me.” So he deceived them, and they chopped him down on the shore, and he fell, but quickly picking himself up, ran swiftly away and escaped. His brother, Whakaturia, was left, however, and after debating how to kill him, his captors decided to hang him up under the roof of Uenuku’s house that he might slowly stifle in the smoke. No sooner said than done; and lighting a fire, they began to dance and sing very badly, continuing to do so every night. After a time the news of his brother’s plight reached Tama-te-kapua, who determined to go and see if perchance his brother still lived. Secretly climbing on the roof, he made a small opening over the place where Whakaturia was suspended and whispered to him. The poor fellow was still alive, and when he told his brother how the people were always dancing, and that they danced badly, Tama-te-kapua thought of a scheme to free the captive. Acting on his suggestions, Whakaturia called out when the dancing had begun on the following night, and told the people that they did not know how to dance or sing. Asked if he was better skilled in dancing, he declared that he was and that if they would let him down and give him the proper accoutrements, he would prove what he said. Suspecting no guile, they did as he suggested, and he delighted them with his skill. Meanwhile Tama-te-kapua came secretly and stood outside the door, which his brother had asked to have opened a little on account of the heat; and at a given signal Whakaturia darted through the opening, while Tama-te-kapua quickly shut and barred the door and window. After this he and his brother ran away, leaving their enemies helpless; and when the pair were safely gone, someone passing by heard the cries of the imprisoned people and set them free. The feature of particular interest in this tale is the incident of the deceitful advice by which the captive persuades his captors to kill him in the one way which he knows will not be fatal. So far as published materials go, this incident does not seem to occur elsewhere in Polynesia, and no instance of it has as yet been reported in Melanesia. It is, however, common in Indonesia, and is, as is well known, wide-spread elsewhere.

The Polynesian people had numerous astronomical myths, of which the following may serve as examples. The Maori say that one night Rona went to get water from a neighbouring stream, but as she went the moon, which had been shining, disappeared behind a cloud, so that in the gloom Rona stumbled over stones and roots and in her anger cursed the moon, saying, “Oh, you cooked-headed moon, not to come forth and shine!” At this the moon was displeased, and coming down at once to earth, seized Rona and carried her away. In vain she caught hold of a tree; it was torn up by the roots, and Rona, her water-gourd, basket, tree, and all were taken up by the moon, where they may all still be seen. Other versions describe Rona as a man who, according to some, reached the moon in pursuit of his wife. He is said to be the cause of the waning of the moon, for he eats it, and is himself devoured by it, both then being restored to life and strength by bathing in the “living waters of Tane,” after which they renew their struggle In the Cook Group there is a tale of the moon’s becoming enamoured of one of the beautiful daughters of Kui the Blind, so that he descended and carried her off with him, and she may be seen in the moon with her piles of leaves for her oven and her tongs to adjust the coals. She is always at work making tapa, and this and the stones used for weighting it when spread out to bleach are also visible. From time to time she throws these stones aside, thus producing a crash which men call thunder.

The majority of the Hawaiian myths and tales so far published seem rather local in character, but some present features of interest from the comparative point of view. Such, for example, is the tale relating to the Pounahou spring. The wife of a certain chief died, leaving him with twins, a boy and a girl, of whom their father was very fond. Thinking to secure them better care, he married a second wife, but the step-mother soon became jealous of the children, although in her husband’s presence she treated them kindly enough.

The day came when the father had to be away for some time on a journey, and then his wife’s hatred for the step-children had full scope, so that she persecuted and maltreated them unceasingly, although they were not without aid, for the spirit of their own mother was constantly assisting and protecting them. At last, unable longer to endure their step-mother’s malevolence, they ran away, and after being driven from one refuge to another, finally sought a cave where they lived for some time. Again discovered by their unrelenting oppressor, they fled to another more secret cave where they were unmolested, and where the brother, aided by a water spirit, made a spring and bathing-pool for his sister, which are to be seen to this day. Later their father returned, and hearing of the cruelty of his wife, first slew her and then committed suicide. The tale, though simple and of merely local importance, has a somewhat wider interest in that it would seem to be the only Polynesian instance of the “wicked step-mother theme,” which, in almost exactly this form, is found in Indonesia as well as Micronesia, and in a closely related fashion in Melanesia. This same theme, moreover, is widespread in Indonesia in a more general recension (i. e. without the miraculous aid given by the true mother) and also occurs in Melanesia.

Another example of somewhat similar type is the story of Kapipikauila. On the northern coast of the island of Molokai is a very precipitous cliff upon whose summit Kapipikauila once dwelt, but becoming enamoured of Hina, the beautiful wife of another man, he tempted her away and took her for his own. Her first husband, Hakalanileo, lamenting his loss, knew not what to do, for the heights of Haupu were inaccessible; and so he wandered about, seeking for some strong hero to aid him to recover his wife. First he met Kamaluluwalu, a strong man, one of whose sides was stone and one flesh. He threw a great stone up until it struck the sky, and as it fell, caught it on his stony side; but this feat was not enough to satisfy Hakalanileo, who went in search of another hero. One after another he met, but none proved to have the strength he thought was necessary until at last Nikeu, surnamed the Rogue, heard of the fruitless quest, and kicking over the trees as he went, met Hakalanileo and carried him to the house of Kaua; but in terror at the fierceness of this hero the hapless husband fled, when Kaua, stretching forth his hand, seized him and brought him back. After hearing the story, Kaua at once espoused his cause and ordered Nikeu to get a canoe forthwith, but since the latter did not succeed immediately, Kaua stretched out his hand, and scratching among the forests, brought forth two canoes which he placed upon the beach, after which, taking his magic rod, he embarked with the others and set off to be avenged upon Kapipikauila.

On the way a great reef impeded their progress, but this was destroyed by means of the magic staff; and a second danger, in the form of a mighty wall of water, was passed by the same means, which also served to overcome several great sea-monsters that disputed the way. At last they came to Haupu, and Nikeu the Rogue was sent to climb up the cliff and bring back Hakalanileo’s captive wife. Twice he tried in vain, but the third time he succeeded in reaching the top, and entering the house of Kapipikauila, led Hina away before the astonished inmates realized what was happening. When they awoke to the fact, the enraged Kapipikauila sent a flock of birds to desecrate the head of Nikeu, which was sacred; and after they had done this, in very shame he let go of Hina, who was then seized and carried back by the birds. Returning to Kaua and the others below, he at first tried to conceal the cause of his failure, but at last was forced to confess. Then Kaua resolved to fight. Standing up in the canoe, he stretched himself until he was as tall as the heights of Haupu, but his adversary was equal to the occasion, for cutting off the branches of a magic tree which grew upon the summit of the cliff, he caused the cliff to stretch upward also. But as the precipice rose, Kaua stretched himself likewise; and thus they strove one with the other until Kaua was as lean as a banana stalk and at last as thin as a spider’s web--but still the cliff rose, and Kaua confessed himself beaten.

Then he laid his great length down upon the sea, so that his head reached across to Kona, in Hawaii, where his grandmother fed him and nursed him until he grew plump and fat again. Poor Nikeu, however, was left hungry, watching the feet of Kaua; and when he saw these regain their fullness, he could resist no longer, but severed one and ate it. After a time the pain crept along the vast length of the body of Kaua to his head, far away in Kona, and only then did he know that his foot had been cut off. Now, however, he was restored to strength and returned to the attack. First he severed all the branches of the magic tree by whose aid Kapipikauila had before been able to vanquish him; and then he revealed himself and began once more to stretch. This time the enemy was helpless and could not cause the cliff to grow in height, so that Kaua, stretching himself until he overtopped the rocks of Haupu, slew Kapipikauila and brought Hina back to Hakalanileo. Then tearing down the cliff, he hurled great pieces of it into the sea where they stand to this day, being known to all as “The Rocks of Kaua.” In this tale it is the episode of the hero’s stretching which is of interest for comparative purposes, since this seems not to be recorded elsewhere in Polynesia, although it occurs both in Melanesia and in Micronesia.

Chapter 4. Summary

IN the foregoing pages we have endeavoured to present some of the more important and characteristic myths from Polynesia. Forced to give undue emphasis to three or four of the many groups because of the paucity of material from all but these, we may, nevertheless, gain a pretty clear impression of the type of tales once current throughout the entire area.

In the presentation of the material and in its discussion resemblances have been pointed out between the various island-groups, both within and without Polynesia; but this has been done only for individual tales or striking incidents, and no attempt has been made to summarize the results. The fact of wide-spread relationship has probably become evident, but the conclusions which may legitimately be drawn are not perhaps apparent. Unless we are to depend entirely upon impressions, some sort of statistical method must obviously be employed. While these are particularly liable to lead to erroneous conclusions because of the fragmentary and unequal quality of the available material, we must use some such method to extract meaning from the mass of individual similarities. All myths, as we have them, may be analyzed into a series of separate incidents. This group of incidents may, and indeed often does, remain intact for long periods, and may be transmitted as a unit from one people or area to another. Very often, however, in the course of time or in transmission one or other of these drops out or is modified, and new ones are added; so that the result may be a tale quite unlike the original, but in which certain of the original incidents survive. Individual incidents also may be widely transmitted, and by the study of the distribution of these much may be learned as to historic associations, lines of migration, and cultural relationships. Myths, then, as we find them, are of complex origin, the product of long modification, decay, and accretion. If now we consider the mythology of Polynesia from the standpoint of its constituent elements, i. e. its incidents, much light may be thrown on its growth as a whole, on the interrelationship of the mythology of the different island-groups, and on the kinship which the mythology of this area bears to that of adjoining ones. For a really satisfactory study of this sort relatively complete material from the whole region is needed; but unfortunately, as already pointed out, this is not, and probably never will be, available. Incomplete records from certain island-groups inevitably lead to erroneous conclusions in regard to the distribution of incidents, but with all due allowance for these sources of error, and emphasizing the tentative character of the results obtained, it is perhaps worth while to see what conclusions may be drawn from the data which we possess.

Within Polynesia itself such a study of the distribution of myth-incidents leads to results of interest. Perhaps the most striking of these is the apparently close relationship between Hawaii and New Zealand, the two most widely separated groups within the area, since of the Hawaiian episodes occurring elsewhere in Polynesia two-thirds are found in New Zealand, while in the much closer Cook and Society Groups only about one-third appears. New Zealand’s similarities are closest with the Cook Group (as indeed they should be, seeing that the bulk of the historic immigration came from there), but the number of agreements with Hawaii is very nearly as great, and a strong relationship to Samoa is also apparent. Considering other groups, Samoa is most closely affiliated with the Cook Group and New Zealand, and only secondarily with Tonga. Central Polynesia, i. e. the Cook Group, Society, and Marquesas, seems to form more or less of a unit with affiliations running in all directions.

If the character of the incidents themselves be considered, and not merely the number of agreements, it appears that in the case of Hawaii and New Zealand the episodes which are common to these two groups are, for the most part, other than those which either shares with the geographically intermediate Cook or Society Groups. Similarly, although New Zealand’s affiliation with Samoa is nearly as strong as with Hawaii, the incidents which it possesses in common with the former are, generally speaking, quite distinct from those which it shares with the latter. The logical explanation of such a condition, would seem to be that Polynesian mythology is, as a whole, a complex of incidents derived from different sources, one portion of the area having received its material mainly from one source, another from another. Thus the myths of any individual group, such as New Zealand, would be the result of a blending of two or more streams of incidents, or, to vary the figure, would be composed of different strata superimposed in a definite historical order.

In the presentation of the myths, as given in the preceding pages, frequent reference has been made to the occurrence of similar incidents in Melanesia and Indonesia; whence a consideration of the number and proportions of these similarities in different parts of Polynesia may be expected to throw light on this question of sources. The Melanesian area lies immediately adjacent to Polynesia on the west, and we may first consider how far incidents found in Polynesia also occur in Melanesia. Theoretically, any community of episodes discovered between these two areas might be due to transmission in either direction, i. e. from Polynesia to Melanesia, or from Melanesia to Polynesia. Inasmuch, however, as a great mass of evidence derived from other sources points to the drift of peoples from west to east in the Pacific area, we may reasonably regard the bulk of the similarities as due to transmission from west to east; i. e. that the incidents common to Melanesia and Polynesia are at least in part of Melanesian origin. Assuming for the moment that this is true, it is obvious that we may have two sorts of agreement: incidents of Melanesian origin (or at least of wide Melanesian distribution) which occur only in a single group or in a restricted area in Polynesia; and Melanesian incidents which are current over a considerable portion or the whole of the Polynesian area. Beginning with a consideration of the first of these types, it appears that about one-sixth of the myth-incidents peculiar to the Hawaiian group, and not found elsewhere in Polynesia, occur also in Melanesia. As regards Samoa, however, almost half of the episodes which are purely local and confined to Samoa, so far as Polynesia is concerned, are recorded in Melanesia. In New Zealand the comparable figure rises to nearly three-fourths; but, on the other hand, there are practically no episodes of this type in the Society and Cook Groups. It is clear, then, that from this point of view there is a very strong Melanesian. element in New Zealand and Samoa, while it is weak in Hawaii and apparently absent from the Society and Cook Groups. The individual incidents of Melanesian similarity are, moreover, different in each case, one series being found in New Zealand, another in Samoa, and a third in Hawaii. Moreover, we must note that the Melanesian incidents showing similarity with the Hawaiian are current, so far as our present information goes, only in the Admiralty Islands and New Britain; whereas those occurring in Samoa and New Zealand are more widely distributed and are especially characteristic of eastern Melanesia. The influence, therefore-, exerted on Hawaiian mythology by that of Melanesia would seem to have been not only slight, but localized, as if the wave of Polynesian immigrants which settled in Hawaii had merely touched the northern edge of Melanesian territory. On the other hand, the ancestors of those who reached Samoa and New Zealand must have passed through much of eastern Melanesia and been subjected to a contact of greater length and intensity.

If we now examine the second type of agreements the results are somewhat different. We are here dealing with myth-incidents which are not confined to single portions of Polynesia, but are common to two or more island-groups. Of this class of episodes Hawaii shows a fifth which are of Melanesian origin, the Society Group slightly less, the Cook Group and Samoa slightly more, and New Zealand nearly one-half. The latter area, again, reveals by far the strongest Melanesian affinities, while Hawaii, Samoa, and the Cook Group have a much smaller proportion, with the Society Group showing the minimum. It is fairly well established that Hawaii received a considerable influx of population from central Polynesia between the twelfth and fourteenth centuries, and the obvious inference is that the Melanesian incidents which Hawaii shares with this group are in large part to be traced to this migration. The great proportion of Melanesian incidents in New Zealand would argue a strong infusion of this darker blood among the Maori.

Nearly all the recognized theories as to the origin of the Polynesian peoples bring them in one way or other from the Indonesian area, and ascribe to them only a temporary stay in Melanesia en route to their homes in historic times. In pointing out similarities of incident during the presentation of Polynesian mythology, the Indonesian affinities have frequently been mentioned, and we must now examine these in the same way in which the Melanesian resemblances have just been considered. Following our former order of treatment, we may first investigate those myth-incidents which, although localized in some one island-group in Polynesia, also have an Indonesian or extra-Polynesian distribution. Of the important incidents of this type in Hawaii, fully half occur also ill Indonesia; but in Samoa and New Zealand, on the other hand, the proportion sinks to about one-eighth. Here again, as with the Melanesian incidents, the series of episodes in common are different for each group; but the conditions are exactly reversed, for whereas in regard to Melanesian affinities Hawaii shows but few, though New Zealand and Samoa possess a large number, in respect to Indonesian similarities Hawaii is strong, while New Zealand and Samoa are weak. The inference would seem to follow, therefore, that Hawaii has preserved a larger proportion of its original Indonesian inheritance than the other Polynesian groups, while in New Zealand and Samoa this original element has been largely lost or overlaid with borrowed Melanesian incidents. If instead of taking the localized incidents we consider those of general Polynesian distribution which are also found outside its bounds) much the same general results are obtained, although the disproportion between the different island-groups is not so marked. Of this type of incidents Hawaii has nearly a fifth that are also found in Indonesia; the Society and Cook Groups, taken together, about one-tenth; and Samoa and New Zealand even less. The relatively high proportion of Indonesian incidents in central Polynesia is worthy of note in this connexion, as indicating that here the ancestral material was not so largely overlaid by elements of Melanesian origin as was the case in Samoa, which is geographically nearer to Melanesia and which for many generations had had close trade relationships with its eastern margin.

One other line of investigation throws some light upon the course of development of Polynesian mythology. The Indonesian incidents, whose general distribution in Polynesia has just been discussed, have been such as occur in Indonesia and Polynesia, but not in the intervening areas of either Melanesia or Micronesia. If the Polynesian ancestors passed through either of these regions in the course of their movement from west to east, we might expect to find the evidences of such Migration in the presence of Indonesian incidents in Melanesian and Micronesian mythologies. This is precisely what does occur, and thus one class of incidents is found in Indonesia, Melanesia, and Polynesia, and another in these areas and in Micronesia as well. Of the first, Hawaii shows the smallest proportion, followed by central Polynesia, Samoa, and New Zealand, in the order given. Of the second, Hawaii shows the largest proportion, followed by the other island-groups in the same order as above, only with much greater differences between the extremes, i. e. Hawaii shows five times as many incidents of this most widely distributed type as does New Zealand. It thus becomes once more apparent that Hawaii has had less Melanesian influence brought to bear upon it than the rest of Polynesia, and also that it shows close relationship to Micronesia.

To sum up, then, it may be said that from a study of the distribution of myth-incidents Polynesian mythology, as known to us today, bears evidences of a composite origin. The facts may be reasonably explained by assuming that the ancestors of the Polynesian people were immigrants from the west and that they came into the area in at least two waves: an earlier, one branch of which, barely touching the edge of northern Melanesia, passed northward into Hawaii, while the main body delayed longer in Melanesian territory and extended over the remainder of the area; and a later, which, after traversing Melanesia, spread mainly through western and central Polynesia to New Zealand, and afterward sent an offshoot from the central region northward to Hawaii. The latter group and New Zealand, owing to their comparative isolation, preserved more of their early inheritance, whereas in the remainder of the area this original material was much changed and largely overlaid by the tales introduced by the later immigrant wave. There are, to be sure, various legends which do not exactly fit with this theory, but it at least serves as a working hypothesis and harmonizes remarkably with the data obtained from the study of other aspects of Polynesian culture.

In the foregoing discussion of Polynesian mythology no attempt has been made to explain or to interpret the various myths. Although some of them undoubtedly show features characteristic of sun-myths, moon-myths, and so forth, and although certain scholars have recognized a solar and lunar cycle of tales of supposedly separate origin, it seems wise to go very slowly in any such investigations. It has been so clearly demonstrated that, in the transmission and migration of myths, the original form of the tale may become so greatly modified by the elimination of some incidents and the absorption of others as quite to change its meaning and application, and it has been demonstrated that myths originally told to account for or to explain one phenomenon ultimately come to be applied to a very different one. Consequently we need a much more detailed knowledge of the whole Oceanic area before trustworthy conclusions can be reached.

Part 2. Melanesia

GEOGRAPHICALLY Melanesia naturally falls into two divisions: New Guinea with the smaller adjacent islands forming one, and the long series of islands lying to the north and east of it, from the Admiralty Group to New Caledonia and Fiji, constituting the other. From the anthropological point of view the population of the Melanesian area is exceedingly complex, being composed of a number of different racial types. While detailed knowledge of the area is still too fragmentary to render conclusions other than tentative, it may be said that at least three groups can be recognized.

Presumably most ancient and underlying all others, though now confined to certain of the more inaccessible parts of the interior of New Guinea and possibly to some few islands of the Eastern Archipelago, are a number of Negrito or Negrito-like tribes in regard to which we thus far have only the scantiest details.

The bulk of the population of the interior of New Guinea, of considerable stretches of its southern, south-western, and northern coasts, and of portions of other islands forms a second stratum known as Papuan. Mythological material from them is exceedingly scanty.

The third type is that which occupies much of south-eastern New Guinea, together with part of its northern and north-western coasts, and forms the majority of the inhabitants of the islands reaching from the Admiralty Islands to Fiji. Strictly speaking, the term Melanesian should be applied to this group only; and from it and the Papuo-Melanesian mixtures the greater part of the myth material at present available has been derived.

It is quite evident that no adequate presentation of the mythology of the whole Melanesian area, using the term in its broader geographical sense, can as yet be made; the most that can be done is to present an outline of the material derived from what is clearly the latest stratum of the population and to supplement this, when possible, by such fragmentary information as we possess from the older Papuan Group. Of Negrito mythology, here, as in the case of Indonesia, absolutely nothing is known.

Chapter 1. Myths Of Origins And The Deluge

APPARENTLY one of the clearest characteristics of the mythology of the Melanesian area is the almost total lack of myths relating to the origin of the world. With one or two exceptions, the earth seems to be regarded as having always existed in very much the same form as today. In the Admiralty Islands a portion of the population believed that once there was nothing but a wide-spread sea; and one myth states that in this sea swam a great serpent, who, desiring a place on which he might rest, called out, “Let the reef rise!”, and the reef rose out of the ocean and became dry land. Another version differs in that a man and a woman, after having floated upon the primeval sea, climbed upon a piece of driftwood and wondered whether the ocean would dry up or not. At last the waters wholly retired, and land appeared covered with hills, but barren and without life; whereupon the two beings planted trees and created foods of various sorts. In New Britain, among the coastal tribes of the Gazelle Peninsula, we find the familiar story of the fishing of the land from the bottom of the sea, a task which was accomplished by the two culture hero brothers, To-Kabinana and To-Karvuvu, some of whose other deeds will be recounted later. The same story in slightly greater detail is found also in the southern New Hebrides. This conception of a primeval sea is found widely in central Polynesia, Micronesia, and Indonesia, and it is perhaps significant that it apparently occurs in Melanesia only on its northern margin, where contact with non-Melanesian peoples would theoretically be expected. A much closer affiliation with Polynesia is shown, however, in another class of origin-myths to which we may now turn.

If there is little interest in the beginning of the world in the Melanesian area, the same cannot be said of the origin of mankind, for on this subject there is considerable and widely variant material. Three types of myths may be recognized: one, that in which mankind is directly created by some deity or pre-existing being; second, that in which man comes into being spontaneously or magically; and, third, that where mankind descends to earth from the sky-land.

In the Admiralty Islands it is said that Manuai was alone and longed for a wife; so he took his axe, went into the forest, and cut down a tree, and after he had fashioned the trunk into the figure of a woman, he said, “My wood there, become a woman!”, and the image came to life. In the Banks Islands a somewhat more elaborate tale is told. Qat was the first to make man, cutting wood out of the dracaena-tree and forming it into six figures, three men and three women. When he had finished them, he hid them away for three days, after which he brought them forth and set them up. Dancing in front of them and seeing that they began to move, he beat the drum before them, and they moved still more, and “thus he beguiled them into life, so that they could stand of themselves.” Then he divided them into three pairs as man and wife. Now Marawa, who was a malicious, envious fellow, saw what Qat had made and determined to do likewise. So he took wood of another sort, and when he had fashioned the images, he set them up and beat the drum before them, and gave them life as Qat had done. But when he saw them move, he dug a pit and covered the bottom with coco-nut fronds, burying his men and women in it for seven days; and when he dug them up again, he found them lifeless and decomposed, this being the origin of death among men. According to another version from this same area, while the first man was made of red clay by Qat, he created the first woman of rods and rings of supple twigs covered with the spathes of sago palms, just as they make the tall hats which are used in the sacred dances.

A tale of the creation of man from earth is told in the New Hebrides. ”Takaro made from mud ten figures of men. When they were finished, he breathed upon them, breathed upon their eyes, their ears, their mouths, their hands, their feet, and thus the images became alive. But all the people he had made were men and Takaro was not satisfied, so he told them to light a fire and cook some food. When they had done so, he ordered them to stand still and he threw at one of them a fruit, and lo! one of the men was changed into a woman. Then Takaro ordered the woman to go and stay by herself in the house. After a while, he sent one of the nine men to her to ask for fire, and she greeted him as her elder brother. A second was sent to ask for water, and she greeted him as her younger brother. And so one after another, she greeted them as relatives, all but the last, and him she called her husband. So Takaro said to him, ‘Take her as your wife, and you two shall live together.’“ A still different version is that from New Britain. In the beginning a being drew two figures of men upon the ground, and then, cutting himself with a knife, he sprinkled the two drawings with his blood and covered them over with leaves, the result being that they came to life as To-Kabinana and To-Karvuvu. The former then climbed a coco-nut-tree which bore light yellow nuts, and picking two unripe ones, he threw them to the ground, where they burst and changed into two women, whom he took as his wives. His brother asked him how he had come to be possessed of the two women, and To-Kabinana told him. Accordingly, To-Karvuvu also climbed a tree and likewise threw down two nuts, but they fell so that their under side struck the ground, and from them came two women with depressed, ugly noses. So To-Karvuvu was jealous because his brother’s wives were better looking than his, and he took one of To-Kabinana’s spouses, abandoning the two ugly females who were his own. Another version from the same region brings out more clearly the distinction between the characters of the two brothers and serves, moreover, to account for the two marriage classes into which the people are divided. To-Kabinana said to To-Karvuvu, “Do you get two light-coloured coco-nuts. One of them you must hide, then bring the other to me.” To-Karvuvu, however, did not obey, but got one light and one dark nut, and having hidden the latter, he brought the light-coloured one to his brother, who tied it to the stern of his canoe, and seating himself in the bow, paddled out to sea. He paid no attention to the noise that the nut made as it struck against the sides of his canoe nor did he look around. Soon the coco-nut turned into a handsome woman, who sat on the stern of the canoe and steered, while To-Kabinana paddled. When he came back to land, his brother was enamoured of the woman and wished to take her as his wife, but To-Kabinana refused his request and said that they would now make another woman. Accordingly, To-Karvuvu brought the other coco-nut, but when his brother saw that it was dark-coloured, he upbraided To-Karvuvu and said: “You are indeed a stupid fellow. You have brought misery upon our mortal race. From now on, we shall be divided into two classes, into you and us.” Then they tied the coco-nut to the stern of the canoe, and paddling away as before, the nut turned into a black-skinned woman; but when they had returned to shore, To-Kabinana said: “Alas, you have only ruined our mortal race. If all of us were only light of skin, we should not die. Now, however, this dark-skinned woman will produce one group, and the light-skinned woman another, and the light-skinned men shall marry the dark-skinned women, and the dark-skinned men shall marry the light-skinned women.” And so To-Kabinana divided mankind into two classes.

Turning now to the second type of tales of the origin of mankind, the belief in a direct or indirect origin from birds may first be considered. In the Admiralty Islands, according to one version, a dove bore two young, one of which was a bird and one a man, who became the ancestor of the human race by incestuous union with his mother. Another recension has it that a tortoise laid ten eggs from which were hatched eight tortoises and two human beings, one man and one woman; and these two, marrying, became the ancestors of both light-skinned and dark-skinned people. At the other extremity of Melanesia, in Fiji, it is said that a bird laid two eggs which were hatched by Ndengei, the great serpent, a boy coming from one and a girl from the other. A variant of this is found in Torres Straits where, according to the Eastern Islanders, a bird having laid an egg, a maggot or worm was developed from it, which then was transformed into human shape.

Myths of the origin of men or of deities from a clot of blood are of interest in their relation to other areas in Oceania. One version again comes from the Admiralty Islands. A woman, named Hi-asa, who lived alone, one day cut her finger while shaving pandanus strips. Collecting the blood from the wound in a mussel-shell, she put a cover over it and set it away; but when, after eleven days, she looked in the shell, it contained two eggs. She covered them up, and after several days they burst, one producing a man and the other a woman, who became the parents of the human race. In the neighbouring island of New Britain one account gives a similar origin for the two brothers To-Kabinana and To-Karvuvu. While an old woman was wading in the sea searching for shellfish, her arms pained her, and so, taking two sharp strips of Pandanus, she scratched and cut first one arm and then the other. The two strips of pandanus, thus covered with her blood, she laid away in a heap of refuse which she intended to burn; but after a time the pile began to swell, and when she was about to set fire to it, she saw that two boys had grown from her blood--from the blood of her right arm, To-Kabinana, and from that of her left arm, To-Karvuvu. At several Points in German New Guinea we find similar tales of children originating from clots of blood, although here, we must note, they are not considered as the parents of mankind.

An origin of the human race from plants seems definitely stated only in the Solomon Islands, where it is said that two knots began to sprout on a stalk of sugar-cane, and when the cane below each sprout burst, from one issued a man and from the other a woman, these becoming the parents of mankind. With this we may compare the tales from New Britain. Two men (sometimes described as To-Kabinana and To-Karvuvu) were fishing at night, and while they were so engaged a piece of wild sugar-cane floated into the net, where it became entangled. Disengaging it, they threw it away, but again it was enmeshed and was once more discarded. When, however, it was caught for the third time, they determined to plant it, and did so. Taking root, the cane grew, and after a time it began to swell, until one day, while the two men were absent at work, the stalk burst and from it came out a woman who cooked food for the men and then returned to her hiding-place. The two came back from their work and were much surprised to find their food ready for them; but since the same thing occurred the next day, on the following morning they hid themselves to see who it was that had prepared their food. After a time the stalk opened and the woman came out, whereupon they immediately seized her and held her fast. In some versions, the woman then became the wife of one of the men, and all mankind are supposed to be descended from the pair. An origin of the first woman from a tree and of the first man from the ground is given by the Papuan tribes of Elema in British New Guinea; while in the New Hebrides the first female being is said to have sprung from a cowrie-shell which turned into a woman.

An origin of man from stone is told by the Baining of New Britain. At first the only beings in the world were the sun and the moon, but they married, and from their union were born stones and birds, the former subsequently turning into men, the latter into women, and from these the Baining are descended. The origin of Qat himself is ascribed in the Banks Group to a stone, which in the beginning burst asunder and gave birth to the culture hero--a concept which recalls the tales of the source of the first supernatural beings in Tonga, Celebes) and the Union and Gilbert Groups. The third type of myths of the beginning of mankind has thus far been reported apparently only from one portion of German New Guinea.

Although Melanesia seems characteristically to lack myths of the origin of the world, a tale recounting, the source of the sea is quite widely spread. As told by the Baining in New Britain, the story runs as follows. In the beginning the sea was very small--only a tiny water-hole, belonging to an old woman and from which she got the salt water for the flavouring of her food. She kept the hole concealed under a cover of tapa cloth, and though her two sons repeatedly asked her whence she obtained the salt water, she refused to answer. So they determined to watch and eventually surprised her in the act of lifting the cover and dipping up the salt water. When she had gone they went to the spot and tore the cover open; and the farther they tore, the larger became the waterhole. Terrified by this, they ran away, each carrying a corner of the cloth; and thus the water spread and spread until it became the sea, which rose so that only a few rocks, covered with earth, remained above it. When the old woman saw that the sea constantly grew larger, she feared that the entire world would be covered by it, so she hastily planted some twigs along the edge of the shore, thus preventing the ocean from destroying all things.

Of the origin of the sun and moon various tales are told. In the Admiralty Islands it is said that when the sea had dried so that man appeared, the first two beings, after planting trees and creating food plants, made two mushrooms, one of which the man threw into the sky, creating the moon, while the woman tossed the other upward and formed the sun. A different account is given by the people of southern British New Guinea. According to this, a man was digging a deep hole one day when he uncovered the moon as a small bright object. After he had taken it out, it began to grow, and finally, escaping from his hands, rose high into the sky. Had the moon been left in the ground until it was born naturally, it would have given a brighter light; but since it was taken out prematurely, it sheds only feeble rays. With this we may compare a tale from German New Guinea which recounts how the moon was originally kept hidden in a jar by an old woman. Some boys discovered this, and coming secretly, opened the jar, whereupon the moon flew out; and though they tried to hold it, it slipped from their grasp and rose into the sky, bearing the marks of their hands on its surface. The people of Woodlark Island have another tale in which the origin of the sun and moon is connected with the origin of fire. According to this, in the beginning an old woman was the sole owner of fire, and she alone could eat cooked food, while other people must devour theirs raw. Her son said to her: “You are cruel. You see that the taro takes the skin off our throats, yet you do not give us fire with which to cook it”; but since she proved obdurate, he stole some of the flame and gave it to the rest of mankind. In anger at his action, the old woman seized what was left of her fire, divided it into two parts, and threw them into the sky, the larger portion thus becoming the sun, and the smaller the moon.

In all of these myths the sun and moon seem to be regarded as inanimate objects, or at least as such in origin. Another group of tales, however, considers them to be living beings. As an example we may take the version given by one of the tribes of the Massim district of British New Guinea. One day a woman who was watching her garden close to the ocean, seeing a great fish sporting in the surf, walked out into the water and played with the fish, continuing to do this for several days. By and by the woman’s leg, against which the fish had rubbed, began to swell and became painful until at last she got her father to make a cut in the swelling, when out popped an infant. The boy, who was named Dudugera, grew up among the other children of the village until one day, in playing a game, he threw his dart at the other children rather than at the mark, whereupon they became angry and abused him, taunting him with his parentage. Fearing lest the others might really harm him, Dudugera’s mother determined to send him to his father; so she took the boy to the beach, whereupon the great fish came, seized him in his mouth, and carried him far away to the east. Before he left, Dudugera warned his mother and relatives to take refuge under a great rock, for soon, he said, he would climb into a pandanus-tree and thence into the sky, and, as the sun, would destroy all things with his heat. So indeed it came to pass, for excepting his mother and her relatives, who heeded Dudugera’s advice, nearly everything perished. To prevent their total annihilation his mother took a lime-calabash, and climbing upon a hill near which the sun rose, cast the lime into his face as he came up, which caused the sun to shut his eyes and thus to decrease the amount of heat.

The concept that originally there was no night is rather characteristic of Melanesian mythology: day was perpetual and night was discovered or brought to mankind. In the Banks Islands, after Qat had formed men, pigs, trees, and rocks be still did not know how to make night, for daylight was continuous. His brothers said to him, “This is not at all pleasant. Here is nothing but day. Can’t you do something for us?” Now Qat heard that at Vava in the Torres Islands there was night, so he took a pig, and went to Vava, where he bought night from I-Qong, Night, who lived there. Other accounts say that Qat sailed to the edge of the sky to buy night from Night, who blackened his eyebrows, showed him sleep and taught him how to make the dawn. Qat returned to his brothers, bringing a fowl and other birds to give notice of the dawn. He begged his brothers to prepare beds of coco-nut fronds. Then for the first time, they saw the sun sinking in the west, and they cried out to Qat that it was crawling away. “‘It will soon be gone,’ said he, ‘and if you see a change on the face of the earth, that is night.’ Then he let go the night. ‘What is this coming out of the sea,’ they cried, ‘and covering the sky?’ ‘That is night,’ said he, ‘sit down on both sides of the house, and when you feel something in your eyes, lie down and be quiet.’ Presently it was dark, and their eyes began to blink. ‘Qat! Qat! what is this? Shall we die?’ ‘Shut your eyes,’ said he, ‘that is it, go to sleep.’ When night had lasted long enough the cock began to crow and the birds to twitter; Qat took a piece of red obsidian and cut the night with it; the light over which the night had spread itself shone forth again, and Qat’s brothers awoke.

Myths of the origin of fire present a number of interesting types in the Melanesian area. We may begin with the form widely current in British New Guinea. According to a version told by the Motu, the ancestors of the present people had no fire, and ate their food raw or cooked it in the sun until one day they perceived smoke rising out at sea. A dog, a snake, a bandicoot, a bird, and a kangaroo all saw this smoke and asked, “Who will go to get fire?” First the snake said that he would make the attempt, but the sea was too rough, and he was compelled to come back. Then the bandicoot went, but he, too, had to return. One after another, all tried but the dog, and all were unsuccessful. Then the dog started and swam and swam until he reached the island whence the smoke rose. There he saw women cooking with fire, and seizing a blazing brand, he ran to the shore and swam safely back with it to the mainland, where he gave it to all the people.

Some of the Massim tribes of eastern British New Guinea give quite a different origin, according to which people had no fire in the beginning, but simply warmed and dried their food in the sun. There was, however, a certain old woman called Goga who thus prepared food for ten of the youths, but for herself she cooked food with fire, which she obtained from her own body. Before the boys came home each day, she cleared away all traces of the fire and every scrap of cooked food that they should not know her secret; but one day a piece of boiled taro accidentally got among the lads’ food, and when the youngest ate it, he found it much better than what was usually given him. The youths resolved to discover the secret, so the next day, when they went to hunt, the youngest hid at home and saw the old woman take the fire from her body and cook with it. After his companions had returned, he told them what he had seen, and they determined to steal some of the fire. Accordingly, on the following day they cut down a huge tree, over which all tried to jump, but only the youngest succeeded, so they selected him to steal the fire. He waited until the others had gone, and then creeping back to the house, he seized the firebrand when the old woman was not looking, and ran off with it. The old woman chased him, but he jumped over the tree, which she was unable to do. As he ran on, however, the brand burned his hand, and he dropped it in the dry grass, which caught the blaze and set fire to a pandanus-tree which was near. Now, in a hole in this tree, lived a snake, whose tail caught fire and burned like a torch. The old woman, finding that she could not overtake the thief, caused a great rain to fall, hoping thus to quench the fire, but the snake stayed in his hole, and his tail was not extinguished. When the rain had stopped, the boys went out to look for fire, but found none, because the rain had put it all out; but at last they saw the hole in the tree, pulled out the snake, and broke off its tail, which was still alight. Then making a great pile of wood, they set fire to it, and people from all the villages came and got flame, which they took home with them. “Different folk used different kinds of wood for their firebrands and the trees from which they took their brands became their pitani (totems).” A snake in this tale plays the part of the saviour of fire; but in other forms of the myth the is the real source or bringer of flame. A version from the Admiralty Islands runs as follows: The daughter of Ulimgau went into the forest. The serpent saw her, and said, “Come!” and the woman replied, “Who would have you for a husband? You are a serpent. I will not marry you.” But he replied, “My body is indeed that of a serpent, but my speech is that of a man. Come!” And the woman went and married him, and after a time she bore a boy and a girl, and her serpent husband put her away, and said, “Go, I will take care of them and give them food.” And the serpent fed the children and they grew. And one day they were hungry, and the serpent said to them, “Do you go and catch fish.” And they caught fish and brought them to their father. And he said, “Cook the fish.” And they replied, “The sun has not yet risen.” By and by the sun rose and warmed the fish with its rays, and they ate the food still raw and bloody. Then the serpent said to them, “You two are spirits, for you eat your food raw. Perhaps you will eat me. You, girl, stay; and you, boy, crawl into my belly.” And the boy was afraid and said, “What shall I do?” But his father said to him, “Go,” and he crept into the serpent’s belly. And the serpent said to him, “Take the fire and bring it out to your sister. Come out and gather coco-nuts and yams and -taro and bananas.” So the boy crept out again, bringing the fire from the belly of the serpent. And then having brought the food, the boy and girl lit a fire with the brand which the boy had secured and cooked the food. And when they had eaten, the serpent said to them, “Is my kind of food or your kind of food the better?” And they answered, “Your food is good, ours is bad.”

Similar to this in that the igneous element was obtained from snakes, but on the other hand suggesting affinities with the fire-quest of the Polynesian Maui, is a myth current in New Britain. There was once a time when the Sulka were ignorant of fire; but one day a man named Emakong lost one of his ornaments, which fell into a stream.

Taking off his loincloth, he jumped in and dove to recover the lost object, but was amazed, on reaching the bottom, to find himself in the yard of a house.. Many people came up and asked him his name, and when he replied that he was called Emakong, one of them said, “Oh, that is also my name,” whereupon he took the bewildered man to his house and gave him a new loin-cloth. Great was Emakong’s astonishment to see a fire in the house. At first he was afraid of it, but after he had been given cooked food and had found this much better than the raw viands which he had always eaten before, he lost his fear of the new thing. When it became night, the crickets began to sing and this also alarmed him, for in the world above there was no night, and crickets were unknown. His terror became still greater, however, when the heard resounding claps of thunder from every side and saw all the people turn into snakes in order to sleep.

His namesake reassured him, however, and said that he need not fear, for this was their custom, and that when day should come again, all would return to their human form. Then, with a loud report, he also changed into a snake, and Emakong alone retained the shape of man. In the morning, when the birds sang to announce the coming day, he awoke, and with a crash all the serpents again turned into men. His namesake now did up a package for him, containing night, some fire, some crickets, and the birds that sing at dawn, and with this Imakong left, rising through the water. On reaching the shore, he threw the fire into dry grass, but when the people saw the blaze and heard the crackling of the flame, they were greatly alarmed and all fled. Emakong, however, ran after them and telling them of his adventures, explained to them the use of the things that he had brought.

Although not cosmogonic in the stricter sense of the term, we may conveniently include here the myths given to account for the origin of death. According to the version current in Ambrym, the good and the malicious deities were discussing man after he had been made. The former said: “Our men seem to get on well, but haven’t you noticed that their skins have begun to wrinkle? They are yet young, but when they are old, they will be very ugly. So when that happens, we will flay them like an eel, and a new skin will grow, and thus men shall renew their youth like the snakes and so be immortal.” But the evil deity replied: “No, it shall not be that way. When a man is old and ugly, we will dig a hole in the ground and put the body in it, and thus it shall always be among his descendants.” And because the one who has the last word prevails, death came into the world.

With this we may compare another form of myth as told in the Banks Islands, according to which, in the beginning men did not die, but cast their skins like snakes and crabs, and thus renewed their youth. One day an old woman went to a stream to change her skin and threw the old one into the water where, as it floated away, it caught upon a stick. When she went home, her child refused to recognize her in her new and youthful form, and to pacify the infant, who cried without ceasing, she returned and got her old skin, and put it on again. From that time men have ceased to cast their skins and have died when they grew old.

According to other tales, death was due to a mistake. Thus in the Banks Islands it is said that in the beginning men lived forever, casting their skins, and that the permanence of property in the same hands led to much trouble. Qat, therefore, summoned a man called Mate (“Death”) and laid him on a board and covered him over; after which he killed a pig and divided Mate’s property among his descendants, all of whom came and ate of the funeral feast. On the fifth day, when the conch-shells were blown to drive away the ghost, Qat removed the covering, and Mate was gone; only his bones were left. Meanwhile Qat had sent Tagaro the Foolish to watch the way to Panoi, where the paths to the underworld and the upper regions divide, to see that Mate did not go below; but the Fool sat before the way of the world above so that Mate descended to the lower realms; and ever since that time all men have followed Mate along the path he took.

Still another explanation is that death was due to disobedience. Thus the Baining in New Britain say that one day the sun called all things together and asked which wished to live forever. All came except man; so the stones and the snakes live forever, but man must die. Had man obeyed the sun, he would have been able to change his skin from time to time like the snake, and so would have acquired immortality.

As a last example of this class of myths we may take one which attributes the origin of death to ingratitude. In the Admiralty Group one account states that a man once went out fishing; but since an evil spirit wished to kill and eat him, he fled into the forest. There he caused a tree to open, and creeping inside, the tree closed again, so that when the evil being came, he did not see his victim and went away, whereupon the tree opened, and the man came out. The tree said to him, “Bring to me two white pigs,” so the man went to his village and got two pigs, but he cheated the tree in that he brought only a single white one, the other being black whitened with chalk. For this the tree rebuked him and said: “You are unthankful, though I was good to you. If you had done what I had asked, you might have taken refuge in me whenever danger threatened. Now you cannot, but must die.” So, as a result of this man’s ingratitude, the human race is doomed to mortality and cannot escape the enmity of evil spirits.

Of deluge-myths from the Melanesian area, only a few have been reported which do not bear the marks of missionary influence. As told in British New Guinea, the story runs that once a great flood occurred, and the sea rose and overflowed the earth, the hills being covered, and people and animals hurrying to the top of Tauaga, the highest mountain. But the sea followed and all were afraid. Yet the king of the snakes, Raudalo, did not fear. “At last he said to his servants, ‘Where now are the waters?’ And they answered, ‘They are rising, lord.’ Yet looked he not upon the flood. And after a space he said again, ‘Where now are the waters?’ and his servants answered as they had done before. And again he inquired of them, ‘Where now are the waters?’ But this time all the snakes, Titiko, Dubo and Anaur, made answer, ‘They are here, and in a moment they will touch thee, lord.’

“Then Raudalo turned him about, and put forth his forked tongue, and touched with the tip of it the angry waters which were about to cover him. And on a sudden the sea rose no more, but began to flow down the side of the mountain. Still was Raudalo not content, and he pursued the flood down the hill, ever and anon putting forth his forked tongue that there might be no tarrying on the way. Thus went they down the mountain and over the plain country until the sea shore was reached. And the waters lay in their bed once more and the flood was stayed.”

Another tale from this same region presents features of interest. One day a man discovered a lake in which were many fish; and at the bottom of the lake lived a magic eel, but the man knew it not. He caught many fish and returned the next day with the people of his village whom he had told of his discovery; and they also were very successful, while one woman even laid hold of the great eel, Abaia, who dwelt in the depths of the lake, though he escaped her. Now Abaia was angry that his fish had been caught and that he himself had been seized, so he caused a great rain to fall that night, and the waters of the lake also rose, and all the people were drowned except an old woman who had not eaten of the fish and who saved herself in a tree. The association of snakes and eels with the deluge in these tales strongly suggests the type of deluge-myth current in parts of Indonesia,, and known also apparently in the Cook Group.

From the examples given it may be seen that the origin-myths of Melanesia show clear evidence of composite origins. From small groups like the Admiralty Islands several quite different legends accounting for the same thing have been collected, and throughout the whole area a striking variety exists. in how far we are justified in attributing one set of myths to the older Papuan stratum and another to the later Melanesian layer is very difficult to say, since but little from the purer Papuan tribes of the area has as yet been recorded.

Comparison with Polynesia and Indonesia suggests that the myths of the origin of the sea, of mankind as originally having had the power to renew their youth by changing skins, and of the obtaining of fire from or with the aid of snakes, were primarily Papuan, for no traces of either appear in Indonesia, and only the former is found in somewhat mutilated form in Samoa, but nowhere else in Polynesia.

Other themes, however, such as the origin of human beings from eggs or from a clot of blood, are widely known in Indonesia and also occur in western and south-western Polynesia, and would seem to be immigrant elements from the great culture stream which, passing from Indonesia eastward into the Pacific, swept with greatest strength the north-eastern and south-eastern parts of Melanesia.

Chapter 2. Culture Hero Tales

ONE of the most noteworthy features of Melanesian mythology is the prominence of tales relating either to two culture heroes, one of whom is, as a rule, wise and benevolent, while the other is foolish and malicious; or to a group of brothers, usually ten or twelve in number, two of whom, one wise and one foolish, are especially outstanding. Thus a rudimentary sort of dualism is developed which stands in rather marked contrast to Indonesian mythology, while showing points of contact with Polynesian and Micronesian ideas.

In New Britain we have already seen how To-Karvuvu unsuccessfully imitated To-Kabinana in the making of woman; and in the local forms of the myth of the origin of death it was To-Karvuvu who cried and refused to recognize his mother when she had shed her skin and become rejuvenated, so that he was thus directly responsible for the entrance of death into the world. A few other examples of his foolishness may be given from the same region. According to one of these tales, To-Kabinana and To-Karvuvu were one day walking in the fields when the former said to the latter, “Go, and look after our mother.” So To-Karvuvu went, filled a bamboo vessel with water, poured it over his mother, heated stones in the fire, killed her, and laid her in the oven to roast, after which he returned to To-Kabinana, who asked him how their parent was and if he had taken good care of her. To-Karvuvu replied, “I have roasted her with the hot stones,” whereupon his brother demanded, “Who told you to do that?” “Oh”,” he answered, “I thought you said to kill her!” but To-Kabinana declared, “Oh, you fool, you will die before me. You never cease doing foolish things. Our descendants now will cook and eat human flesh.”

On another occasion To-Kabinana said to his brother, “Come, let us each build a house,” and accordingly each constructed a dwelling, but To-Kabinana roofed his house outside, while his foolish brother covered his on the inside. Then To-Kabinana said, “Let us make rain!” so they performed the proper ceremony, and in the night it rained. The darkness pressed heavily on To-Karvuvu so that he sat up, and the rain came through the roof of his house and fell upon him, and he wept. In the morning he came to his brother, saying, “The darkness pressed upon me, and the rain-water wet me, and I cried.” But when To-Kabinana asked, “How did you build your house?” the other replied, “I covered it with the roof covering inside. It is not like yours.” Then they both went to look at it, and To-Karvuvu said, “I will pull it down and build like yours.” But his brother had pity on him and said, “Do not do that. We will both of us live together in my house.”

Many of the evil or harmful things in the world were the work of the foolish brother. One day To-Kabinana carved a Thum-fish out of wood and let it float on the sea and made it alive so that it might always be a fish; and the Thum-fish drove the Malivaran-fish ashore in great numbers so that they could be caught. Now To-Karvuvu saw them, and asked his brother where were the fish that forced the Malivaran-fish ashore, saying that he also wished to make some. Accordingly, To-Kabinana told him to make the figure of a Thum-fish, but instead the stupid fellow carved the effigy of a shark and put it in the water. The shark, however, did not drive the other fish ashore, but ate them all up, so that To-Karvuvu went crying to his brother and said, “I wish I had not made my fish, for he eats all the others”; whereupon To-Kabinana asked, “What kind of a fish did you make?” and he replied, “A shark.” Then To-Kabinana said, “You are indeed a stupid fellow. You have brought it about that our descendants shall suffer. That fish will eat all the others, and he will also eat people as well.”

The characters of the two brothers are seen to be quite clearly distinguished, To-Karvuvu being in these tales (as in many others from this same area) foolish or stupid rather than designedly malicious, although his follies are usually responsible for the troubles and tribulations of human life; whereas To-Kabinana, on the other hand, appears as actively benevolent, his well-intentioned deeds in behalf of mankind being frustrated by his brother. Tales of a similar type have been collected at one or two points on the German New Guinea shore, but appear to be much less common than among the coast population of New Britain. From British New Guinea few tales of this sort seem to have been collected although stories of the wise and foolish brothers are very prevalent in the Solomon, Santa Cruz, and Banks Islands and the New Hebrides, where they are of the second type, in that, instead of the usual two brothers, we have a group of ten or twelve.

In the Banks Islands Qat is the great hero, and many tales are told of him and his eleven brothers, all of whom were named Tagaro, one being Tagaro the Wise, and one Tagaro the Foolish. In the stories told in Mota, all seem to have combined against Qat and endeavoured to kill him; but in Santa Maria, another island of the group, Qat has his antithesis in Marawa, the Spider, a personage who in Mota seems to become Qat’s friend and guide. Thus, according to one tale, when Qat had finished his work of creation, he proposed to his brothers, Tagaro, that they make canoes for themselves. Qat himself cut down a great tree and worked secretly at it every day, but made no progress, for each morning, when he came back to his task, he found that all that had been done the previous day was undone, and the tree-trunk made solid again.

On finishing work one night, he determined to watch, and accordingly, making himself of very small size, he hid under a large chip which he carried away from the pile that he had made during the day. By and by a little old man appeared from a hole in the ground and began to put the chips back, each in the place from which it had been cut, until the whole tree-trunk was almost whole once more, only one piece being lacking, namely, that under which Qat had hidden himself. Finally the old man found it, but just as he was about to pick it up, Qat sprang out, grew to his full size, and raised his axe to kill the old man who had thus interfered with his work. The latter, however, who was Marawa in disguise, begged Qat to spare his life, promising to complete the canoe for him if he would do so. So Qat had mercy on Marawa, and he finished the boat, using his nails to scoop and scrape it out. When the canoes were finished, Qat told his brothers to launch theirs, and as each slipped into the water, he raised his hand, and the boat sank; whereupon Qat and Marawa appeared, paddling about in their canoe and surprising the other brothers, who had not known that Qat was at work.

After this, the brothers tried to destroy Qat in order that they might possess his wife and canoe. “One day they took him to the hole of a land-crab under a stone, which they had already so prepared by digging under it that it was ready to topple over upon him. Qat crawled into the hole and began to dig for the crab; his brothers tipped over the stone upon him, and thinking him crushed to death, ran off to seize Ro Lei and the canoe. But Qat called on Marawa by name, ‘Marawa! take me round about to Ro Lei,’ and by the time that his brothers reached the village, there was Qat to their astonishment sitting by the side of his wife.” They tried to kill him in many other ways, but Qat was always the victor, and their plans were frustrated.

The element of the opposition of the wise and foolish brothers is better brought out, it seems, in the New Hebrides, where Tagaro becomes the chief actor and is pitted against Suqe-matua. “Tagaro wanted everything to be good, and would have no pain or suffering; Suqe-matua would have all things bad. When Tagaro, made things, he or Suqe-matua tossed them up into the air; what Tagaro caught is good for food, what he missed is worthless.” In a neighbouring island Tagaro is one of twelve brothers, as in the Banks Islands, and usually another of them is Suqe-matua, who continually thwarts him. In Lepers Island Tagaro, and Suqe-matua shared the work of creation, but whatever the latter did was wrong. Thus when they made the trees, the fruit of Tagaro’s were good for food, but Suqe-matua’s were bitter; when they created men, Tagaro said they should walk upright on two legs, but Suqe-matua said that they should go like pigs; Suqe-matua wanted to have men sleep in the trunks of sago palms, but Tagaro said they should work and dwell in houses. So they always disagreed, but the word of Tagaro prevailed. In this latter feature we have the exact opposite of the conditions in New Britain. Tagaro was said to be the father of ten sons, the cleverest of whom was Tagaro-Mbiti.

In another portion of this island Tagaro’s opponent, here known as Meragbuto, again becomes more of a simple fool, and many are the tricks that Tagaro plays upon him. One day Meragbuto saw Tagaro, who had just oiled his hair with coco-nut oil, and admiring the effect greatly, asked how this result had been produced. Tagaro, asked him if he had any hens, and when Meragbuto answered that he had many, Tagaro said: “Well, when they have roosted in the trees, do you go and sit under a tree, and anoint yourself with the ointment which they will throw down to you.” Meragbuto carried out the instructions exactly and rubbed not only his hair, but his whole body with the excrement of the fowls. On the following day he went proudly to a festival, but as soon as he approached every one ran away, crying out at the intolerable odour; only then did Meragbuto realize that he had been tricked, and washed himself in the sea.

Another time Tagaro, placed a tabu upon all coco-nuts so that no one should eat them; but Meragbuto paid no attention to this prohibition, eating and eating until he had devoured nearly all of them. Thereupon Tagaro, took a small coco-nut, scraped out half the meat, and leaving the rest in the shell, sat down to await the coming of Meragbuto, who appeared by and by, and seeing the coco-nut, asked Tagaro if it was his. “Yes,” said Tagaro, “if you are hungry, eat it, but only on condition that you eat it all.” So Meragbuto sat down and scraped the remainder of the nut and ate it; but though he scraped and scraped, more was always left, and so he continued eating all day. At night Meragbuto, said to Tagaro, “My cousin, I can’t eat any more, my stomach pains me.” But Tagaro answered, “No. I put a tabu on the coco-nuts, and you disregarded it; now you must eat it all.” So Meragbuto continued to eat until finally he burst and died. If he had not perished, there would have been no more coco-nuts, for he would have devoured them all.

At last Tagaro determined to destroy Meragbuto, and accordingly he said, “Let us each build a house.” This they did, but Tagaro secretly dug a deep pit in the floor of his house and covered it over with leaves and earth; after which he said to Meragbuto: “Come, set fire to my house, so that I and my wife and children may be burned and die; thus you will become the sole chief.” So Meragbuto came and set fire to Tagaro’s house, and then went to his own and lay down and slept. Tagaro and his family, however, quickly crawled into the pit which he had prepared, and so they escaped death; and when the house had burned, they came up out of their hiding-place and sat down among the ashes. After a time Meragbuto awoke, and saying, “Perhaps my meat is cooked,” he went to where Tagaro’s house had been, thinking to find his victims roasted. Utterly amazed to see Tagaro and his family safe and sound, he asked how this had happened, and Tagaro replied that the flames had not harmed him at all. “Good!” said Meragbuto, “when it is night, do you come and set fire to my house and burn me also.” So Tagaro, set fire to Meragbuto’s house, but when the flames began to burn him, Meragbuto cried out, “My cousin! It hurts me. I am dying.” Tagaro, however, replied, “No, you will not die; it was just that way in my case. Bear it bravely; it will soon be over.” And so it was, for Meragbuto was burned up and entirely destroyed.

Two points of special interest in connexion with these tales deserve brief discussion. One of the most characteristic features of Polynesian mythology is the prominence of the Maui cycle; and if we compare these Polynesian tales with the Melanesian stories of the wise and foolish brothers, there is a suggestion of some sort of relationship between them. To be sure, the similarity lies mainly in the fact that in both regions there is a group of brothers, one of whom is capable, the others incapable or foolish, whereas the actual exploits of the two areas are different. Again, it is only in New Zealand that even this slight amount of correspondence is noticeable. In spite, however, of this very slender basis for comparison, it seems, in view of the relative absence of this type of tale from the rest of the Pacific area, that the suggestion of connexion between the two groups of myths is worth further investigation. This is especially evident in view of the second of the two points to which reference has been made, i. e. the similarity between Tagaro, the name of the Melanesian brothers in the New Hebrides, and the Polynesian deity Tangaroa, who appears in several guises, i. e. as a simple god of the sea in New Zealand, as the creator in the Society and Samoan Groups, and as an evil deity in Hawaii. It is not yet possible to determine the exact relationship between the Polynesian Tangaroa and the New Hebridian Takaro, but it is probable that there is some connexion between them. It may be that the use of the name in the New Hebrides is due wholly to borrowing during the comparatively recent Polynesian contact; but on the other hand, it is possible that Tangaroa is a Polynesian modification of the Melanesian Tagaro. The general uniformity of the conceptions of Tagaro in Melanesia, contrasted with the varied character of Tangaroa in Polynesia, adds considerable difficulty to the problem. The final elucidation of the puzzle must wait, however, for the materials at present available are not sufficiently complete to enable us to draw any certain conclusions.

Chapter 3. Miscellaneous Tales

A VERY common class of tales in Melanesia deals with cannibals and monsters, and our discussion of the general or more miscellaneous group of myths may well begin with examples of this type. As told by the Sulka, a Papuan tribe of New Britain, one of these stories runs as follows. Once there was a cannibal and his wife who had killed and eaten a great many persons, so that, fearing lest they should all be destroyed, the people resolved to abandon their village and seek safety in flight. Accordingly they prepared their canoes, loaded all their property on board, and made ready to leave; but Tamus, one of the women of the village, was with child, whence the others refused to take her with them, saying that she would only be a burden upon the journey. She swam after them, however, and clung to the stern of one of the canoes, but they beat her off, compelling her to return to the deserted village and to live there alone. In due time she bore a son, and when he grew up a little, she would leave him in her hut while she went out to get food, warning him not to talk or laugh, lest the cannibals should hear and come and cat him. One day his mother left him a dracaena-plant as a plaything, and when she was gone he said to himself, “What shall I make out of this, my brother or my cousin?” Then he held the dracaena behind him, and presently it turned into a boy, with whom he played and talked. Resolving to conceal the presence of his new friend, Pupal, from his mother, he said to her on her return, “Mother, I want to make a partition in our house; then you can live on one side, and I will live on the other,” and this he did, concealing Pupal in his portion of the house. From time to time his mother thought that she heard her son talking to someone and was surprised at the quantity of food and drink he required; but though she often asked him if he was alone, he always declared that he was. At last one day she discovered Pupal and then learned how he had come from the dracaena. She was glad that her son now had a companion, and all three lived happily together.

Tamus was, however, more than ever afraid that the cannibals would hear sounds, and suspecting the presence of people in the deserted village, would come to eat them; but the two boys reassured her, saying, “Have no fear; we shall kill them, if they dare to come.” Accordingly, making themselves shields and spears, they practised marksmanship and also erected a slippery barricade about the house, so that it would be difficult to climb. When they had completed their preparations, they set up a swing near the house, and while they were swinging, called out to the cannibals, “Where are you? We are here, come and eat us.” The cannibals heard, and one said to the other, “Don’t you hear someone calling us over there? Who can it be, for we have eaten all of them.” So they set out for the village to see what could have made the noise, the two boys being meanwhile ready in hiding. When the cannibals tried to climb the barricade, they slipped and fell, and the boys rushing out succeeded in killing them both after a hard fight. The children then called to the boy’s mother, who had been greatly terrified, and when she came and saw both the cannibals dead, she built a fire, and they cut up the bodies and burned them, saving only the breasts of the ogress. These Tamus put in a coco-nut-shell, and setting it afloat on the sea, said: “Go to the people who ran away from here, and if they ask, ‘Have the cannibals killed Tamus, and are these her breasts?’ remain floating; but if they say, ‘Has Tamus borne a son and has he killed the cannibals, and are these the breasts of the ogress?’ then sink!”.

The coco-nut-shell floated away at once and by and by came to the new village built by the people who had fled years before. All occurred as Tamus had foreseen, and through the aid of the coco-nut-shell and its contents the people learned the truth. When they discovered the death of the cannibals, they were overjoyed and set out at once for their old home; but just as they were about to land, Pupal and Tamus’s son attacked them, and the latter said, “Ye abandoned my mother and cast her away. Now, ye shall not come back.” After a while, however, he relented and allowed the people to land, and all lived together again happily and safely in their old home.

Another cannibal story which introduces interesting features is told in the New Hebrides. There was once a cannibal named Taso, who came one day upon the sister of Qatu and killed her, but did not eat her because she was with child. So he abandoned her body in a thicket, and there, though their mother was dead, twin boys were born. They found rain-water collected in dead leaves, and shoots of plants that they could eat; so they lived, and when they grew old enough to walk, they wandered about in the forest until one day they found a sow belonging to their uncle Qatu. He came daily to give it food, but when he had gone, the boys would eat part of the sow’s provisions. Thus they grew, and their skins and hair were fair. Qatu wondered why his sow did not become fat, and watching, discovered the twins and caught them; but when they told him who they were, he welcomed them as his nephews and took them home with him. After they grew bigger, he made little bows of sago fronds for them, and when they could shoot lizards, he broke the bows, giving them larger ones with which they brought down greater game; and thus he trained them until they were grown up and could shoot anything. When they were young men, Qatu told then, about Taso and how he had murdered their mother, warning them to be careful, lest he should catch them. The twins, however, determined to kill the cannibal, so they set a tabu on a banana-tree belonging to them and said to their uncle: “If our bunch of bananas begins to ripen at the top and ripens downwards, you will know that Taso has killed us; but if it begins to ripen at the bottom and ripens upwards, we shall have killed him.”

So they set off to kill Taso, but when they came to his house, he had gone to the beach to sharpen his teeth, and only his mother was at home. Accordingly they went and sat in the gamal, the men’s house, to wait for him, and lighting a fire in the oven, they roasted some yams and heated stones in the blaze. Thereupon Taso’s mother sang a song, telling him that there were two men in the gamal and that they should be food for him and for her; so the cannibal quickly returned from the shore, and as he came, he moved his head from side to side, striking the trees so that they went crashing down. When he reached thegamal, he climbed over the door-rail, but the boys immediately threw at him all the hot rocks from the oven and knocked him down, and then with their clubs they beat him until he was dead, after which they killed his mother, and setting fire to the house over them, went away. Now Qatu, hearing the popping of the bamboos as the house burned, said, “Alas, Taso has probably burned the boys!” Hastening to see what had happened, however, he met them on the way and heard from them that they had killed Taso and had revenged their mother whom he had slain.

Although greatly feared, and capable of destroying people in numbers, the cannibals are usually pictured as stupid and easily deceived, as shown in the following two tales. In a village lived four brothers, the eldest of whom one day took his bow and went out to shoot fish. Those which were only wounded he buried in the sand, and so went on until his arrow bit and stuck in the trunk of a bread-fruit-tree; whereupon, looking up and seeing ripe fruit, he climbed the tree and threw several of them down. An old cannibal heard the sound as they dropped and said, “Who is that stealing my fruit?” The man in the tree replied, “It is I with my brothers,” and the old ogre answered, “Well, let us see if what you say is true. just call to them.” Accordingly the man shouted, “My brothers!” and all the fish that he had buried in the sand replied, so that it sounded as if many men were near; whereupon the cannibal was frightened and said, “It is true, but hurry up, take what you will, only leave me the small ones.” So the man took the bread-fruit, gathered up the fish which he had buried, and went home; but when his brothers begged him to share his food with them, or at least to give them the skins of the fish, he refused, telling them to go and get some for themselves.

The next day the second brother went off, followed his brother’s tracks, imitated his procedure, and came back with fish and fruit; the third brother did the same on the following day; and then it came the turn of the fourth to go. He, however, failed to bury the wounded fish, but killed them, and when the cannibal asked him to call his brothers, there was no reply. “Aha,” said the cannibal, “now I have got you. You must come down from the tree.” “Oh, yes!” said the youngest brother, “I shall come down on that tree there.” Quickly the ogre took his axe and cut down the tree, and in this way he felled every one that stood near. “Now, I surely have you,” said he, but the youngest brother replied, “No, I will come down on your youngest daughter there.” So the cannibal rushed at her and gave her a fatal blow; and thus the man in the tree induced the stupid monster to kill all his children and his wife and lastly to cut off his own hand, whereupon the man came down from the tree and slew the ogre.

The following story presents striking features of agreement with certain Indonesian tales. A man and his family had dried and prepared a great quantity of food, which they stored on a staging in their home; and one day, when the man had gone off to his field to work, a cannibal came to the house, and seeing all the provisions, resolved to get them. So he said to the man’s wife, who had been left alone with the children, “My cousin told me to tell you to give me a package of food.” The woman gave him one, and he hid it in the forest, after which he returned and repeated his request, thus carrying away all the food which the people had stored.

Finally he seized the woman and her children, shut them up in a cave, and went away, so that when the husband returned, he found his house empty. Searching about, he at last heard his wife calling to him from the cave where she had been imprisoned, and she told him how the cannibal, after stealing their food, had taken her and the children. Hard though her husband tried, he could not open the cave, but was forced to sit there helpless while his wife and family starved to death, after which he returned to his town and plaited the widower’s wristlets and arm-bands for himself. One day the old cannibal came by, and seeing him sitting there, he admired the plaited ornaments which the man wore, but did not know what they were. He asked the man to make him some like them, and the widower agreed, saying, “You must first go to sleep, then I can make them properly.” So they went to seek a suitable place, and the man, after secretly telling the birds to dam up the river, that the bed might be dry, led the cannibal to a great tree-root in the channel of the stream and told him that this would be a good place. Believing him, the cannibal lay down on the root and slept, whereupon the man took strong rattans and vines and tied the monster fast, after which he called out to the birds to break the dam and let the flood come down the river. He himself ran to the bank in safety, and when the cannibal, awakened by the water which rose higher and higher, cried out, “What is this cold thing which touches me?” the man replied: “You evil cave-monster, surely it was for you that we prepared all the food, and you came and ate it up. You also killed my wife and children, and now you want me to plait an arm-band for you.” Then he tore off his own armbands and signs of mourning and threw them away, while the water rose above the head of the cannibal and drowned him.

The theme of the woman abandoned by the people of the village, one form of which has already been given, is very common in Melanesia, and another version presents several interesting features for comparison. A woman named Garawada one day went with her mother-in-law into the jungle to gather figs. Coming to a fig-tree, Garawada climbed up and began to eat the ripe fruit, while she threw down the green ones to her mother-in-law. The latter, angered at this, called to Garawada to come down, but when she reached the fork in the tree, the old woman, who was a witch, caused the forks to come together, thus imprisoning her daughter-in-law, after which she went away and left her. For many days the woman remained in the tree, and finally bore a son; but after a while the child fell to the ground, and though his mother feared that he would die) he found wild fruits and water, and lived. One day he looked up into the tree and discovered his mother, and from that time he gave her fruits and berries in order that she might not starve. Nevertheless, he longed for other companions, and one day he said to his parent, “Mother, teach me my part, that I may sing it when I find my people, and that thus they may know me.” So she taught him his spell:

“I have sucked the shoots of dabedabe;
My mother is Garawada.”

The child then ran off to seek his way out of the jungle. Once he forgot his song, but after hastening back to relearn it, he hurried away again and came to the edge of the forest, where he saw some children throwing darts at a coco-nut which was rolled upon the ground. He yearned to play with them, and making for himself a dart, he ran toward them, singing his charm and casting his missile. Not being used to aim at a mark, however, he missed the coco-nut and struck one of the children in the arm, whereat, thinking an enemy had attacked them, the children all ran shrieking to their homes. The next day he came again, and this time the children fled at once, but though he followed, he was unable to catch them, and so returned a second time to his mother. The children now reported their adventure to their parents, and the father of one of them determined to go with them the following day and hide that he might watch what happened. Accordingly, when the little jungle-boy came the third time, the man ran out and caught him and asked him who he was; whereupon the boy told him the story of his mother’s bravery, and how he himself had grown up alone in the jungle, and then sang his song:

“I have sucked the shoots of dabedabe;
My mother is Garawada.”

At this the man said, “Truly thou art my nephew. Come, let us go and set thy mother free.” So they went with many of the villagers and cut down the tree, for they could not separate the branches; but as the tree fell, Garawada slipped away and ran swiftly to the beach, and there, turning into a crab, crawled into a hole in the sand. Her son wept, because he knew that his mother had left him, but his uncle led him back to the village and took him into his own home, and the children no longer were afraid to have him for a playfellow.

The theme of the swan-maiden, which perhaps occurs in parts of Polynesia and widely in Indonesia, seems quite well developed in the New Hebrides. According to the version told in Lepers Island, a party of heavenly, winged maidens once flew down to earth to bathe, and Tagaro watched them. “He saw them take off their wings, stole one pair, and hid them at the foot of the main pillar of his house. He then returned and found all fled but the wingless one, and he took her to his house and presented her to his mother as his wife. After a time Tagaro took her to weed his garden, when the yams were not yet ripe, and as she weeded and touched the yam vines, ripe tubers came into her hand. Tagaro’s brothers thought she was digging yams before their time and scolded her; she went into the house and sat weeping at the foot of the pillar, and as she wept her tears fell, and wearing away the earth pattered down upon her wings. She heard the sound, took up her wings, and flew back to heaven.

Another version adds that the returning sky-maiden took her child with her; and when Tagaro came back to find his wife and son absent, he asked his mother regarding them, her reply being that they had gone to the house and wept because they had been scolded about the yams. Tagaro hurried to the dwelling, but seeing that the wings were gone, he knew that his wife and child had returned to the sky-land. Thereupon he called a bird and said, “Fly up and seek for them in their country, for you have wings and I have not.” So the bird flew up and up and up, and perched upon a tree in the sky-country. Under the tree Tagaro’s wife sat with her child, making mats, and the bird, scratching upon a fruit pictures of Tagaro, the child, and its mother, dropped it at their feet. The boy seized it, and recognizing the pictures, they looked up and saw the bird, from whom they learned that Tagaro, was seeking them. The sky-woman bade the bird tell Tagaro that he must ascend to the sky-land, for only if he should come up to her would she agree to descend to earth again. The bird carried the message, but Tagaro, was in despair, for how, without wings, could he possibly reach the sky? At last he had an idea. Quickly making a powerful bow and a hundred arrows, he shot one of them at the sky. The arrow stuck firmly, and he then shot another into the butt of the first, and a third into the butt of the second, and thus, one after another, he sent his arrows, making an arrow-chain, until, when he had sped the last one, the end of the chain reached the earth. Then from the sky a banian-root crept down the arrow-chain and took root in the earth. Tagaro breathed upon it, and it grew larger and stronger, whereupon, taking all his ornaments, he and the bird climbed the banian-root to the sky. There he found his lost wife and child, and said to them, “Let us now descend.” Accordingly his wife gathered up her mats and followed him, but when Tagaro said to her, “Do you go first,” she replied, “No, do you go first.” So Tagaro started, and they followed; but when they were half way down, his wife took out a hatchet which she had concealed and cut the banian-root just beneath her, so that Tagaro and the bird fell to earth, while she and her child climbed back again to the sky.

In its distribution the story of the Isle of Women presents a number of elements of interest. According to, the version from New Britain, a man one day set some snares in a tree to catch pigeons. One of the birds was caught, but succeeded in tearing the snare loose and flew away over the sea. The man, thinking to secure it, followed it in his canoe, and after having paddled all day and all night, in the morning he saw an island and the bird perched upon a tree. Carefully concealing his canoe, he started after the bird, but hearing people coming, he hurriedly climbed into a tree and hid himself. The tree stood directly over a spring, and soon many women appeared, coming to get water. One of them preceded the others, and as she stooped to dip up water, she saw the reflection of the man in the surface of the pool; whereupon she called out to her companions, “I will fill your water-vessels for you,” for she did not wish the others to know that there was a man in the tree. When all the vessels had been filled and the women had started to return home, she secretly left her sun-shield behind; and after they had gone a little way, she said, “Oh, I left my sun-shield! Do you all go on, I will catch up.” So she went back to the spring, and calling to the man to come down, she asked him to marry her, and he agreed. She took him to her house and secreted him there, and thus she alone of all the women had a man for her husband; for all the rest had only tortoises. In due time she had a child, at which the other women were envious and asked her how her human child had been born; but she refused to disclose her secret, although by and by she confided to her sister that she had found a man and agreed to let her also become his wife. When later her sister bore a child, the other women were again curious, and at last discovering the secret, each and every one of them wished to have the man for her husband, and they paid the sisters to let them all marry the man and become his wives; so that the man had very many spouses. After the man’s first child had grown, he determined to leave the island; and accordingly, uncovering his canoe, which he had concealed, he paddled away to his own home, where he saw the signs that were put up in the house of the dead, for all thought him drowned. It was evening when he reached his village, and as he rapped on the drum to let his wife know that he had returned, she called out, “Who is there?” to which he answered, “It is I.” She lit a torch and came out of the house and looked at him; but was angry, and saying, “You are the one who caused us to spend all our bead-money in vain on your funeral ceremonies, while you have been living shamelessly with other wives,” she seized an axe and struck him so that he died.

Of tales in which inanimate objects become persons or act as such, and which are apparently characteristic of the Melanesian area, we may take an example from German New Guinea. One night, while two women were sleeping in a house, a tapa-beater transformed itself into a woman resembling one of the pair, and waking the other, said to her, “Come, it is time for us to go fishing.” So the woman arose, and they took torches and went out to sea in a canoe. After a while she saw an island of drift-wood, and as the dawn came on, perceived that her companion had turned into a tapa-beater, whereupon she said: “Oh, the tapa-beater has deceived me. While we were talking in the evening, it was standing in the corner and heard us, and in the night it came and deceived me.” Landing her on the island, the tapa-beater paddled away and abandoned her; but she sought for food, and found a sea-eagle’s egg which she held in her hand until it broke and hatched out a young bird, for which she cared until it grew large.

Then the bird would fly off and get fish for her to eat, and also brought her a fire-brand, so that she could cook her food. Her great desire, however, was to return to her home; but when the bird said that he would carry her to the shore, she doubted whether he was strong enough. Then the bird seized a great log of wood and showed her that he could lift that, so she finally trusted him and thus was borne safely back to her own island. Her parents were delighted to see her, and she petted and fed the bird who had taken care of her so well; but since the sea-eagle could not be content, it flew away. Then the woman told her parents how the tapa-beater had deceived and kidnapped her; and her father was angry, and building a great fire, he threw the tapa-beater into it and burned it up.

Equally typical of Melanesia are the many tales of ghosts; and an example from the Kai, a Papuan tribe of German New Guinea, runs as follows. One day a number of brothers who were gathering material for making arm-bands had climbed into a great tree, when the youngest made a mis-step, and falling to the ground, was killed. The other brothers, who could not see what had happened because of the thick foliage, called out, “What was that which fell?” The ghost of the dead brother, however, still stood in the tree and said, “I stepped on a dead branch which broke,” and thus lying to his brothers, he descended from the tree before them, wrapped his body in leaves, and hid it. When his brothers came down, the ghost went along with them, but on the way he suddenly said, “Oh! I forgot and left something at that tree. Wait for me till I get it.” Accordingly they waited while the ghost went back, picked up his body, and brought it along, but hid it again before he came to the place where his brothers were. Then they all went on toward the village; but after a while he repeated the trick several times until his brothers, becoming suspicious, watched and found out how they had been deceived. Thereupon they all fled, and coming to the village, cried out, “We have seen something mysterious. Shut your doors.” So all the people obeyed, all but an old woman and her grandson, for she had not heard the warning and left her door open.

By and by the ghost came, carrying his body on his back. He tried to throw his corpse into the first house, but it struck against the closed door and fell down again; so he picked it up and cast it at the next with like result. Thus he tried them all until he came to the last house, in which the old woman lived; and here, because the door was open, the ghost succeeded and threw his body into the house. Quickly the old woman seized the bundle and tossed it out again, but the ghost caught it and hurled it back. Thus they continued to send the body to and fro; but at last the old woman seized her grandson by mistake and threw him out, at which the ghost cried, “That is great! Now you have given me something to eat.” The old woman then said, “Throw him back again,” but the ghost replied, thinking to cheat her, “Do you first throw out my body. Then I will throw him back.” So they argued until dawn was near, when the old woman shouted, “The dawn is coming. Does that mean something for you or for me?” Since the ghost replied, “For me!” the woman delayed until the day had come. The light of the sun put the ghost in danger, so he threw the grandson back and received his own body in return; but being no longer able to conceal himself, he was changed into a wild taro-plant, while his body became a piece of bark.

In many parts of Melanesia a type of tale is found which seems to be rare in Polynesia and Indonesia, but is, on the other hand, common in Australia, i. e. the stories told to account for peculiar markings or characteristics of different animals, plants, or inanimate things. In the Banks Islands it is said that a rat and a rail, once finding a gariga-tree full of ripe fruit, disputed which should climb the tree. At last the rat went up, but instead of throwing ripe fruit down to the rail, he ate them himself and tossed down only stones. Finding that the rat refused to give him any fully ripe fruit, the bird said, “Throw me down that one. It is only red ripe,” whereupon the rat took the fruit and tossed it at the rail, so that it hit him on his forehead and stuck fast. The rail was angry, and as the rat came down from the tree, he thrust the unfolded leaf of a dracaena into the rat’s rump, where it stuck fast. So the tail of the rat is the leaf of the dracaena that the rail put there, and the red lump on the head of the rail is the gariga-fruit which the rat threw at him.

In Lepers Island in the New Hebrides the origin of good and bad yams is given as follows. One day a hen and her ten chickens came across a wild yam, which got up after a while and ate one of the chickens. The survivors called to a kite, which said to the hen, “Put the chickens under me,” and when the yam came and asked the kite where the chickens were, the bird replied, “I don’t know.” Thereupon the yam scolded the kite, and the latter, seizing the yam, flew high into the air and dropped it to the ground. Then another kite took it up and let it fall, so that the yam was broken into two parts; and thus the two kites divided the yam between them, whence some yams are good and some are bad.

The story of how the turtle got his shell is told as follows in British New Guinea. The turtle and the wallaby, being hungry one day, went together to the hornbill’s garden and began to eat his bananas and sugar-cane. While they were thus engaged, the birds were preparing a feast, and Binama, the hornbill, asked one of them to go to the shore for some salt water with which to flavour the food. Several made excuses, for they feared that an enemy might kill them, but at last the wagtail agreed to go, and on the way passed through Binama’s garden, where he saw the wallaby and the turtle feasting. The turtle was much frightened at being discovered and said, “Your master bade us eat his bananas, for we were hungry.” The wagtail knew that this was not true, but said nothing, got the sea-water, and returning to the village by another path, cried out, “Friends, the turtle and the wallaby are eating in our master’s garden.” Then all the people were angry, and getting their spears, they ran and surrounded the garden. The wallaby, seeing his danger, made a tremendous leap and escaped, but the turtle, having no means of flight, was caught and carried prisoner to Binama’s house, where he was tied to a pole and laid upon a shelf until the morrow, when Binama and the others went to get food to make a feast, at which they intended to kill the turtle. Only Binama’s children were left in the house, and the turtle, speaking softly to them, said, “Loosen my bonds, O children, that we may play together.” This the children did and then, at the turtle’s request, got the best of their father’s ornaments, which the turtle donned and wore as he crawled about. This amused the children and they laughed loudly, for the turtle had put a great bead necklace about his neck and shell armlets on his arms and a huge wooden bowl on his back. By and by the people could be heard returning; and as soon as the turtle became aware of this, he ran swiftly to the sea, while the children cried out, “Come quickly, for the turtle is running away!” So all the people chased the turtle, but he succeeded in reaching the sea and dived out of sight. When the people arrived at the shore, they called out, “Show yourself! Lift up your head!” Accordingly the turtle rose and stuck his head above water, whereupon the birds hurled great stones at him and broke one of the armlets; they threw again and destroyed the other; again, and hit the necklace, so that the string gave way, and the beads were lost. Then for a last time calling to the turtle to show himself, they threw very large stones which fell upon the wooden bowl on his back, but they did not break it, and the turtle was not harmed. Then he fled far away over the sea, and to this day all turtles carry on their backs the bowl that once was in the house of Binama.

From New Britain comes the following tale of the dog and the kangaroo. One day when the kangaroo was going along, followed by the dog, he ate a yellow lapua-fruit and was asked by the dog, when the latter came up with him, “Tell me, what have you eaten that your mouth is so yellow?” The kangaroo replied, “There is some of it on yonder log,” pointing to a pile of filth; whereupon the dog, thinking that it was good, ran quickly and ate it up, only to hear his companion laugh and say, “Listen, friend, what I ate was a yellow lapua-fruit like that; what you have eaten is simply filth.” Angered at the trick played upon him, the dog resolved to have his revenge, and so, as they went on toward the shore, he ran ahead and buried his forepaws in the sand. When the kangaroo came up, the dog said: “Gracious, but you have long forepaws! Break off a piece of your long paws. I have broken off a piece of mine as you see, and now mine are beautiful and short. Do you do likewise, and then we shall both be alike.” So the kangaroo broke off a piece of each of his forepaws and threw the pieces away, whereupon the dog jumped up and said, triumphantly, “Aha! I still have long forepaws, but you have only short ones. You are the one who deceived me and made me eat the filth,” and as he uttered these words, he sprang at the kangaroo and killed him, and ever since the kangaroo has had short forepaws. In several cases the parallelism between the Melanesian and Australian tales of this type is very striking; its significance will be apparent later.

Chapter 4. Summary

THE material on the mythology of Melanesia, though incomplete and fragmentary, appears rather clearly to prove the existence of two distinct strata, one of which may be called Papuan, the other Melanesian. The former is best represented among the Kai tribes of the region north of Huon Gulf in German New Guinea, as well as by the Baining and Sulka of northern New Britain, and may be traced, more or less plainly, among the remaining coastal tribes of both German and British New Guinea; whereas it is much less apparent in the Banks Islands, the New Hebrides, and Fiji. The Melanesian stratum, on the other hand, is perhaps best developed in eastern Melanesia, i. e. Santa Cruz, the Banks Islands, the New Hebrides, and Fiji; though it is well represented throughout the New Guinea littoral districts, among the coast tribes of northern New Britain and in the Admiralty Islands. What has been called the Papuan type of mythology seems to be characterized. by a relative absence of cosmogonic myths, by the prominence of ghosts, and by a general simplicity and naïveté; and this category also appears to show an extensive development of tales of local distribution only, corresponding to the discreteness and lack of relationship on the linguistic side. The Melanesian stratum, on the other hand, exhibits a considerably greater evolution on the side of cosmogony, an especial fondness for cannibalistic tales, and a rudimentary dualistic character which is revealed in the many stories of the wise and foolish culture hero brothers. Further examination of this Melanesian type seems to indicate that it is by no means a unit, although, because of the character of the material, any conclusions must be wholly tentative. The following grouping is suggested: (1) myths of general distribution throughout Melanesia; (2) those confined more or less strictly to New Guinea and the immediate vicinity; and (3) those similarly restricted in their distribution to Fiji, the New Hebrides, and the Banks and Santa Cruz Islands.

If now, instead of limiting our view to Melanesia alone, we include the whole of the Oceanic area and endeavour to discover the relationship of Melanesian mythology to that of the adjacent sections, it appears that, whereas of the two main types (the Papuan and Melanesian) the former shows little in common with any of the other Oceanic regions, the latter, on the contrary, exhibits numerous and interesting relationships with Indonesia, Micronesia, and Polynesia, and some even with Australia. The Melanesian type of incidents which reveal similarities with these other areas may be divided into four groups: (1) those whose resemblances are only with Indonesia; (2) only with Polynesia; (3) with both Indonesia and Polynesia; and (4) with Micronesia. The first of these groups is represented much more strongly in New Guinea than in the eastern archipelago; and in New Guinea it is far more prominent on the northern coast than on the southern. It would seem to manifest influences from Indonesia which, in the course of migrations eastward, did not extend beyond Melanesia, and which were greater in New Guinea and its vicinity than in the eastern and more distant archipelagos. The second group--rather unexpectedly--is, like the first, more prominent in New Guinea than farther east, but is better represented on the south coast than is the first group. From the character of the incidents and their distribution in Melanesia and Polynesia this group itself would appear to comprise (a) incidents preponderantly Melanesian, borrowed by the Polynesian ancestors and carried with them into Polynesia, and (b) incidents of Polynesian development which have been transmitted westward as a result of the probable late reflex of Polynesian peoples into parts of eastern Melanesia.

The third group, comprising myth-incidents from Indonesia, Melanesia, and Polynesia, is contrasted with both the others in that it is best represented in eastern Melanesia. Theoretically, these incidents may be regarded as a portion of those brought by the Polynesian ancestors from their Indonesian homes and still preserved by them in Polynesia. Their presence in Melanesia would thus be hypothetically due to their having been taken over from the migrant Polynesians, and their greater prominence in the eastern archipelago would be expected, as it was presumably in this area, rather than in New Guinea, that, during their migration, the Polynesian ancestors made their longest halt and exerted their greatest influence on the aboriginal population. The last group, which is composed of those incidents common to Melanesia and Micronesia, is about equally represented in New Guinea and the eastern archipelago. The relatively large number of similarities between Micronesia and Melanesia is only what we should expect, owing to the many evidences derived from other sources, of relationship between the peoples of the two areas; but the amount of agreement with eastern Melanesia is rather striking.

Part 3. Indonesia

THE mythology of the Indonesian area presents problems which are in many respects similar to those in Polynesia and Melanesia, though more complex in that a larger number of factors are concerned. In Polynesia the ethnic composition of the population was relatively simple, for it seems to have consisted, as already stated, of a blend of several waves of immigrants from Indonesia, who had, presumably in transit, mixed to a varying extent with the peoples of Melanesia.

The relative proportions of Indonesian and Melanesian elements in the mythology have been found to vary in different groups of islands, and indications of several strata of Indonesian myths have also seemed to be indicated. In Indonesia itself, on the other hand, a larger number of distinct racial types; are present, for we have here the Negrito, Indonesian, and Malay, as well as not inconsiderable elements from Semitic (Arabian) and Hindu sources.

The latter peoples have brought with them the influence of the more highly developed cultures of southern Asia, while the Arabs and later Malays have everywhere introduced factors of Islamic origin. Mythological elements imported from these latter sources lie outside the scope of the present volume, so that, with some exceptions, we shall here consider only those tales which are primarily local and presumably aboriginal in origin, although it will be apparent that the task of separating the native from the introduced mythology is often difficult.

At the outset we may practically eliminate the Negrito from our consideration, inasmuch as there is, as yet, no accessible material derived from these people, who seem once to have formed the underlying stratum of the whole area.

Today the Negrito survives only in the Philippines and the Malay Peninsula, and although it is probable that myth material may yet be obtained from them, none has thus far been published. In view of this serious gap in our knowledge, which, it is to be hoped, may soon be filled, we are restricted to the myths of the Indonesian and Malay population. Rather than attempt to separate them at the outset, it will be more advantageous to consider the material as a whole, discovering any subdivisions into distinct types which we may.

Chapter 1. Myths Of Origins And The Deluge

AMONG all the peoples of Indonesia, the mountain tribes of northern Luzon in the Philippines seem to stand alone in respect to cosmogonic myths in that, so far as material now at our command is concerned, they lack entirely, or almost entirely, any myths of the origin of the universe. The world, according to their belief, has always existed, although perhaps not in its present form, as has also the upper or sky-world. Of the creation of the earth or of mankind, of animals or of plants, little or nothing is said. All of these tribes, as will be seen later, possess deluge-myths, but of tales relating to the preceding period there are few if any.

The apparent absence of cosmogonic myths among these tribes is suggestive, for these peoples constitute, so far as can be determined, one of the purest remnants of the earliest non-Negrito stratum of Indonesia and have been practically uninfluenced by Indian and Islamic cultures, to which most of the other Indonesian peoples have been directly or indirectly exposed. In view of the affiliation of the earliest non-Negrito Population of Indonesia with the Môn-Hkmêr peoples of southeast Asia, which has recently been suggested on linguistic grounds, it is perhaps significant that this same trait of the absence of true cosmogonic tales and the importance of deluge-myths is found among them also, so far as is indicated by the very scanty material that is as yet available.

Some of the tribes in Celebes are also characterized by the absence of any myths referring to the creation of the world or of the gods, though they are unlike the type to which reference has just been made in that they have tales which account for the origin of mankind. The Bugi and the people of Makassar in the south-western part of the island state that in the beginning the son of the sky-deity was sent down to earth on the rainbow that he might organize and prepare the world for mankind. This task accomplished, he took to wife six female deities, three of whom had descended with him from the sky-world, and three of whom were derived from the earth or from the underworld, and thus he became the ancestor of all mankind.

A more circumstantial myth is recorded from the Kei Islands in the extreme south-east of the Indonesian area. According to this tale, there were three brothers and two sisters in the upper sky-world. While fishing one day, Parpara, the youngest of the brothers, lost a fish-hook which he had borrowed from Hian, his oldest brother, who, angered by the loss of the hook, demanded that it be found and returned to him. After much fruitless search, the culprit met a fish who asked him what his trouble was, and who, on learning the facts, promised to aid in the search, at length discovering another fish who was very ill because of something stuck in its throat. The object proved to be the long-lost hook, which the friendly fish delivered to Parpara, who thus was able to restore it to its owner. Parpara, however, determined to have his revenge upon his brother, and so he secretly fastened a bamboo vessel full of palm liquor above Hian’s bed in such a way that when the latter rose, he would be almost certain to upset it. The expected happened, and Parpara then demanded of his brother that he return to him the spilled liquor. Hian endeavoured, of course fruitlessly, to gather it up, and in his efforts dug so deeply into the ground that he made an opening clear through the sky-world. Wondering what might lie below, the brothers determined to tie one of their dogs to a long rope and lower him through the aperture; and when they had done this, and the dog had been drawn up again, they found white sand sticking to his feet, whereupon they resolved to go down themselves, although the other inhabitants of the heaven-world refused to accompany them thither. Sliding down the rope, the three brothers and one of the sisters, together with their four dogs, safely reached the world which lay below, and which was thus discovered for the first time. As the second sister was descending, however, one of the brothers chanced to look up, at which his sister was so ashamed that she shook the rope and was hauled up by the other sky-people. In this way the three brothers with their sister were the first occupants of the world and became the ancestors of the human race.

Although the existence of the earth is postulated in Minahassa, in the extreme north-east of Celebes, we find an origin given for some of the gods and for mankind. In the beginning the wind blew over the sea, and raising great waves, drove upon the shore the spume which their beating caused, the mass of foam being in the shape of an egg. The sun shone upon this, and from it was born a boy, who grew miraculously. One day, as he wandered along the shore, he saw a girl sitting upon a rock from which she had just been born, and taking her to wife, he thus became the parent of mankind. This and the preceding type, in which the cosmogonic element was wholly lacking, are, however, not common in Indonesia, and it is only when we turn to the next category that we find one current over large areas.

This more wide-spread class assumes the existence of a sky-world or upper realm, and of a primeval sea below it in which or on which the world is made. We may begin with the outline of a myth told in Minahassa which is a variant off the one just given. According to this form, in the beginning there were only the sea and a great rock which was washed by the waves, and which, after first giving birth to a crane, sweated, from the sweat being produced a female deity called Lumimu-ut. Advised by the crane of the existence of the “original land,” she got from thence two handfuls of earth which she spread upon the rock, and so she created the world, on which she planted the seeds of all plants and trees, obtaining them from the same “original land.” Having thus made the earth, Lumimu-ut ascended a mountain, where the west wind blew upon her and made her fruitful. In due time she bore a son, and when he had grown to manhood his mother advised him to seek a wife, but though he sought far and wide, he could find none. So Lumimu-ut gave him a staff, whose length was equal to her own stature, bidding him to seek for a woman who should be less tall than the staff, and telling him that when he should find such a person he would know that she was the one he was destined to marry. Mother and son then separated, one going to the right and one to the left, and travelled around the whole world until at last they met again, without recognizing each other, and lo! when he set the staff beside her, its length was greater than her stature, for without his knowledge the rod had increased in height. Believing, therefore, that the woman, who was indeed his own mother, was she of whom he had been told, he married her, and she bore him many children who became gods. This form of myth does not, indeed, directly refer to the sky-world, but speaks of the “original land” from which Lumimu-ut obtained earth and seeds for the construction of the world. It is interesting to compare the incident of the birth of Lumimu-ut from the rock, which alone broke the surface of the primeval sea, with the Tongan and Samoan myths of the origin of the first beings and of the world from a stone which split open; and a similar idea also occurs in Melanesia. Perhaps more characteristic of this type of origin-myths are the legends of the Kayan, Kenyah, and Bahau of central Borneo. According to the Kayan, originally there was nothing but the primeval sea and over-arching sky; but from the heavens there fell into the sea a great rock, upon whose barren surface, in course of time, slime collected, from which were bred worms that bored into the rock.

The sand produced by this boring collected, eventually covering the rock with soil, and after many years there fell from the sun upon this land the wooden handle of a sword which, taking root, grew into a great tree; while from the moon fell a vine which clung to the tree and rooted itself in the rock. From this mating of the tree and vine were born two beings, a boy and a girl, who wedded in their turn and became the ancestors of the Kayan. Another version varies somewhat in its details. In the beginning a spider descended from the sky and spun a web, into which fell a tiny stone that grew and grew until it filled all the space under the horizon. A lichen fell from heaven upon this rock, to which it adhered, and then came a worm, from whose excrement the first soil was formed. This covering of earth gradually spread over all the rock; and next there fell upon the ground so made a tree, which at first was tiny in size, but which took root and grew great. A crab now dropped down to the earth and with its claws dug and scratched in the ground, thus forming the mountains and valleys. Plants grew upon the earth, and a vine, winding itself about the tree, mated with it. Finally, two beings, one male and one female, descended from heaven upon the tree, the male dropping a sword-handle and the female a spindle. Mating, these objects bore a child which had only head and body, but no arms or legs; and this monster in its turn produced two children, a boy and girl, who united and gave birth to offspring, which from generation to generation became more and more human in form until finally they were wholly so. These and their descendants then became deities of various sorts.

With them we may compare the origin-myths of several of the tribes of south-eastern Borneo. One version states that in the beginning there were only the sky and sea, in which swam a great serpent upon whose head was a crown of gold set with a shining stone. From the sky-world the deity threw earth upon the serpent’s head, thus building an island in the midst of the sea; and this island became the world. A slightly variant account declares that the deity sent down a messenger or servant to report upon conditions, and that it was this servant who spread the earth on the serpent’s head. Still another version from this same region is interesting in that it serves as a transition to those found in Sumatra. According to this tale, in the world of the gods there were two trees, one of which bore a bud or sprout in the form of a ball. By the motions of a bird, which sat on this tree, the bud was shaken off and fell into the Spirit River, in which a great serpent dwelt; but though the latter tried to swallow the mysterious object, it escaped him, and drifting to the shore, was metamorphosed into a woman. Marrying a man who was developed from a tree-trunk floating in the sea, she gave birth, first, to six streams of blood from which all evil spirits came; and finally to two sons, one of whom, taking with him the seeds of all plants and animals, was lowered from the sky-world, where all these events occurred, to the earth (of whose origin nothing is said) that he might prepare it for men.

Deferring for the moment any discussion of these tales, we may turn to a third group of myths, i. e. those of the Battak of Sumatra. The Toba Battak (who of all the Battak tribes are probably the least influenced by Muhammadan or Indian culture) account for the origin of things as follows. Mula Dyadi, the highest deity, dwelt in the uppermost of the seven heavens and had two birds as his servants. Having created three male beings, he caused a tree to exist in one of the lower heavens, its branches reaching to the sky; next he made a hen, which perched on the tree and later laid three eggs, from which came three maidens whom Mula Dyadi gave as wives to his three sons. The daughter of one of these sons refused to marry a cousin of hers because he had a face like a lizard and a skin like a chameleon, and devoted her time to spinning. One day she dropped her spindle, which fell down from the sky-world. On the thread so unrolled she then descended to the surface of the sea which stretched everywhere below. In this primeval ocean swam or lay a great serpent on whose head the heavenly maiden spread a handful of earth brought down at her request from Mula, Dyadi by one of his bird servants; and thus she formed the world. The serpent, however, disliked the weight upon his head, and turning over, caused this newly made world to be engulfed by the sea. Thereupon Mula Dyadi created eight suns, whose heat should dry up the sea, and this being done in part, the divine maiden thrust a sword into the body of the serpent, revealed by the shrinking sea, and fastened his body firmly in an island block that he might never again thus destroy the world. With more soil she then re-founded the earth; but after this, having questioned her as to what was to be done with the youth whom she refused. as husband, Mula Dyadi declared that she now must marry him, and wrapping the unwelcome suitor together with a blowgun in a mat, he threw him down upon the earth. Unharmed by his fall, and feeling hungry, he shot at a dove which escaped unwounded, but caught the arrow dexterously and flew with it to the village where the heavenly maiden dwelt. Following in pursuit, the youth discovered the girl who had before refused him, found her more tractable, and married her; and so they became the ancestors of mankind.

The Dairi Battak, who live to the north of the Toba and are more or less in contact with the Muhammadanized Garo, have a version which presents interesting differences. Batara Guru (Sanskrit Bhattara Guru), the highest of the gods, once sent a servant to get some venison, which was greatly desired by the deity’s wife, who was about to give birth to a child. The hunt being unsuccessful, the divinity then sent the raven on the same quest, but he also could find no such food anywhere in the realms of the gods. In the course of his search, however, he discovered a cave, in which was a pit whose bottom he could not discern. The longest vine was too short to measure its depth, and a stick thrown down the opening disappeared without a sound to indicate that it reached bottom. Determined to solve the mystery, the raven flew down into the opening, and after a long journey in complete darkness at last reached the surface of a wide-extending sea. After exploring in vain, the raven wished to return in order that he might report his discovery, but could not retrace his way to the opening through which he had come, though luckily he found floating upon the sea the bamboo which he had thrown down the hole, and on this he rested.

Meanwhile Batara Guru became impatient, and accompanied by several attendants, he flew down the dark opening in the cave, taking with him from the sky-world a handful of earth, seven pieces of wood, a chisel, a goat, and a bumblebee; and reaching the surface of the sea, he built a raft from the pieces of wood. The raven now appeared, sitting upon the floating piece of bamboo, and at his request Batara Guru called to the eight wind-directions, whereupon darkness at once gave place to light. By his command the goat, accompanied by the bee, went down under the raft to support it on his horns; but in finishing the raft the chisel broke, and the handle hit the goat upon the head, which made him shake it violently, and the raft with it, for which the deity chided him and ordered him to keep still. Then taking the earth which he had brought with him, Batara Guru spread it upon the raft, thus making the world, and gave this to the raven for a dwelling-place.

One more version may be given, that from the Karo Battak, who, like the Dairi, live north of the Toba. According to this, Batara Guru, the heaven deity, and his wife, who was the daughter of the divinity of the underworld, full of sorrow at their childlessness, determined to try the effect of penance in poverty and seclusion, and accordingly went to live in a little hut by the sea. Here they planted a small garden, which was destroyed by a great serpent that came out of the water, but when Batara Guru went to drive it away, the monster demanded that he put food into its mouth. Fearing lest his hand be bitten off, Batara Guru wedged open the mouth of the serpent with his sword, and withdrawing his hand, found upon his finger a magic ring which would grant his every wish. The serpent then returned to the sea, and in due course of time, aided by the ring, the wife of Batara Guru presented him with three sons and three daughters. One of these sons created the world in the space between the upper world and the underworld) making it with seven handfuls of soil sent him-by his father, who, when the earth was finished, suspended it from the sky by seven silken cords. The newly created world caused the underworld to be darkened, which aroused anger in that one of the three sons who had taken up his residence there. Therefore he shook the world so violently that it was destroyed. Seven times this was repeated, the earth being made anew each time, until the world-maker besought his father to aid him, and this Batara Guru did, setting up an iron pillar which supported four cross-beams, upon which the world was then founded. After this the underworld-brother could shake the world (as indeed he does to this day), but was unable to destroy it.

Taking this whole group of myths together, there are a number of points which will repay brief discussion. The concept of an original sea, above which lies the sky-world of the gods, is common to all, and is likewise characteristic, it will be remembered, of the cosmogonic myths of central and western Polynesia. The origin of the world, moreover, from a rock thrown down from the sky, or from materials brought or sent down from thence, appears not only in the portions of Indonesia from which the foregoing myths are derived, but also in the Philippines, and is further characteristic of Samoa and Tonga, while it is likewise known from Micronesia. The prominent part taken by birds, either as the original beings who flew over the primeval sea, or as the messengers and helpers of the deity in the task of creation, is also a feature of the mythology of Samoa and Tonga. Again, the idea that the first beings, whether gods; or men, were undeveloped, having merely bodies destitute of arms and legs, is found not only in Borneo, but also in the island of Nias, and recurs in Samoa and the Society Group; while the incident of the mating of tree and vine, characteristic of central Borneo, is known in Samoa as well.

From the foregoing it would seem, therefore, that we were justified in the conclusion that the cosmogonic myths of central and western Polynesia show similarity to the type of origin-myths just described in Indonesia--a similarity so striking, indeed, that a genetic relationship seems almost the only explanation. It has already been shown that this type of myth is unknown elsewhere in Polynesia, and that there is reason to regard it as a comparatively late introduction into the Polynesian area.

In one of the Minahassa myths which has been given, an important incident is that of the incest of mother and son, the tale describing the two as separating, meeting without recognition after a lapse of time, then marrying when a test had been applied which showed that the two were destined to become man and wife. The episode is known in practically the same form from the island of Lombok, and also from Nias, except that the staff is replaced by a ring as the test; and the essential element of mother-son incest is likewise found in the Philippines. A modification of the original theme, by which the close relationship is discovered in time to prevent incest, is known among the Bantik of north Celebes and also in west Borneo though here the motif occurs in other than cosmogonic tales. Brother-sister incest is, moreover, a wide spread incident in Philippine myths of the origin of mankind, as will be seen in more detail later. With this far-reaching element of incest in Indonesia it is interesting and perhaps significant to compare, on the one hand, the frequent appearance of father-daughter incest in Maori mythology, where Tane marries his daughter, Hine-a-tauira, who flees to the underworld in fear and anger when she discovers who her husband is. (It may be added that in one of the Philippine versions we again find this same flight of the injured wife to the underworld.) On the other hand, the incest theme as developed in Indonesia may be compared with its occurrence among the Môn-Hkmêr and other tribes of south-eastern Asia. As already pointed out, suggestions of this motif are found in the Society Group in Polynesia; and in the same connexion we may, perhaps, compare the incident of Lumimu-ut’s fertilization by the wind with the similar action of the sun’s rays in Samoa and Fiji.

The origin-legends of the north-west Borneo tribes are related to the type of cosmogonic myth which has just been considered in that they set forth belief in a primeval sea and in the important part played by birds, although they imply something more of a direct creation. According to one of these, in the beginning there was nothing but a wide-spread sea, over which flew two birds, who, diving, brought up two objects like eggs in size and shape, from one of which one bird made the sky, while from the other his fellow created the earth. As the size of the latter exceeded that of the former, it was pressed together in order that it might fit, its resultant crumples and folds producing the mountains and valleys. Other versions speak of an original deity without legs or arms, who seems to have been supported upon an animal, and who by an act of will created two birds, which then formed heaven and earth.

The cosmogonic myths thus far discussed are derived from western and central Indonesia; and we may now turn to the eastern portion of this area, where another type appears, albeit the available material is exceedingly scanty. Indeed, of true myth-material we have only fragments from the small islands north-east of Timor (the Sermata and Leti Islands). These seem to indicate a belief in a sky-world and a world below, of whose origins, however, nothing is said. On the other hand, it may be noted that in all of the islands, from and including Timor to the Kei Islands, there is a belief in a male deity living in the sky and associated chiefly with the sun, and a female deity dwelling in or regarded as one with the earth, these being described as husband and wife, and being supposed to mate annually at the time of the monsoon, while it was also believed that the sky once was closer to the earth. In Ceram, Buru, and Amboina, the definiteness of this concept of the heaven father and earth mother becomes clearer; but we have no myths, not even fragments, regarding them. In view of the almost total lack of cosmogonic myth material from this region, as well as from Halmahera and the other islands of the Moluccas, it is premature to draw any conclusions from the resemblance of this concept to the similar, but much more highly developed, ideas in Polynesia; yet it is difficult to avoid the impression that the strength of the belief here in the extreme eastern portion of Indonesia, which is geographically nearest to the Polynesian area, and its apparent absence elsewhere farther west, are significant. Further material, however, alone can settle the question.

In the Polynesian area one of the most characteristic and interesting types of cosmogonic myths was that which explained the origin of the universe as due to a sort of evolutionary development from an original chaos or nothingness; and, at least in central Polynesia, this assumed a genealogical form. This evolutionary genealogical type of origin-myths seems, so far as available material goes, to be lacking in Indonesia, except in one very restricted region, the island of Nias, lying off the western coast of Sumatra. According to myths from this island, there was in the beginning only darkness and fog, which condensed and brought forth a being without speech or motion, without head, arms, or legs; and in its turn this being gave existence to another, who died, and from whose heart sprang a tree which bore three sets of three buds. From the first two sets six beings were produced, two of whom made from the third set of buds a man and a woman--the ancestors of mankind. The several variants of the myth differ in details, but all agree in tracing the origin of things to a primeval chaos, from which after several generations was developed a tree that in turn gave rise to gods and men. Although lacking the details and development found in Polynesia, these Nias myths seem to show the same fundamental conception.

Thus far we have mainly been concerned with the myths concerning the origin of the world; but now we may devote some consideration to those accounting for the origin of mankind. Two main types may be distinguished: one comprising those in which man is not thought of as created or made, but as either (a) derived from a sky-world, (b) the offspring of the gods, or (c) of miraculous origin; and those characterized by a definite account of the actual making of the first man by some deity. The belief in a sky-world origin for mankind is in the main confined to the extreme eastern part of Indonesia--Ceram, the Kei Islands, and the Tenimber Group. Only in the Kei Islands do we have a detailed myth; in the other instances it is simply stated that the ancestors came down from the sky, which was formerly nearer to the earth, by means of a tree or vine. The idea of a heavenly origin also appears in the extreme west, for among the various conflicting myths from the island of Nias one gives the sky-world as the ultimate origin of mankind, whereas others describe this as a proximate source, the ultimate and earliest human ancestors being derived from trees. A direct divine ancestry appears comparatively seldom. Among the Toba Battak mankind is descended from the divine maiden who came down to earth, and from the heavenly hero who followed her; in the southern Celebes the Bugi of Macassar believe themselves to be derived from the son of the heaven deity and his six wives; while in Nias and among the Ifugao in Luzon we also find the belief in a direct descent from deities.

By far the most common, however, are those myths which trace mankind to some miraculous source, an origin from plants or trees being perhaps the most frequent of these. For the most part we have from the eastern and south-eastern islands only the statement that the ancestor or ancestors of mankind burst from a bamboo or tree, although in some instances the tales are more precise. Thus in the Ceram-laut and Gorrom Islands it is said that in the beginning a woman of great beauty, called Winia, came out of a tree together with a white hog, the woman climbing into a tall tree, while the hog remained at its foot. After a time a raft floated ashore, on which was another woman, Kiliboban by name, who had drifted here from New Guinea and who became the comrade of the hog. Later a man (of whose origin nothing is said) came by and took off his clothing to go in fishing, but the two women saw him and laughed at him, whereupon, surprised that any one else was in the vicinity, the man sought for the source of the laughter and found Kiliboban, whom he straightway asked to be his wife. She, however, refused, but directed him to the tree in whose top Winia was concealed; so he climbed the tree forthwith, found the lovely damsel there, and taking her to be his wife, became by her the ancestor of mankind.

In Amboina and Buru the first human beings came from a tree after a bird had sat upon it and fructified it. In the latter island, according to one myth, the first to appear was a woman, who built a fire near the base of the tree, which it warmed, whereupon the tree split in two, and a man came forth who married the woman. A variant makes the man the first to appear. In Wetar the first woman came from the fruit of a tree; and far to the north, among the Ami, one of the wild tribes of Formosa, we find the same belief, for it is said that in the beginning a being planted in the ground a staff, which took root and became a bamboo on which two shoots developed, a man issuing from one of them and a woman from the other. Coming farther west to Celebes, traces of the idea are found in Minahassa, where, according to one myth, a tree-trunk floated ashore, and from it, when it was broken open by a deity, a man (in reality a god) came forth. A similar tale from the Tagalog, in the Philippines, is reported in which two hollow bamboos floated ashore on the first land; these were pecked open by a bird, whereupon a man issued from the one and a woman from the other, the two thus becoming the ancestors of mankind. The belief appears again in Borneo in a tale from the Kayan where the tree and vine of miraculous origin produce the ancestors of the different tribes; and a variant also occurs in south-east Borneo. Lastly we find in Nias that man originated from the fruit of the tree, tora’a, which grew, according to one account, upon the back of one of the first beings derived from original chaos; or according to another, from his heart after his death.

That the first men were derived from worms or came out of the ground as larvae is an idea apparently confined to the easterly islands although little more is given than the mere statement of their origin. Perhaps related to this belief is that held in Watubela and the Kei Islands, that the first men arose out of the ground. Among the Battak in Sumatra one myth tells of the birth of the first man from a featherless bird, which was sent down from the sky.

Quite widely distributed, on the other hand, is the belief that mankind originated from eggs. In the Philippines a bird laid two eggs, one at the source of a river and one at its mouth, a woman coming from the first and a man from the second. For long years the man lived alone, until one day when he was bathing, a long hair, floating in the water, entangled his legs so that he reached the bank with difficulty. Examining the hair, he at once determined to find its owner, and so travelled up-stream until he met the woman, whom he then married. From south-eastern Borneo comes a different tale. After the world had been made by spreading earth on the head of the great serpent which swam in the primeval sea, a deity descended upon it and discovered seven eggs formed of earth. Taking two of these, he found in one a man, and in the other a woman, but both lifeless; whereupon, returning to the upper world, he asked the creator for breath, that the pair might become alive. While he was gone upon his errand, however, another deity came down and blew into the mouths of the two lifeless forms and vivified them, so that when the first deity returned, he found himself forestalled, and mankind, which he had intended to make immortal, was now subject to decay and death. Another version speaks of only two eggs, from which a human pair came forth and bore seven sons and seven daughters, who were, however, without life. At the command of the deity the husband went to get for them the germs of life, bidding his wife in his absence on no account to stir outside her mosquito-curtains; but she failed to obey, and as she looked out a blast of wind came and blew into the children, so that they breathed and became alive; whence man is mortal, and wind (or breath) is his only life. Another tale of the origin of mankind from eggs is found among the Battak of Sumatra. In Celebes we have already seen how the first divine being was born miraculously from the rock or from the sweat which formed upon it; and an actual origin of mankind from a rock, which split open of itself, appears in Formosa.

In the consideration of the cosmogonic myths the frequency of the incest incident has already been pointed out. In most of these cases the offspring of the incestuous union are divine or semi-divine beings, who may or may not be the ultimate ancestors of mankind; but the belief in a direct origin of man from such brother-sister or mother-son marriages seems especially characteristic of the Philippine area, where it follows the flood-episode. As an example of these myths we may take the version given by the central Ifugao.  As the waters rose, people sought refuge on the mountains, until at last only two survived, a brother and sister, Wigan and Bugan, one of them Mt. Amuyao and the other on Mt. Kalauitan. Bugan had a fire, which at night lit up the peak of Kalauitan, and Wigan then knew that someone else beside himself was alive. “As soon as the earth was dry, Wigan journeyed to Kalauitan where he found his sister Bugan, and their reunion was most joyous.

They descended the mountain and wandered about until they came to the beautiful valley that is today the dwelling-place of the Banauol clan--and here Wigan built a house. When the house was finished, Bugan dwelt in the upper part and Wigan slept beneath.

“Having provided for the comfort of his sister, Wigan started out to find if there were not other people left alive in the Earth World. He travelled about all the day and returned to the house at night to sleep. He did this for three days, and then as he was coming back on the third evening he said to himself that there were no other people in the world but themselves, and if the world was to be re-populated it must be through them . . . At last Bugan realized that she was pregnant. She burst into violent weeping, and heaping reproaches on his head, ran blindly away. After travelling a long way, and being overcome with grief and fatigue, Bugan sank down upon the bank of the river and lay there trembling and sobbing. After having quieted herself somewhat, she arose and looked around her, and what was her surprise to see sitting on a rock near her an old man with a long white beard! He approached her and said: ‘Do not be afraid, daughter! I am Maknongan, and I am aware of your trouble, and I have come to tell you that it is all right.’ While he was speaking, Wigan, who had followed his sister, appeared on the scene. Then Maknongan placed the sanction and blessing of the gods upon their marriage, assuring them that they had done right, and that through them the world must be repeopled. He told them to return to their house, and whenever they were in trouble. to offer sacrifices to the gods. . . . In the course of time nine children were born to Wigan and Bugan, five sons and four daughters. The four oldest sons married the four daughters, and from them are descended all the people of the earth-world.” Here the actors are treated frankly as human beings, as they are by the Igorot and Mandaya, although in another Ifugao version (from the Kiangan) they are really divine. In Nias we again see this distinctly human character emphasized. In these Philippine versions the unintentional character of the incest, as recorded in the cosmogonic tales and in those from Nias, does not appear, though it does come to the fore in stories from other Philippine tribes which do not relate to the origin of mankind, such as the Tagalog, and in variants from western Borneo and Celebes, where the relationship is discovered in time and incest is avoided. Thus, in a legend from the first area, a man deserts his wife and son, the latter of whom, when he has grown up, goes in search of his father, returning only after many years. In the meanwhile his mother has kept her youthful appearance, and unrecognized by the son, who is captivated by her beauty, is wooed by him. She, in her turn, does not recognize her son, but just as they are about to marry, a scar on his head reveals his identity to her. At first dismayed, the pair finally resolve to carry out their plans, but are suddenly turned to stone.

We have thus far dealt only with those myths of the origin of mankind in which the element of an actual creation does not enter. There remain to be considered those in which this creative theme occurs, the most widely spread form of the myth being that in which man is made from earth or clay. Thus, beginning in the east, we find that in Halmahera man was made by a servant of the deity, who formed two figures from earth, one male and one female. When these were finished, he ascended to the sky-world to get the breath of life for them, but while he was gone, an evil deity destroyed the images. The divine messenger made the figures a second time, but when they were again demolished, he took the faeces of the evil beings, and from it shaped the figures of two dogs, which he endued with life and ordered to guard the two new images of human beings which he made. This time his efforts were successful; for when the evil being came, he was driven away by the dogs, and the divine messenger bringing the breath of life, vivified the two human effigies so that they became the first of mankind.

In Minahassa the deity makes two images of earth, one male and one female, whom he vivifies by blowing powdered ginger into their heads and ears. The Bagobo of Mindanao say that after the creation of the sea and land, and the planting of trees of many kinds, the creator took two lumps of earth, and shaping them like two human figures, he spat on them, whereupon they became “man and woman.” In Sumatra the Dairi Battak say that after the deity, Batara Guru, had finished the earth, he desired to people it and accordingly first sent down a swallow, which returned, however, saying that it did not like the dwelling assigned to it. Batara Guru then wished one of his children to descend, but none of them were willing to exchange their heavenly for an earthly home. Determined to succeed, the deity himself came down to earth, bidding the swallow return to the sky to bring thence some earth from which he might shape man. With the material so provided, Batara Guru made two images, one male and one female, and set them in the sun to dry. After they had become hard, he muttered a magic formula over them seven times, and when they then began to breathe, he repeated another formula with which one may force another to speak. Then the two images spoke and said, “What do you wish of us, Grandfather, that you cry thus loudly in our ears?” and he replied: “I have called to you so loudly because I have created you in order that you might speak. Never forget that I am your grandfather. Obey my commands and never refuse to follow them.” This the newly created pair promised to do.

An interesting variant of ordinary creation-myths occurs in south-eastern Borneo. Here the two wonder-trees on the new-formed earth mated and produced an egg, from which a phantom maiden came. A divine being descended to earth, and seeing the lifeless and intangible character of the maiden, went to get what was necessary to give her life and substance; but while he was away another deity became active, and gathering earth for her body, rain for her blood, and wind for her breath, made the beautiful shade alive and tangible. When the first deity returned and discovered what had happened, in anger he broke the vessel that he had brought; and the water of life which it contained flew. in every direction and watered all plants, which thus acquired the power of springing up after having been cut down; but man did not receive any of the precious fluid and so failed to acquire immortality. The use of stone as a material, instead of earth, occurs among the Toradja in Celebes. The heaven father and earth mother having made two stone figures, one male and one female, the heaven deity returned to the skies to procure the breath of immortality with which to infuse life into the images; but in his absence the wind blew into them and vivified them, and on this account man is mortal. Another version omits the attempt to secure immortality. A somewhat different form of origin-myth describes a series of attempts at creation in which different materials are tried, the first trials being failures, although success is finally achieved. Thus the Dyaks of the Baram and Rejang district in Borneo say that after the two birds, Iri and Ringgon, had formed the earth, plants, and animals they decided to create man. “At first, they made him of clay, but when he was dried he could neither speak nor move, which provoked them, and they ran at him angrily; so frightened was he that he fell backward and broke all to pieces. The next man they made was of hard wood, but he, also, was utterly stupid, and absolutely good for nothing. Then the two birds searched carefully for a good material, and eventually selected the wood of the tree known as Kumpong, which has a strong fibre and exudes a quantity of deep red sap, whenever it is cut. Out of this tree they fashioned a man and a woman, and were so well pleased with this achievement that they rested for a long while, and admired their handiwork. Then they decided to continue creating more men; they returned to the Kumpong tree, but they had entirely forgotten their original pattern, and how they executed it, and they were therefore able only to make very inferior creatures, which became the ancestors of the Maias (the Orang Utan) and monkeys.”

A similar tale is found among the Iban and Sakarram Dyaks, only reversing the order, so that after twice failing to make man from wood, the birds succeeded at the third trial when they used clay. Farther north, among the Dusun of British North Borneo, the first two beings “made a stone in the shape of a man but the stone could not talk, so they made a wooden figure and when it was made it talked, though not long after it became worn out and rotten; afterwards they made a man of earth, and the people are descended from this till the present day.” The Bilan of Mindanao have a similar tale. After the world had been formed and was habitable, one of the deities said, “Of what use is land without people?” So the others said, “Let us make wax into people,” and they did so; but when they put the wax near the fire, it melted. Seeing that they could not create man that way, they next decided to form him out of dirt, and Melu and Finuweigh began the task. All went well until they were ready to make the nose, when Finuweigh, who was shaping this part, Put it on upside down, only to have Melu tell him that people would drown if he left it that way, for the rain would run into it. At this Finuweigh became very angry and refused to change it, but when he turned his back, Melu seized the nose quickly and turned it as it now is; and one may still see where, in his haste, he pressed his fingers at the root. Another account says that the images made of earth were vivified by whipping them. In a few cases we find that man was supposed to have been made of other materials. Thus the Ata in Mindanao declare that grass was the substance used, whereas the Igorot in Luzon say that the ancestors of all others than themselves were made from pairs of reeds. In Nias one version states that man was formed from the fruits or buds of the tree which grew from the heart of one of the earliest beings, while various gods developed from the buds on the upper part of the tree. “When these two lowest fruits were still very small, Latoere said to Barasi-loeloe and Balioe, ‘The lowest fruits are mine.’ But Balioe answered, ‘See, then, if you can make man of them. If you can do that, they belong to you; otherwise, not.’ Latoere being unable to form men from them, Lowalangi sent Barasi-loeloe thither; but he could shape nothing more than the bodies of men, although he made one male and one female. Then Lowalangi took a certain weight of wind, gave it to Balioe, and said, ‘Put all of this in the mouth of the image for a soul. If it absorbs all of it, man will attain to a long life; otherwise, he will die sooner, just in proportion to the amount which is left over of the soul that is offered him.’ Balioe did what Lowalangi had told him, and then he gave the people names.” In a few instances still other substances are said to have been used from which to make man.

Myths relative to the creation of animals ascribe various origins to them. Some of the Kayan in Borneo say that two of the descendants of the armless and legless monster derived from the sword-handle and spindle that fell from heaven, cast pieces of bark upon the ground, and that these turned into swine, fowl, and dogs; while others declare that all the birds, beasts, and fish were derived from the leaves and the twigs of the wonder-tree. In south-eastern Borneo serpents, tigers, and all noxious animals were formed from the body of Angoi, the deity who had provided humankind with breath. When the other divinity, who had wished to bring man immortal life from heaven, found his endeavours forestalled, in his anger he attacked Angoi and killed him, after which he cut up the body and scattered it far and wide, and from these fragments came all the harmful animals. From the Ifugao in the Philippines we have a more detailed account. The child of a sky-maiden and a mortal was cut in two, the mother returning to the heavens with her half and the husband retaining the other portion. Unable to restore this moiety to life, the father left it to decay; but learning of this fact, the mother descended and from it made various animals, birds, and the like--from the head, the owl; from the ears, a certain tree fungus; from the nose, a mollusc; from the bones of the breast, a serpent; from the heart, the rainbow; from the hair, worms and maggots; from the skin, a bird; from part of the blood, bats; and from the intestines, several sorts of animals. The Mandaya in Mindanao state that “the sun and moon were married and lived happily together until many children had been born to them. At last they quarrelled and the moon ran away from her husband. . . . After the separation of their parents the children died, and the moon gathering up their bodies cut them into small pieces and threw them into space. Those fragments which fell into the water became fish, those which fell on land were converted into snakes and animals, while ‘those which fell upward’ remained in the sky as stars.”

Of the origin of the sun and moon several accounts are given. According to the Kayan of central Borneo, the moon, at least, was one of the descendants of the armless and legless being sprung from the sword-handle and spindle which fell from heaven; but in Celebes sun, moon, and stars were made from the body of a celestial maiden; while in Nias sun and moon were shaped from the eyes of the armless and legless being, out of whose heart grew the tree from the buds of which men and gods originated. Elsewhere in Indonesia the sun and moon are either said to have been created, or nothing is stated regarding their origin. In Polynesia a theme which has been shown to be wide-spread is that of the separation of heaven and earth and the raising of the heavens; or the belief that formerly the sky was low and close to the earth, and that a deity or a demigod later uplifted it to its present place. The same concept appears also in the Indonesian area. Among the Ifugao, in the Philippines, it is said that the sky was once so very near to the earth that it interfered with the plying of the spear, while its cannibalistic propensities were causing the extermination of mankind. The aid of the gods was accordingly invoked, whereupon one of them, who had always remained in a sitting position, suddenly rose and with his head and shoulders thrust the heavens far above. The Tagalog also state that the sky was once so low that it could be touched with the hand, and when men were playing, they would strike their heads against it, whence they became angry and threw stones at it, so that a deity withdrew it to its present position. The Manobo of Mindanao say that the sky was so close to the earth that a woman hit it with her pestle while pounding rice, whereupon the heavens ascended to a great height. A similar tale is known also to the Bagobo in the same island. The theme of raising the sky is well known in Borneo. In the north-west the deed was accomplished by the daughter of the first man while the Dusun of British North Borneo declare that the sky, originally low, retreated when six of the seven original suns were killed. Similar tales are told in the south-east and elsewhere in the island, and also occur in Nias Rotti, and Loeang-sermata.

Deluge-myths appear to be fairly well developed in Indonesia and show some features of interest; while in the Philippines, as already pointed out, the origin-legends in many instances begin with such a tale. As told by the Ifugao of Kiangan, the story runs as follows. ”The first son of Wigan, called Kabigat, went from the sky-region, Hudog, to the Earth World to hunt with dogs. As the earth was then entirely level, his dogs ran much from one side to another, pursuing their quarry, and this they did without Kabigat hearing their barking. In consequence of which, it is reported that Kabigat said: ‘I see that the earth is completely flat, because there does not resound the echo of the barking of the dogs.’ After becoming pensive for a little while he decided to return to the heights of the Sky World. Later on he came down again, with a very large cloth, and went to close the exit to the sea of the waters of the rivers, and so it remained closed. He returned again to Hudog, and went to make known to Bongabong that he had closed the outlet of the waters. Bongabong answered him: ‘Go thou to the house of the Cloud and of the Fog, and bring them to me.’ For this purpose he had given permission beforehand to Cloud and Fog, intimating to them that they should go to the house of Baiyuhibi, and so they did. Baiyuhibi brought together his sons . . . and bade them to rain without ceasing for three days. Then Bongabong called . . . and so they ceased. Wigan said, moreover, to his son Kabigat, ‘Go thou and remove the stopper that thou hast placed on the waters,’ and so he did. And in this manner, when the waters that had covered the earth began to recede, there rose up mountains and valleys formed by the rushing of the waters. Then Bongabong called Mumba’an that he might dry the earth, and so he did.”

The central Ifugao have a different version. According to this, “One year when the rainy season should have come it did not. Month after month passed by and no rain fell. The river grew smaller and smaller day by day until at last it disappeared entirely. The people began to die, and at last the old men said: ‘If we do not soon get water, we shall all die. Let us dig down into the grave of the river, for the river is dead and has sunk into his grave, and perhaps we may find the soul of the river and it will save us from dying.’ So they began to dig, and they dug for three days. On the third day the hole was very large, and suddenly they struck a great spring, and the water gushed forth. It came so fast that some of them were drowned ‘before they could get out of the pit.

“Then the people were happy, for there was plenty of water; and they brought much food and made a great feast. But while they were feasting it grew dark and began to rain. The river also kept rising until at last it overflowed its bank. Then the people became frightened and they tried to stop up the spring in the river, but they could not do so. Then the old men said, ‘We must flee to the mountains, for the river gods are angry and we shall all be drowned.’ So the people fled toward the mountains and all but two of them were overtaken by the water and drowned. The two who escaped were a brother and sister named Wigan and Bugan--Wigan on Mt. Amuyao and Bugan on Kalauitan. And the water continued to rise until all the Earth World was covered excepting only the peaks of these two mountains.

“The water remained on the earth for a whole season, or from rice planting to rice harvest. . . . At last the waters receded from the earth and left it covered with the rugged mountains and deep valleys that exist today.”

More or less fragmentary versions of similar tales have been given from the Igorot, and it is probable that they also exist among the Tinguian. In Mindanao the Ata tell how in very early times the earth was covered with water, and all people were drowned, except two men and a woman, who were carried away and would have been lost, had they not been rescued by an eagle, who carried one man and the woman to their home. The Mandaya in the same island have a still different account, according to which all the inhabitants of the world were once destroyed by flood, except one woman. When the waters had subsided, she gave birth to a son, who, when he grew up, married his mother, thus re-peopling the world.

The Borneo versions are quite different. The Iban, or Sea Dyaks of Sarawak say that once, just as the harvest was ripe, it was found that a large part of the fields had been despoiled during the night. Since no tracks could be found, watch was kept, and a huge serpent was seen to lower itself from the sky and to feed upon the rice, whereupon one of the watchers, rushing up, cut off the snake’s head and in the morning proceeded to cook some of the flesh from it for his breakfast. Hardly had he eaten, however, before the sky was overcast, dark clouds rolled up, and a terrible rain-storm caused a flood from which only those few persons escaped alive who succeeded in reaching the highest hills. The Dusun of British North Borneo have a picturesque variant. “Long ago some men of Kampong Tudu were looking for wood to make a fence, and while they were searching they came upon what appeared to be a great tree-trunk, which was lying on the ground. They began to cut it with their parangs, intending to make their fence from it, but to their surprise blood came from the cuts. So they decided to walk along to one end of the trunk and see what it was. When they came to the end they found that they had been cutting into a great snake and that the end of the ‘trunk’ was its head. They therefore made stakes and driving them into the ground bound the snake to them and killed it. Then they flayed the skin from the body and taking it and the meat home they made a great feast from its flesh. The skin of the snake they made into a great drum, and while they were drinking they beat the drum to try its sound, but for a long time the drum remained silent. At last, in the middle of the night, the drum began to sound of its own accord, ‘Duk Duk Kagu; Duk Duk Kagu.’ Then came a great hurricane and swept away all the houses in the kampong; some of them were carried out to sea together with the people in them, others settled down at what is now Kampong Tempassuk and other places, and from them arose the present villages.” In Nias the flood-myth takes a still different form. According to this, “once there was strife between the mountains, each one desiring to be the highest. This angered one of the deities, who, saying, ‘Ye mountains! I shall cover you all,’ took a golden comb and threw it into the ocean, where it was changed into a mighty crab, which stopped up the overflow of the sea. Then came a great rain, and these causes generated a vast quantity of water, which rose higher and higher until three mountains alone remained uncovered. All the people who fled to these with their animals were saved, but all others were drowned.”

Very commonly in savage mythology we find the idea that death was not originally intended to be the inevitable fate of mankind. In Polynesia, as has been shown, death was due to Maui’s failure to pass through the body of Hine-nui-te-po, or to the express decree of some deity who wished man to die, in opposition to another divinity’s wish that he should be immortal. In Indonesian tales immortality is lost, in many cases, by an error. Thus, the Dusun in British North Borneo say that “When Kenharingan had made. everything he said, ‘Who is able to cast off his skin? If anyone can do so, he shall not die.’ The snake alone heard and said, ‘I can.’ And for this reason, till the present day, the snake does not die unless killed by man. (The Dusun did not hear or they would also have thrown off their skins and there would have been no death.)”

The Nias myths ascribe mortality to a mistake. When the earth was finished and complete, the divine being who had spread it out and shaped it fasted for many days, after which he received nine plates, each filled with a different sort of food. Choosing that with the ripe bananas, he threw away the plate on which were some shrimps, and in consequence of his having eaten the easily perishable food man perishes and decays, but the snake who ate the shrimps became immortal. In Celebes, Borneo, and elsewhere we have already seen that the immortality designed for man by his creator was lost through the fact that while the creator had gone to secure the breath of life, the image made by him was vivified by the wind or by some other deity; hence man’s life is as unstable as the winds.

Myths of the origin of fire present a number of different forms in Indonesia. According to the Igorot, only two persons survived after the flood, a brother and sister who had taken refuge on Mt. Pokis. “Lumawig descended and said: ‘Oh, you are here!’ And the man said: ‘We are here, and here we freeze!’ Then Lumawig sent his dog and his deer to Kalauwitan to get fire. They swam to Kalauwitan, the dog and the deer, and they got the fire. Lumawig awaited them. He said: ‘How long they are corning!’ Then he went to Kalauwitan and said to his dog and deer: ‘Why do you delay in bringing the fire? Get ready! Take the fire to Pokis; let me watch you!’ Then they went into the middle of the flood, and the fire which they had brought from Kalauwitan was put out! Then said Lumawig: ‘Why do you delay the taking? Again you must bring fire; let me watch you!’ Then they brought fire again, and he observed that that which the deer was carrying was extinguished, and he said: ‘That which the dog has yonder will surely also be extinguished.’ Then Lumawig swam and arrived and quickly took the fire which his dog had brought. He took it back to Pokis and he built a fire and warmed the brother and sister.”

This theme of the fire being brought from another country by animals is also found in Melanesia, while the Ifugao of Kiangan have still another version. After Bugan, who was the sister-wife of Kabigat, had become reconciled to her marriage by the praise of Muntalog, Kabigat’s father, “Kabigat requested leave to return, but Muntalog answered: ‘Wait one day more, until I in my turn go to my father Mumbonang.’ Muntalog found his father and mother seated facing each other; and, upon his arrival, his mother, Mumbonang, came forward and asked him: ‘What news do you bring from those lower regions, and why do you come?’ The father . . . inquired likewise as to the reason of his coming. Muntalog answered: ‘I have come, father, to ask thee for fire for some Ifugaos who remain in the house of Ambumabbakal.’ ‘My son,’ the father replied, ‘those Ifugaos of yours could not arrive at (or, come to) Mumbonang without danger of being burned to cinders.’ Then he continued: ‘It is well! Approach me! . . . Seize hold of one of those bristles that standout from my hair,’ and so Muntalog did. . . . Then Mumbonang said to him again: ‘Come nigh! Take this white part, or extremity, of the eye that looks toward the north-east.’ . . . And he took it and placed it in his hand. And Mumbonang said to him once more: ‘Come near again, and take the part black as coal, the dirt of my ear which is as the foulness of my ear.’ And so he did. Then Mumbonang said to Muntalog: ‘Take these things and bring them to thy son Ambumabbakal and to Ngilin, in order that the latter may give them to the Ifugaos.’ And he said again to Muntalog: ‘Take this white of my eye (flint), this wax from my ear (tinder), and this bristle or point like steel for striking fire, in order that thou mayest have the wherewith to attain what thou seekest.’“ In this tale we have a closer approach to the various Polynesian myths of Maui and of his securing the fire from the fire-deity.

From central Celebes a different type is recorded. Fire was given by the deity to the first men; but they allowed it to go out, and since they did not know the secret of how to make it, they sent a man named Tamboeja to the sky (which at that time was near the earth) to get flame. The inhabitants of the sky-world told him that they would give him fire, but that he must cover his eyes with his hands so that he would not see how it was made. They did not know, however, that he had eyes under his arm-pits also, which enabled him to watch their actions and see how they made fire with flint and steel; and this secret, together with the fire itself, he took back to earth and gave to men.

Bornean myths of the origin of fire are as follows. According to the Kayan fire was invented by an old man, named Laki Oi, who discovered the method of making it by pulling a strip of rattan back and forth under a piece of wood. The Dyaks of the Baram District describe the origin of fire as due to an accident. “One day when the man and the dog were in the jungle together, and got drenched by rain, the man noticed that the dog warmed himself by rubbing against a huge creeper (called the Aka Rawa), whereupon the man took a stick and rubbed it rapidly against the Aka Rawa, and to his surprise obtained fire.” Later some food was accidentally dropped near the fire, and the man, finding it thus rendered more agreeable to the taste, discovered the art of cooking.

Chapter 2. Trickster Tales

IN Polynesia the tales of the exploits of the hero Maui formed a cycle which was current everywhere in one form or another, and which was in many ways, perhaps, the most characteristic of legends as it was the most popular. Corresponding to the Maui cycle in Polynesia in universality, characteristic quality, and popularity, but differing entirely in type, are the Indonesian trickster tales centring about the mouse-deer (kantjil or pelanduk), the tarsier ape, or the tortoise; and these stories, of which there are very many versions, may well be considered next, and before taking up those of more miscellaneous character.

In these tales or fables (for very many of them are indeed such) the mouse-deer usually plays the leading part in Borneo, Java, and Sumatra, as well as among the Malays of the Malay Peninsula; whereas in Celebes and Halmahera the same exploits are often attributed to the ape. Sundry other tales of a like character seem to be recorded only of the ape, and others again only of the tortoise. The order of the incidents varies considerably in different regions, although the series usually starts with a tricky exploit which rouses enmity and pursuit. In Java, the beginning is as follows. One day the kantjil was resting quietly when he heard a tiger approaching and feared for his life, wherefore, quickly taking a large leaf, he began to fan a pile of dung which happened to lie near. When the tiger came up, and overcome by curiosity asked what he was doing, the mouse-deer said, “This is food belonging to the king. I am guarding it.” The tiger, being very hungry, at once wished to be allowed to eat the royal food, but the kantjil refused for a long time, advising him not to touch it and saying that it would be wrong to betray his trust; but at last he agreed to let the tiger have his way if he would promise to wait before eating it until he, the kantjil, had gone; for thus the blame might be escaped. No sooner said than done; so when the kantjil had reached a safe distance, he called back to the tiger, “You may begin now,” whereupon the tiger hungrily seized what he thought was a delicious morsel, only to be cruelly deceived. Furious at the trick played upon him by the little kantjil, he hurried after the fugitive to get his revenge.

His intended victim, had meanwhile found a very venomous snake, which lay coiled up asleep. Sitting by this, he awaited the tiger’s arrival, and when the latter came up raging in pursuit, he told him that he had only himself to blame, since he had been warned not to eat the food. “But,” said the kantjil, “you must keep quiet, for I am guarding the girdle of the king. You must not come near it, because it is full of magic power.” The tiger’s curiosity and desire being, of course, only stimulated by all this, he insisted that he be allowed to try on the precious girdle, to which the kantjil yielded with apparent reluctance, again warning him to be very careful and, as before, saying that the tiger must first let him get safely away, in order that no guilt might attach to him. When the kantjil had run off, the tiger seized the supposed magic girdle, only to be bitten by the snake, which he did not succeed in killing until after a severe struggle.

Thirsting for vengeance, the tiger again took up the pursuit of his clever little adversary, who, meanwhile, had stopped to rest, so that when the tiger caught up with him, he found him sitting near a clump of tall bamboo. The kantjil greeted the tiger warmly and said, without giving the latter time to express his anger, that he had been appointed keeper of the king’s trumpet. The tiger, immediately desiring to try this wonderful instrument, was induced to put his tongue between two of the bamboos, being told that, as soon as the wind blew, they would give fine music. The trickster ran off, and presently a strong gust arose, swayed the bamboos, and thus pinched the tiger’, s tongue entirely off.

Again the tiger gave chase, and this time found the kantjil standing beside a great wasp’s-nest. As before, the trickster warned the tiger not to disturb him, for he was guarding the king’s drum which gave out a very wonderful tone when struck; but the tiger, of course, was most anxious to have the opportunity of sounding it. With feigned reluctance, the kantjil at last agreed, stipulating, as before, that he be allowed to get out of the way. As soon as he had put a safe distance between himself and the tiger, he gave the signal, and the tiger struck the nest, only to be beset the next instant by a swarm of angry wasps.

For another famous exploit of the trickster we may take a Bornean version. One day the mouse-deer was going out fishing when the tortoise, the deer, the elephant, and several other animals asked to be allowed to go with him. He agreed, and so large a catch was secured that the party resolved to smoke a portion to preserve it. The elephant remained behind next day to watch the drying fish; but while he was on guard there came a great crashing in the forest, and presently a huge giant appeared, a forest demon, who calmly stole the fish, ate them, and walked away without the elephant daring to stop him. When the fishermen returned, they were much disturbed over the loss of their fish, but as they again had a large supply, they left another of the party on guard next day. Once more the giant came and ate the whole, this continuing until all the animals had had their turn except the mouse-deer, and all had failed to prevent the giant’s theft. The other animals laughed at the tiny fellow’s boast that now he would catch and kill the thief; but as soon as the fishermen had gone, he got four strong posts and drove them into the ground, after which he collected some rattan and began to plait four large strong rings. Before long the giant came crashing through the forest, but just as he was about to take the fish, he saw the mouse-deer, who kept busily at work and paid not the slightest attention to the intruder. Overcome by curiosity, the demon asked what the trickster was doing, and the latter replied that his friends suffered much from pains in the back, so that he was preparing a remedy for them. “That is interesting,” said the giant, “for I, too, suffer much from pains in my back. I wish you would cure me.” “All right,” said the pelanduk. “Go over there and lie down, put your elbows close to your sides, and draw up your knees; and I will massage you and apply the cure.” The giant at once complied, and the tricky mouse-deer, quickly slipping the strong rattan rings over the demon’s arms, legs, and body, fastened them securely to the great posts. In vain did the giant struggle to get free, but the rattan bonds could not be broken, so that when the fishermen came back, they found the mouse-deer sitting quietly beside his captive, whereupon they at once attacked the monster who had been so neatly trapped and beat him to death. Almost the same tale is found in German New Guinea, and the essential theme of binding or tying a giant by a ruse or in his sleep also appears elsewhere in Melanesia.

One day the trickster fell by accident into a deep pit, from which he could not climb out, try as he would. For a long time he sat there wondering what to do, but at last an elephant came by, and seeing the mouse-deer, asked him what he was doing. The latter replied that he had information that the sky was going to fall and that all creatures would be crushed, whence he had taken refuge in this pit in order to save himself. Greatly alarmed, the elephant begged that he, too, might be allowed to come into the pit, and the trickster agreeing, he descended, whereupon the kantjil, seizing the opportunity, jumped upon the elephant’s back, from which he was able to leap out of the pit; and so he ran away, leaving the elephant to his fate.

Numerous tales are told of the tricks played by the mouse-deer on the crocodile. Once the former wished to cross a river which he was unable to wade or swim because it was in flood, so, standing upon the bank, he called for the crocodiles, saying that the king had given command that they should be counted. Accordingly, they came in great numbers and by the trickster’s directions arranged themselves in a row extending from bank to bank, whereupon the mouse-deer pretended to count them, jumping from one to the other and calling out, “one,” “two” “three,” etc., until he reached the opposite bank, when he derided them for their stupidity.

Resolving to be avenged, the crocodile bided his time, and when the trickster came later to the river to drink, he seized one of the mouse-deer’s legs in his mouth. Nothing dismayed, the captive picked up a branch and called out, “That is not my leg; that is a stick of wood. My foot is here.” The crocodile accordingly let go and snapped at the branch, thinking that it was really the trickster’s leg; but this gave the needed opportunity, and the clever mouse-deer bounded away to safety, leaving the stupid crocodile with the stick in his mouth.

The crocodile, however, determined not to go without his revenge, lay in wait, floating like a water-soaked log until the mouse-deer should visit the river again. When, after a while, he did come to the stream and saw the crocodile motionless, he stood on the bank and said, as if he were in doubt whether or not it was a log, “If that is the crocodile, it will float downstream.” The crocodile, resolving not to give himself away, remained motionless; and then the trickster added, But if it is a log, it will float upstream.” At once the crocodile began to swim slowly against the current, and the mouse-deer, having discovered what he wished, called out in derision, “Ha! ha! I have fooled you once more.”

The trickster is not invariably successful in avoiding capture, although he usually manages to escape by a ruse. Thus, being caught one day in a trap while he was plundering a man’s fields, he feigned death. The owner of the field discovering the culprit, and thinking that he was already dead, took him out of the snare, intending to carry him off, but when the man’s back was turned the trickster jumped up and ran away. On another occasion, the kantjil was caught, carried home by a man, and put in a cage to keep until his captor was ready to kill and cat him; but though the outlook was dark indeed, at last a stratagem occurred to him. A dog came by and asked why the mouse-deer was thus shut up, whereupon the latter said that he had been chosen as the husband of the chief’s daughter and was to be kept in the cage until the morrow, when the wedding was to take place. The dog wished that he might marry the beautiful maiden himself and asked the captive if he would not be willing to have him change places. With apparent reluctance the trickster agreed, and the change being effected the mouse-deer was free once more.

Other adventures of the trickster in which he escapes by a ruse of a different sort are as follows. Being about to be attacked by the buffalo, who wished to kill him, the trickster put on his head a false pair of horns to alarm his adversary, and reddening them as if with blood, stood ready for the attack. When the buffalo appeared, the ape (who was the trickster in this instance) called out that he had just killed several other buffaloes and was quite ready for further conflict, whereupon his opponent, deceived by the imitated horns and blood, fled, thinking that he had caught a tartar.

A somewhat different version, in which the tiger is the aggressor, runs thus. The tiger was seeking the kantjil to cat him, when the latter hastened to find a djati-plant, whose leaves he chewed making his mouth blood-red; after which he went and sat down beside a well. By and by the tiger came along, and the trickster, assuming a fierce aspect and drivelling blood-red saliva from his mouth, said that the tiger had better look out, as he, the mouse-deer, was accustomed to cat tigers, and if the latter did not believe it, let him look in the well, in which he would see the head of the last one that he had finished. The tiger was much alarmed, though not wholly convinced, so he went to look in the well, where he saw, of course, the reflection of his own head. Thinking that this was really the head of the tiger which the mouse-deer had just eaten, and convinced of the trickster’s might, the tiger ran away as fast as he could.

The ape, however, encouraged the tiger not to be afraid of the trickster, who was not so terrible a person after all, and to prove this, he said that he would go with the tiger to seek the kantjil once more; while to demonstrate his good faith he proposed that they should tie their tails together so that they might thus make a common attack, the ape riding on the tiger’s back. The latter agreed and in this way again approached the clever little rascal; but as soon as the latter saw them coming, he called out, “Ha! that is strange! There comes the ape who usually brings me two tigers every day as tribute, and now he is bringing only one.” Terrified at this, the tiger ran away as fast as his legs would carry him; and the ape, being tied to his tail, was dashed against the rocks and trees and was killed.

The wide-spread tale of the hare and the tortoise is told almost universally through this Indonesian area, with the trickster, of course, playing the rôle of the hare. The story is everywhere so much alike and so well known that it is scarcely necessary to give these local versions.

The trickster tales so far presented have the mouse-deer for their hero in Sumatra, Java, and Borneo, as well as in the Malay Peninsula; while the same narratives are told of the tarsier ape in many instances in the rest of the island region and of the hare in Cambodia and Annam. The following stories, on the other hand, seem to be recounted almost wholly of the ape and are confined within a somewhat narrower geographical area.

There was once an ape who was the friend of a heron and who said, “Friend, let us louse each other, and let me be loused first.” The heron, replying, “Yes, you first, then I,” picked off the ape’s lice, and when this was done, said, “Now, do me also.” While he was being loused by the ape, he said, “Ow! you are hurting me,” but the ape answered, “No, I am only pulling off the lice.” In reality he was tearing out the heron’s feathers; and after he had plucked every one, he said, “I am quite finished; fly away,” whereupon the heron started to fly, only to find all his feathers gone, while the ape went off, leaving the heron very angry. Shortly afterward the ape met another heron, who, determining to punish him for his deed, said that there were very fine berries to be had in a place of which he knew across the sea, and invited the ape to go with him to get some. Taking a great leaf, he made a canoe of it, and the two set out, the ape paddling and the heron steering; but when they were well out of sight of land, the heron pecked a hole in the bottom of the boat, which quickly filled and sank, the bird flying safely away and leaving the ape struggling in the sea.

In the versions from the Malay Peninsula, Sangir Islands, and Halmahera the ape was just about to drown when a shark appeared, and thinking he was to have a good meal, told the ape that he was going to eat him; but the latter answered that he had no flesh or entrails and that he would afford only a sorry meal. The shark, surprised at this statement, asked where his flesh and entrails were, and the ape replied that he had left them ashore, but that, if the shark would carry him to land, he would go and get them. The shark accordingly bore the trickster to the shore, where the ape told his rescuer to stay while he went to obtain his flesh; and in this way he kept the shark until the tide had ebbed so that he was unable to get away, and thus died. This episode of the rescue from drowning, and of the ungrateful killing of the rescuer, shows an interesting distribution, occurring in Annam and India as well as in Micronesia, Melanesia, and Polynesia.

Equally significant in its dissemination is another tale. The ape and the tortoise once determined to plant each a banana patch, the ape choosing his place on the shore, where the waves would save him the labour of keeping the ground clean, while the tortoise planted his inland. As might be expected, the ape’s bananas all died from the effect of the salt water, while the tortoises trees grew finely. By and by the latter’s bananas were ripe, but since he could not climb the trees, he was forced to wait until the fruit fell to the ground. The ape coming by, the tortoise asked him to climb for him and said that if he would do so, they could divide the fruit. Nothing loath, the ape sprang up into one of the trees, but did not throw any of the fruit down; and when the tortoise asked him why he did not give him some, the ape replied that he wanted first to taste them. He kept on eating the bananas and paid no attention when the tortoise begged him to throw some down, until finally the latter said, “Well, you eat the fruit, and throw me down the skins.” Even this the ape refused to do, saying that the skins were still better than the fruit, whereupon, angry at such treatment, the tortoise collected a quantity of bamboo sticks, which he sharpened and set thickly in the ground under the tree. Then he called to the ape that when he had finished, he must jump down to the ground; but in doing this, he fell on the sharpened randjans and was killed. This tale, besides being wide-spread in Indonesia, occurs also in Japan and in Melanesia.

A tale told variously of the ape, the mouse-deer, and other animals may be included here, since it also shows a distribution outside the Indonesian area. According to this the ape and another animal meeting on the shore, the latter suggested that they gather shell-fish, to which the ape agreed. They soon found a monster clam, and by the advice of his companion, on whom the ape had previously played a trick, the latter was induced to put his hand into the shell, which was open, in order to pluck out the mollusc; but no sooner did he attempt this, than the clam closed its shell, thus cutting off the ape’s hand. In a somewhat similar form the story is found farther to the east in New Britain.

In some of the tales the tortoise and the ape play parts elsewhere taken by the mouse-deer and the tiger. After outwitting and killing the ape by one of the various tricks already recited, the tortoise took the body, making tobacco from the hair; from the flesh, dried meat; from the bones, which he burned, he made lime for betel chewing; and from the blood, sago wine. By and by the other apes set out to seek their companion, and coming to the tortoise, asked if he had seen him whom they sought; but without answering their question, the tortoise invited them to come to his house and chew betel. After first declining his hospitality, they finally accepted it, whereupon the tortoise gave them sago wine, which they drank, saying, “Ha! but the wine looks red,” to which the tortoise replied, “Well, there is dye in it.” Then he gave them betel to chew, and after chewing a while, the apes went off; and as they departed, the tortoise said to himself, “Bah! you have drunk the blood and chewed the bones of your friend!” One of the apes overheard him and said to his companions, “Listen! what does he say?” whereupon the apes called to the tortoise, “What are you saying?” to which the tortoise replied, “Oh! nothing. I only said that it is going to rain, so you had better run along.” Then the tortoise began to laugh, saying, “Ha! ha! it makes me laugh heartily,” but when the apes heard this, they went after the tortoise and urged each other on to crush him to death. The tortoise, however, thought of a trick to save himself, so when the apes said to each other, “Haven’t you crushed him yet?” he answered, “My father and mother tried to crush me to death and I didn’t die. Do you think that I shall die if you crush me?” Then the apes said, “Let us rather burn him to death,” but the tortoise replied, “My father and mother tried to burn me to death, but I didn’t die. Do you think you can burn me to death?” Then the apes said to each other, “It would be better to throw him into the sea,” and now the tortoise was happy, but for craft he wept, while the apes said, “At last we have won.” Accordingly they picked up the tortoise and threw him into the sea, but there he was in his element and laughed aloud and said, “Ha! ha! the water is the very home of my father and my mother.” At this the apes were greatly enraged and said: “We must find the buffalo to get him to drink up the sea.” The buffalo agreed, and had drunk up almost all of it when the crab, bribed by the tortoise with the promise of a ripe coco-nut, bit the buffalo in the belly and made a hole in it. Thus all the water flowed out again, and all of the apes were drowned but one, who was saved by leaping into the branches of a tree. She later gave birth to young, and from them all the apes of today are descended.

One day the trickster came across the ape, who said to him, “Friend, let us stew each other,” to which the trickster answered, “Good, but let me be the first to be stewed. Go and get a bamboo, so that I can creep into it.” When the ape came back with a piece of bamboo, the trickster crept into it and said, “Now, friend, you must go and pluck leaves to pack me in tightly. When you come back with the leaves, don’t look into the bamboo, but stuff the leaves in snugly, while you look another way.” The ape went for the leaves, but meantime the trickster crawled out of the bamboo cooking vessel and climbed up a vine which hung near by, while the ape came back and stuffed the vessel, which was now empty, with leaves, thinking that the other was still within. Then he blew up the fire and set the vessel on. It bubbled away, and when he thought the meat was done he took the vessel off, leaning it against a tree while he went away to get large leaves on which to pour out the food; but after he had disappeared, and the water in the vessel had had a chance to cool a bit, the trickster came down the vine and crept into the bamboo again. When the ape returned, he arranged the large leaves, removed those stuffed into the vessel, and shook out the trickster, who said, “Look, friend, how brave I am! When the water was boiling hardest, I did not feel it at all.” The ape, replying, “Well, well, I want to be stewed also, so that I may get warm,” crept into the vessel, whose mouth the trickster stuffed tightly, so that the other could not escape, after which he set the vessel on the fire. Soon the water got hot, and the ape, no longer able to bear it, cried, “Take me out, friend! take me out! I am afraid,” only to hear the trickster reply, “Well, it was just so when you cooked me.” “Good friend, have pity on me!” said the other, “take me out!” but the trickster answered, “Well, I did not complain when you cooked me.” So he showed no pity, but when he thought the other was thoroughly cooked, he turned out the contents of the vessel and ate him all up.

Not long after this, the ape, who in this instance was the trickster, chanced upon some people in a village who were watching a corpse; and when the chief told them to go and prepare a coffin, the ape said, “I will go with you and help hollow it out.” The chief replying, “Very well,” the ape went with the others to cut down the tree and make the coffin. After it was finished, the people said that each one ought to get in and try it, whereupon the ape said, “I want to get in, too. Everyone ought to take his turn,” but when he was inside the coffin, his companions suddenly put the cover on, because he was such a rogue and had tricked so many others. The ape called, “Let me out, let me out!” but they paid no attention, for they had decided that he must die. So the ape perished, and the people took the coffin and burned it with all its contents.

In several of the tales the trickster plays the part of a judge, or of one who calls on another to decide a difficult case. According to one of these stories, a crocodile once was asleep on the bank of a stream when a great tree, uprooted by the wind, fell upon him and pinned him down so that he could not move. The trickster came by, and the crocodile begged him to aid him in getting free; but the former, saying that he could not do anything by himself, went off and came back with a buffalo, who was able to bite through the roots, whereupon the river carried the tree away. The crocodile’s appetite, however, got the better of his gratitude, and he begged that, to complete their good deed, they should drag him into the water. This the buffalo did, but the crocodile little by little induced his helper to push him into deeper and deeper water, thinking thus to get the buffalo in a position where resistance would be difficult and where he could the more easily catch him and devour him. Feeling that his success was sure, the crocodile told the buffalo what he proposed to do, but the latter was loud in his protests, saying that to eat him was a poor way to reward his aid; and he accordingly begged that the case be submitted to a judge, who should decide the rights of the matter. The first thing to come along to which he could make appeal was an old leaf-plate which floated down the stream; but the plate, on having the case stated, replied that he, too, had been treated ungratefully, since he had been thrown away, although he was still good for something; and so, absorbed in his own wrongs, he drifted on down the river. The same thing happened with a rice-mortar and an old mat, so that the buffalo stood in great danger of death. The trickster, however (in this case the mouse-deer), quite unwilling to let his friend perish, ran off to get a deer and to secure his help. When the latter came back with him, he was appealed to as a judge; but saying that he could not decide the case unless the circumstances were made quite clear to him, he demanded that the whole affair be repeated for his enlightenment. Accordingly, he made the crocodile take up his former position on shore with the buffalo coming to his aid; after which he said that he himself would prefer to have the whole scene enacted once more, but that if the buffalo did not choose to do so, then never mind. Thus the buffalo was able to escape, and the crocodile went away angry.

One day the boar and the antelope met, and the former said, “Friend, I dreamed last night that you would be eaten by me,” to which the antelope replied, “How can that be, for we are friends,” only to hear the boar answer, “What I have dreamed must come to pass.” When the antelope heard this, he said, “If that is so, let us go and put the case to our ruler,” but neither of them knew that the ape had overheard. The antelope and the boar came to the king, who, after he had listened to the case, decided that the antelope must really be eaten, because the boar had dreamed it. When the ape heard this) he had pity for the antelope, so he dropped down suddenly from the tree-top before them all, startling the king, who said, “What are you doing here?” The ape answered, “Why, I dreamed that I had married the daughter of the king, and I have come for her.” The king replied, “But what you say is impossible,” to which the ape retorted, “No, it is very possible.” The king hearing this, and seeing the point, said to his servants, “The decision in the case of the antelope and the boar cannot be carried out.”

Related to the class of trickster tales proper are some of the stories which are told of another hero, who in many respects resembles the Till Eulenspiegel of European folk-lore, as the trickster does Renard the Fox. As examples of these tales we may take the following. One day the king sent a servant to pick flowers on the land of the hero, in whose house he saw three such beautiful women that he forgot about his errand and returned to the ruler with empty hands, saying that he had beheld three women who were so enchantingly lovely that they put the king’s wives to shame. The king desired, therefore, to have them for himself, and planning to get rid of the hero, he summoned him, saying, when he came, “Don’t be disturbed because I have sent for you. I only want you to go for me to the sky to see how my ancestors are getting along; and I shall, therefore, burn you up, so that you can ascend thither.” Full of sorrow, the hero went back to his wife and her lovely sisters and told them what the king had commanded; but his wife replied, “Don’t be distressed; I shall conceal you in the sleeping-room, and for two days you must not come out.” The three sisters next hastened to pound up a great quantity of rice, from which they made an image of a man that exactly resembled the hero, and then they wept and wailed and let their tears fall upon the image and it came to life. They dressed the impersonator in the hero’s clothes, instructing him to say that he would return from his journey in three days; and so the false hero went to the king and said that he was ready to start on the journey to the sky. “How long will you be gone?” asked the king, and the image replied, “I shall be back in three days.” Then the king’s servants, wrapping the impostor in palm fibres, set him afire, and as he was made of rice-flour, he was burned up entirely and left no trace, whence they said, “He has gone on his journey.” Meanwhile, the real hero remained in his sleeping-room, and the three sisters cooked a great quantity of delectable viands. After two days they had finished, and dressing the hero sumptuously, and putting upon him golden rings, bracelets, and ornaments, they gave him the food to take to the king. When he arrived, he presented this, saying that the king’s ancestors in the upper world sent him many greetings and this food as token of their affection; and that they begged that he himself would come to visit them. The king was much surprised to find the hero safe and sound, and said, “Have you already returned? You said that you would stay away three days, but only two have passed.” “Yes,” the hero answered, “I did not think the sky was as near as it is. If all this food had not had to be prepared, I would have been here much sooner.” “Isn’t it so far then?” asked the king. “Oh, no,” said the hero, “it is only a little distance.” “Where did you get all these golden ornaments?” queried the king. “Oh, your ancestors gave them to me, and you also can have some if you go.” The king said, “Shall I let myself be burned in order to go thither?” “Certainly,” the other replied, “in no other way can you obtain such fine things.” “Very well,” said the king, “set me afire,” but his companions cried, “Me too, me too,” for all were anxious to go to the sky. “Well, wait a bit,” said the hero, “until I gather enough palm fibres for you all.” So he went to the forest and collected a great quantity, and then, wrapping the king and his friends in it, he set it afire. When it was completely burned out, there their bodies lay, all shrunken and charred; whereupon the hero called to the people, who had hated their ruler because of his oppression of them, “Take everything you find ‘in the king’s house and apportion it amongst yourselves, for all that he possessed he had taken from you.” So the people divided the king’s treasure, and the hero and his wife and her sisters lived happily ever after.

As another example of these tales we may take the story of Taba. He was anxious to marry the king’s daughter, but for a long time could think of no way in which he could compass his wish. At last, how-ever, he hit upon a plan. Finding that not far from the house was a great waringin-tree, the path to which was very roundabout and much obstructed, he secretly made a short cut to the tree, after which he went into the house and pretended that he was very ill, sitting by the ashes on the hearth and groaning that he was surely about to die. Asked what could be done to help him, he said, “Oh, if you will only go for me to the great waringin-tree which grows by the road. A spirit whom I worship lives in that tree, and if you would ask it, it would tell you what I could do in order to get well.” The people pitied Taba and went down the road to the tree; but he, meanwhile, hurried thither by his shorter path, climbed up into the tree, and secreted himself; so that when the people arrived and asked whether Taba would regain his health, he called out, “He must be married to the king’s daughter. Only thus will he recover.” Before the people could reach the house by the regular road, Taba got there, and when they arrived he was sitting groaning by the fire. The people, telling him what the oracle had said, agreed to aid him in carrying out the command of the supposed spirit; and thus Taba became the son-in-law of the king and soon was well again.

Two other animal stories or fables may be given in connexion with the series already presented, since, although even more clearly of extra-Indonesian origin, their distribution serves to confirm the evidence of foreign influence in all of this type of tale. One day the cat reproached the deer for having stepped on the ear of one of her kittens, but the deer excused himself, saying that he was startled by a bird and ran, and that the blame thus rested with the bird, who, by flying up suddenly, was the real cause of the accident. The cat then went to the bird and accused it, but the latter shifted the fault on another bird, who had alarmed it by appearing with white feathers about its neck. In its turn this bird put the blame on another, which had appeared with its whole body yellow, and this bird said that it had done so because still another had a yellow beak. The latter, on being approached by the cat, alleged that this was owing to the fact that the crab had jointed claws, while the crab transferred the blame to the mouse, who, he said, had stolen his hole. When the cat, at last, charged the mouse with the ultimate responsibility, the latter could not think of any excuse to give on the spur of the moment, and so, losing patience, the cat jumped upon it and ate it up. Ever since that time cats and mice have been at war.

The other tale runs as follows. One day an egg, a snake, a centipede, an ant, and a piece of dung set out on a head-hunting expedition, and on arriving at the house which they planned to attack, the egg stationed the party as follows: the centipede under the floor, the ant in the water-vessel, the dung at the top of a ladder leaning against a door, and the snake beside the door, while the egg itself took its place in the cooking-pot. During the night, the centipede came out of its hiding-place and bit the occupant of the house, who, as a result, went to light a fire; but there the egg jumped from the cooking-pot into his face, and blinded him. The man at once hurried to the water-vessel to wash his face, whereupon the ant stung him, and when he ran down the ladder, he slipped on the dung and fell to the bottom, where the snake bit him, and he died.

The group of trickster tales and fables of which a series has now been given are of especial importance, not only in the study of Indonesian mythology, but also in relation to the whole question of the origin and growth of Melanesian and Oceanic culture. Although widely spread in Indonesia, their distribution brings out the following facts. The tales, as a whole, fall into two rather clearly marked groups: (a) those in which the mouse-deer figures as the hero, and (b) those in which the ape or tortoise is the leading figure. The former group is most fully represented in the south and west, i. e. in Java, Borneo, and Sumatra, and is scarcely known in the Philippines; the latter is best developed in the east and north--in Halmahera, Celebes, and the Sangir Islands--and is well represented in the Philippines, decreasing in importance from south to north. So far as any existing material goes, neither group of tales is known to those tribes which have had very little or no influence from Indian culture. The first of these two groups is, within its region of main development, most fully exemplified among the Javanese, who, of all the peoples of the Indonesian area had the earliest and closest contact with Indian culture; it is next best represented in those portions of Borneo, Sumatra, and the Moluccas which were colonized from, or more or less under the control of, the Modjopahit and other Hindu-Javanese kingdoms which grew up in Java during the first centuries of the Christian era. Outside of Indonesia, this group of tales is strongly represented in south-eastern Asia, i. e. among the Cham, and in Cambodia and Annam, where Indian influence was strongly established even earlier than in Java. It is developed among the Malays of the Malay Peninsula, and even among the Shan of Upper Burma (who have in the one case early, and in the other case later, come in contact with Hindu, i. e. Buddhist, culture) a considerable number of the tales are found in typical form. Lastly, in India itself at least half of the series is known. On the other hand, none of the stories of this group has, the writer believes, thus far been reported from Melanesia or farther to the east.

Turning to the second group (the tales which centre about the ape or tortoise), it appears that in the eastern and northern portions of Indonesia, where it is best developed, it is strongest in Halmahera, northern Celebes, and the Sangir Islands, and is well represented not only in Mindanao and among the Visayan tribes of the Philippines, but also in Luzon. Outside of the Indonesian area its distribution is sharply contrasted with the first group. Instead of being, as that is, strongly represented in India and south-eastern Asia and unknown in Melanesia, it is comparatively rare on the Asiatic continent, but is rather widely distributed in Melanesia, while at least one of its themes has been reported from eastern Polynesia. One of the tales of each group is known from Japan.

From these facts it would seem that we might safely draw the following conclusions. The first group consists of two sets of tales, the first comprising those which are manifestly of actual Indian origin, occurring there in the Buddhist Jâtakas and other early sources, and obviously introduced into Indonesia by the Hindu immigrants in the first centuries of our era; and the second including those of which examples are not known from India itself. The latter class the author believes to be of local Indonesian growth, though perhaps copied after Indian models. Such local imitation of foreign tales is a phenomenon well known in other parts of the world, and appears to be the most reasonable explanation of the conditions which meet us here. The second group, on the other hand, seems wholly or almost wholly of local origin, the rare instances of the occurrence of any portion of it on the Asiatic mainland being plausibly explained as due to the well-known backwash of Malayan peoples from the Archipelago at an early, though as yet uncertain, period. Its. apparent absence from western Indonesia is, however, rather difficult to explain. It is possible that further data may make it clear that this group of tales is more purely Indonesian than Malayan, i. e. that it belongs to that earlier Indonesian stratum of population which followed the Negrito and preceded the Malay.

The extension of this second type into Melanesia and even to Polynesia, together with the absence of the first group from this easterly region, would seem to have still further significance, for it is a fair question whether this does not prove that the emigration of the Polynesian ancestors from the Archipelago must have taken place prior to the period of Indian contact. It will be noted, also, that one tale of each group has been reported from Japan. On the basis of the hypothesis which we have advanced, one of these would then be traceable to Indian (i. e. Buddhist) sources, the other to the supposed still earlier influences which passed northward from the Philippines through Formosa and the Riukiu Islands to Kiushiu and southern Nippon.

Chapter 3. Miscellaneous Tales

IN Melanesia, and perhaps also in New Zealand, one of the themes found to be characteristically developed was that of the swan-maiden, i. e. the descent of a heavenly maiden to earth and her capture and marriage by an earthly hero, and since tales embodying this motif are numerous in Indonesia, a consideration of the remainder of the mythology of this region may well begin with examples of this type. The Toradja in central Celebes say that once a woman gave birth to seven crabs which, in terror and disgust, she threw into the river. The crabs gained the bank, however, and there fixed seven places for bathing and built a house; but when they entered the water, they put off their crab disguise and assumed their human form. One day, when they were disporting themselves in the river and had left their crab garments on the shore, seven men crept up and stole their clothing, thus making it impossible for the maidens to resume their animal guise; and each of the men then took one of the maidens as his wife.

Another tale from the same tribe shows a more typical form of the story. According to this, seven parakeets one day flew down to bathe, doffing their bird garments and laying them on a bench while they made merry in the water as beautiful maidens. Magoenggoelota crept up and stole the garment of the youngest, who, realizing that something was wrong, called to her sisters, “Whew! I smell human flesh,” at which the others were vexed and said, “Oh, how could any mortal come here? You are joking.” Soon they all went out to resume their garments, but though the older sisters found theirs and donned them, the youngest was unable to perceive her own until she saw a man who held it in his hand. Her sisters had disappeared, for they had flown up to the sky; and when they arrived, they said to their mother, “Kapapitoe has gone away, for someone took her dress,” at which their mother shed tears and berated them for abandoning their sister, so that they did not dare to go bathing any more. Meanwhile the younger sister wept and begged Magoenggoelota to give her back her feather garment, but he refused, saying, “Come, stop your crying. I shall do you no harm, but shall take you to my house as my wife,” to which she answered, “Very well, if you will, take me with you; but first give me back my clothes.” When she had promised not to fly away, he returned her feather garment, but when she put it on, he held her fast until she said, “You don’t need to hold me; I will not go away, for I do not know the road. If you are fond of me, put me in your betel-box,” and accordingly he took out his betel-box, put her in it, and took her to his home.

A version from Halmahera shows a further development. A man once had seven sons. Attacked by a mysterious illness, he gradually turned to stone, and the sons, wishing to seek for medicine with which to cure him, determined at once to set out in search of it. The youngest son, however, being very ugly and covered with sores, was left behind; but he, resolving to do what he could, started off alone in another direction and came to the house of an old woman, who took pity on him, cured his sores, clothed him, and listened to the story of his quest. When she had heard his tale, she told him to hide among the bushes near a pool of water which was close by, and he had not been there long before five maidens came to bathe. They took off their garments and laid them on the bushes under which he was concealed; and while they were bathing, he stole the clothes of the youngest. The others, when they came out, put on their winged garments and flew away, but the youngest, unable to escape, begged in vain that he would return to her her magic robes, only to have him refuse and take her home as his wife. When he had told her of his quest and had asked her if she could help him, she immediately called for her flying-palace, and in it they both ascended to the sky. She brought her husband to the presence of the lord of heaven, who gave him, after hearing his story, the medicine for which he had been seeking, and with this the son now returned to his father, thanks to the aid of his wife’s magic flying-house. There he cured his parent; but his six brothers returning empty-handed, and being angry because the youngest had succeeded where they had failed, were later turned into dogs, while the hero and his wife lived happily ever after.

One more version of this theme may be given, in this instance from Java. A poor widow found in the forest an infant that had been abandoned and left at the foot of a tree, and in pity she took the child home with her, bringing it up as her own. The boy developed into a keen hunter and used to wander in the forest with his blowgun in search of birds, until one day he saw a very lovely one at which he shot and shot in vain. He followed it far into the jungle, and at last, losing sight of it entirely, he found himself on the margin of a beautiful pool, to which, as he looked, he saw a number of heavenly maidens flying down to bathe. From his hiding-place he beheld them lay aside their wings and enter the water, when he quietly reached out, and possessing himself of one pair, made a slight noise. At this alarm the bathers took fright, and hastening out of the water, seized their garments and flew away,--one, however, being unable to escape because the youth had possession of her wings. She begged him to return them, but he refused, saying that he would give her other garments if she would agree to be his wife; and being forced to assent to this proposal, she accompanied him to his home. One day she went to the river to wash clothes and left her husband to mind the kettle in which the rice was cooking, warning him on no account to take off the cover of the pot or to look within. After she had gone, he could not overcome his curiosity to see what it was she did not wish him to observe, his inquisitiveness being especially keen since she had always been able to provide abundant meals although he had given her only one measure of rice. Accordingly he raised the lid, but saw nothing in the pot except boiling water and a single grain of rice; and so, replacing the cover, he awaited his wife’s return. When she came, she hurried to the pot and looked in, only to find the single grain of rice, since the magic power by which she had hitherto been able to produce food miraculously had been destroyed by her husband’s curiosity. This, of course, made her angry, because henceforth she was obliged to labour and to prepare rice for every meal in the usual manner. The store of rice in the bin now rapidly decreased, and one day, when she came to the bottom, she found her magic garment which her husband had hidden there. On his return she informed him that she must now go back to the sky, though she said that she would leave with him their child, which was still but young, and told him that whenever the baby cried, he was to climb up, place it on the roof, and burn a stalk of rice below, and that then she would descend to give her daughter food. When she had said this, she took a stalk of rice, lit it, and rose up to the sky in its smoke. The sorrowing husband followed her commands, and the child grew up to be as beautiful as her mother.

In these and other versions we may trace many variations of the theme, from the simple forms like the first, which seem to rest on the wide-spread belief which prevails throughout the region, of human beings in animal guise who can put off their animal shape and resume that of man; to those like the latter, where it assumes the type common in Indian and European mythology. It would seem that we have here, as in the case of the trickster tales, one group whose direct Indian origin is unmistakable and which has spread widely wherever this early influence has come; and another which is native in all its essentials, although this simple and apparently aboriginal type may, after all, be a local imitation of a foreign theme. The extension of the tale in its more typically Indian form to Melanesia and even to western Polynesia (New Zealand) is of great interest, and raises questions which may better be discussed in a consideration of the Indonesian tales as a whole.

Many of the stories in Indonesia are based upon the theme of the animal disguise, or “Beauty and the Beast,” the following being typical of this class. Once there was an old woman who lived alone in the jungle and had a lizard which she brought up as her child. When he was full grown, he said to her, “Grandmother, go to the house of Lise, where there are seven sisters; and ask for the eldest of these for me as a wife.” The old woman did as the lizard requested, and taking the bridal gifts with her, went off; but when she came near the house, Lise saw her and said, “Look, there comes Lizard’s grandmother with a bridal present. Who would want to marry a lizard! Not I.”

The old woman arrived at the foot of the ladder, ascended it, and sat down in Lise’s house, whereupon the eldest sister gave her betel, and when her mouth was red from chewing it, asked, “What have you come for, Grandmother? Why do you come to us?” “Well, Granddaughter, I have come for this: to present a bridal gift; perhaps it will be accepted, perhaps not. That is what I have come to see.” As soon as she had spoken, the eldest indicated her refusal by getting up and giving the old woman a blow that knocked her across to the door, following this with another that rolled her down the ladder. The old woman picked herself up and went home; and when she had reached her house, the lizard inquired, “How did your visit succeed?” She replied, “O! alas! I was afraid and almost killed. The gift was not accepted, the eldest would not accept it; it seems she has no use for you because you are only a lizard.” “Do not be disturbed,” said he, “go tomorrow and ask for the second sister,” and the old woman did not refuse, but went the following morning, only to be denied as before. Each day she went again to another of the sisters until the turn of the youngest came. This time the girl did not listen to what Lise said and did not strike the old woman or drive her away, but agreed to become Lizard’s wife, at which the old woman was delighted and said that after seven nights she and her son would come. When this time had passed, the grandmother arrived, carrying the lizard in a basket. Kapapitoe (the youngest sister) laid down a mat for the old woman to sit on while she spread out the wedding gifts, whereupon the young bride gave her food, and after she had eaten and gone home, the lizard remained as Kapapitoe’s husband. The other sisters took pains to show their disgust. When they returned home at night, they would wipe the mud off their feet on Lizard’s back and would say, “Pitoe can’t prepare any garden; she must stay and take care of her lizard,” but Kapapitoe would say, “Keep quiet. I shall take him down to the river and wash off the mud.” After a while the older sisters got ready to make a clearing for a garden, and one day, when they had gone to work, the lizard said to his wife, “We have too much to bear. Your sisters tease us too much. Come, let us go and make a garden. Carry me in a basket on your back, wife, and gather also seven empty coconut-shells.” His wife agreed, put her husband in a basket, and after collecting the seven shells, went to the place which they were to make ready for their garden. Then the lizard said, “Put me down on the ground, wife, so that I can run about,” and thus he scurried around, lashing the grass and trees with his tail and covering a whole mountain-side in the course of the day; with one blow he felled a tree, cut it up by means of the sharp points on his skin, set the pieces afire, and burned the whole area, making the clearing smooth and good. Then he said to Kapapitoe, “Make a little seat for me, so that I can go and sit on it,” and when this was done, he ordered the seven coco-nut-shells to build a house for him, after which he was carried home by his wife. The older sisters returning at evening, saw the new clearing and wondered at it, perceiving that it was ready for planting. When they got home they said to their sister, “You can’t go thus to the planting feast of Ta Datoe. Your husband is only a lizard,” and again they wiped their feet on him.

The next day Lizard and his wife went once more to their clearing and saw that the house had already been built for them by the coco-nut-shells, which had turned into slaves; whereupon the lizard said, “Good, tomorrow evening we will hold the preliminary planting festival, and the next day a planting feast.” Ordering his seven slaves to prepare much food for the occasion, he said to his wife, “Let us go to the river and get ready,” but on arriving at the stream, they bathed far apart, and the lizard, taking off his animal disguise, became a very handsome man dressed in magnificent garments. When he came for his wife, she at first did not recognize him, but at last was convinced; and after she had been given costly new clothes and ornaments, they returned toward Lise’s house. As they came back, the preliminary planting festival had begun, and many people were gathered, including Kapapitoe’s elder sisters, Lise, and the old woman. The six sisters said, “Tell us, Grandmother, who is that coming? She looks so handsome, and her sarong rustles as if rain were falling. The hem of her sarong goes up and down every moment as it touches her ankles.” The old woman replied, “That is your youngest sister, and there comes her husband also,” whereupon, overcome with jealousy, the six sisters ran to meet their handsome brother-in-law and vied with each other for the privilege of carrying his betel-sack, saying, “I want to hold the sirih-sack of my brother-in-law.” He, however, went and sat down, and the six went to sit beside him to take him away from their youngest sister, but the lizard would have none of them.

Next day was the planting, and his sisters-in-law would not let the lizard go in company with his wife, but took possession of him and made him angry. Accordingly, when Lise and the sisters were asleep, the lizard got up, waked Kapapitoe, and taking a stone, laid four pieces of bark upon it and repeated a charm, “If there is power in the wish of the six sisters who wipe their feet on me, then I shall, when I open my eyes, be sitting on the ground just as I am now. But if my wish has power, when I open my eyes, I shall be sitting in my house and looking down on all other houses.” When he opened his eyes, he was seated in his house high up on -the mountain, for the stone had grown into a great rock, and his house was on top of it. His sisters-in-law tried to climb the cliff, but in vain, and so had to give up, while he and his wife, Kapapitoe, lived happily ever after.

A tale wide-spread in the Archipelago, and interesting because of its further extension elsewhere, introduces the theme of the descent to the underworld, though not as in the Polynesian examples of the Orpheus type. As told by the Galela, it runs as follows. Once upon a time there was a man who was accustomed to keep watch in his garden to prevent its being plundered by wild pigs. One night a pig appeared at which the man threw his spear; but the creature was only wounded and ran away with the missile sticking in its back. Next day the man followed the trail of the stricken animal and after a long chase found that the tracks led to a deep cleft in the rocks, which conducted him down into the earth, so that at last he came out in the middle of a town. The tracks led directly to one of the houses, which the man entered, and looking around, he saw his spear leaning by the door. From a neighbouring room he heard sounds of crying, and shortly a man appeared, who asked him who he was and what he wanted. When he replied that he had come to find his spear, which had been carried off in the body of a pig the night before, the owner of the house said, “No, you speared my child, and her you must cure. When she is well again, you shall marry her.” While talking, the man who was in search of his spear happened to look up and saw hanging from the rafters a bunch of pigs’ skins, which were the disguises that the people of this underworld assumed when they visited the upper earth to plunder the gardens of men. He finally agreed to try his skill in curing the woman whom he had thus unwittingly wounded, and in a short time she had wholly recovered. Some time after he had married her, she said to him, “Come now, you act just as if you had forgotten all about your wife and children,” to which he answered, “No, I think of them often; but how shall I find them?” A plan was proposed which he accepted, and in accordance with which they were both to put on the pig disguises and visit the upper world. No sooner said than done, and for three months he lived in the underworld, visiting the gardens of his own town in the upper world in the guise of a pig. Then one day, when he and others had come to the upper earth, they said to him, “Now, shut your eyes, and don’t open them until we give the word. After this, when you make a garden plot and the pigs come to break in and make trouble, do not shoot at them, but go and call out, saying that they must not come to this field but go to some others; and, then they will surely go away.” He did as they commanded and closed his eyes, but when he opened them, he was back once more in human form in his own garden and his spirit wife of the underworld he never saw again.

A still more characteristic version is told in Celebes. Seven brothers were hunting and drying the meat of the pigs which they had killed, but, as in one of the trickster tales, a man appeared who stole -the food and made away with it, the brother who had been left on guard being unable to stop him. When the turn of the youngest came, he succeeded in spearing the robber in the back, but the culprit ran off and disappeared with the spear still sticking in him. Now the spear belonged to the boys’ grandfather, who, angry at its loss, demanded that they find it and return it. The brothers, therefore, went to a great hole in the earth, from which, they had discovered, the robber usually emerged. Taking a long vine, the others lowered the eldest, but he, soon terrified at the darkness, demanded to be hauled up again; and thus it went with all six older brothers, only the youngest being brave enough to reach the bottom. Once arrived, he found himself in the underworld and there soon discovered a town. Asking if he might come in, he was refused admittance on the ground that the chief was suffering from a great spear with which he had been wounded, and which was still embedded in his back. The young hero thereupon declared that he could cure the sufferer and was accordingly admitted to the chief’s house; but when he was alone with the patient, he killed him, pulled out the spear, and hastened to regain the place where he had been let down. On the way he met seven beautiful maidens who wished to accompany him to the upper world, and so all were pulled up together by the brothers stationed above, and each of them then took one of the girls for his wife. The occurrence of this tale in Japan, and on the north-west coast of America is a feature of considerable interest.

A story of quite wide distribution is that of the half-child. According to the Loda version, the first man and woman lived by a river, on whose banks they had a garden. A boy was born to them, but later, when a second child was about to be brought into the world, a great rain and flood came and washed away half of the garden, whereupon the woman cursed the rain, the result of her malediction being that when the child was born, it was only half a human being and had but one eye, one arm, and one leg. When Half-Child had grown up, he said to his mother, “Alas, what shall I do, so that I may be like my brother, who has two arms and two legs?” Determining to go to the great deity in the upper world and beg him to make him whole, he climbed up and laid his request before the god, who, after some discussion, agreed to help him, telling him to bathe in a pool which he showed him, and at the same time cautioning him not to go into the water if he saw any one else bathing. Half-Child went to the pool, found no one else there, and after bathing came out restored to his proper shape and made very handsome.

Returning to his home, he found his brother eating his dinner, and the latter said to him, “Well, brother, you look very beautiful!” “Yes,” said Half-Child, “the deity granted me to be even as you are.” Then his elder brother asked, “Is the god far away?” and the other replied, “No, he is not far, for I was able to reach him easily.” The elder brother at once went up to see the divinity, and when asked why he had come, he said that he wished to be made as handsome as his younger brother. The deity replied, “No, you are now just as you ought to be, and must remain so”; but since the other would not be satisfied, at length the god said, “Well, go to that pool there and bathe; but you must not do so unless you see a dog (i. e. the image or reflection of a dog) in it, in which case you must bathe with a piece of white cloth tied round your neck.” So the elder brother went to the pool, tied a piece of cloth around his neck, and bathed, and behold! he was turned into a dog with a white mark around his throat; whereupon he returned to this world and found his brother, Half-Child, at dinner. “Alas!” said the younger brother, “I told you not to go, but you would do so, and now see what has become of you!” and he added, “Here, my brother, you must always remain under my table and eat what falls from it.”

Tales which involve themes of the “grateful animals” and the “impossible tasks” are quite common; and as an example of one type of these we may take a Dustin story from British North Borneo. Serungal was an ugly man, but he wished very much to marry a rajah’s daughter. On his way to the village of the rajah he saw some men killing an ant, but when he remonstrated with them, they ran away and left the insect, which crawled off in safety. A little farther on Serungal heard some people shouting and found that they were trying to kill a fire-fly, whose life he saved in the same manner as he had that of the ant; and before he reached the rajah’s gate he also rescued a squirrel. Arrived before the rajah, Serungal made known to him that he had come to ask for the hand of one of his daughters; but since the rajah did not want him for a son-in-law, he said to him, “If you can pick up the rice which is in this basket, after it has been scattered over the plain, you may have my daughter.” Serungal thought that he could not succeed in this impossible task, for the rajah allowed him only short time to complete it; but nevertheless he determined to try, only to find that achievement was hopeless. He began to weep, but soon an ant came to him, and learning the reason of his lamentation, said, “Well, stop crying, and I will help you, for you helped me when men wished to kill me,” and accordingly the ant called his companions, who quickly sought and gathered the grains of rice, so that the basket soon was full once more. When Serungal carried the receptacle to the rajah and announced that he had accomplished the task, the latter said, “Well, you may have my daughter, but first you must climb my betel-nut tree and pluck all the nuts.” Now this tree was so tall that its top was lost in the clouds, and Serungal, after several vain attempts, sat at the foot of the tree, weeping. To him then came the squirrel whom he had befriended, and in gratitude for the aid which Serungal had given him it climbed the tree for him and brought down all the nuts. The rajah had one more task, however, for Serungal to accomplish, telling him that he might have his youngest daughter if he could pick her out from among her six other sisters when all were shut up in a perfectly dark room. Serungal again was in despair when the fire-fly came to him and said, “I will search for you and I will settle on the nose of the seventh daughter; so wherever you see a light, that will be the place where the rajah’s youngest daughter is.” Accordingly Serungal went into the darkened room, and seeing the fire-fly, carried away the woman on whom it had settled; whereupon the rajah admitted Serungal’s success and thus was obliged to recognize him as his son-in-law. Tales of this type present such close analogies to Indian and wide-spread European types that it is probable that they are directly or indirectly due to Hindu contact.

Widely disseminated in Indonesia, and also occurring far outside its limits, are stories based on a theme involving the miraculous providing of food by women of supernatural origin. A Bornean version may serve as an example of this type. One day a man named Rakian was out hunting for honey, when in the top of a mangis-tree he saw a number of bees’ nests. The bees belonging to one of these were white, and as this was a curiosity, he selected this nest, removed it carefully, and carried it home. He spent the next day working in his garden and did not return to his house until evening; but when he entered, he found rice and fish already cooked and standing on his food-shelf above the fire. “Who can have cooked for me?” he thought, “for I live here alone. This fish is not mine, although the rice is. The rice is cold, and must have been cooked some time. Perhaps someone has come and cooked for me and then taken away my bees’ nest.” On going to look, however, he found his bees’ nest still where he had left it; so he sat down and ate, saying, “Well, if someone is going to cook for me, so much the better.” In the morning he went off again to his garden, and when he came back at night, there was his food already cooked as before; and this continued for some time until one day he resolved to return early to see if he could not solve the mystery. Accordingly he set off as if to go to his garden and then quietly came back and hid himself where he could watch. By and by the door of the house creaked, and a beautiful woman came out and went to the river to get water; but while she was gone, Rakian entered the house and looking at his bees’ nest found that there were no bees in it. So taking the nest and hiding it, he secreted himself in the house; and after a while the woman returned and went to the place where the nest had been. “Oh,” said she, weeping, “who has taken my box? It cannot be Rakian, for he has gone to his garden. I am afraid he will come back and find me.” When it was evening, Rakian came out as if he had just returned from his garden, but the woman sat there silent. “Why are you here?” said he; “perhaps you want to steal my bees?” but the woman answered, “I don’t know anything about your bees.” Rakian went to look for his bees’ nest, but of course could not find it, for he had hidden it away; whereupon he again accused her of taking his honey, while she denied all knowledge of it. “Well, never mind,” said he; “will you cook for me, for I am hungry?” She, however, replied that she did not wish to cook, for she was vexed; and then she taxed Rakian with having taken her box, which, she said, contained all her clothes; but he replied that he would not give it to her because he was afraid that she would get into it again. “I will not get into it,” said she. “If you like me, you can take me for your wife. My mother wished to give me to you in this way, for you have no wife here, and I have no husband in my country.” Accordingly Rakian gave her the bees’ nest, and the woman then said, “If you take me as your wife, you must never call me a bee-woman, for if you do I shall be ashamed.” Rakian promised, and so they were married; and by and by his wife bore him a child. Now one day there was a feast at a neighbour’s, to which Rakian went as a guest; but when the people asked him where his wife had come from, as they had never before seen so beautiful a woman, he replied evasively. After a while, however, all the men got drunk, and then, when they kept asking him where his wife had come from, he forgot his promise and said, “The truth is my wife was at first a bee.”

When Rakian got home, his wife was silent and would not speak to him, but after a while she said, “What did I tell you long ago? I think you have been saying things to make me ashamed.” Her husband denied that he had said anything wrong, but she insisted, declaring, “You are lying, for though you were far away, I heard what you said,” whereupon Rakian was silent in his turn. “I shall now go to my home,” said she, “but the child I will leave with you. In seven days my father will pass by here, and I shall go with him.” Rakian wept, but could not move her, and seven days later he saw a white bee flying by, whereupon his wife came out of the house, and saying, “There is my father,” she turned into a bee once more and flew away, while Rakian hurried into the house, seized the child, and hastened off in pursuit. For seven days he followed the bees, and then losing sight of them, found himself on the banks of a stream where he lay down with the child and slept. By and by a woman came from a house near by, woke him, and said, “Rakian, why don’t you go to your wife’s house, and sleep there? The house is not far off.” “When I have bathed, you must show me the way,” said he, and she replied, “Very well”; so they went, and the woman pointed his wife’s house out to him. “Her room is right in the middle. There are eleven rooms in the house. If you enter, you must not be afraid, for the roof-beams are full of bees, but they do not attack men.”

Accordingly Rakian climbed up into the house and found it full of bees, but in the middle room there were none. The child began to cry, whereupon a voice from the middle room asked, “Why do you not come out? Have you no pity on your child, that is weeping here?” Then, after a time, Rakian’s wife appeared, and the child ran to her, and Rakian’s heart was glad; but his wife said to him, “What did I tell you at first, that you were not to tell whence I came? If you had not been able to follow me here, certainly there would have been distress for you.” When she finished speaking, all the bees dropped down from the roof-beams to the floor and became men; while as for Rakian and his child, they stayed in the bees’ village and did not go back any more.

A version from the Philippines adds several features of interest. “‘We go to take greens, sister-in-law Dinay, perhaps the siksiklat [a sort of vine, whose leaves are used for greens] will taste good. I have heard that the siksiklat is good,’ said Aponibolinayen. They went to get her siksiklat. When they arrived at the place of small trees, which they thought was the place of the siksiklat, they looked. Aponibolinayen was the first who looked. As soon as she began to break off the siksiklat which she saw she did not break any more, but the siksiklat encircled and carried her up. When they reached the sky, the siksiklatplaced her below the alosip-tree. She sat for a long time. Soon she heard the crowing of the rooster. She stood up and went to see the rooster which crowed. She saw a spring. She saw it was pretty, because its sands were oday and its gravel pagatpat and the top of the betel-nut-tree was gold, and the place where the people step was a large Chinese plate which was gold. She was surprised, for she saw that the house was small. She was afraid and soon began to climb the betel-nut-tree, and she hid herself.

“The man who owned the house, which she saw near the well, was Ini-init--the sun. But he was not in the place of his house, because he went out and went above to make the sun, because that was his work in the daytime. And the next day Aponibolinayen saw him, who went out of his house, because he went again to make the sun. And Aponibolinayen went after him to his house, because she saw the man, who owned the house, who left. When she arrived in the house, she quickly cooked, because she was very hungry.

“When she finished cooking, she took the stick used in roasting fish and cooked it, and the fish stick which she cooked became cut-up fish, because she used her magic power. When she finished to cook the fish, she took out rice from the pot, and when she had finished to take out the rice from the pot, she took off the meat from the fish. When she finished taking the fish from the pot, she ate. When she finished eating, she washed. When she finished washing, she kept those things which she used to eat, the coconut shell cup and plate, and she laid down to sleep.

“When the afternoon came, Ini-init went home to his house after he finished fishing. He saw his house, which appeared as if it was burning, not slowly. He went home because it appeared as if his house was burning. When he arrived at his house, it was not burning, and he was surprised because it appeared as if there was a flame at the place of his bed. When he was in his house, he saw that which was like the flame of the fire, at the place of his bed, was a very pretty lady.

“Soon he cooked, and when he had finished to cook he scaled the fish, and when he had finished scaling he cut it into many pieces, and he made a noise on the bamboo floor when he cut the fish. The woman awoke, who was asleep on his bed. She saw that the man who cut the fish was a handsome man, and that he dragged his hair. The pot she had used to cook in looked like the egg of a rooster, and he was surprised because it looked like the egg of a rooster; and the rice which she cooked was one grain of broken rice. Because of all this Ini-init was surprised, for the pot was very small with which she cooked. After Ini-init cooked, the woman vanished and she went to the leaves of the betel-nut, where she went to hide.

“After Ini-init finished cooking the fish, he saw the bed, the place where the woman was sleeping, was empty. He was looking continually, but he did not find her. When he could not find her, he ate alone, and when he finished eating he washed, and when he finished washing the dishes he put away, and when he had finished putting away he went to the yard to get a fresh breath. . . . When it began to be early morning, he left his house, he who went up, because it was his business to make the sun. And Aponibolinayen went again into the house.

“When it became afternoon, Ini-init went to his home, and Aponibolinayen had cooked, after which she went out to the betel-nut trees. When Ini-init arrived, he was surprised because his food was cooked, for there was no person in his house. As soon as he saw the cooked rice and the cooked fish in the dish, he took the fish and the rice and began to eat. When he had finished eating, he went to his yard to take a fresh breath and he was troubled in his mind when he thought of what had happened. He said, ‘Perhaps the woman, which I saw, came to cook and has left the house. Sometime I shall try to hide and watch, so that I may catch her.’ He went to sleep, and when it became early morning he went to cook his food. When he had finished eating, he went again to make the sun, and Aponibolinayen went again to his house.

“When the sun had nearly sunk, he sent the big star who was next to follow him in the sky, and he went home to spy on the woman. When he had nearly reached his home, he saw the house appeared as if it was burning. He walked softly when he went up the ladder. He slammed shut the door. He reached truly the woman who was cooking in the house. He went quickly and the woman said to him, ‘You cut me only once, so that I only cure one time, if you are the old enemy.’ ‘If I were the old enemy, I should have cut before,’ said Ini-init, and he sat near her who cooked. He took out the betel-nut, and he arranged it so that they began to chew the betel-nut, and he said, ‘Ala! young lady, we are going to chew, because it is bad for us to talk who do not know each other’s names.’ Aponibolinayen answered, ‘No, for if the rich man who practises magic is able to give to the rich woman who has magical power, soon there will be a sign.’ Ini-init said, ‘No, hurry up even though we are related, for you come here if we are not related.’

“He begged her, and he cut the betel-nut, which was to be chewed, which was covered with gold, and he gave it to the woman who had magical power, and they chewed. When she laid down the quid, it looked like the agate bead, which has no hole for the thread. And the quid of Ini-init looked like a square bead.

“‘My name is Ini-init, who often goes to travel over the world. I always stop in the afternoon. What can I do, it is my business,’ he said. Aponibolinayen was next to tell her name. ‘My name is Aponibolinayen, who lives in Kaodanan, who am the sister of Awig,’ she said, and when they had finished telling their names, both their quids looked like the agate bead, which is pinoglan, which has no hole. Ini-init said, ‘We are relatives, and it is good for us to be married. Do not be afraid even though you did not come here of your own accord. I go to Kaodanan,’ he said. Then they married, and the sun went to shine on the world, because it was his business, and the big star also had business when it became night.”

In some versions the woman who provides food miraculously is a tree-spirit, or comes from a plant or fruit; while in other stories she appears from the sea. In its distribution the tale extends eastward into Melanesia.

The following tale embodies, among other incidents in the Indonesian area, that in which an animal, insect, or inanimate object answers for an escaping fugitive, and so aids his flight. Two sisters, whose parents had been killed and eaten by a tiger and a garuda bird, saved themselves from their parents’ fate by hiding in a drum; but one day a man went out hunting, and his arrow falling on the roof of the house where the two were hidden, he found the girls and took the older, whose name was Sunrise, as his wife.

After a time the man said to his sister-in-law, “Bring me a piece of bamboo, that I may knock out the partition (at the nodes) and make a water-vessel for you to get water in,” but when he fixed it, he secretly made holes through the bottom also. He then gave her the water-vessel, and she went to the stream to bring water, but the bamboo would not hold it; and after she had tried for a long time, she discovered the holes in the bottom. Accordingly she returned to the house, but found that Sunrise and her husband had gone, for he had pierced the bottom of the water-vessel so that he and his wife might have time to run away. Before going off, however, Sunrise had left two lice behind her and had instructed them to answer for her when her sister should return and thus delay pursuit, her orders being, “If she calls me from the land-side, do you answer from the sea-side; if she calls me from the seaside, do you answer from the land-side; if she asks you the way, show it to her.” When the deserted sister returned to the house, she called to Sunrise and thought she heard an answer, but when she went thither, the reply came from the opposite direction. Thus deceived by the false calls, she was long delayed; but finally she discovered the trick, asked the way which Sunrise had taken, and set off in pursuit.

By and by she came upon an old woman, to whom she called, “Oh, granny! Oh, granny! look here!” The old woman said to herself, “Well, ever since the world was made, I have lived alone, so I won’t look,” but, nevertheless, she did look, and then asked, “Well, Granddaughter, where do you come from?” “Granny, I am seeking my older sister,” said the other sister, whose name was Kokamomako; and then hearing the sound of a drum, she inquired, “Granny, why are they having a feast over there?” The old woman answered, “Just now they went by with your sister,” and so Kokamomako, continued on her way.

When she came to the house, she called out, “Show me the hair of my sister in the window,” but the people inside held up the hair of a cat, whereupon Kokamomako said, “My sister is indeed ugly, but that is the hair of a cat. You must show me her foot.” Then the people took the foot of a cat and thrust it out of the window, saying, “If you want us to produce your sister, you must pick up a basket of rice that we will throw out,” whereupon they threw it out and scattered it. Then Kokamomako wept, for this was a task which she could not accomplish; but a rice-bird came up to her and asked, “What is your trouble, and what do you want, that you are picking that up?” She replied, “I have no trouble, and I don’t want anything, but they have hidden my elder sister.” Then the rice-bird helped her, and it was not long before the rice was all gathered; but still the people would not bring out her sister, Sunrise; whereupon Kokamomako said, “If you don’t produce my sister, I will go home and set fire to my house,” adding, “when you see blue smoke, that will be the furniture; when you see white smoke, that will be money; when you see red smoke, that will be I.” Then she went away, and soon they saw that she had set fire to her house, perceiving that the smoke was first blue, then white, and then red. Knowing that her sister was now dead, Sunrise went and bathed, and when she came back to the house, she took a knife and stabbed herself and died. By and by her husband went to carry her food, and found her dead, whereupon he also took a knife and tried to kill himself, but did not succeed.

Now there was a slave in the house who went to get water at the river, and when she looked in the stream, seeing the reflection of Sunrise, she thought it was her own and called out, “Oh, sirs, you said that I was ugly, but really I am beautiful.” Proud of her supposed good looks and thinking herself too good to be a slave, she threw away her water-vessel and broke it; but when she went back to the house, they sent her back again for water and once more she saw the reflection of Sunrise, for the latter and her younger sister (their ghosts) were hidden in the top of a tree that leaned over the stream. This, however, the slave did not know, and again she said, “Oh, sirs, you said that I was ugly, but I am really beautiful,” and again she threw away the water-vessel and broke it, doing this seven times before she told the people in the house that she had seen the reflection of Sunrise.

In the house was another slave who suffered from wounds on his legs, and the husband of Sunrise ordered him to dive into the stream in order to seize her, but he refused. So all set upon him, and he was forced to do as he was bid; but though he dove and dove, and broke open his wounds, and coloured the stream with his blood, he could not find Sunrise. Accordingly he came ashore and said, “I told you just now that I could not do it, and now you have forced me to try, and I have broken my wounds open again.” Thereupon, as they sat by the stream, the husband happened to look up, and seeing his wife in the top of the tree, he called out, “Let down a rope, so that I may climb up.” So she lowered a copper wire, saying, “When you get half way up, don’t hold on so tight,” but when he climbed up and reached the half-way point, she cut the wire, and he fell and was dashed to pieces.

In the Polynesian and Melanesian areas the tales relating to cannibals were numerous; and they are also common in Indonesia, as several examples will show. Once there was an ogress called Bake, and a princess who spent her time weaving. The brothers of the princess went fishing, and while they were gone, she dropped her shuttle, whereupon she began to sing a song calling upon them to come and pick it up. Then the ground suddenly split asunder, and out of it came Bake who wanted to carry the princess away, but when the latter said, “I must wait, I must wait for my brothers,” Bake said to her, “Very well, pound some rice for me.” After the maiden had pounded a little rice, she rested, for she wished to delay until her brothers should come back from fishing; but when the ogress could wait no longer, she herself took the pestle and finished preparing the rice. The princess set water on to boil and cooked the rice, which she ate from a tiny vessel using a needle for a spoon, whereas Bake ate from a trough with a great stone plate as a spoon. When, in spite of all delay, the princess had finished, the ogress refused to wait longer, and taking the maiden on her back she carried her off.

The princess, however, had secretly tied the end of a skein of thread about the tip of her finger so that the thread unwound itself behind the ogress as she went; and just as the process was completed, the two brothers of the girl returned. They called to her, but getting no reply, searched diligently and found the thread, whereupon they started off at once in pursuit, following the trail thus left for their guidance. They came to some people who were making a garden and asked them if they had seen any one passing, going inland; and when the people replied, “Yes, Inang-i-Bake has just gone by, carrying a white pig on her back, and dragging something that constantly unwound as she went,” the two brothers pursued their quest. From time to time they met other people, all of whom gave the same information, until at last the brothers learned that Inang-i-Bake’s home was near by. Now close to the house was a deep river over which was a bridge, and as the two brothers went toward Bake’s house, they saw something very white underneath it in a pen. When they got near, they perceived that this was their sister; for Bake had taken away all her clothes and had cut off her hair, and even shaved off her eyebrows. So the brothers threw their head-cloths to the princess for a covering, and then climbed into the house, but found that Bake was not at home, though her daughter, Ginabai, was there. She asked them why they had come, and when they replied that they had heard that she was looking for someone to work for her, she answered, “Yes, you are right. You can cook dinner for me. Go down and kill the pig that you will find beneath the house.” Accordingly the brothers went below the house to cook the dinner, but first they released their sister from the pen, and one of the brothers took her away across the river. When he returned, he secretly cut through all but one of the supports of the bridge, so that it could barely sustain the weight of a man; and then came back to help his brother. Again they went up into the house, and killing Ginabai, they shore off her hair and hung it out of the window of her room; after which they cut up her body and cooked and spiced it well, and ordered a louse from her head to answer for her when any one should call.

On Inang-i-Bake’s return they set before her the food which they had cooked, and it happened that Ginabai’s brother found one of her fingers in his portion. When he recognized it, he cried out, and the bird which was sitting on the roof of the house said, “Inang-i-Bake has eaten her child, and is angry,” whereupon the people that were working in the garden, hearing the bird accuse Inang-i-Bake, said to each other, “Keep still, what is that that it is saying, ‘Inang-i-Bake has eaten her child and is angry’?” Then one of them replied, “Be still! shut your mouth! why don’t you keep quiet and listen to the bird who speaks, and who tells what is forbidden; who speaks of what is not allowed?” Then Ginabai’s brother sent his blind slave to look for his sister, and the slave went and called, “Mistress, mistress!” The louse answering in place of Ginabai, the slave returned and said, “My mistress is there.” When, however, the bird had again called out, and Ginabai’s brother had once more sent his slave, he finally went himself and found that his sister was not there, but only the louse which had answered for her. So he slew the louse and cut it into small pieces and cried out to the brothers of the princess, “Wait a bit, you have killed my sister,” but they ran away as fast as they could to the other side of the river, and when Ginabai’s brother followed them across the bridge, it broke and he fell into the water and was drowned.

Another version from the Moluccas runs as follows. Two women once went fishing, and coming to a river, one said to the other, “There are many fish in that pool; reach down for them,” but when the other stooped for the fish, the first woman gave her a push, so that she fell into the water, and then she held her under with a forked stick. Great bubbles came up as the victim struggled, but at last they ceased and she was drowned, whereupon the murderess drew out the body, cut off some flesh, put it in a bamboo vessel, and going home, set the vessel on the fire to cook. Now the dead woman had two children, a boy and a girl, and they asked the wicked woman what she was cooking. She replied, “Fish and eels,” and then saying that she was going back to her comrade, she told the children to watch what she had left to cook. After she had left, the flesh of the children’s mother soon began to boil, saying, “I am your breasts here; I am your mother here!” The girl, who heard this, called to her brother, and he came and listened, whereupon the children said to one another, “We must run away, whether we meet with good fortune or bad.” The wicked woman now came home, and the children asked her where their mother was, to which she replied that her companion was still busy smoking the fish which they had caught, and that she was now going to take her some food. Then she went off again, telling the children to look after her own little one, who was younger than they; but when she had gone, the two children took the young child of the wicked woman, put it in the pan to cook over the fire, and ran away. They went across seven mountains and seven valleys and came to a river which was full of crocodiles, so that they could not pass. A bird saw them, however, and learning of their trouble, told them of a log that lay athwart the river some distance up-stream; and after they were safe on the other side, the bird flew across the log, which it nearly severed with its beak. The wicked woman returning to the house and finding her child all shrivelled and burned, set out at once in pursuit, saying, “You who did this shall die this very day.” By and by she came to the log by which the children had crossed, but when she attempted to follow them, it broke under her weight, and she fell into the stream, and the crocodiles ate her up. The bird now told the children that they must not follow the path that led to the left, but must take that going to the right. They did not heed this advice, however, and turning off to the left, after a time they met Kine-kine-boro, an ogre who had a carrying-basket on his back in which a man was stuck head down. The children called out, “Good grandfather, grandfather, look here!” and he, replying, “Ha! From the beginning of the world, I have never had any children or grandchildren,” looked around and called to them, “Grandchildren, come here!” Accordingly they went with him to his house, and after they had been there half a moon, they said to him, “Grandfather, haven’t you an axe?” “Yes,” said he, “here is the axe, what do you want with it?” “We want to make a canoe to play with.” So they went to cut down a tree, and Kine-kine-boro felled one and carried it home for them; but next day, when the ogre and his wife had gone off to seek for men to eat, the children finished their canoe, loaded it with rice and precious goods belonging to the ogre, and paddled away. Not long after, Kine-kine-boro and his wife returned, and as they had not found any men, they went to the enclosure where the children were kept, purposing to eat them. Since, however, their intended victims were not there, the ogre and his wife climbed into a tree to look for them, but could not see them, though by climbing a very tall tree Kine-kine-boro at last descried them, the sail of their canoe being a mere speck on the horizon. Then he took his hair and from it plaited a rope, which he threw after the canoe like a lasso, so that finally he caught the little boat and began to pull it in. The two children tried to cut the rope, but in vain, until, after sawing at it for a long time with a kris, it broke, whereupon--so tightly had the rope been stretched--the tree, in whose top Kine-kine-boro was, snapped back. Seven times it swayed toward the land, and seven times toward the sea, and Kine-kine-boro fell from the tree upon his wife who was below, and they both burst with a noise like thunder and died, but the children got safely away.

As an example of a different type of cannibal-story the following may serve A swangi (one who is secretly a vampire) once was going out to eat the flesh of men when a youth met him and begged to be allowed to accompany him, to which the swangi agreed, but said, “If you go with me, you must shut your eyes, and open them only when I tell you.” The young man promised and closed his eyes, and when, soon afterward, the swangi said, “Open your eyes,” he found that he and the swangi were on the top of a sirih-plant that grew up a tall tree. At the foot of this plant was a house, and one of the children of the people living there was ill. Then the swangi, saying, “You stay here. I will go down,” descended and took the liver out of the child, and not only ate it himself, but also gave the young man a small piece. The latter, however, did not swallow it, but only pretended to do so, eating instead a bit of coco-nut which he held concealed in his hand. Then the swangi said to the young man, “Tell me, friend, isn’t it good?” and the latter replied, “It is very good.” Thereupon the swangi climbed down again to get him more liver, but after he had gone, the youth also descended, tied a rope to a heavy rice-mortar, and then went up once more, hauling the mortar to the top of the tree. By and by the swangi came out, but just as he reached the foot of the tree, the young man let the rice-mortar drop and called out, “It is falling; catch it.” Thus the rice-mortar fell on the swangi and killed him, whereupon the youth climbed down and showed the people in the house the liver of their child, saying, “Look, this is your child’s liver. A swangi has eaten the liver, so your child died. But it was fortunate that I was there, for now the swangi is dead.”

The following Philippine tale introduces a number of incidents whose distribution is of interest. Aponibolinayen said, “I am anxious to eat the fruit of the bolnay-tree belonging to Matawitawen;” but when Ligi asked, “What did you say?” she replied, “I said that I want some fish roe.” Accordingly, Ligi took his net and went off after fish, and when he had caught some, he took out the roe, brought it back to the house, and gave it to Aponibolinayen. She accepted it, but did not eat it; and after Ligi had gone away, she threw the roe to the dogs, who fought for it. Ligi heard them and said, “What are the dogs fighting about? I think you threw away the fish roe,” to which Aponibolinayen replied, “I dropped some.” Again Aponibolinayen said to herself that she wanted the fruit of the bolnay-tree of Matawitawen; but when Ligi heard her and asked what she said, she replied, “I am anxious for some deer liver.” So Ligi went to kill a deer, and he got one and brought the liver home; but though Aponibolinayen again took what he brought, she did not eat it, but when Ligi slept, flung it to the dogs, who quarrelled over it and woke Ligi. Once more he accused her of having thrown the food away, but she again denied it) after which she went to her room and lay down, while Ligi, turning himself into an ant, crept through the cracks of the floor, and hearing what Aponibolinayen, was saying to herself, learned that she had not told him the truth. Thereupon he resumed his human form, and going to Aponibolinayen, said, “Why did you not tell the truth?” She answered, “I didn’t, because Matawitawen is very far, and I am afraid that you will be lost,” to which he replied, “No, give me a sack,” and so he took it and went off to get the bolnay fruit.

Arriving at the place where the tree grew, Ligi took the fruit and put it in the sack and carried some also in his hand; but when he was passing the spring in Kadalayapan on his way home, he met some beautiful girls, who said to him, “How pretty the bolnay fruit is! This sack is filled, and you have some also in your hands. Will you not give us some?” Ligi, however, gave them all the fruit, whereupon they said, “The child which Aponibolinayen is about to bear, and which asks for the bolnay fruit, is not your child. It is the child of Maobagan.” At this Ligi was angry, and when he got home, he gave Aponibolinayen only the empty sack; but there was a small piece of the fruit which the other women had overlooked, and Aponibolinayen ate it and said, “I am anxious to eat more, if there are more.” “What is that?” cried Ligi, angrily. “Get ready, for I will put you in the place where the tree is, if you want more,” and so saying, he seized her and dragged her away to the tree, and digging a hole at its foot, he buried her in it and went away. Soon Aponibolinayen was about to give birth to her child. ”What can I do?” she asked Ayo, her spirit helper; and when Ayo replied, “The best thing to do is to prick your little finger,” Aponibolinayen did so, and from the wound was born a child which was given the name of Kanag.

Every time that he was bathed, he grew, and by and by, when he had become a boy, he was anxious to leave the pit; but his mother was afraid lest his father should find them. Nevertheless, the boy got out, and when he was safely away from the hole, he listened until he heard the sound of other children playing and then went to where they were swimming. The others inquired who he was, and one of them, called Dagolayan, saying, “He looks like my uncle in Kadalayapan,” asked Kanag who his father was, to which he replied that his parent was of Matawitawen. Dagolayan and Kanag decided that they would go to fight, and Kanag went back to where his mother was in the pit at the foot of the tree to tell her; but though she did not want him to go, he insisted and said, “No, I am going. I will plant a vine; and if it wilts, you will know that I am dead.”

Next day Dagolayan and Kanag went off to fight, and when they struck their shields, it sounded as though a thousand men were coming. They met Ligi, who was surprised and who asked where he got the other boy who was with him; but when he heard, he wished to kill Kanag, who was saved only by the pleading of Dagolayan. Then they went and lay in wait to catch heads, and when a pretty young girl went by the place in which Kanag was hidden, he seized her and cut off her head, whereas Ligi and Dagolayan were able to get only the heads of an old man and an old woman. At this Dagolayan was angry and said to Kanag, “What did you say when you took the girl’s head?” Kanag replied, “The son of an alan [a minor spirit] of Matawitawen kills the pretty girl,” is what I said; but Dagolayan answered, “No, that is not what you said. You said that you were the son of a man who lived in Kadalayapan,” and thereupon they both went to live with Ligi in that place. Now, one day they played and danced in Kadalayapan, and when Kanag danced, the whole town trembled, and when he moved his feet, the fish were about his feet, which they went to lap, for the water came up into the town; but when he stamped, the coco-nuts fell from the trees, so that Ligi was angry, and taking his head-axe, he cut off Kanag’s head. At this instant Aponibolinayen looked at the vine which Kanag had planted, and behold, the leaves were withered; so she made haste to go in search of him. When she reached the place where Ligi lived, he saw her, but she reproached him, saying, “How angry you were, Ligi, for you killed your son.” At this Ligi hung his head, because he did not know that Kanag was his son; but Aponibolinayen said, “I will use magic, so that when I whip my perfume, alikadakad, he will stand up.”

Thus she restored Kanag to life, and when he came to himself, he said, “How long my sleep is!” “No, do not say that, your father killed you,” said Aponibolinayen. Ligi tried to keep Aponibolinayen and Kanag with him, but refusing to stay, they went back to Matawitawen, and when they arrived there, Aponibolinayen said, “I will use my power so that Ligi cannot see us, and the trail will become filled with thorns.” Accordingly Ligi could not walk in the trail, could not find them, and was sad; and therefore he lay down, while his hair grew like vines along the ground; and he did not eat, for he was always grieving about the things which he had done to his wife and son. At last, however, they forgave him and returned to Kadalayapan; and Ligi ordered his spirit helper to kill those women whom he had met at the spring, and to whom he had given the bolnay fruit, for they had told him lies about Aponibolinayen.

Tales embodying the theme of the “magic flight” seem to be rare in the Oceanic area, and the few which have been reported may well be introduced. As an example, a story from Halmahera may be taken. A woman once ate some mangoes belonging to a giant, while her dog devoured the skins, the consequence being that the woman bore seven children, and the dog, seven puppies. When the giant heard of it, he said, “Ha! ha! one of the children is mine.” So they brought out one, but he would not take it; then they brought out another, but he would not take that; and not until they brought out the last, the seventh, did he say, “Hal ha! that is my child.” He took the boy home with him, saying, “Stay here, while I go to get food,” and when he came back, he shut up the men whom he had caught. One day he said to the boy, whose name was Badabangisa, “You must not go away, but stay in the house, and prepare your food and eat. I shall be gone a week.” The next time he went off, he said that he would be absent two weeks; but when he had left, Badabangisa released the men whom the giant had shut up, and taking the monster’s entire store of treasure, they all ran away after setting fire to the house. The cinders from the burning dwelling fell on the giant’s breast far away, and as he brushed them off, he said, “Badabangisa has set my house afire.” Accordingly he went home, and finding only the ashes of his abode, which were not yet quite cold, he immediately set out in pursuit. The fugitives, however, heard him coming, and when presently he asked, “Badabangisa, what wrong has your father done, that you should leave him?” Badabangisa replied, “I am waiting for you here.” Then Badabangisa’s companions, the men whom he had freed, threw salt behind them, and it became a great sea which delayed the giant, though finally he drank it all up.

Again he came after them, but when Badabangisa said to his friends, “Throw some ashes behind you,” they did so, and the giant’s eyes thus being blinded, he could not see. Yet still he pursued, so that Badabangisa said to his friends, “Throw some jungle marbles behind you,” and when they had done this, the thorny plants on which these little fruits grow, sprang up everywhere and covered the whole body of the giant. This also he finally overcame, and again followed after them, whereat Badabangisa said, “Throw some millet behind you,” and when they did so, the ogre stopped to eat it. Once more the monster came on, and since nothing was left to delay him, Badabangisa said, “Now my father will eat us up.” Thereupon he called out to the giant, “Father, what is that in your flesh?” and the giant replied, “Do not touch that; it is the life of my body. If you strike that, I shall die.” But Badabangisa. struck it, and his father dropped dead, and when he struck the earth, he made part of the mountain fall.

Then Badabangisa called out, “People, be still! because you have urged me on, I have killed my father,” and he ordered them to bring him three pieces of white cloth to bury the giant, but the monster was so large that these were quite insufficient. After this they went on, and coming to a town, Badabangisa. kept firing guns for seven days and seven nights, so that the people issued forth and said, “Who has become a king, that he fires so many guns?” Then they came to Badabangisa, and taking him with them to the town, they made him a king, and held a feast for nine days and nine nights.

A tale which is wide-spread in Indonesia and which in spite of traces of outside influence seems to be largely local in development, is that of the “wonder-tree.” Once there were three orphan sisters, the two eldest of whom one day found in a harvested field a bird called Kekeko, and bringing it home, they put it in a cage. A few days later they heard the bird call, “Set me in a basket, and I will lay;” and though at first they paid no attention, they finally did as it demanded, since it frequently repeated the request; and lo! the next morning the basket was full of cooked rice and fish, steaming hot. This continued daily, and thus the children obtained their food; but as there was always too much in the basket, and it could not be kept, after a while they asked the bird to give them uncooked rice instead. This it did, and before long so great a store of rice was thus accumulated that all who came to the house were amazed at the wealth of provisions which the three poor orphans had.

One day their uncle, who had heard of the great amount of rice possessed by the children, came to visit them; and when he asked them how they secured their supply, they said, “We have a bird, Kekeko, which we caught, and it gives us all the paddy.” The jealous uncle asked them to lend him the bird, and they agreed to do so, but first whispered to it not to give their uncle any rice, or at best, paddy of a poor grade. This order the bird carried out; but when the uncle saw that the bird failed to give him any rice, in his anger he killed it and ate it. After a time the two oldest orphans, his nieces, came to him to get their bird back, but the uncle said, “He does not exist any longer, for I ate him up.” On hearing this, the orphans were sad and rolled on the ground in grief, because they thought that they had lost forever the Kekeko which had helped them. However, they gathered up the bones of the bird and buried them near their house; and lo! from them a wonderful tree soon grew, whose leaves were of silken stuffs, whose blossoms were ear-rings, and whose fruits produced a pleasing sound. Thus the children were again helped by the Kekeko, even after its death.

Another tale, similarly open to suspicion of extra-Indonesian influences, though probably in essence of Indonesian development, is as follows. Once upon a time there was a hunter who had a beautiful white cat to whom he one day happened to give food out of a coco-nut-shell which he had used for household purposes, the result being that the cat later gave birth to a beautiful girl-child. The hunter adopted the infant as his own, but later, when she was seven years old, he took to himself a wife, who was very jealous of the girl and did not know that the cat was her mother. When he went off to the fields, the husband always told his wife to take good care of the child and the cat and to give them plenty to eat; but the woman did nothing of the kind, for she starved them both, and then clapping the empty rice-basket on the girl’s head, filled her hair with crumbs. When the father came back home and asked, “Did the child have enough to eat?” his wife would reply, “Just see! she has even got rice all over her hair,” but if she ever gave the girl and the cat anything to eat, it was old rice mixed with ashes. One day, when the man had gone off to his fields, the girl went down to the edge of the stream, and standing near a tallnoenoek-tree, whose ripe fruits fell into the stream and were carried away, she held the cat in her arms, and the latter sang:

“The noenoek fruits are sweet
Better than the rice and ashes
That the step-mother gives.”

By and by the man came home, and finding his child absent, asked where she was, to which his wife replied, “She has gone to the river.” After a while the man followed her thither and heard the song which the cat was singing; but when he reached the place, he saw his daughter sitting on the top of a niboeng palm, holding the cat in her lap. Though the tree was very tall, the man tried to climb up, weeping and beseeching his daughter to come down; but she refused, and as he climbed, the tree became taller and taller, until at last, when it had grown almost up to the moon, a golden ladder was let down, and the girl with her cat climbed up and entered into the moon. The father tried to follow her, but no ladder was lowered for him, and trying to reach the moon without one, he slipped, fell, and was killed. To this day, when the moon is full, one can easily see Nini-anteh, as she is called, sitting beside a spinning-wheel with the cat beside her.

Chapter 4. Summary

IN drawing general conclusions regarding Polynesian mythology it was possible to employ a roughly statistical system, though with the clear realization that the use of this method was barely justified in view of the fragmentary character of the material. In the case of Indonesia, this treatment is less available, for here the incompleteness and in particular the unevenness of our material are much greater. No attempt, therefore, will be made to apply any statistical methods, and conclusions must depend very largely on more general features.

Considering first the question raised at the beginning of this section as to a distinction between specifically Indonesian mythology as opposed to Malay, the results are, it must be confessed, rather disappointing. Practically the only data from the reasonably pure and uninfluenced Indonesian tribes are from the Igorot and Ifugao of northern Luzon in the Philippines, and even this material is as yet scanty. The Tinguian seem to show fairly clear evidence of some outside influence. From the wilder tribes of the rest of the whole East Indian Archipelago no myths are available, so far as the writer knows. judging from this scanty store alone, it would appear that the type of myths characteristic of the Indonesian tribes, who presumably spread over the whole Archipelago before the arrival of the Malays, was distinguished (1) by the absence of any strictly cosmogonic tales, together with those relating to the origin of man, and (2) by the considerable development of flood-legends. So far as known, the trickster tales, so widespread elsewhere in the Archipelago, are practically absent; but, on the other hand, a considerable number of miscellaneous myths, pretty widely current in Borneo, Celebes, and the Moluccas, are present, at least among the Tinguian. It is perhaps significant, however, that in several instances these tales are more archaic and purely mythical here than are the somewhat sophisticated versions current in the extra-Philippine area. In many of the stories from the more or less mixed tribes of Borneo, Celebes, and the Moluccas one feels a certain indefinable Indonesian quality, and these elements seem, on the one hand, relatively less marked among the purer Malays, and on the other, are those which most frequently appear outside the Archipelago to the eastward in Melanesia and Polynesia; but it must be confessed that, as far as origin-myths are concerned, Indonesian and Polynesian beliefs have little in common. Affinities in the opposite direction, i. e. on the Asiatic continent, are, it must be admitted, vague. One would logically hope to find indications of relationship with the Môn-Hkmêr peoples of Indo-China and the adjacent territory, with whom, on linguistic and perhaps on physical grounds, the Indonesians seem to be connected. Unfortunately, we possess little or no material on the mythology of the wilder Môn-Hkmêr tribes, who have been uninfluenced by Indian or Chinese culture; although the few scraps which we have from these latter--i. e. from those who have almost certainly been modified by contact with higher culture--seem to agree with what has been regarded as the most typical Indonesian material, in that the absence of any real cosmogony and the presence of more or less elaborate flood-myths are characteristic. It would be unwise, however, to lay much stress on these points, and all that can safely be said at present is that, on the one hand, there is no evidence against an affiliation of Môn-Hkmêr and Indonesian mythology, which would be probable on a priori grounds; and that, on the other hand, there are suggestions of Indonesian influence extending eastward through Melanesia and beyond.

For the bulk of the myth material from the Archipelago, exclusive of this more specifically Indonesian portion, the questions of greatest importance are (1) the extent to which it has been influenced by Indian and (2) by Islamic culture. The earliest period of Indian contact was one in which Buddhist influence was paramount, and perhaps the clearest evidence of its effect is seen in the Trickster Tales, a large portion of which appear in the Jâtakas and other early Indian sources. The same tales have been found, as has been said, in Cambodia and Annam and among the remnants of the Cham, where Indian culture became dominant even earlier than in the Archipelago; and some occur as far afield as Japan, where they are clearly exotic elements introduced during the earliest period of contact with China and Korea, in both of which areas Buddhism had already long been established. In how far other mythic elements in the Archipelago are to be traced to this Buddhist period must be determined by those more familiar than the writer with early Indian literature. judging only from the evidence of the Trickster Tales, this earliest Indian influence shows itself in the mythology most strongly in Java and parts of Sumatra and southern Borneo. The decline of Buddhism in India and the reaction toward the later Hinduistic cults, which had already begun as early as the fourth century A. D., was duplicated in large measure in the Archipelago: Prambanan succeeded Boro-Budur; Hindu epics like the Râmâyana and Mahâbhârata replaced the Jâtakas as a source from which the Hinduized Javanese story-tellers could draw their inspiration; and the spread of literature and writing doubtless aided in the dissemination of this material. Beliefs in a triad of gods, in serpent deities and cosmic eggs, in heavenly beings with magic flying-houses (vidhyâdharas) and roc-like birds who preyed upon man (garudas)--these and probably others seem attributable to this period and to Indian sources. These elements have, as compared with the earlier features, a wider distribution in the Archipelago, being noticeable in the more eastern islands, such as Halmahera and parts of Celebes. How far we may trace their influence among the more interior tribes, such as the Battak in Sumatra and the Kayan in Borneo, is hard to say, but in the former instance appreciable influence must be admitted.

Islamic influences in the mythology of the Archipelago, while observable, of course, among those portions of the population which have become strongly Muhammadanized, seem, on the other hand, much weaker among the wilder tribes, from whom much of our material is derived. Even among the former, however, older Indian influences can often be discerned, as well as a surviving element of original Malay origin; but the difficulty of separating the three constituents here becomes very great.

When from the whole mass of the mythology of the Archipelago we have eliminated everything that may with any show of probability be regarded as due either to Indian or Islamic contact, direct or indirect, there still remains a large body of material which must be regarded as native. The affiliations of this group of tales and incidents are clear, at least in one direction. With Melanesia and, so far as the scanty material bears evidence, with Micronesia the resemblances are patent. It is noteworthy that in the former area similarities occur predominatingly among those peoples which are Melanesian rather than Papuan in language and physical type, and which lie in the track of the assumed migrations of the Polynesian ancestors along the northern coasts of New Guinea and through the lesser islands, extending thence toward Samoa and New Zealand. With Polynesia itself the relations are also unmistakable. Where they are clearest, they coincide with what we have denominated the later strata of myth, rather than with the earlier; with that which is more characteristic of Samoa and central Polynesia than of Hawaii and New Zealand. To the west the congeners of this aboriginal Malay mythology are obscure. Our knowledge of the peoples of south-eastern Asia which have been uninfluenced either by Indian or by Chinese culture is thus far very meagre, and material on their mythology is almost wholly lacking. If we are to look to the Môn-Hkmêr peoples for resemblances with the strictly Indonesian myths, we may perhaps expect to find the antecedents of Malay mythology among the Thai or Shan, that great group of peoples which, at the beginning of history in this part of the world, occupied so large an area in southern China and northern Indo-China. Driven south and east by the slow expansion of the Chinese on the north, they have, from the first millennium B. C., pushed down into the south-eastern tip of the continent, pressing in their turn upon the Môn-Hkmêr, who apparently occupied much of the Indo-Chinese peninsula. Beset by peoples of Thai origin, on the one hand by the Sinicized Annamese, and on the other by the Siamese, the older Môn-Hkmêr power of Cambodia finally perished. Yet it is not to the modern representatives of these conquering Thai peoples that we turn for help, for they have suffered too much outside influence to preserve intact their original beliefs. It is rather to the wilder tribes of Laos, the Shan States, Yün-nan, and the other provinces of southern China that we might look for the prototypes of the Malay of the Archipelago.

Part 4. Micronesia

OF all the island-world of the Pacific the Micronesian area affords the poorest store of myth material; not that the people of these islands were relatively destitute of mythology, but because until very recently practically no attempt had been made to gather and record it. Much of the treasure which was once so abundant has now disappeared for ever, and the blame for this loss lies here, more than elsewhere in the Pacific, at the door of the early European visitors. In all the other Oceanic regions they, or at least part of them, made some effort to record what their civilization was destined to destroy, but here scarcely a fragment was preserved. Racially the people of Micronesia show at least two or perhaps three component elements. A Melanesian factor is certain at least in some island-groups, although its relation to the other factors varies widely, some islands showing a large mixture of Melanesian blood, others but little. The non-Melanesian element in the population presents some difficulty; it may be predominatingly Indonesian or Malay, or a varying mixture of both, but in the present state of our knowledge it would be premature to come to any definite conclusions.

Chapter 1. Myths Of Origins And The Deluge

DETAILED myths of creation or origin are largely lacking from the Micronesian area, and the fragmentary cosmogonic material varies widely. The belief that this world and the sky-world have always existed, together with an apparent lack of interest in their origin, seems characteristic of the Pelew Group and the western Carolines; although in the latter islands, at least, the original earth is modified and made habitable. According to this account, Ligobund, a female deity, descended from the upper realm to the earth, but finding this a desert and infertile, she caused plants and fruit-trees to grow, accomplishing it by the power of her mere command. From the central Carolines the material is not much fuller. Here there was in the beginning a deity, Lukelang, who first created the heavens and then the earth; but since the latter was bare and desert, he took trees and plants from heaven and set them in the world which he had made. In the Gilbert Group we are told only that Nareau and his daughter, Kobine, made heaven and earth.

The conception of an original sea, on which a deity floated in the beginning, seems characteristic of the Marshall Group or at least of that portion of it which is comprised in the Ralick Chain. At the very first there was only the sea, which was limited to the south by a low, far-reaching reef and to the north by a swamp. A being named Loa said to the sea, “Behold thy island reef,” and a reef appeared; and again he spoke, “See thy sand,” and the reef was covered with soil. Once more he said, “See thy plants,” and the earth was covered with living things; and when for the fourth time he spoke, “See thy birds,” birds appeared. Then one of them, a gull, flew up and stretched out the arching sky as a spider spins her web. That this idea of an original sea was not foreign to the Carolines seems to be shown by a myth reported from Yap, according to which in the beginning a great tree grew upside down, its roots being in the sky, and its branches touching the sea. In the boughs of this tree was born a woman to whom Yelafaz, a sky-deity, gave sand which she strewed upon the sea and thus formed the earth. Although the tale includes a jumble of ideas derived from missionary contact, these features of the tree and of the strewing of the sand upon the primeval sea are probably aboriginal, for the former is known also in Borneo, and the latter occurs widely throughout Indonesia.

The fullest and most interesting creation-myth comes from the little island of Nauru (Pleasant Island), which lies almost exactly on the Equator, just west of the Gilbert Group. According to this tale, in the beginning there were only the sea and Areop-Enap, “Ancient Spider,” who floated above in endless space. One day Ancient Spider found a great rounded object, a tridacna mussel, and taking it in his hands, he looked at it from all sides, for he wanted to know if there was not an opening in it, so that he might crawl within; but there was none. Thereupon he struck the great shell, and as it sounded hollow, he concluded that there was nothing in it after all. He tried in vain to open his treasure, and at last, repeating a charm and making another attempt, he succeeded in prying the mighty valves slightly apart. At once he crept inside, but could see nothing for it was dark there because sun and moon were not yet made; moreover, he could not stand upright, since the space within the shell was too small. Ancient Spider sought everywhere on the chance that he might find something, and at last discovered a snail. Putting this under his arm, he lay down and slept for three days that he might give power to the snail; then he laid it aside and sought again, his search being rewarded by another larger snail, which he treated like the first. After this, taking the smaller one, he said to it, “Can you lift the roof a little, so that we might sit up?” The snail replied, “Yes,” and raised the shell slightly; whereupon Ancient Spider took the snail, set it before the western half of the tridacna shell, and made it into the moon. There was now a little light, and by it Ancient Spider saw a large worm or grub, who, when asked if he could raise the roof still higher, suddenly came to life and said, “Yes.” So he laboured, and the upper shell of the tridacna slowly rose higher and higher, while salty sweat ran from the worm’s body, and collecting in the lower shell, became the sea. At last he raised the upper shell very high, and it became the sky; but Rigi, the worm, exhausted by his great work, fell and died. From the other snail Ancient Spider now made the sun and set it on the east side of the lower shell, which became the earth.

Another version, admittedly less original, presents interesting similarities to Polynesian and Indonesian tales. According to this, the great primeval divinity was Tabuerik, the deity of lightning and thunder, who, in the form of an omnipotent bird, soared in the beginning over chaos, for the heavens still lay prone upon the earth and sea. Then Rigi, a butterfly, flew over land and water and separated them, and other deities thrust the skies up to their proper place. A further possible element of Polynesian type is the fact that in the larger group the first beings were two worms, one of whom (a female) was named Lajnan (“Cliff” or “Rock”).

The myths relating to the origin of man are as varied as those just considered. Several tales accord a divine origin to mankind. In the western Carolines it is said that Ligobund descended from the sky to the earth, and after making this habitable, gave birth to three children who became the ancestors of mankind. Somewhat more detailed accounts come from the central portion of the group. After Luk had created the earth and planted it, he sent down his daughter, Ligoapup, who, becoming thirsty, drank some water which had collected in the hollow of a tree.

Without knowing it, with the water she swallowed a tiny animal, and made fruitful by this, she bore a girl-child. She, when she had reached maturity, became the mother of a daughter, who in her turn gave birth to a boy; and from a rib taken from this boy, after he had grown, a man was derived, who married Ligoapup and became the ancestor of the human race. The incident of the rib is probably an element derived from missionary teaching and well illustrates how such exotic features may be incorporated into native tales; but it becomes especially interesting when taken in connexion with some of the other myths which, though wholly native, ascribe somewhat similar origins to man or deities.

Thus, in the neighbouring island of Mortlok it is said that Ligoapup, after drinking the water from the hollow in the tree, bore a girl-child, and that then from her arm was born a boy, and from one eye another boy, from the other eye a second girl. From these the human race is descended. With this we may compare the origin ascribed to several living beings in the western Carolines, the Marshall Group, and Nauru, these being born or bursting forth from blood-blisters or boils on the bodies of one of the deities.

In Indonesia the belief in the origin or birth of certain of the deities from a rock was well developed in some instances; and it is interesting (and perhaps significant) to find the same concept in the Micronesian area as well, where, in the Gilbert Group, it is said that in the beginning Na Rena or Rigi came out of a rock. It is likewise to be noted that in the Marshall Group we find the theme of Blood-Clot Child again, an origin from a clot of blood being given in the Ralick Chain for two of the deities.

A divine source for the human race is, however, not the only belief which is held, for it is widely asserted that the first ancestors of mankind were made. In the Pelew Group we merely find the statement that the two original deities created the first human beings, the male god making the first man and the female divinity shaping the first woman. In the Gilbert Group, at the other extremity of Micronesia, Nareua was said to have set fire to a tree, and mankind originated from the sparks and ashes, which were carried in all directions. In Nauru Ancient Spider turned stones into men; but these became the supporters of the heavens and were not ordinary human beings. Indeed, no clear statement of the source of mankind appears to be given in this group; some of the deities, even, have no origin ascribed to them. Thus, Ancient Spider set out, after the world was created, to see if there were any other beings beside himself, and he came to a land where he found men and women sitting on the shore in the shade of the trees. Since he could not discern their faces clearly and wanted to know their names, he made, from the dirt under his finger-nail, a being, gave it wings, and told it to fly to the people and find out what they were called. So the bird-like being flew and settled upon the nose of one of the people. Another, seeing this, called out, “Tabuerik! kill it.” Thereupon the bird flew to the others, and each time he thus learned the person’s name, until he had got them all. Then he returned to Ancient Spider and told him the names.

Throughout Micronesia mankind is believed to have been originally immortal, or intended to be so, and to have become mortal as a result of special causes. Thus in the Pelew Group Obagat wished that men should not die, and for this reason desired to place a stone in their breasts that they might be as lasting and as strong as the stone and not require food; but the Rail was opposed to this view and advised that only breath be put in man’s bosom so that he might be, subject to disease and death. Obagat, however, unwilling to despair, sent his son to get the water of life to assure immortality to man; but when the liquid was brought in a taro leaf, the malicious bird caused a branch of a tree to strike and tear it so that the precious fluid was spilled upon the tree, which thus acquired long life and immortality, while man remained mortal.

In the central Carolines mortality was decreed for man by Olofat. Luk, the highest deity, asked, “How shall it be with men? Shall they fall ill and die, and then live again?” But Olofat answered, “When men die, they shall remain dead.” In the western Carolines a different tale is told. In the beginning a woman named Mili’ar had two children, and when she grew old, she said to them, “After I am dead, you must bury me; but on the seventh day come and dig up my body. Thus I shall be alive once more, and beautiful and young again.” Soon afterward, the old woman died as she had foretold and was duly buried; but when the son and daughter came away from the grave together, they saw a fine pandanus-tree and stopped to eat its fruit. Here they lingered for several days enjoying themselves, and only too late did they awake to the fact that the seven days had passed and that they had not fulfilled their promise. They hurried to their mother’s grave, but found that she had died a second time, and thus, because of their delay and forgetfulness, all men thereafter were mortal. Although the story embodies one or two details suggestive of missionary teaching, it is clearly aboriginal in origin. Another version from this same region states that in the beginning man did not die for ever, but like the moon, rose again. Each month, when the moon waned and disappeared, men fell into a short sleep; and when it reappeared, they awoke; but an evil spirit did not approve of this and so arranged that death was permanent.

Of the origin of the sun and moon several contrasted beliefs are held. In the Pelews the two original deities were said to have shaped them from stone with an adze and then to have cast them up into the sky; whereas in the Gilbert Group the sun and moon, together with the sea, were the offspring of the first two beings created by Na Reau. After he had formed the first pair, Na Reau departed, saying, “I leave you here so that you may watch over this land, which is mine. See to it that you do not increase, for I will not agree to have any children here. If you disobey my commands, I shall punish you.” De-Babou and De-Ai, however, did not heed the words of their creator, and De-Ai bore three children, the sun, the moon, and the sea. Informed by the eel, his messenger, that his commands had been disobeyed, Na Reau took his great club and came to the island where he had left De-Babou and De-Ai; but in terror they fell down before him, begging him not to kill them, for, said they, “We find that our children are a great aid to us, since the sun makes it light, so that we can see; and when it goes to rest, the moon takes its place; and our third child, the sea, abounds with fish and supplies us with food.” When Na Reau had heard their plea, he saw that it was just, and forbearing to execute his intention, he went away.

The source of fire is variously explained. In the Pelew Group  Obagat, who is here a friendly deity, seeing an old woman suffering from sores about her mouth, due to eating raw fish and taro, took pity on mankind and taught them how to make fire by rubbing two sticks together. In the central Carolines Olofat was the owner or lord of fire, which he sent down to earth by the aid of a bird, who took the flame in its beak, and flying from tree to tree, put the seed of fire into them in order that men might extract it by rubbing sticks together.

In Nauru two tales relating to fire are told. According to one of them the retreating tide once left two fishes imprisoned in a tiny pool, but this soon evaporated, and the fishes perished. From the maggots engendered in the rotting fish were derived two women, one of whom wished, one evening, to go fishing, but had no fire with which to light her torch. She sought everywhere, but being unable to find any, she took two sticks and rubbed them together; and after a while her finger came in contact with the groove which she had made by rubbing and was burned. Looking into the groove, she saw fire and sang,

“Fire, Fire, whence do you come?
Fire, Fire, do you come from the nails of my finger?
Fire, Fire, do you come from the nails of my toes?
Fire, Fire, be warm, become hot, make the sparks glow,
Very hot, frightfully hot, terribly hot;
It is called e-kainir.”

Then the flame blazed up, and she was able to light her torch; and thus the Nauru people first got their fire. The other tale is not so much of the origin of the fire, but it presents features of interest for comparison. According to this Areop-It-Eonin (“Young Spider”) was born miraculously from a boil upon Dabage, the tortoise; and when he had grown up to be a boy, he determined to visit the heaven-land. He climbed up through all the heavens until he came to the last, where were only Lightning and Thunder and Ancient Spider, the latter of whom called to Young Spider and asked, “Whence do you come?” The boy replied, “O! no, I do not come from a distant country, but from below;” whereupon Ancient Spider said, “How can you ascend hither, if your home is in your distant land?” The boy answered, “I was running about and saw this country, and I saw you and came hither.” “Very well,” said Ancient Spider, “you may stay here, and we will live in my house;” but Ancient Spider laughed, for he knew how clever Areop-It-Eonin was and what was his origin, so he said, “Go, and get some fire from the house of Lightning, so that we may cook our fish.” Young Spider started off, and as he went, the old man said to him, “You must not wave the brand about, else you will wake up the old woman’s husband, Thunder, and then he will strike you.” Young Spider, however, laughed scornfully at this warning, and coming to the house of Lightning, he said to her, “Give me a fire-brand.” She got one for him, and shaking her head, said, “You must not clap your hands in impatience, for my husband will wake and beat me, and I shall flash out at you;” but the boy cried out loudly, “Give me a fire-brand.” Accordingly she gave it to him, and as he went away, he whirled it round and round; and then Thunder woke up, for the fire flamed brightly, and he ran after the youth to strike him; but the latter turned about and broke one of Thunder’s arms, so that he fell weeping to the ground. The similarity of this to the Polynesian tales of Maui’s bringing of fire is most significant.

Flood-myths have thus far been reported only from western Micronesia--from the Pelews and the western Carolines. In the latter it forms the conclusion to a long tale. A man and his wife, who was of supernatural origin, had endeavoured in vain to satisfy the hunger of her father, whose name was Insatiable, and who also was of heavenly origin, but had grown so huge that he filled the whole council-house and had eaten all the coco-nuts on the island. One day the husband, Kitimil, went out to look at his sugar-cane field, and seeing that a mouse had been eating in it, he came home and told his wife, Magigi, about it. Thereupon she said, “My father must be hungry; therefore he comes to eat the sugar-cane”; and though her husband replied that this was impossible, Magigi insisted, asserting that her father had the power to turn himself into a mouse. Kitimil, still incredulous, set a trap in the field that evening, and on hearing it spring during the night, shouted for glee. When his wife asked why he rejoiced, he said that at last he had found the mouse which had been eating his crop, but Magigi was terrified and exclaimed, “Alas! it is certain that you have caught and killed my father. Go, and bring him here.” Accordingly Kitimil went and brought the body of the mouse, but when he looked in the council-house where his father-in-law used to be, only to find it empty, he finally knew that his wife had been right. Thereupon Magigi said to him, “In the morning I will decide what we had better do “; and when the day dawned, she told Kitimil to take four of the mouse’s teeth and his blood, and then to bury the body.

After Kitimil had done this, Magigi said to him, “Now a great storm will come, and the sea will rise in flood, and all the people of Yap will be drowned We must, therefore, climb the highest mountain, and build on its top a pile-dwelling of seven storeys.” So they took some leaves and oil and the teeth and the blood of the dead mouse and went to the top of a very high mountain, where they built a pile-dwelling, seven storeys in height; and on the seventh day a great storm of rain and wind came, and the sea rose and covered all Yap. When the water reached the top of the mountain, Kitimil and his wife climbed into the lower storey of their house; and as the waters continued to rise, they went up higher and higher until they reached the topmost storey. Since, however, the deluge still rose, Magigi took some oil, and putting it on a leaf, laid it on the water; whereupon the flood at once began to abate, and the storm ceased. Finally the land was dry again, and they came down out of the house, saying, “There is no one else left alive in Yap.” Yet one other man had survived by lashing himself to an outrigger of a canoe and anchoring it to a great stone; and after they had found this man, Magigi and Kitimil returned to their home, where Magigi bore seven children, who scattered over all the land.

The Pelew version is much more simple. Here the flood was caused in revenge by the friends of a minor deity who had been killed. Only to one old woman did they reveal their plans, advising her to take refuge on a raft; but though she did this, the rope with which she anchored it was too short, and so, as the waters rose, they covered the raft, and she was drowned. Her body drifted far away, but her hair caught in the branches of a tree, and there she was turned to stone and may be seen to this day.

Chapter 2. Miscellaneous Tales

ONE of the most important myths or series of myths in the Carolines, outside of the more strictly cosmogonic tales, is that describing the exploits of Olofat or Olifat, the eldest son of Luke-lang, the highest deity. In the version from the central Carolines, which is here followed, he appears as a mischievous, almost malicious, person who stands in marked contrast to his brother or brothers, who are beneficent; and it is interesting to compare this antithesis of malice and goodness with Melanesian types.

Olofat saw that one of his brothers was better than he and also more beautiful, and at this he became angry. Looking down from the sky-world and seeing two boys who had caught a couple of sharks, with which they were playing in a fishpond, he descended to earth and gave the sharks teeth, so that they bit the hands of the children. When the boys ran home crying with pain and told their troubles to their mother, Ligoapup, who was the sister of Olofat, she asked them if they had not seen any one about, whereupon they said that they had, and that he was more handsome than any man whom they had ever beheld. Knowing that this must be her brother, Olofat, Ligoapup asked her sons where he was, and they answered, “Close by the sea.” She then told them to go and get the man and bring him to her, but when they reached the place where they had left him, they found only an old, grey-haired man, covered with dirt. Returning to their mother, they informed her that the man whom they had seen was no longer there; but she bade them go back and bring whomsoever they might find. Accordingly they set off, but this time they saw only a heap of filth in place of a man; and so once more they went home to their mother, who told them to return a third time. Obeying her, they questioned the filth, saying, “Are you Olofat? For if you are, you must come to our mother”; whereupon the pile of filth turned into a handsome man who accompanied them to Ligoapup. She said to him, “Why are you such a deceiver?” And Olofat replied, “How so?” And she said, “First, you turned yourself into a dirty old man, and then into a pile of filth.” “I am afraid of my father,” answered Olofat. “Yes,” said Ligoapup, “you are afraid because you gave teeth to the shark.” Then Olofat replied, “I am angry at Luk, for he created my brother handsomer than I am, and with greater power. I shall give teeth to all sharks, in order that they may eat men whenever canoes tip over.” When Luk, who was in the sky-world, became aware of these things, he said to his wife, “It would be well if Olofat came back to heaven, since he is only doing evil on earth”; and his wife, Inoaeman, said, “I think so, too. Otherwise he will destroy mankind, for he is an evil being.”

Accordingly Luk ordered the people of the sky-world to build a great house, and when it was finished, he not only commanded that a feast be announced, but also had a large fish-basket prepared, in which they placed Olofat and sank him in the sea. After five nights, when they thought he would be dead, two men went in a canoe and hauled up the basket; but behold! it contained only a multitude of great fish, for Olofat had slipped away and seated himself in a canoe near by. The men asked him, “Who are you?” And he replied, “I am Olofat. Come here, and I will help you to put the fish into your boat.” Taking one fish after the other, he handed them to the men, but in so doing he removed all the flesh of the fish and gave the men merely the empty skins. For himself he kept nothing but the smallest ones; and when the people said, “Why is it that you take only the little fish?” Olofat replied, “Give Luk all the big ones; I am quite satisfied with the little ones.” Then the people brought the catch to Luk, who asked them, “Where is the fish-basket? Who took the fish out?” When they replied, Olofat did that, but has again placed the basket in the sea,” Luk said, “Has he then taken no fish for himself?” to which they answered, “Only the very smallest ones.” Luk now ordered all sorts of food to be prepared for the feast and commanded that the fishes should be cooked; and when all were gathered in the house, while Olofat sat at the entrance, Luk said, “Let every one now eat. Let the food be divided, and let each receive his share.” Nevertheless, Olofat refused to receive any; and when the guests took up the fish, lo! there were only the empty skins, and within was nothing, so that they had to content themselves with fruit.

Olofat, however, ate his own fish; but Luk said, “See, we have nothing, whereas Olofat is able to eat his own fish, and is still not finished with them.” Thereupon he became very angry and sent word to Thunder to destroy Olofat; but since Thunder lived in a house at a distance, Luk said, “Take Thunder some food.” So one of the gods took some of the viands in order to carry them, but Olofat, snatching them from him, himself carried them to Thunder; and on arriving at the house, he called out, “O Thunder, I bring food.” Now Thunder had found a white hen, and coming out, he thundered; but though Luk cried, “Kill him,” and though Thunder blazed, Olofat merely placed his hand before his eyes. Nevertheless, Thunder followed him and thundered again and again behind him; but from under his mantle Olofat took some coco-nut milk which he had brought with him, and sprinkling it upon Thunder, he quenched the lightning. After this he seized Thunder and bore him back to his own home; and when Olofat had returned to the feast house, Luk said, “Why has the man not been killed?” Notwithstanding this, Olofat again took his place by the door, while Luk now ordered another of the gods to take food to Anulap. Thereupon Olofat stood up and walked along behind the one who carried the food and he took the viands away from him, saying, “I myself will take the food to Anulap.” So he went to the god and said, “Here are viands for you”; and then he turned about and came back to the great assembly house, whereupon Luk said to Anulap, “Why have you not killed the man?” Then Anulap took his great hook, which was fastened to a strong rope, and throwing it at Olofat, he caught him around the neck; but Olofat quickly seized a mussel-shell and cut the rope, after which he hastened to the house of Anulap, where he sat down upon the threshold. When Anulap saw him, he seized his club to strike Olofat; but as he stretched it out, the latter changed himself into a wooden mortar. Thereupon Anulap called, “Where is Olofat?” and his wife, answering, “He must have run away,” they lay down and slept. After all this Luk said, “We can do nothing with Olofat; I believe he cannot die. Go, O Laitian, and tell the people to come in the morning to make a porch for the house.” When the people had come and asked how they should construct the porch, Luk said, “Go to the forest and bring great tree-trunks”; and when this was done, and the tree-trunks were laid by the house, Luk commanded, “Now, go and fetch Olofat.” Olofat came and said, “I shall go, too”; but Luk replied, “You must aid us to build the porch. You must make three holes in the ground, two shallow and one deep; and in these the tree-trunks must be set.” Accordingly Olofat dug three holes, but in each of them he made an excavation at one side; after which Luk asked, “Olofat, are you ready yet?” Thereupon Olofat, taking a nut and a stone, secreted them in his girdle; and Luk said, “Now set the tree-trunks in the holes.” In obedience to this, three men seized the upper end, while Olofat grasped the lower part; and they pushed Olofat so that he fell into the hole, only to creep quickly into the space which he had made on the side. Not knowing this, however, they then raised the tree-trunk high, and dropping it into the hole, they made it firm with earth and stone.

All now believed that Olofat had been caught under the great post and had been crushed to death. He, however, sat in his hole on the side, and being hungry five nights later, he cracked the nut with the stone which he had brought with him and ate it; whereupon ants came, and taking the fragments which had fallen to the ground, they carried the food along the trunk to the surface, going in long rows. The man who sat in the house above, seeing this, said to his wife, “Olofat is dead, for the ants are bringing up parts of his body”; but when Olofat heard the speech of the man, he turned himself into an ant and crept with the others up the post.  Having climbed high, he allowed himself to drop upon the body of the man, who pushed the ant off, so that it fell to the ground, where it was immediately changed into Olofat. As soon as the people saw him, they sprang up in fear, and Olofat said, “What are you talking about?” When Luk beheld him, he said, “We have tried in every possible way to kill you, but it seems that you cannot die. Bring me Samenkoaner.” After Samenkoaner had come and sat down, Luk asked him, “How is it that Olofat cannot die? Can you kill him?” To this Samenkoaner replied, “No, not even if I thought about it for a whole night long, could I find a means; for he is older than I.” Thereupon Luk said, “But I do not wish that he should destroy all men upon the earth”; and so the Rat, Luk’s sister, advised that they should burn Olofat. Accordingly they made a great fire, to which they brought Olofat; but he had with him a roll of coco-nut fibre, and when Luk ordered them to throw him into the flames, he crept through the roll and came out safely upon the other side of the fire. Then Luk said, “Rat, we have tried everything to kill him, but in vain”; and the Rat answered, “He cannot die; so make him the lord of all who are evil and deceitful.”

Chapter 3. Summary

THE Micronesian myth material, as here outlined, clearly reveals its relationships to Indonesia on the one hand, and to Polynesia on the other. In the lack of detailed legends of creation Micronesia seems to agree with what has been denominated as the Indonesian as opposed to the Malayan myth type in Indonesia. In other particulars its similarities are with the general Indonesian material, which, as has been pointed out, is at present difficult to separate into its constituents, although the absence of the trickster tales seems to argue little direct relation with the definitely later Malay type. With Polynesia, the Micronesian data show many features of resemblance, and these are wide-spread in the whole Polynesian area. Melanesian similarities are far less striking, and when they exist, seem to be with eastern Melanesia rather than with New Guinea and the Bismarck Archipelago, though these are geographically nearer. The eastern Melanesian mythology appears to show evidence of greater Polynesian admixture or affinities and to be relatively of later development than that of the West; and this would argue that the Melanesian contact was historically late in Micronesia, however it may have occurred. Of the supposedly Papuan type of mythology little or no trace is found.

Part 5. Australia

THE continent of Australia is not only by all odds the largest land-mass of the Oceanic area, but also presents in its physical characters the sharpest contrast to the remainder of the region. Continental in size, only a small section of its great extent possesses a tropical environment, the whole of its interior and most of its western portion being a vast and almost waterless desert. Instead of the conditions of life being easy and the food-supply abundant, as in the tropical islands, over great parts of its area the food-quest absorbed a large proportion of the energies of the inhabitants. In the desert the summer heat is terrible, while on the elevated plateaux and in the mountains of the south-east the winters are snowy, and the cold is often intense. The sad and almost shadeless forests of eucalyptus, acacia, and she-oak are in sharp contrast to the dense growths of the tropics, and the peculiar animal life, characterized by the abundance of marsupials and great struthious birds, sets it apart from most of the rest of the Pacific world. Moreover, Australia is to a large degree isolated from the remainder of the whole area in that only at the northern extremity of Queensland does it closely approach any of the surrounding lands, although its north-western coasts are not very remote, as Oceanic distances go, from eastern Indonesia.

The native peoples of Australia were in great measure as distinctive as its physical features, climate, flora, and fauna. Ranked in their culture among the lowest peoples of the world--wholly ignorant of agriculture, pottery, and domestic animals (except the dog), and over large portions of the area without any knowledge or means of navigation--they possessed at the same time an extraordinarily complex social organization and an elaborate religious ceremonial. Although presenting a notable degree of uniformity throughout the continent, close study and comparison of the various tribes, particularly in regard to the languages spoken, has quite recently revealed to us certain broad distinctions, which, although requiring more evidence before they can be accepted as entirely proved, suffice, to divide the aborigines into two contrasted groups (or three, if Tasmania is included). The first of these, which may be called the northern group, occupied that portion of the continent lying north of the twentieth parallel of south latitude, together with a large wedge-shaped area extending southward into the interior for nearly ten degrees farther.

Throughout this area, comprising roughly one-third of the whole continent, the languages spoken fall into a large number of small, independent, unrelated stocks comparable to those of the Papuan tribes of New Guinea.

Certain cultural and physical differences also seem to mark this northern group in contrast with the second, which occupied the whole of the remainder of the continent. The languages in this area, although separable into a number of groups, show such a degree of similarity that they must be regarded as related in some sense, although the precise extent is not yet clear. The Tasmanians would seem to have constituted a third group, although the fact that they have been extinct for many years renders our information in regard to them so fragmentary that definiteness on this point is almost impossible.

These three groups have been taken as evidence of three successive strata of people. Of these the Tasmanians represent the oldest and most primitive, and that which presumably once spread over the whole Australian continent.

The second group is explained as due to a great wave of immigration from the north which swept over and absorbed, or in places exterminated, the Tasmanoid type. Latest in point of time is the northern group, which, coming from the same general direction, dominated the whole north and drove a wedge deep into the central portion of the continent.

That the racial history of Australia has, however, not been quite as simple as this has become more and more clear with increasing information; but reference to other factors and possibilities may best be postponed to the final discussion of Australian mythology.

Material on the mythology of the Australian natives is comparatively meagre. The rapid extinction of a large portion of the population before any adequate observations had been made, and the large areas, especially in the West, still remaining unexplored, leave us little more than fragments available for the continent itself; while for Tasmania we have almost literally nothing. Enough material, however, is at hand to present an outline of the main features of Australian mythology, and to indicate at least some of its relationships.

Chapter 1. Myths Of Origins And The Deluge

MYTHS of the origin of the world are largely lacking in Australia as in Melanesia. With few exceptions the existence of the earth and sky seems to have been assumed, and apart from certain special mountains, rocks, rivers, and other natural features, no account is given of their origin. 1 In a number of cases, mainly in the south-east of the continent, we find the general assertion that “all things were made in the beginning by a deity or supernatural being”; but in the absence of any specific myths it has been pointed out that these statements may not necessarily mean all that seems to be implied. Had we anything more in the way of information than these brief statements of early missionaries and others, it is probable that the real belief would be found to be that only certain special features of the landscape were regarded as having been so made. In one case--the Arunta of central Australia--the belief in an original sea appears; and according to this account, in the beginning the world was covered with salt water, though gradually the sea was withdrawn by the people living to the north, and thus the land appeared.

Although native speculation as to the beginning of the world seems undeveloped, the same cannot be said with regard to the origin of mankind, for on that point there are many different beliefs. The myths relating to this topic may be divided into three groups, according as they ascribe to man (a) a wholly independent origin, (b) an independent origin as incomplete beings, who are then finished or completed; or (c) describe a definite making or creation by some deity. The first of these types seems to be mainly restricted to a series of tribes stretching from Lake Eyre northward through the central section of the country to the Gulf of Carpentaria. Among all these tribes the belief is held that the totem ancestors of the various clans “came up out of the ground,” some being in human and some in animal shapes. They travelled about the country, usually leaving offspring here and there by unions with women of the people (of whose origin nothing is said) whom they either met or made; and ultimately journeyed away beyond the confines of the territory known to the particular tribe, or went down into the ground again, or became transformed into a rock, tree, or some other natural feature of the landscape.

These spots then became centres from which spirit individuals, representing these ancestors, issued to be reincarnated in human beings. Strictly speaking, although in some instances they begat direct descendants, these totemic ancestors should perhaps not be regarded as human creatures, for often they were themselves the fashioners of men from the incomplete forms in which they originated. As an example of the myths of this type (which are usually very trivial), we may take one from the Kaitish tribe. In the past a Euro man arose out of the ground as a child, and was found by a woman belonging to the Lizard clan, who gave it milk. Every day she went to gather berries for her husband, who was a Wild Turkey man; and every day she gave milk to the Euro child, who, when he grew larger, ran away and met a number of Iguana Women, who tried to fight him with lightning. They could not catch him, however; and so, after killing and eating them, he travelled on and met a man from the Wren totem, whom he also killed. Then he climbed a hill, scratching the sand with his fingers as he went, and travelling on all fours, he came to the camp of some Rain women. They offered him food, but he grew angry when they would not yield to all his demands, refused to eat the food, and threw it away; whereupon the women killed him, after which he went down into the ground.

In general the myths of these beings seem to be independent in origin and unrelated, and are mainly concerned with recounting the way in which they taught certain ceremonies and customs to the people with whom they came in contact in their wanderings; so that they present few details of value for our purposes. Differing in some respects from these myths, yet on the whole belonging to this class, is the account given by one of the tribes from Victoria, according to whom the first man originated from the gum of the wattle-tree, and issuing from a knot upon its trunk, entered into the body of a woman and was born as a male child.

The second class of tales relates more directly to the origin of human beings. Myths of this type are apparently confined to the series of tribes just mentioned as having legends of the first category, but in this instance the area seems to extend as far as Tasmania. As an illustration we may take the version given by the Arunta. At the time of the retreat of the original sea to the northward there were in the western sky two beings who were self-existing and of whose origin nothing is stated. From their lofty position they saw far to the east a number of Inapertwa, “rudimentary human beings or incomplete men, whom it was their mission to make into men and women.” These Inapertwa were of various shapes and lived along the edges of the sea. “They had no distinct limbs or organs of sight, hearing or smell, and did not eat food, and presented the appearance of human beings all doubled up into a rounded mass in which just the outline of the different parts of the body could be vaguely seen.” The two sky-beings came down, therefore, from the sky and armed with large stone knives, set to work to make these amorphous objects into men. “First of all the arms were released, then the fingers were added by making four clefts at the end of each arm; then legs and toes were added in the same way. The figure could now stand, and after this the nose was added and the nostrils bored with the fingers. A cut with the knife made the mouth. . . . A slit on each side separated the upper and lower eyelids, hidden behind which the eyes were already present, another stroke or two completed the body and thus, out of the Inapertwa, men and women were formed.” Closely similar tales are told by many other tribes of the central area and the south-east, as well as in Tasmania.

Myths of the third type are, on the other hand, characteristic of the south-easterly portion of the continent. Although in many cases there are no detailed stories of the creation of mankind, the statement being merely that the first men were created, more definite myths do occur. Thus, the tribes in the vicinity of Melbourne say that in the beginning Pundjel made two males from clay. “With his big knife he cut three large sheets of bark. On one of these he placed a quantity of clay, and worked it into a proper consistence with his knife. When the clay was soft, he carried a portion to one of the other pieces of bark, and he commenced to form the clay into a man, beginning at the feet; then he made the legs, then he formed the trunk and the arms and the head. He made a man on each of the two pieces of bark. He was well pleased with his work, and looked at the men a long time, and he danced round about them. He next took stringybark from a tree, . . . made hair of it, and placed it on their heads--on one straight hair and on the other curled hair. Pundjel again looked at his work, much pleased . . . and once more he danced round about them. . . . After again smoothing with his hands their bodies, from the feet upwards to their heads, he lay upon each of them, and blew his breath into their mouths, into their noses, and into their navels; and breathing very hard, they stirred. He danced round about them a third time. He then made them speak, and caused them to get up, and they rose up, and appeared as full grown young men.” Some of the Queensland tribes declare that the moon created the first man and woman, the former being made from stone and rubbed all over with white and black ashes, while the latter was shaped from a box-tree and rendered soft and supple by rubbing with yams and mud. In South Australia, on the other hand, there is apparently a belief in the creation of men from excrement which was moulded and then tickled, this causing the image to laugh and become alive.

Another tale from Victoria records the origin of woman as follows. One day Pallyan, the brother (or son?) of Pundjel, the maker of man, was playing in a deep water-hole and in so doing he thumped and thrashed the water with his hands until it became thick and muddy. At length he saw something, and parting the mass with a branch, he discovered hands and then two heads, and at last extricated two female forms, which were the first women and were given as wives to the two men whom Pundjel had already made. An origin of mankind from the sky is given by one of the tribes of the Northern Territory, who state that Atnatu, a self-created deity in the heavens, being angry at some of his children, threw them down to earth through a hole in the sky, and that these became the ancestors of the tribe. The dispersion of mankind was explained as follows by these same tribes. After men had multiplied, they became wicked; and thereupon Pundjel, coming down in anger from the skies, whither he and Pallyan had been carried by a whirlwind shortly after they had made the first human beings, with a great knife cut the people into small bits which moved and crawled about like worms. Then a great wind arose and scattered the pieces like flakes of snow far and wide over the world; and wherever they fell, they developed again into men and women. Although presenting some obvious features of missionary influence, the tale probably contains a nucleus of aboriginal thought.

Myths of the origin of the sun fall into two contrasted groups. According to the tribes of the South-East, the sun was made by throwing an emu’s egg into the sky; and as told by the Euahlayi, the story runs as follows. In the beginning there was no sun, only the moon and the stars; but one day Dinewan, the emu, and Bralgah, the native companion, quarrelled and fought. In rage the latter ran to the nest of Dinewan, took one of the large eggs, and threw it with all her strength into the sky, where it broke upon a pile of firewood which was there and which immediately burst into flame. This greatly astonished the beings in this world, who had been used to semi-darkness, and consequently almost blinded them; but the deity in the sky, seeing how fine a thing this fire was in the world, determined to have it lit every day and has done so ever since. Each night he and his assistants gather wood and pile it up and then send the morning star to, inform people that the fire will soon be lit. Since, however, the sky-deity found this notification insufficient, as those who slept did not see the star, he ordered a bird, the Gourgourgahgah, to laugh every dawn as soon as the morning star paled and thus wake up the world; and the bird has done so ever since. Similar tales are told in every portion of this region.

Another series of myths from the eastern and north-eastern parts of the continent describe the sun as a woman. Among the Arunta and related tribes of central Australia, she, like many of the original totem ancestors, arose out of the ground, and later, carrying a fire-brand, ascended to the sky, though every night she descends into the earth, again to emerge in the morning. In some instances there are said to be several suns, who go up into the sky in turn. Among the Narrinyeri of South Australia the sun is also considered to be a woman, who nightly visits the land of the dead, although nothing is said of her origin. “As she approaches, the men assemble and divide into two bodies, leaving a row for her to pass between. them. They invite her to stay with them, which she can do only for a short time, as she must be ready for her journey the next day. For favours granted to some one among them, she receives a present of a red kangaroo skin, and therefore in the morning, when she rises, appears in her red dress.”

In Queensland the sun (a woman) was made by the moon, and although given but two legs in the common manner of mankind, was provided with many arms, which may be seen extending like rays when she rises and sets. Some of the Victoria tribes say that in the beginning the sun did not set, but since people grew weary of the continual day, at length the creator deity ordered the sun to set, and thus day and night originated.

In regard to the moon two classes of tales are also found. According to the Arunta of central Australia, in the mythological period a man of the Opossum totem carried the moon about with him in a shield, keeping it hidden in a cleft in the rocks all day long. One night, however, another man of the Grass Seed totem chanced to see a light shining on the ground, this being the moon lying in the man’s shield; whereupon the Grass-Seed man at once picked up the shield with the moon in it and ran away. The Opossum man, discovering his loss, gave chase, but being unable to catch the thief, he called out to the moon to rise into the sky and give every one light during the night; and the moon accordingly went up into the sky, where it has remained ever since

Elsewhere the moon is regarded as a man who rose into the sky. In Queensland it is said that once two Sparrow-Hawk brothers were out hunting for honey, and that one of them in trying to extract a comb from a hollow tree in which he had made a hole, caught his arm and could not get it out. His brother went to get aid, but all whom he asked to help refused, except the moon. The latter, however, went willingly, climbed the tree, and putting his head well down into the hollow, sneezed violently, the resultant sudden pressure of the air enabling the captive to withdraw his arm. The Sparrow-Hawk determined to be revenged on those who had denied him aid; and so, first burying the moon in the ground to get him out of harm’s way, he set fire to the grass, intending to burn up the whole camp. Since, however, some persons were not destroyed, he started another blaze, this time putting the moon into the top of a tall tree; but again some of his victims escaped, and accordingly, having this time placed the moon high in the sky, he kindled a third conflagration and finally succeeded in destroying all his enemies.

Quite a different tale, embodying several incidents valuable for comparative purposes, is found in New South Wales. According to this, the moon was an old man, very corpulent and very lazy, who lived with two young men who were his relatives. They aided him and did most of the hunting, but since he treated them very badly, taking for himself all the choice portions of meat and giving them only what was left, after a while they decided that they could no longer stand this and determined to leave. In camp they were accustomed to sit or lie behind him, and as he could not easily turn over, he used from time to time to call to them to see if they were there. When their plans were ready they started off secretly instructing some rubbish, which they left behind them, to answer for them if the old man should call. After they had travelled some distance, they were fortunate enough to kill an emu, and taking the bird with them to a large flat rock, they prepared to cook and eat it; but when the food was about ready, they remembered that emu flesh was still tabu to them as young men and that they could not have it until they received some at the hands of an older man. They therefore determined to use a stratagem and accordingly called out to the old man, who thus for the first time realized their absence. He hastened toward them, but before he arrived, they caused the rock on which they were to grow tall, so that he could not reach them. When he had come, they showed him the emu, and he at once demanded that they throw some of the meat to him, whereupon they tossed down a piece of the fat, which he, not liking, hurled back at them; and thus the tabu was broken, for they had received emu flesh at his hands. Since he was desirous of ascending to them, they told him to get a sapling and lean it against the rock so that he might climb; but while he had gone to fetch it, they caused the rock to grow still higher, so that his pole was not sufficiently long to reach the top. Accordingly he went again, and this time bringing a stick which was long enough, he started to, climb up carrying his two dogs with him. His hands, however, were greasy from handling the emu fat, and when he was near the top, the two boys twisted and shook the stick so that Gina, the old man, lost his hold and fell to the ground, his two dogs being killed, and his back so injured that he had to walk much bent over. For this reason the new moon has a bent back when it appears each month.

In central Australia the Arunta say that in the beginning a man of the Opossum clan died and was buried, but shortly afterward came to life again as a boy. The people saw him rising and ran away in fear, but he followed them, saying, “Do not be frightened! Do not run away, or you will die altogether. I shall die, but shall rise again in the sky.” He later grew up to be a man and then died once more, reappearing as the moon, and has ever since continued to die periodically and come to life again; but the people who ran away died altogether.

The northern tribes seem to have only a few myths relating to the moon. The Warramunga however, tell that the moon came up out of the ground as a man and was one day walking about when he saw the tracks of a woman. Following these and finally catching sight of her, he called out, whereupon she replied; and when he then shouted, “Don’t talk so far away! I want to have you come near,” she came to him, and they sat talking. Meanwhile two hawks had discovered the art of making fire, but unfortunately they lost control of it, and thus started a conflagration. The woman, seeing the flames approaching, said, “Look out, the fire is close up now”; but the moon-man answered, “No hurry, it is quite a long way off yet.” They were, however, suddenly surrounded by it, and the woman was badly burned, whereupon the man cut open one of his veins, drew some blood, and sprinkled it over the woman, who was thus restored to life. Then both of them went up into the sky.

Several accounts are given of the origin of the sea or of lakes and waters; and in parts of the south-east of the continent a tale is found which recalls a type widely spread in Melanesia. Thus, in western Victoria it is said that originally water was kept concealed under a stone. Some birds, however, spied upon the jealous owner, thus discovering where the precious substance was hid; and in the man’s absence one day they removed the stone which covered the opening, so that the water immediately flowed out and became a great lake. The east-coast tribes have quite a different story. According to this, once upon a time there was no water, for a great frog had swallowed it all. At this the people were much distressed, and holding a council to determine what to do, they agreed that if only the frog could be made to laugh, he would disgorge the water. Accordingly several animals danced before him in ludicrous postures, but in vain, for the frog remained as solemn as before. Finally the eel tried, and at his wriggling and writhing the frog first smiled and then laughed; and as he opened his mouth, the waters burst forth and caused a great flood by which many were drowned. The few survivors, comprising two or three men and one woman, took refuge on a small island; and by and by a pelican, coming along in his canoe, carried the men to the mainland, one by one, leaving the woman until the last, because he wanted her for a wife. She, however, was frightened, and wrapping a log in her skin rug to look as though she were sleeping, she swam away to the shore. When the pelican returned, he called to her, but got no reply; so he came and kicked the skin rug, and finding that it had only a log within it and that he had been tricked, he was very angry. Now at that time all pelicans were black, and accordingly he began to paint himself with pipe-clay before going to fight those whom he had saved; but just as he was half painted, another pelican came by, and not knowing what such a queer looking thing was, struck him with his beak and killed him. Since that day all pelicans have been part black and part white.

Several other myths of a deluge or great flood have been recorded. Thus, according to one account, a party of men were once fishing in a lake, when one man baited his hook with a piece of flesh and soon felt a tremendous bite. Hauling in his line, he found that he had caught a young bunyip, a water monster of which the people were much afraid; but though his companions begged him to let it go, because the water monsters would be angry if it were killed, he refused to listen to them and started to carry the young bunyip away. The mother, however, flew into a great rage and caused the waters of the lake to rise and follow the man who had dared to rob her of her young. The deluge mounted higher and higher, until all the country was covered, and the people, fleeing in terror, took refuge upon a high hill; but as the flood increased, gradually surmounting it and touching the people’s feet, they were all turned into black swans and have remained so ever since.

Myths of the origin of fire are generally known and of several different types. Most widely spread, apparently, are tales which declare fire to have been originally owned by certain birds or animals from whom the secret was then stolen. The version of one of the Victorian (?) tribes runs as follows. The bandicoot was once the sole owner of fire, and cherishing his fire-brand, which he carried with him wherever he went, he obstinately refused to share the flame with any one else. Accordingly the other animals held a council and determined to get fire either by force or by stratagem, deputing the hawk and the pigeon to carry out their purpose. The latter, waiting for a favourable moment when he thought to find it unguarded, made a dash for it; but the bandicoot saw him in time, and seizing the brand, he hurled it toward the river to quench it. The sharp eyes of the hawk saw it falling, and swooping down, with his wing he knocked it into the long dry grass, which was thus set alight so that the flames spread far and wide, and all people were able to procure fire. A New South Wales version is somewhat different. According to this, fire was originally owned by two women (Kangaroo-Rat and Bronze-Winged Pigeon) who kept it concealed in a nutshell. For a long time the other animals could not discover how these women were able to cook their food; but at last they set spies to watch them and so learned the secret, whereupon, resolving to secure fire by a ruse, they arranged a dance and invited the two women to be present. One after another the different animals danced in ludicrous positions in an attempt to make the women laugh; and at length one performer succeeded so that the women, convulsed with merriment, rolled upon the ground. This was just what the conspirators had been waiting for, and rushing up, they seized the bag in which was the nut that contained the fire. Opening this and scattering the flame about, they set the grass alight, and in this way fire was caught in the trees, whence ever since it can be procured from their wood by means of friction.

A different mode of origin is found in another series of tales which is also wide-spread; and in some instances this second type is combined with the first. Thus, a tribe in the vicinity of Melbourne say that once two women were cutting a tree to get ants’ nests when they were attacked by snakes. The women fought them for some time, but at last one of them broke her fighting stick, whereupon fire came out of the end of it, and the crow, seizing this, flew away with it. Pursued by two men, it let the fire fall, thus starting a conflagration. These two men were set by Pundjel in the sky as stars, and he told all the people to be careful not to lose fire, now that they had it; but after a time they let it go out, and mankind was again fireless, while snakes became abundant everywhere. At length Pallyang sent his sister Karakarook down from the sky to guard the women, and she went about everywhere with a great stick, killing snakes; but in dispatching one, her stick broke and fire came from it. The crow once more seized this and flew away with it, but the two men who had followed him before descended from the sky, and going to the high mountain where the crow had hidden the fire, brought it back again safely to mankind. Karakarook, the sister, had told the women to examine carefully her broken stick from which the fire had come and never to lose the secret; but since this was not enough, one of those who had rescued the fire from the crow took the men to a mountain where grew the proper sort of wood to make fire-sticks, and showed them how to manufacture and use them, so that ever afterward they should have fire whenever they needed it.

A somewhat different element appears in another small group of tales. The Arunta in central Australia say that in mythical times a euro carried fire in its body. A man pursued the animal in the hopes of getting possession of the precious object, but for a long time he was unable to catch up with the euro, and although he tried to make fire with fire-sticks, he did not succeed. After many days, however, he finally caught the animal and killed it, and on examining the body, found fire concealed within. This he took and used to cook his food; and when the fire went out, he tried again to make it with his fire-sticks, and now was successful. A variant of this type is found in Queensland where fire was originally thought to have been contained in the body of a snake. As in the case of some of the tales of the origin of water and the sea, the other animals decided that the only way to get what they wanted was to make the possessor laugh; and when a bird succeeded in doing this by its comical gyrations, the fire issued from the snake’s mouth, thus becoming the common property of all. The belief that fire was primarily contained in the body of its owner is one widely distributed both in Melanesia and in Polynesia.

That fire was originally obtained from the sky is also an idea found in Australia. Thus, one of the tribes from Victoria declares that a man threw a spear upward to the sky, into which it stuck; but since he had tied a string to the spear, he was able to climb up to the sun and to bring fire down to men. In Queensland the details differ. In the beginning there was no fire on earth, and so the wren volunteered to fly up to the sky to get some; but though he succeeded in his quest, he hid the fire under his tail-feathers in order that others might not get the benefit of his discovery. When he returned and was asked how he had fared, he replied that he had failed in his attempt; but as he suggested the advisability of attempting to get fire from different sorts of wood, other people tried, only to make their hands sore and to abandon the task in disgust. Turning around suddenly, however, one of them burst out laughing, for he saw the fire as a red spot on the tail of the deceitful wren. The latter then admitted that he had been successful, and showed the people how to make fire properly; but ever since he has had a red spot on his tail-feathers.

Still another form of legend of the origin of fire, in which the method of making is discovered by accident or is invented, is shown in a myth from New South Wales. Once there was no fire in the world, and all people had to eat their food raw or dried in the sun; but one day, when the crane, Bootoolgah, was rubbing two pieces of wood together, he saw a faint spark and a slight smoke, whereupon he called out to Goonur, the kangaroo-rat, “See, smoke comes when I rub these pieces of wood! Would it not be fine, if we could make fire for ourselves and cook our food without waiting for the sun to dry it?” “Yes,” said his wife, “it would indeed be good. Split your stick and put dried grass in the cleft, so that even one spark may kindle it.” He did so, and behold! after much rubbing, there came a tiny flame. Though they had now discovered the art of making fire, they resolved to keep it secret; and accordingly, the next time that fish were caught, the two took theirs aside and cooked them. When they brought them back to camp, the other people saw that they looked and tasted differently, and asked what they had done to them; at which the two declared that they had only dried them in the sun as always. The others, however, did not believe this; so they spied and at last discovered the secret. It was then resolved to steal the fire, and this was accomplished, as already stated in previous tales, by making the stingy owners laugh and then seizing the precious receptacle containing fire while they were still overcome with merriment. A variant occurs in Queensland. In the beginning fire and its uses were accidentally discovered by lightning setting fire to the dry grass and thus partly roasting a kangaroo which had been killed. A woman was sent to get a fire-brand, of which she was put in charge to see that the fire should never go out; but one day it was extinguished through her carelessness, and to punish her for her negligence she was sent out to find fire again and bring it back. Her search was fruitless, however, and in her anger at failure she took two sticks and rubbed them together until fire was produced, the secret of its making thus being found

One of the very few myth fragments from Tasmania relates to the origin of fire. According to this, two men once appeared standing on the top of a hill, whence they threw fire like a star, which fell among the people and frightened them so that they ran away. Apparently this started a conflagration, and on their return the people were able to get the fire which they had previously lacked.

One account of the origin of death has already been cited, but another version from New South Wales may be given for comparison. Baloo, the moon, one night seeing some men fording a stream, called out to them to stop and carry his dogs (which were really snakes) across for him. They, however, were afraid of these creatures, for sometimes they bit and killed men when he brought them to earth; and for this reason they refused to do what they had been asked, saying, “We are too frightened. Your dogs might bite us.” Then Baloo replied, “If you do what I ask you, when you die you shall come to life again; not die, and stay always where you are put, when you are dead. See this piece of bark? I throw it into the water, it comes to the top again and. floats. That is what would happen to you, if you would do what I ask you. First down when you die, and then up again. If you will not take my dogs over, you will die like this.”

Thereupon he threw a stone into the water, and as it sank to the bottom, he said, “If you will not do as I tell you, you will be like that stone.” But the men answered, “We cannot do it. We are too frightened of your dogs.” So Baloo came down with his dogs and himself carried them over to show how harmless they were; and then he picked up a stone and threw it into the stream, saying, “Now as you would not do what I ask you to, you have forever lost the chance of rising again after you die--now you will only be black-fellows while you live, and bones when you are dead.”

From a consideration of the cosmogonic myths of Australia here outlined it would appear that a number of conclusions are justified. It has already been pointed out that a broad distinction may be drawn on linguistic grounds between the northern and central tribes on the one hand and those of the remainder of Australia on the other. Unfortunately, we have no myth material from western Australia, so that nothing can be said of its relations to the remainder of the continent. It is fairly clear, however, that the linguistic divergencies between the northern and central portions as contrasted with the southern and eastern districts are paralleled by differences in mythology. In the former region we find scarcely a trace of any myths of the source of the world or of a creator deity. The origin of mankind is either a coming up out of the ground or a spontaneous beginning as embryonic or amorphous beings, who are made human by one or another group of totem ancestors. The sun and moon are regarded as persons who, like other early mythical beings, emerged from the ground and later ascended to the sky, and knowledge of fire is said to have been taught to the ancestors in the underworld. In the southern and eastern portions of the continent we find, on the other hand, more or less definite tales of a creator-being and of a creation, together with myths of the origin of mankind. Here the sun is often regarded as an actual fire kindled by an egg cast into space; here the sea (or water) is said to have been in the beginning either concealed or swallowed; and here a variety of origins are given for fire, its ownership by, and theft from, animals or birds being perhaps the most characteristic. Comparison with adjacent areas leads to rather contradictory results. In some particulars the northern and central type shows relationship to the largely hypothetical Papuan stratum in Melanesia, although some of its most characteristic elements, such as the origin of man from embryonic beings, have thus far not been reported from the Melanesian area. On the other hand, the southern, and eastern type reveals points of similarity with the Melanesian stratum in Melanesia, although from the geographical standpoint, and known historical relations this would hardly be expected. On the basis of the cosmogonic myths alone these suggested resemblances are uncertain at the best; and we may, therefore, turn to the remainder of the mythology and see whether the same cleavage and the same affiliations occur there also.

Chapter 2. Animal And Miscellaneous Tales

THE tales which explain the origin of the individual habits, markings, or cries of animals and other living creatures are quite as typical, on the whole, for Australia as are the Maui myths for Polynesia, the wise and foolish brothers for Melanesia, or the trickster stories for Indonesia. A large proportion of the myth material thus far published from Australia belongs to this class, which, although often interesting in itself, offers less in the way of significant comparative material than other types. While some of these tales have a fairly wide distribution, they are usually rather local in character.

The practically wingless emu has naturally given rise to a number of such aetiological tales; and in New South Wales this distinctive characteristic of the bird is explained as follows. Dinewan, the emu, being the largest of the birds, was acknowledged as king by all the rest; and accordingly the Goomblegubbons, or bustards, were envious of him, the mother bustard being especially jealous of the mother emu because she could run so swiftly and fly so high. She resolved, therefore, to put an end to the mother Dinewan’s supremacy by injuring her wings; and so one day, when she saw her enemy approaching, she sat down and folded her wings to look as though she had none. When Dinewan approached, she said, “Why don’t you do as I do, and be without wings? All birds fly and have wings. The Dinewan as king of the birds should do without them. When the others see how clever I am, they will make the Goomblegubbons king.” Dinewan took this to heart, and finally resolving not to lose the supremacy, she went and cut off her wings, after which she came proudly to where the Goomblegubbon was sitting and called out, “See, I have taken your advice and now I have no wings.” Then the Goomblegubbon laughed, and jumping up, she danced about, flapping her wings and crying, “Aha! I have fooled you, old stumpy wings, for I have my wings still”; and so saying, she flew away. The Dinewan was very angry at having thus been taken in, and after pondering as to how she could get her revenge, at last thought of a plan. She hid all her young ones but two and then walked off to the Goomblegubbon, accompanied only by the pair. When she arrived, she said to the Goomblegubbon, “Why don’t you imitate me and have only two children? If you have many, they are hard to feed and can’t grow up to be big birds like mine. The food that would make big birds of two would starve a dozen.” The Goomblegubbon thought this over and determined to follow the advice, and so, killing all but two, she went with these survivors to see the Dinewan. Thereupon the latter asked her where all her children were, and the Goomblegubbon replied, “Oh, I have killed all but two. These will now have plenty to eat, and will grow to be as big as your children.” Instead of congratulating her on her wisdom, as she had expected, the Dinewan said, “You are a cruel mother! Why, I have twelve children and find food for all of them.” “But you have only two, you told me!” said the Goomblegubbon. “Oh, no, I have twelve; see,” and she called her hidden children, who came out and marched proudly about. “Now, you can see that 1 told you the truth. Think of your murdered little ones, while I tell you your fate. By trickery, you robbed the Dinewans of their wings, and now forever, as long as the Dinewan has no wings, so long shall the Goomblegubbon lay only two eggs. We are quits at last! You have your wings, and I have my children.”

In Victoria the following tale is told of the kangaroo and the wombat. The two once lived together as great friends; but though the latter had a good hut, the former possessed none and slept in the open. One day a great rain fell, and the wombat made himself comfortable in his house, while the poor kangaroo had to remain outside in the wet; when at last the latter could bear it no longer, he went to the wombat’s hut, and asked permission to sit in one corner. The wombat, however, refused, saying, “I want that place for my head,” and moved over so as to lay it there; and when the kangaroo answered, “Well, this other place will do,” the wombat replied, “No, I want to put my feet there.” Thus he refused to let the kangaroo take refuge anywhere within the house; and so the latter, angry at such treatment, took a great stone and struck the wombat on the forehead, making it quite flat. When he had done this, he said, “You shall have a flat forehead and live in a dark hole in the ground”; and to this day the wombat has a flat forehead and lives in the ground. The wombat, however, was not without his revenge, for he threw his spear at the kangaroo and hit him in the back, the missile sinking into his spine. “Now,” said the wombat, “that will always stick there, and you shall have a tail; and you will always use it when you run, and you shall never have a house.”

Many of the tales of this type serve to explain the geographical distribution of certain animals or birds. Thus, one of the Queensland tribes says that once the fish-hawk had poisoned a water-hole with roots and went off to sleep until the fish should be stupefied and rise to the surface; but meanwhile a pheasant came by, and seeing some of the fish, speared them. The hawk, discovering this on his return, awaited his opportunity and hid the pheasant’s spears in a tree, but the owner climbed the tree and got his weapons, with which he took more of the fish-hawk’s catch. Accordingly the latter hid the spears again, this time in the top of a very tall tree; but though the pheasant at last spied them, he was too lazy to climb so high, and going up-stream, he caused a flood to rise which swept the fish-hawk and his fish out to sea. So to this day the fish-hawk is found only along the shore, while the pheasant is. always vainly looking for his spears on the upper branches of the tallest trees.

The snake-like head of the tortoise has doubtless suggested the following tale, which is told in South Australia. Originally the turtle possessed venomous fangs, and the snake had none; but since the latter lived on the shore, he was more liable to be attacked and killed than the turtle, who could take refuge under water or on an island. Accordingly the snake offered the turtle his head, if the latter would give him his fangs, and to this the turtle agreed; whence the snake now has fangs and can protect himself, while the turtle has a snake’s head and takes refuge under water. Another tale accounts for the red legs of the curlew. According to this, one day the hawk, who was the mother of Ouyan, the curlew, said to him, “Go out and get an emu for us. You are a man and a hunter, and must go and get food for us, and not stay in camp like a woman.” Accordingly Ouyan took his spears and went off; but being unable to find an emu, and fearing the jeers of the women, he cut some flesh from his own legs and carried it home, telling his mother that he had gone far and seen little game, but that he had brought something, and that there would be enough for all. So the women cooked the flesh and ate it, but afterward were quite ill. The next day Ouyan went off again, and being unsuccessful as before, he brought back another piece of his flesh; but this time the women were suspicious, and thinking that the meat was unlike that of the emu, they determined to see what Ouyan did on the following day. Thus they found how he secured the meat, and when he returned as usual and then went to lie down saying that he was tired, they rushed up, and pulling off the covering which he had drawn over himself, disclosed his legs all raw and bleeding. They upbraided him for his laziness and evil tricks, and beat him, after which his mother said, “You shall have no more flesh on your legs hereafter, and they shall be red and skinny forever.” So Ouyan crawled away and became a curlew, and these birds cry all night, “Bou-you-gwai-gwai! Bou-you-gwai-gwai!” which means, “0, my poor red legs! O, my poor red legs!”

Still another example of this type of tale runs as follows. The crane was an expert fisherman, and one day when he had caught a large number of fish, the crow (who was white) came along and asked the crane to give him some; but the latter answered, “Wait a while, until they are cooked.” The crow, however, being hungry, kept begging to be allowed to take the fish, only to hear the crane always reply, “Wait.” So at last, when his back was turned, the crow started to steal the fish, but the crane saw him, and seizing one of them, he threw it at the crow and hit him across the eyes. Blinded by the blow, the crow fell into the burnt grass, rolling about in pain; and when he got up, his eyes were white, but his body became as black as crows have been ever since. Resolving to get even with the crane, the crow bided his time, and when the latter was asleep one day with his mouth open, he put a fish-bone across the base of the crane’s tongue and hurried away. On awaking, the crane felt as though he were choking and tried to get the bone out of his mouth; but in so doing he made a queer, scraping noise, which was all he could do, for the bone stuck fast; and so ever since the only sound that a crane can make is “gah-rah-gah, gah-rah-gah,” while the crow has remained black.

Examples of these animal stories might be multiplied almost indefinitely, but enough have been given to illustrate the type. It is to be noted, however, that characteristic as is this form of myth for Australia as a whole, it seems to be especially abundant in the south and east. In the central and northern districts (at least so far as published material is concerned) the prevalent assumption seems to be that just as the world and people have always existed, so the animals have had all their present characteristics from the very beginning. Here again, therefore, we find a distinction between the two main groups of Australia, outside of which this sort of myth is not so highly developed. As has already been shown, Melanesia shows quite a few stories of this kind, but from Polynesia and Indonesia relatively few have been recorded.

Among the tribes of the southern and eastern portions of the Australian continent a number of tales have been reported which deal with beings (sometimes described as brothers) whom the minds of the people associate more or less closely with the creator deity. One of the most characteristic of these legends introduces an incident of some importance for comparative study. As told in South Australia the story runs as follows. Wyungare, a man whose miraculous origin from ordure has already been recounted, was a great hunter and a handsome man; and one day, while he was drinking water by drawing it up from a lake through a long reed, the two wives of Nepelle saw and admired him, and desired him for a husband. Accordingly, when he was asleep in his hut, they made a noise like emus running past, and Wyungare, waking, rushed out with his spear, thinking to secure the game; whereupon they greeted him with shouts of laughter and begged him to take them as his wives, which he obligingly did. When Nepelle discovered his loss, he was very angry and went to Wyungare’s hut to try to kill the culprits; but since the hut was empty, he placed some fire inside, telling it to wait until Wyungare and the two women were asleep and then to get up and burn them. His orders were carried out exactly, and in the night Wyungare and his new wives were awakened by the flames and just had time to escape from the blazing hut. The fire, however, pursued them, and they ran until they reached a deep swamp, in the mud of which they took refuge; here the flames could not reach them. Dreading further attempts of Nepelle to be revenged, Wyungare looked about him for means of escape, and determining to ascend to the sky, he took his spear and hurled it straight upward with a line attached. The spear stuck firmly, and by means of the cord he ascended and pulled the women up after him, where they may now be seen as stars.

Farther to the north, in northern New South Wales, almost the same tale is told, but with this difference, that the ascent to the heavens was accomplished by throwing a spear into the sky; then casting a second, which stuck in the butt of the first; and so forming a chain of spears which finally extended down to earth and up which the fugitives climbed to safety. A similar method of reaching the sky is also recorded among the Narrinyeri from whom the first tale was obtained, but is given simply as a means by which a person succeeded in climbing to the heavens. It will be remembered that in Melanesia the arrow-chain as a method of ascent to the sky was wide-spread, and the occurrence of the same incident here (substituting spears for arrows, since the latter are unknown in Australia) is certainly significant.

Of equal importance are two tales which would seem to be incomplete and mutilated versions of the swan-maiden episode, which is also widely current both in Melanesia and in Indonesia. The Victorian (?) recension narrates that one day a man who was out hunting surprised a number of winged girls who were bathing; and owing to the fact that he was very handsome, they fell in love with him and became his wives. Nothing is here said of their being sky-maidens or of the usual incident of stealing the wings; but in a version recorded in New South Wales some of these elements appear. According to this form of the talethere was once a man who was so badly treated by his fellows that in anger he determined to leave them and seek a home in a far country. He travelled for a long way, having many adventures on the road, and at last came to a camp, where there were only seven girls who received him kindly and gave him food, telling him that they had come from a distant land to which they hoped to return. Next day Wurruna, for this was the man’s name, left, but after going a short distance, he hid to see if he could not steal one of the girls for a wife. They set out with their digging sticks to get flying ants’ nests, and while they were eating the grubs, they laid aside their tools, whereupon Wurruna, sneaking up took two of them.

By and by the girls started for home, but two of them, being unable to find their digging sticks, were left behind by the others; and as they were busy searching for their lost implements, Wurruna jumped out and seized them. Though they struggled for a time, they finally agreed to marry him; and for a while they lived happily enough. Then one day Wurruna ordered them to get some pine-bark to make the fire burn better, but they demurred, saying, “No, we must not cut pine-bark. If we do, you will never see us again.” Wurruna, angry at their refusal, replied, “Go, don’t stay to talk. Do as I bid you, and if you try to run away, I can easily catch you.” So they went, each to a different tree, and struck their hatchets into the trunk; but as they did so, the trees began to grow, and since the women clung to their weapons, they were carried up with the trees. Higher and still higher they went as the trees grew upward, and Wurruna, seeing them, ran thither and called to them to come own; but they paid no heed and at last were carried up to the sky. When the tops of the trees reached the heavens, their five sisters looked out from the sky-country and called to them, telling them not to be afraid, but to come and join them. Accordingly Wurruna’s two wives, climbing from the trees up into the sky, joined their sisters who had gone back to their own country, and ever since they have remained there with them as the seven stars which we call the Pleiades. It will be observed that in this tale, as in the previous one of the ascent to the sky by the spear-chain, the more northerly version is closer to the Melanesian prototype, so that it would seem as though we might assume a progressive modification of the themes with increasing distance from their approximate source. In this connexion it is especially regrettable that no adequate material is available from Queensland.

By no means so significant as the two groups of myths just considered, but yet of some value for comparative purposes, are the tales in which a person is swallowed by a monster. A version told in New South Wales runs as follows. Byamee, the creator-deity, one day went off to get honey, and his two wives started out to gather figs -and yams. While they were enjoying themselves swimming in a deep water-hole, they were seized and swallowed by two water monsters, who then dived deep, and traversing an underground passage, took all the water with them, after which they proceeded down the stream, carrying the waters as they went. On his return Byamee found his wives missing, and setting out in pursuit, he followed down the river-bed, which was now dry, until, by cutting across bends of the stream, he got ahead of the monsters. As they came on, he threw his spears at them and finally killed them, the water gushing forth and refilling the bed of the stream; after which he cut open their bodies and took out the forms of his wives, which he laid upon some red ants’ nests. These quickly cleaned the slime off the bodies, and when they stung them, they made the muscles twitch, so that the two women were soon restored to life. Byamee then cautioned them not to bathe again in such deep water-holes, and pointing out the cavities in the ground made by the struggles of the monsters, and now filled with water, said that ever afterward these should be lakes on which many wild fowl would gather; and to this day Narran Lake marks the spot.

Interesting in that its similarities lie far afield is an incident in a tale recorded from Victoria. Among some of these tribes there are quite a series of stories recounting the deeds and adventures of two brothers, the Brambrambult, or two Brams. On one occasion Gartuk, the mopoke, having been badly used by them, resolved to get even, and finding his opportunity when a great wind-storm arose, he made a great kangaroo-skin bag, caught the wind in it, and tied it up. In the course of time he thus similarly captured and imprisoned three windstorms, and taking the three receptacles containing them, he set off for the camp of the Brams. Having found it, he unloosed the bags and released all three storms at once; but when the two brothers realized their danger, each seized hold of a tree to prevent being blown away, while their mother, the frog, took refuge under ground. One of the trees was strong enough to withstand the tremendous force of the wind, and the elder brother was saved by clinging to it; whereas the other tree broke, and the younger was carried off by the hurricane. When the storm was over, the elder brother sought everywhere for the younger, but all his efforts being in vain, he called upon his mother to aid him. She accordingly pressed milk from her breasts, and this, by flowing in the direction in which the younger brother had been carried, guided the elder Bram in his search, which was at last successful.

Apparently characteristic of the south-east, but showing no resemblances elsewhere, is a legend which might better perhaps have been placed with the animal stories. As told in Victoria, the tale runs as follows. The native bear, when he was still a child, was left an orphan; but the people to whom he was entrusted did not take any care of him and often, when they went hunting, left him in camp with no water to drink. One day, after they had thus abandoned him, they forgot to hang their water-vessels out of his reach, so for once he had plenty. To be revenged for his previous ill treatment, however, he took all the water-vessels and hung them in a tree; and he also gathered the waters of the streams, and putting them into other vessels, he carried them to a tree, into the top of which he then climbed and which he made to grow until it was very tall. By and by the people returned tired and thirsty from their day’s hunting; but when they looked for their water-vessels, they could not find them, and when they went to the stream, it was dry. At last they spied the little bear and all the water-vessels high up in the tree and called out to him, asking if he had any water, to which he replied, “Oh, yes; but I shall not give you any, because you have so often left me thirsty.” Two of the people then started to climb the tree to take the water by force, but when they had ascended a little way, the bear let some of the water fall upon them, thus loosening their hold so that they fell and were killed. Several other men made the attempt, but with the same result; and finally two of the sons of Pundjel came to the people’s assistance. Unlike their predecessors, they climbed spirally round and round the tree, so that when the bear threw the water down, they were on the other side of the tree from where he had seen them a moment before. In this way they succeeded in reaching the top, and the bear, seeing that he could not help being caught, began to cry. Paying no attention to him, however, they beat him until all his bones were broken and then threw him down; but instead of dying, he was turned into a real bear and climbed another tree. The two sons of Pundjel then descended, and when they had felled the tree in which the vessels had been stored, all the water there secreted flowed out into the streams, and ever since they have contained water for people to use. After this the two sons of Pundjel told the people that they must never again break the bones of the bear when they killed him nor might they skin him before roasting. To this day the bear still continues to live in trees and will cry whenever a man climbs the one in which he is sitting; and he always keeps near water, so that if the rule in regard to breaking his bones should be infringed, he can again carry off the water of the streams.

Cannibal-stories seem to be less common than in Melanesia. One tale, which appears to be current both in the central area and in Victoria, runs as follows. Two old men, who were brothers, were travelling with a young man who was their nephew; but since the old men were cannibals and planned to kill and eat the young man, one of them secreted himself in a cave, while the other sat down near by. Meanwhile the young man went off to hunt and drove much game down from the hill, all of which ran into the cave where one of the old men was hidden. The other cannibal then called to his nephew to go in and kill the game, which he did, partly by blows and partly by suffocating them with thick smoke from a fire built at the mouth of the cave. After this the old man asked the younger to enter again and drag out the game; and while he was so engaged, the cannibal who had concealed himself rushed from his hiding-place and endeavoured to kill the boy. The latter dodged, however, and crept out, telling his other uncle that there was a man in the cave who had tried to murder him. The old deceiver stoutly denied this, and going in, he whispered to his accomplice that he must hide himself elsewhere for a time until their nephew had grown up, lest the latter should kill them both. Hearing them talking, the boy asked who was there; but the old man declared that there was no one else in the cave and said that he was only speaking to an old wallaby, which he dragged out as he came. The boy, however, did not believe it; so the one who had been hidden in the cave came out secretly and concealed himself in another cavern. After a while the same drama was enacted as before; but this time the boy was determined to destroy both cannibals. Accordingly, when the old man who was secreted in the cave struck at him, he again induced the other to enter, and then, piling up a great quantity of grass before the opening and setting fire to it, he smothered them both to death. After they were dead, they ascended to the sky, where they may still be seen as stars.

A second cannibal-tale runs as follows. The members of a certain tribe began to decrease one by one, and hunters and women who went far from camp failed to return, until at last only one family was left. Determining to find out how all their kinsmen had perished, and leaving their old father to take care of the women, the sons set out and after travelling for some distance they met an old man carrying a hollow log, who asked them to aid him to get a bandicoot out of it. They feared trickery, however, and refused to put their hands into the trap, thrusting in a stick instead; and their suspicions were justified, for out came a great snake with a head at each end of its body.

Taking their sticks, they cut the reptile in two, and thus made them as we see them today; and having done this, they killed the old man. Continuing on their way, they came to his hut, where were piles of bones of the people whom he had killed; and going farther, they reached a lake, by which grew a tree. In the tree was a beautiful woman who invited the men to climb up to her; but before they did so, they noticed that the lake was filled with the remains of human bodies, for the woman was a cannibal and enticed men to ascend the tree that she might kill and eat them. Resolved to punish her for her misdeeds, they went up with care and pushed her into the lake, where she was drowned.

Chapter 3. Summary

FROM a consideration of the Australian cosmogonic myths alone, the inference was drawn that the central and northern portions of the continent exhibited a type of mythology which was unlike the southern and eastern; and this conclusion is, on the whole, strengthened by the evidence derived from the animal and miscellaneous tales. The former class of explanatory myths appears to be much more fully evolved in the southern and eastern portions of the continent than in the central and northern; where, on the other hand, we find a high development of the peculiar type of tales which recount both the origin of the totemic ancestors by coming up out of the ground, and their wanderings and activities as instructors in ceremonial and social usages. In the central area the great bulk of all the mythology so far published is concerned with the doings of these totem ancestors, and there is a relative absence of tales relating to heroes or mythological personages which are not directly associated with limited groups of people, but are the common property of the whole tribe. Totem clans and ceremonies form an integral part of the organization and life of the southern and eastern tribes just as they do in the central area, but they do not so completely dominate the mythology. In the distribution of particular tales or incidents, in like manner, there are certain ones which belong to one or other of the two main areas, but relatively few which are common to both. Thus the distinction between the central and northern areas on the one hand,, and the southern and eastern on the other, which has been recognized on linguistic grounds, apparently finds a fair parallel in the mythology.

When we come to compare the Australian myths with those of the other portions of the Pacific area, one or two points seem to stand out clearly. Resemblances to Melanesia, both in general type and in specific details, are most marked in the southern and eastern portions of the continent. Only here, apparently, do we meet with such themes as the swan-maiden or the arrow-chain; and it is here that the animal stories are most abundant, and that we find cosmogonic tales referring to the creation both of the world and of man. The closest affiliation of Australian mythology with that of Melanesia seems to be with the Melanesian rather than with what has been tentatively called the Papuan. There seems, however, to be little trace of the wide-spread Melanesian dualistic ideas as revealed in the tales of the wise and foolish brothers; although possible suggestions of this may be found in some of the Queensland myths or in the New South Wales stories of the two Brams. The mythology of the central and northern portions of Australia, on the other hand, stands more or less alone; and so far as its peculiar tales of totem ancestors are concerned, it seems to be unique. In its lack of cosmogonic tales and in its numerous myths which are restricted to relatively small local groups or classes in the community it shows many resemblances to the Papuan type as this has been defined in Melanesia, although the similarity is not very striking. The task of unravelling the relationships of Australian mythology is made much more difficult by the complete lack of all knowledge of Tasmanian beliefs and of those of the western and southwestern portions of the Australian continent. If, as seems probable, the Tasmanians represented in their isolation the oldest stratum of the Australian population, it was from them, and from them alone, that a knowledge of really aboriginal mythology could have been obtained. Cultural, linguistic, and physical evidence clearly shows that the present inhabitants of the continent are a mixture of this earliest stratum with at least two groups of invaders. The linguistic data have been taken to indicate that the central and northern tribes is the later of these groups and represents a Papuan wave from New Guinea; but on the basis of mythology it would seem that an alternative hypothesis is rather more in accord with the facts, and that the central and northern tribes represented the earlier (and presumably Papuan) group, driven back into the less favourable portion of the continent by a wave of Melanesian peoples spreading from the north-east, thus repeating a process which had already taken place in Melanesia itself. It is very difficult, however, to harmonize this view with the evidence derived from other sources, and we cannot hope for a solution until such time as we possess adequate information in regard to the mythology, culture, and physical characteristics of the Papuan tribes of Melanesia.

Conclusion

THE sketch of the mythology of Oceania given in the preceding pages has been arranged in five main sections, each confined to one of the geographic or ethnographic areas into which the whole region is usually divided. At the end of each section we have given the general conclusions reached from a survey of the material; and these may now be briefly summarized, in order that we may gain an outline of the growth of Oceanic mythology as a whole.

The oldest and most primitive stratum of mythology in Oceania is either lost to us entirely, as in the case of Tasmania, or else is unknown, since no material from the Negrito peoples of the area is as yet accessible. Of its character, affiliations, and sources, therefore, nothing can be said. Following next upon this, at least in Melanesia and Australia, is what has been called the Papuan type--still very imperfectly known and apparently quite variable in its character. With the rest of the mythology of Oceania it presents comparatively little in common except in Melanesia, where the later Melanesian stratum probably contains a considerable element derived from it. Of the sources of this Papuan type little or nothing can be said. As the Negrito and Tasmanian strata are followed by the Papuan in Melanesia and Australia, in Indonesia the Negrito is succeeded by the Indonesian layer. Unlike the Papuan, this has wide affiliations which extend, on the one hand, well into south-eastern Asia (i. e. to Assam, Burma, and Indo-China), and on the other, to Micronesia, Melanesia, and Polynesia. It is at least a plausible hypothesis that the characteristic myths of this type were spread by a wave or series of waves of people who, moving from the Asiatic mainland into Indonesia, passed thence, on the one hand, to Micronesia and Hawaii, and on the other, through northern Melanesia to Polynesia. In the course of its passage along the northern shores of New Guinea and through the eastern archipelagos this latter stream became profoundly modified and carried with it to Polynesia, and especially to New Zealand, a considerable number of elements which were either directly borrowed from the Papuan population or, more probably, were locally developed there as a result of Papuan contact and mixture. Linguistic and cultural evidences seem to indicate a long halt of the migratory stream in eastern Melanesia, and it is possible that the Melanesians, in the strict sense of the term, are in origin a blend of the Indonesian migrants with the earlier Papuan type. In some such way as this, at any rate, mythological elements which were widely spread in Melanesia reached western Polynesia and New Zealand at an early date, but did not extend to eastern Polynesia and Hawaii. That a minor current of this great mythological stream may have reached the north-eastern shores of Australia is suggested by the presence there of several of its characteristic features; but historically this movement may have been much later. Another such minor branch of the main drift may well have passed northward from eastern Melanesia to Micronesia, bringing to that area its unmistakable Melanesian elements.

Long subsequent, probably, to this first great drift of Indonesian peoples eastward into the Pacific came a second period of movement probably including both Indonesians proper and Malays. This time there seems to have been no migration into Micronesia, the whole stream passing eastward along the northern coast of New Guinea and the edge of the eastern archipelagos, directly into Polynesia. This immigrant wave, although incorporating certain Melanesian features in transit, seems to have become less modified than the earlier one. After some time had elapsed, during which there was a blending of the mythology of the earlier and later types, a branch of the now complex Polynesian peoples passed from central Polynesia northward to Hawaii, bringing thither the Melanesian elements which had previously been lacking; and another branch passed south-west from Tahiti and the Cook Group into New Zealand, constituting the traditional immigration into that island in the fourteenth century.

Coincident with, or perhaps preceding, the departure of the second main wave of peoples from Indonesia, Hindu elements penetrated to Sumatra and Java. It is as yet difficult to say whether this invasion of Indian culture and peoples was a cause of the emigration of the later Polynesian ancestors, but it seems probable that some of these latter were slightly influenced by Indian contact; and we must also bear in mind the possibility that these Hindu and South Indian elements may have been transmitted later by trade and other factors. Although the influence of Indian beliefs was slight in Melanesia, and perhaps negligible in Polynesia, it was strong in Indonesia, especially in the west; and while it is still uncertain how far the spread of these Asiatic elements was due to early Malay movements northward into the Philippines, these Malay migrations seem to have been factors. Last of all comes the Muhammadan influence, which has made itself felt everywhere in Indonesia except among the wilder interior tribes, and whose effects farther eastward appear to be limited to the extreme western parts of New Guinea.

Such, in its broad outlines, seems to be the history of the development of Oceanic mythology. It is by no means impossible that some of the similarities in incident which have been cited as evidence of relationships may, after all, be found to be of independent origin. Yet where there is so much smoke, there must be some fire; and the drift of myth elements here suggested finds so much to corroborate it in other fields of Oceanic culture that we may accept the facts as complying with the fundamental rule that similarities, to be really significant, must be shown to conform to historically possible movements or contacts. We do not, of course, intend for a moment to imply that such drifts and transmission of myth elements can explain all the mythology of the Oceanic area; for a large proportion, perhaps the majority, of myths have originated and developed within the several sections of the region in which they now occur, or are the outgrowth of imported elements which have been so profoundly modified that the original sources are wholly obscured. Into the question of the several curious resemblances between Oceanic and American mythology it is impossible to enter here. In large measure they contravene the rule just emphasized, since there is as yet no unimpeachable evidence for migrations between Oceania and America or vice versa, or even for definite contact; and such data as there are involve us in little more than a series of paradoxes. Until such contact or migration has been clearly established, Oceanic mythology must be regarded as essentially of Oceanic growth, although considerable elements of Asiatic origin have entered into the complex. Its history rests on that of the series of ethnic waves which, proceeding from southeastern Asia and its adjacent archipelagos, swept in intricate currents to the utmost verge of Oceania, bringing to each group and islet in the whole vast area its own peculiar heritage of tradition and belief.

THE END

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