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Updated: June 21, 2025
I had not yet solved the problem of how to get away from the Segond Channel and find a good field of labour, when, happily, the French priest from Port Olry came to stay a few days with his colleague at the channel, on his way to Vao, and he obligingly granted me a passage on his cutter.
It is not surprising that the whole race has lost the will to live, and that children are considered an undesirable gift, of which one would rather be rid. What hopelessness lies in the words I once heard a woman of Vao say: "Why should we have any more children? Since the white man came they all die." And die they certainly do.
Old men and women crossed over to the yam-fields, the little children played as usual, but the gay shouts were silent, the beautiful, brown, supple-bodied young men were gone, and I no longer felt the joy of living which had been Vao's greatest charm. The old men were sulky and sad, and spoke of leaving Vao for good and settling somewhere far inland.
According to Vao beliefs, the souls of the dead travel to the island of Ambrym, and after five days climb a narrow trail up to the volcano. In order that the soul may not starve on the way, the survivors often make a small canoe, load it with food and push it off into the sea, thinking it will drift after the soul.
Later he will understand that the charm of Vao lies in the rich, busy human life that fills the island. It is probably the most thickly populated of the group, with about five hundred souls living in a space one mile long and three-fourths of a mile wide; and it is their happy, careless, lazy existence that makes Vao seem to the stranger like a friendly home.
An enormous monolith, now broken, but once 5 mètres high, speaks for the energy of bygone generations, when this rock was carried up from the coast, probably for a monument to some great chief. While the women were gathering food for the evening meal we returned to Vao. The breeze had stiffened in the midst of the channel, and one old woman's canoe had capsized.
In spite of their frequent intercourse with whites, the people of Vao are still confirmed cannibals, only they have not many opportunities for gratifying their taste in this direction.
It is plain we have in Europe stories of a similar complexion; and the Polynesian varua ino or aitu o le vao is clearly the near kinsman of the Transylvanian vampire. Here is a tale in which the kinship appears broadly marked. On the atoll of Penrhyn, then still partly savage, a certain chief was long the salutary terror of the natives.
I landed, packed my collections, which I had left in Vao, and, with the help of a missionary, I reached Bushman Bay, whence Mr. H. kindly took me to Vila. There H.B.M. Resident Commissioner, Mr. Morton King, did me the honour of offering me his hospitality, so that I was suddenly transplanted to all the luxuries of civilized life once more.
A priest whom I met knew quite a number of such stories from a man whom he had digged alive out of the grave, where his relatives had buried him, thinking him old enough to die. This is not a rare occurrence; sometimes the old people themselves are tired of life and ask to be killed. What has preserved the old customs so well on Vao is the aversion of the natives to plantation work.
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