Coin Machine Review (& Pacific ...)

Issue: 1941 December

An Encounler Wilh Ihe
Mon-Eoling Savages of
Moloilo

An Out-of-the-Industry Feature
by
Lieut. Harry E. Rieseberg
Internationally recogn ized as the lore most authority on sunken
treasure ships and world·record retainer lor depth salvage in an
all-metal deep-sea diving robot.
A nose-punctured cannibal warrior Irom the hill country
01 Malaita. where l ew white men have ever explored
or penetrated.
heard me coming
A s up the the Englishman
steps to his verandah he put
down his book and pulled the battered
stem of his pipe from between his teeth.
"All set, Lieutenant?" he asked.
" Yes," I replied, "we're leaving. I don' t
know when I'll be back in Papua again,
Masters - maybe never - so I thought I'd
better stop in and say farewell to you."
"Glad you did, old man. Here, sit down
a minute and we'll have a little chat."
I eased myself into a creaking wicker
chair while my friend shouted for his
houseboy. Then Masters turned back to
me. "So you're off for Brougham Shoals,
eh?"
"Yes, Masters," I said, "we're headed
that way."
"Well, I wish you success, Lieutenant."
His eyes narrowed as he looked off across
the Coral Sea in the direction of the far
distant Solomon Islands. "Bad country
down that way," he said.
"Hurricanes?" I suggested.
"Not that so much - it's the natives
I'm thinking of. Damned wild lot in parts
of the Solomons - cannibals in some
places. Brougham Shoals is all right. You
won't have any trouble there, but stay
away from Bauro or Malaita - unless you
haven't any choice."
Masters had been British Deputy Com·
missioner in charge of the Solomons for
several years so he knew what he was talk·
in g about, but I just grinned at his warn-
ing. "Don't worry about me," I told him,
"I ca n take care of myself."
"I suppose so." His eyes ranged along
my six foot two frame that t ipped the
scales at two hundred and ten pounds.
"You' d make damned good 'long-pig' for
a ~a nnibal f,east," he .laug~~d.
.
Not me, I told him.
When It comes
to ca nnibal parties, you can count me out."
A week later I was to recall those words
with a shudder that was more than super-
stitious.



My small schooner had pushed its blunt
nose through the strait that lies between
Guadalcanal and Bauro Islands when Rom,
my native boy, came hurrying up with the
unpleasant news .that our last cask of
drinking water had sprung a leak. There
was only one answer to that - we had to
have fresh water without delay.
Before us, off the port bow, loomed the
serrated creat of a volcanic range. "We'll
pu t in there," I told Rom, pointing ahead.
"Malaita?" he asked.
"Yes, we ought to find water there," I
replied.
Shortly we slipped into a small cove and
dropped anchor. All six of us, my five
native crew boys and myself, set out from
the schooner in the dinghy and two canoes.
We had strapped on our revolvers and
loaded our small boats with empty water
barrels. Thus equipped we headed for
shore.
Malaita doesn't look like much of a place
on the ordinary' maps, yet actually it's a
hundred miles long by thirty wide - and
no white man has ever crossed the jagged
mountains that run lengthwise like a giant
backbone through the center of the island.
Any number of savage tribes inhab it the
place, and there must be c1os~ to a hu n-
dred and fifty thousand black men who
call this home. We'd heara enough tales

BELOW LEFT: Priest 01 the Cannibal Tribes
01 Malaita in C eremon ial regalia. CENTER :
Preparing their primitive meal. RIGHT: These
three belles 01 Malaita were girls taken on
raids by t he cannibal tribes Irom the inner
hill country. Th ei, clothing problems are
exceptionally simple.
about it to know that Mala ita was not a
healthy spot for outsiders.
As we neared shore, we came to the
mouth of what happened to be a good sized
stream with low lying banks on either
side, instead of the usual abrupt head-
lands. We could see occasional patches
of mangrove swamp, and beyond a sinister
and impenetrable forest that ranged from
palms near tidewater to ebony and sandal-
wood on the upper slopes of the hills. We
went slowly up the narrow stream.
An air of mysterious menace hung over
the silent land, and one had a sense of
some veiled threat behind this quiet scenp,.
Instinctively we rowed without noise or
splashing. Suddenly Rom held up his
hand. "Listen!" he said gesturing off to
the right.
We cocked our ears in that direction.
Presently we were rewarded by a whisper-
ing sound that permeated the mute jungle
and brought to us a subdued murmuring '
like the breaking of surf at a great dis·
tance. I had heard waterfalls before -
there was no mistak ing it.
"Far away?" I asked Rom.
"Not far," he answered. We went on ,
quietly as before.
Around the next bend we discovered a
feeder stream. Rom poin ted to this tribu-
tary branching off to the right and indi-
cated that our most likely passage lay in
that direction. The dark wall of the jungle
looked anything but hospitable. I leaned
over the side of the dinghy and tasted the
water of the feeder stream. It had a foul,
brackish flavor. We just had to have fr.esh
water before we could sail again.
"All right," I said, "let's go on."
But Rom didn' t move. Impatiently
turned to h im, and caught a puzzled frown
on his face. He was half crouched, leaning
forward intently, listening: Then I got it
- a deep, undulating rhythm of sound that
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see med to pl ay over th e di sta nt whis per
of the waterfall. It was th e broken hal"
mony of native drums. My crew boys were
watchin g me with so lemn fa ces.
" No good," grunted Rom. " Big time
th ere - no good."
I didn' t like the looks of things myself.
However, I nodded to the boys and th e
paddles knifed into th e slu gp:ish stream
again. It was gett in g la te; we were li abl e
to be caught by ni ght. I sa id, '''We ca me
for water, we know there's a waterfall
so mewhere ah ea d of us, so let's k eep going."
By th is tim e we were well up the feeder
st ream that was lead ing us strai ght into
th e hea rt of the jungle. Ove rhea d, some
of the larger trees made a ca nopy to blot
. out th e fa st fa ding daylight, wh il e dismal
swamps and snaky ma ngrove roots l ined
the stream's margin . Th e tw isted la ne of
water we fo llowed seemed endless, al·
tho up:h it na rrowed so steadi ly that we could
almost feel it press ing in on us. Th e mur·
mur of t he di stant waterfall p: rew con in volum e, yet our constant expectation of
see ing its whi te thread th ro ugh th e dusk
was like some ni ghtmare of a goal that is
always just beyond reach.
The black ni ght had closed in on us, and
th ere was no moon to light th e way. And
all this time we could h ear the fi erce wild
drummin g of th e na tive drums, ri sin g and
fallin g on the night air. A stra nge, ra re
coolness cam e to us in th e darkn ess. Sud.
denl y th e so und of drummin g disappeared
abruptl y - almost as thou gh it had b een
cut off with a knife. But the surf·lik e mur·
mur of th e water was still with us - less
muffled th an before, r isin g gra dually to a
soft, di stinct c rescendo. '(hher sounds pi ck ed
up the cadence - th e jungle was comin g to
life a nd liftin g its myria d voi ces in a n ob·
li ga to th at did no mo,te than accentuate
the unholy stillness of th e. land. Never b e·
fore, or sin ce, have I heen so acutely aware
of such co mpl ete isol a tion f rom civil ization .
We left our ca noes, a nd tak ing the water
barrels, picked our way throu gh the clutch·
in g underbrush th at tore at our clothin g
lik e ghostly talo ns. Suddenly Rom gas ped,
"Drums - close by! " We had been so in·
tent on our fumblin g pro gress that we were
completely unpre pared for the sudden harsh
rollin g sound that was like th at of a mil i·
tary snare dru m, only deeper.
Boom ! Boom! Boom! Boom! .
Boom! Boom! BODm! Boom! .
On e of my crew boys sucked in hi s
breath wi th a startl ed sibilance. I cou ld
see the whites of the others' rolling eye·
balls in th e wei rd gloom. As we stood
transfixed, the drums sounded again and
agai'n , louder and loud er . . .
It was utter savagery tearing th e black
ni ght to shreds ! Savagery ri sing to a
shrill hysteri a as the wi I d drummers
th ru mm ed out a tribute to so me hea then
god! Th ere was a sheer madness in those
drums that ran through my veins like flam e
- they do strange, unexplainable things to
people, for in their pu lsa ti ons lies the core
of mankind's earli est el< pression. Civiliza·
tion's thin veneer cracks, shatters, and the
primitive sub·conscio us bursts t hrou ~ h ­
ri sin g to meet the soarin g crescendo of
soun d.
Now our ears could catch the strident
shouts of half· mad savages, and fragments
of h igh· pitched song quivered against th e
black ni ght. I dipped my hand again into
the water of the strea m. It was still
braki sh.
We went on into the darkness. It seemed
as though we were s plashing through some
fantastic, endless tunn el, so closely was the
waterway h emmed in by matted vegetation.
Over the strea m th ere was a heavy, acrid
smell of weeds and dank undergrowth and
unclean b easts; the air was now foul with
a rank sourness.
We thou ght of littl e now but gettin g
water. We had to have it.
Yet the noise of the drums, the dis·
cordant shouts a nd cries ahead of us, al·
ways a little clea rer, drew us with th e
power of so me sensitive magnet. Th e night
was given back to the waterfall, and the
di sembodied sounds of the jungle denizens.
Th en, all at once we pushed through a
tan gled mass of vines a nd branches which
had com pletely shut oil the view beyond ,
and a t the sight whi ch met our eyes we
'fro ze' on the s pot, crouching at the
strea m's edge besid e our empty water bar·
rels. Not on e of us spok e; we hardly dared
to breathe, and I was conscious of a
tinglin g sensa tion alon g th e b ack of my
seal p as the scene hefo re us registered on
my thoroughl y startled mind.
Th ere befor e us was a large clea r space
by the strea m, wi th the elusive waterfalls
just on th e oth er side of it - a small, clear
casca de frothin g down over the rocks. But
between us and th e precious liquid bl azed
a huge fire, fillin g th e air wi th smoke and
sparks and an everchanging pattern of
light. It seemed impossibl e that we could
have failed to note th e glare long before
this, but the trees matted thick with vines
had thrown a sc reen about th e pl ace.
Cross· legged a round the crackling bl aze
sat a whole crowd of the ugliest lookin g
human bein gs I had ever la id eyes on. As
we came upon th em th ey were feasting like
a pack of hun gry anim als, eyes rollin g and
'wh ite teeth flashi ng in the shifting gleam
of the foreli ght. Occasion ally, a guttural
word, blurred by thick, repu lsive lips car·
ried to us, but mostly they were too con·
cerned with their glu ttony to speak. Their
ebony bod ies glistened with sweat, and th e
metal hea ds of th eir spea rs were flecked
with ligh t where they were not stai ned wi th
blood and soil. Over to one side were the
drums we had heard, silent now, and their
fea ther deck ed drumsticks hung over low·
Iyi ng branches.
They were black, these Malai ta savages
- much darker than any Malay, or even
most of the New Gui nea tribes. Th eir
heads were covered with long, wiry hair ;
they had squat, spreadin g noses and wide,
cru el·loo kin g mouths. Their coverings were
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