The “Topaze stick fragment”—a newly discovered rongorongo-inscribed artifact collected during the Rapa Nui (Easter Island) visit of HMS Topaze in 1868

Abstract

In this article, we document a small wooden relic from Rapa Nui (Easter Island) acquired by a crewmember of HMS Topaze during the ship’s visit to the island in 1868. Despite its otherwise unassuming appearance, it is significant in that it bears a short rongorongo (the indigenous script of Easter Island) inscription carved on one side. It was only after locating the “Kell Hand” artifact (Schoch and Melka 2022), also collected during the 1868 Topaze visit and bearing a short rongorongo inscription, that the current authors became aware of this second Topaze-collected rongorongo-inscribed item. Herein, we describe and analyze the inscription found on the “Topaze stick fragment.” Given the serendipitous emergence of Topaze-collected artifacts not previously documented in the literature, there is the lingering hope that further pieces bearing rongorongo inscriptions may come to light in the future, whether associated with the Topaze or other visiting ships during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries.

Keywords:

• Boucher cranium with five motifs
• Briggs palate
• composite small bird sculpture
• fragment of a king’s baton
• HMS Topaze
• Kotzebue bird and crescent pendant
• Kotzebue hair amulet
• private collections
• Rapa Nui (Easter Island)
• rongorongo inscriptions
• Topaze stick fragment

Acknowledgments

We thank the reviewers for a number of helpful suggestions which served to improve this article. We also thank Mr. Reinhard Blumauer, Curator of the Oceania and Australia Collection at Weltmuseum (Wien/Vienna), for providing us with high resolution photographs of the ‘ao double-bladed paddle (inv. no. 022845) held at this institution.

Disclosure statement

No potential conflict of interest was reported by the author(s).

Notes

1 Whether the comparison is (or not) a very apt one, it is hard to avoid the impression that several rongorongo decipherers or researchers were over the years on a path to emulate Maurice Pope’s (1999 [1975], 188) wholesome statement, “The three decipherments that are generally recognized as having presented the most formidable tasks and whose accomplishment merits the greatest admiration, [are] those of Persian cuneiform, Linear B, and [ancient] Egyptian [hieroglyphs],….” Furthermore, “breakthroughs,” whether in terms of decipherments (see Melka 2009a regarding Fischer 1997, 258–261), or in terms of dating rongorongo as a pre-1722/1770 phenomenon and as an independently invented writing system (see Ferrara et al. 2024), tend to be surrounded by a degree of sensationalism (see Gorman and Sproat 2024).

2 As Fischer (1997, 64) notes, “One will recall that the crew of Topaze had not seen any rongorongo artefacts—neither tablets nor staffs—while on the island in 1868, nor did they or their French hosts [= missionaries] even know of rongorongo’s existence at that time….”

3 The Christian Mission sent in March 1866 by the Congregation of the Sacred Hearts of Jesus and Mary (SS.CC.).

4 The cited individual is the Frenchman ship Captain, commercial agent, adventurer, and self-appointed Easter Island autocratic governor Jean-Baptiste Onésime Dutrou-Bornier (1834–1876); see also Melka and Schoch (2020a, 506), “While enjoying a nearly hegemonic influence on the island, J-B Dutrou-Bornier, as reports go, attended to foreign visitors and wrecked sailors—most probably—for his personal benefit.”

5 Regarding such “woodcarvings,” see Orliac, Orliac, and Horley (2019, 213–214, Figures 2 and 3). As for the disappearance of artifacts “without a trace,” an explanation is that much of the collected 1868 ethnographic material was subsequently bartered or sold at the city-port of Valparaíso, Chile (ibid., 219, citing Van Tilburg 1992, 45); see also Schoch and Melka (2022, 306, fn. 9). Clearly, Orliac and Orliac’s (2008, 84) assessment fits the artifacts acquired by different crewmembers of Topaze that subsequently ended up in “anonymous” private collections “from which they ‘emerge’ [or would ‘emerge’; our note] from time to time.” A previously unrecorded object that came recently to the attention of R. M. Schoch (September 2023) is the so-called “Easter Island Makemake-painted stick,” collected by Magnus Amundsen, a Norwegian crewmember of the HMS Topaze during the 1868 visit to the island. The “Makemake-painted stick” resided for many years (until the early 1980s) with the descendants of the original M. Amundsen in Norway, until it found its way into another private collection, this time in Denmark. In 2023, the said artifact changed hands again, and was purchased by a collector and art connoisseur in the United States. The supreme deity Makemake was one cultural staple in the Old Rapanui society and is portrayed on various objects and media supports, whether in a carved, sculpted, incised, or painted form.

6 Grant McCall (2004, 141) records that “Master Peter Arup” visited Easter Island (ship’s name “Unknown”) on 4 October 1868; see also the mentions of Lehmann (1907, 148); Heyerdahl (1961, 72); Fischer (1997, 565, fn. 12) who suggests that “the date 1868 must be false”; and Orliac et al. (2016, 34). Adrienne L. Kaeppler (2003, 37) records objects from Easter Island “Collected by Captain Peter Arup on the Norwegian ship Glitner. Captain Arup transported missionaries, sheep, and cattle from Valparaiso to Rapa Nui, arriving about November 30, 1869.”

7 The underlining is made by the present authors for emphatic reasons.

8 Technically speaking, one related area that could possibly be investigated further is photographing the object edge-on so that concerned researchers could look at the depth profile of the incised glyphs. In this sense, Horley (2021, 353) reported depth profile data for the glyphs of the “Paris snuffbox” (text “Y” in Barthel 1963). However, we cannot at this time acquire an accurate “edge-on” photograph and measured “depth profile” of the incised glyphs. The broken edge is not perpendicular to the incised surface, as is, for instance, the cut surface of the “Paris snuffbox.” Furthermore, the “Topaze stick fragment” is covered with thick varnish, obscuring the “edge-on” and “depth profile” of the incisions. Also, critically, the owner is not inclined to any further handling of the artifact for fear it might be damaged.

9 The principle of caveat emptor [(let the) buyer beware] still applies to a degree among buyers before making a purchase of ancient artifacts.

10 In her words (Bettocchi 2009, 24), “On ne sait pas dans quelles circonstances la famille en était devenue propriétaire” [We do not know the circumstances under which the family acquired ownership (of this tablet)]. Hoorebeeck (1979, 247–248) also conveys the doubts and uncertainties expressed by different people describing the background of the “London tablet.”

11 The analogy between these two rongorongo artifacts and other items that lack clear provenance tracing and chronology of ownership (cf. e.g., the “Topaze stick fragment”) seems too evident to miss.

12 https://www.weltmuseumwien.at/en/exhibitions/penacho-splendour-passion/ (accessed 20 February 2023).

13 Using varnish to protect collected Easter Island artifacts was not an unusual practice at the time. Additional examples would include an Easter Island mo’ai pa’apa’a figure collected in 1870 that was subsequently varnished (Horley 2021, 361), and a painted fragment of wood with two idiosyncratic frigatebirds (Melka and Schoch 2023b, 9–10, Figure 7a). Nonetheless, when it comes to the traditional rongorongo-inscribed objects Fischer (1997, 390) notes, “There is no indication that any sort of oil was applied to the artefact to prevent it from chipping before incising or to preserve the wood once it had been incised.”

14 Consider hypothetically and arbitrarily e.g., the English conflations or contracted forms “fantabulous” (= fantastic + fabulous) or “haven’t” (= have + not) with their constituting parts set in comfortable equilibrium. One may set on a single token (= one word count), while another person may tend to discern two tokens in them (two words yielding a conflation or contracted form); cf. e.g., Melka and Místecký (2020, 233–234, fn. 3).

15 The cited authors probably assume the terms “accents and ornamental parts” in line with flourishes or non-contrastive variations in certain signs, commonly notated via different lower-case letters in Barthel (1958). To take a comparable line, Sproat (2003) made use of the term “diacritics” for such scribal variations.

16 Haberlandt (1886, 98) is one of the earliest authors to observe the varied assemblages (= compounded forms) given in the rongorongo glyphs, “Die Gestalt der einzelnen Figuren anlangend, sehen wir bei aufmelksamer Betrachtung bald, dass zahlreiche Wiederholungen derselben Figuren, in denen wir menschliche, thierische und Mischgestalten mit Vogelkopfen in verschiedenen Stellungen und Bewegungen erkennen, vorkommen” [Arriving at the form of the individual figures (= single glyphs) we soon see through attentive observation that there occur numerous repetitions of the same figures (= glyphs), in which human, animal, and mixed forms with bird heads in various positions and motions are recognisable (Fischer’s 1997, 83, translation)]; in 1904, Dalton (on page 6) noted briefly that “…compound signs seem to be constructed on an intelligible principle”; M. de Laat (2009, 219) similarly draws attention to the need that “…the rules which govern the fusion process must be determined exactly.” While the determination of the “intelligible principle” or governing rules is highly desirable and fully agreed, from a technical lens it would be very demanding in sorting them out. Besides working with high-resolution photographs (or faithful replicas/casts, or –ideally– with every original piece in situ), consider that a researcher might require additional genuine rongorongo inscriptions to corroborate any initial scientific evaluation.

17 That is, the count would fit in a probabilistic model where the uncertainty regarding glyphic deconstruction is specified or pursued via probability values (consider in this sense whether a researcher has to dwell too much on non-essential or decorative glyphic details in achieving a justified count; v. supra note 14). An illustration is Horley (2005, 112, Table 1) where “Text I” (aka “Santiago Staff”) bears “3811” glyph elements, whereas in the tabulation of his newly accepted or updated rongorongo corpus Horley (2021) enlists “(the inscribed text) I Santiago staff” as having “1733” glyphs. Evidently, the former glyphic count (ibid. 2005) appears antithetical to the latter one (ibid. 2021). Admittedly, choosing one count over the other one seems a matter of personal taste (or of a “compromise…” as Horley 2021, 44, is inclined to note), and subject to revisions in future counts.

18 First, Métraux (1940, cited in Imbelloni 1951, 104) commented that only three signs are recognizable. Based on Horley’s (ibid.) tracings, out of fifteen possible glyphs on its “side a,” only three appear to be well preserved. The rest are worn out to different degrees.

19 The Swiss ethnographer (ibid.) reported that “In the Museum für Volkerkunde, Vienna [renamed Weltmuseum Wien in 2013], there are two tablets, only one of which is authentic [i.e., “Great Vienna”]. The other, 25.5cm long and 5.2cm wide, is probably a fake” [i.e., “Small Vienna”]. In reference to the latter tablet, Imbelloni (1951, 101) points out, “XIV. El antiguo Museo de Viena,…, posee dos ejemplares de los cuales el más importante es el de menores dimensiones, una simple tablilla de 25,5 cm. de longitud por 5,2 de anchura [XIV. The old Museum of Vienna, …, has two exemplars of which the most important is the one of lesser dimensions, a simple (wooden) board of 25,5 cm. in length by 5,2 (cm.) in width]; Barthel (1958, 27) views the inscription on the “Small Vienna tablet” as genuine, “Stilistisch gehört der Text zweifellos in die klassische Zeit” [Without a doubt the text stylistically belongs to the classical (pre-missionary) era]; Campbell (1971, 377–378), includes this tablet under the subsection “V. EJEMPLARES DE AUSTRIA [V. (rongorongo) SPECIMENS OF AUSTRIA]” commenting, “La tablilla menor. Dimensiones: 25,5 × 5,2 cms.… Es la más valiosa de las dos existentes en ese museo [= Naturhistorisches Hofmuseum, Viena]. Fueron donadas por el cónsul alemán en Hamburgo, Baron [= Barón] von Westenholz, en 1880. Sus signos están muy bien conservados [The small tablet. Dimensions: 25,5 by 5,2 cms. … It is the most valuable from the two existent tablets in that museum. They were donated by the German consul in Hamburg, Baron von Westenholz, in 1880. Its signs are very well preserved]; Hoorebeeck (1979, 250) refuses to commit himself to the inauthentic nature of the said tablet, “Il faut se rappeler que plusieurs auteurs estiment ou croient que cette tablette est fausse… (mais sur quelles bases)? [It should be reminded that numerous authors estimate or believe this tablet is false… (yet, on what basis [are such claims made])?]; Fischer (1997, 501) also has no objection regarding its authenticity, “PROVENANCE: Several scholars (such as Métraux 1940: 392) have stated that they believe RR 23 [= “Small Vienna tablet”] to be a falsification; however its clear documentation of provenance disproves this [documentary data follow in Fischer 1997; our note].”

20 “Von dem länglich-rechteckigen, leicht gewölbten Brettchen sind zumindest an einem Ende Teile abgesplittert” [At least one end of the longish-rectangular, slightly curved (wooden) tablet is splintered off].

21 Fischer (1997, 329) mentions “…the destruction and concealment of rongorongo artefacts [of every shape and size; our addition]…” after king “Nga’ara’s death, beginning in 1862–63.” In the twentieth century rongorongo tablets, or more accurately fragments thereof, have reportedly been recovered from caves or other hiding places on Rapa Nui. Two such examples are as follows: (i) in circa 1914 Paoa Hitaki retrieved a “piece of tablet” from a hidden spot in the Rano Kau crater (Englert 2003, 217, relating information from Juan Araki who died in 1949). We know of no further record or mention of this item; (ii) in January 1958 Thomas S. Barthel found a fragment of a rongorongo tablet in a cave. As Fischer (1997, 527) notes, “There was no documentation of the text, and the fragment has since disappeared”—which seems strange, given Barthel’s contributions to the study of rongorongo. Corroborating that such a piece was recovered, Fischer (1997, 211, Fig. 20) published a photo of Barthel emerging from an unnamed cave on the island holding the fragment.

22 However, one should be wary of Fischer’s reliability on determining the different wood-types; in one case, the author (ibid. 1997, 382) states, “All the rongorongo artefacts of Easter Island not of toromiro or mako’i appear to be incised on driftwood. Thomson (1891: 514) was informed on the island that the “Large Washington” (RR 16) he had acquired for the Smithsonian was a piece of driftwood; as a specimen of Podocarpus latifolius it perhaps drifted to Easter Island from Aotearoa (New Zealand), where it is prevalent.” Most probably there is a misidentification at the species level since Podocarpus latifolius (i.e., the real yellowwood) is endemic to South Africa, while another species of the Podocarpus family is especially known in New Zealand, Podocarpus totara. Other species of Podocarpus are similarly found in New Zealand (see https://www.nzpcn.org.nz/flora/vascular/conifers/podocarps/podocarpus/, accessed 31 March 2024).

23 Other ways of disposing of the “heathenish” rongorongo items/tablets, were stacking them for firewood, using them as planks to build or “patch up” a boat, or converting them into spools for fishing lines (see especially Fischer’s 1997 “Chapter 4, Destruction”).

24 In the pre-missionary Easter Island context, a “priestly figure” is associated with conjurers, “magicians,” or mediums that had access to arcane knowledge and manipulated otherworldly forces. Such figures would usually deal with propitiatory rites, persons and dwellings invaded by mischievous or malevolent spirits, “séances” aimed at avenging the wronged people, and so forth. As ritual performances ultimately meant power and control of resources, a “‘dignitary’ (= nobleman)” refers plausibly to one of those chiefs (or a distinguished individual who had social or professional leverage) of the former kinship groups. For a broader and in-detail account of similar cross-cultural practices, see Hayden (2018); for shamanic activities, religious practitioners, and related typologies in pre-industrial societies/organized groups, see Winkelman (2022).

25 See Ojeda (1947, 117–118), “Una aplicación similar tuvo la raíz de la ‘pía’ (Tacca pinnatifida), con la diferencia de que de la ‘pua’ se extraía un colorante anaranjado y el de la ‘pía’ era blanco. Actualmente es muy rara y se ha reemplazado por la ‘manioca’ [mandioca]’” [The root of ‘pia’ (Tacca pinnatifida) had a similar application, differing on the fact that an orangey colorant was extracted from the ‘pua’ (Curcuma longa) whereas that of ‘pía’ was white in color. At present, (pia) is very rare and it has been replaced by the ‘manioc’ (plant)]. Regarding the turmeric plant (Curcuma longa), see also Martínez (1913, 30); Métraux (1940, 158).

26 See in addition Horley (2021, 125–128); Schoch and Melka (2022, 312, fns. 27, 29, 30; 313, fns. 31, 32) on braided and versatile cords of human hair and other “hair” artifacts from Old Rapa Nui.

27 Métraux (1940, 341), while commenting on the bird-man cultic observances, states, “Images of a being with a bird head and a human body, sometimes holding an egg in his hand, are representations of the god Makemake. It follows that the bird-man was an incarnation of the god [Makemake]. Probably, according to the Polynesian way of thinking, he was the receptacle [= holding vessel] of the god.”

28 It should be made formally clear that we are not convinced that glyph /153/ on section Ra3 (after Barthel 1958 [line Rv4 in Horley 2021, 302]) is a “homunculus inside an egg” detached from any allegorical connotations. To the unsuspecting modern reader (prima facie) it may be so; Fischer (1997, 244) would reserve the phrase “undiscerning layman” in a different instance of analysis. Glyph /153/ is part of a sequence, namely /153.77[=153.78]-11-721-40-2/, which happens to have a longer parallel on section Aa6 (“Tahua tablet”) → /70-70-311-11.77[=11.78]-V700x-202[=520fy]-40-V2/ (cf. Ávila Fuentealba 2007, 52, Fig. 50; Horley 2007, 30, Fig. 5). Here, the Ra3-string /153.77-11/[=/70-70:200?.77/-/11/] is subject to tuning to scribal preference and the tablet’s perceived size; specifically, the bigger size of “Tahua” (see Fischer 1997) most probably allowed the scribe to go a step further by including the anthropomorphous glyph /202 [=520fy]/ (ommited on Ra3). A trained eye would notice that glyph /70/ appearing twice in row, plus the “anthropomorph with raised arms” /311/ and the dangling “ribbon” affix /78/ on section Aa6, are merged—otherwise—into one infixed compound on Ra3, /153.77/[=/70-70:200?.77(=78)]. We may further argue that the scribe of the “Small Washington tablet” made full use of a “short-hand” technique at this juncture; while technically (or stylistically) this may be true, the coded information is still retrievable by an experienced rongorongo practitioner.

29 Several of these previously unreported incised and/or painted artifacts evincing the high-frequency use of Makemake and bird-related themes (found in the photographic archive of R. M. Schoch) remain to be studied in the near future.

30 On ancient ‘ao dance paddles, see e.g., Thomson (1891, Plate LII); Routledge (1919, 259); Kjellgren (2001, 72, No. 42); M. Orliac and C. Orliac (2008).

31 https://www.weltmuseumwien.at/en/object/?detailID=454637&offset=6&lv=list (accessed 21 March 2023).

32 The piece of shell with hair around the top (and) featuring a painted composite rongorongo-like glyph /690.41/ (=/390.41/)—see Figure 9a—may also be defined in large part by iconography. Evidently, this artifact is a poignant reminder that the classic rongorongo tradition was broader, going beyond the inscribed tablets and staffs that were instrumental to the chanting ceremonies or communal festivals (cf. Fischer 1997, Chapter 28).

33 See various assessments in Métraux (1940, 393–394); Barthel (1958, 15, 16); Fischer (1997, 411, 428); M. Orliac and C. Orliac (2008, Figs. 191 and 186); Melka and Schoch (2020a, 509); Horley (2021, 94, 78). On the other hand, this is decidedly not the case with such artifacts as the “Chauvet fragment,” the side b of tablet “Échancrée,” the “London tablet,” the “Paris snuffbox,” or the recently discovered “San Diego tablet.”

34 It seems worth noting that the damaged part of the surface, where the full forms of the “sharktopus”-like glyph /116a/ [= ] and the fish-like glyph /V700/ [= ] were previously incised, might be casually misinterpreted (based on viewing only two-dimensional photographs) as the original surface of the wooden stick fragment. Such a mistake on the part of a modern researcher could lead to the incorrect conclusion that the Rapanui author abandoned attempts to complete the bottom portions of the glyphs when in reality the bottom portions of the glyphs are missing because the area upon which they were incised was subsequently damaged and lost (see especially Figure 11b).

35 In a curious quotation from one of Thomas S. Barthel’s articles (1959, 164; 170, fn. 16), Fischer (1997, 386) provides a connection to our context, “‘Ariki Nga’ara’s erstwhile servant Te Kouhau ‘a Te Matangi had once reported that Nga’ara had stirred ngarahu (‘soot’) in a small stone bowl as his sketching medium in order to outline the [rongorongo] signs before commencing his incising on wood” (The original in Barthel 1959 comprises the text on page 164: “Schließlich wird noch auf den schriftgelehrten Ariki Ngaara [Nga’ara] verwiesen (16), der in einer kleinen Steinschale Ruß (ngarahu) angerührt,…,” and the fn. 16 on page 170: “Als Quelle nannten die Informanten Te Kohou-a-te-Matangi, den einstigen Diener des Ariki Ngaara [Nga’ara]).” Englert (1948, 429) translates the vernacular “ŋarahu [ngarahu]” as “tizne, hollín [soot].” We believe that the whole picture shows eventually the pre-planning of the anonymous Rapanui author before etching the glyphs with an obsidian flake and finishing them, presumably, with a shark’s tooth.

36 Selective arrangements of these possibly identifiable three (or four) glyphs may reveal if they are randomly co-ordinated (hinting at a deliberate “forgery”/some sort of improvisatory “knockoff”) or if they point toward intent and effect, consistent with the physical support and the precepts observed in the canonical/accepted corpus of rongorongo inscriptions (Barthel 1958; Fischer 1997). The plausible scenarios at this juncture, however, are: (i) this short inscription stands alone as an individualistic production of the Rapanui author; (ii) it was copied or retrieved from a longer classical rongorongo text, now lost.

37 By the same token, the particular way in which the glyphs of the “Topaze stick fragment” are concatenated may (or must) reveal something about their function and relationship with the physical support—in our case, the hypothetical being the wooden “handle” of some kind of utilitarian or ritualistic tool.

38 It should be remembered that the first tablet to receive the explicit attention and documented interest of a non-Rapanui individual was in Tahiti, at the end of June 1869. The long skein of human hair that was corded around the tablet was meant as a gift to Bishop Jaussen (Dalton 1904, 2; Lehmann 1907, 263, fn. 1; Barthel 1958, 19; Campbell 1971, 374; Hoorebeeck 1979, 244; Fischer 1997, 422; M. Orliac and C. Orliac 2008, 257–259; Bettocchi 2009, 14, Fig. 11; Horley 2021, 127, Fig. 4.29; Schoch and Melka 2022, 313). This tablet received the name “Échancrée” [the “notched” one] due to its damaged physical condition.

39 The newly reordered/re-conceptualized corpus in Horley (2021) needs to be assessed on many levels before the totality or parts of it find possibly an acceptance in the serious rongorongo research circles. It is difficult to avoid the conclusion, however, that personal judgments on the validity or genuineness of rongorongo-bearing items—whether by ibid. (2021) or other researchers and/or enthusiasts—may be (or are) affected by subjective or anecdotal experiences; see Melka and Schoch (2023a). Pursuing or establishing correctly the authenticity of such items, was also an issue for concern in Pozdniakov (1996, 294), “Le répertoire des textes lui même n’est pas encore défini avec certitude, car la discrimination entre les textes authentiques et les textes faux n’est pas toujours évidente” [The inventory of these [rongorongo] texts is not yet determined with accuracy because the distinction between the [classical] authentic texts and the false ones is not always evident]. We are given to understand that by “false texts” Pozdniakov (ibid.) is referring essentially to the post-missionary derivative inscriptions (as items intended for trade/sale or as individualistic creations meant to revive/evoke the former tradition).

40 Such “lozenge”-like appendages are frequently observed in genuine anthropomorphic- and zoomorphic-like rongorongo glyphs (e.g., on RR 18v1; on RR 18v2 in Fischer 1997, 481; the designation “RR 18” corresponds to the “Small St Petersburg” tablet, aka text “Q”). The common understanding among the researchers is that they represent “ears” or “eyes”—we tend to favor the latter interpretation (Melka and Schoch 2020b). The rightwards “lozenge” attested on the initial glyph does not appear to be a “fin,” an occasional characteristic identifier of some downward or upward fish-like glyphs of the /700/ series in Barthel (1958); see a variety of instances: (i) an artificially downward “finned” fish-glyph (this “new glyph”—one that is not known to occur in the canonical corpus or on related rongorongo-bearing objects—was created for testing reasons) versus downward “finless” fish-glyphs (on Ca8 [= Cr8]); (on Hv4); (on Pr10); (ii) upward “finless” fish-glyphs (on Ab1 [= Av1]); (on Da4); (on Hr10) versus “finned” fish-glyphs (on Aa6 [= Ar6]); (on Ca1 [= Cr1]); (on Cb14 [= Cv14]); (on Er6); (on Gv7).

41 Considering the outlines of glyph /V116/ on section Sb6, Melka (2013, 124; 126, Figure 3, # 1) described it as a “hybrid ‘sharktopus’,” with the upper part corresponding to the “open jaws” of the selachian (cf. glyph /730/ ), and the bottom part representing a “head”-section of the cephalopod (cf. glyph /47/ ). The tracing of glyph /V116/ is found in Fischer (1997, 471).

42 Examining “El tema de las marcas o adornos en los brazos y cuerpos” [The topic of the markings or embellishments in the arms and bodies (of the glyphs)], Ávila Fuentealba (2007, 24) notes, “Pareciera que los adornos se agregan o quitan a mero antojo del autor de cada copia,… [It would seem that embellishments are added or removed to the sheer whim of the author (= scribe) of each copy (= inscription),…].

43 Given the individuality and the “artistic” license of the rongorongo scribes, we may expect sundry glyphic designs that integrate the “arm/wing” element; e.g., a birdman-like glyph with a leftward head (section Da7); a frigatebird glyph with a rightward head and a clearly incised eyeball (section Br5); a frigatebird glyph with a rightward head , lacking herein the eyeball feature (section Er6).

44 At the time, Melka (2008, 171) indicated that “the competing views and related uncertainties have been strong over time on interpreting the meaning [and the nature; our note] of rongorongo glyphs.” As of 2024, this is still a paradigm that very much underpins the investigative work of the international researchers and aficionados.

45 See also Lee (1992, 37, Figure 3.8:3); Horley and Lee (2012, 15, Figure 12g); Schoch and Melka (2021, 863); Marín (2023, 36, Figure 3).

46 Metaphoric discourse weighs heavy (and in varying ways) on many Easter Island oral products; see e.g., Churchill’s (1912, 202) vocabulary, with the word “henua 1” translated as “land, country, region,” and also having the metaphorical meaning “uterus” in “henua 2” [here the earth’s, land’s, or soil’s fecundity is translated into the procreative power of the human womb]; another instance (ibid. 1912, 211) among the many is “ika 1” translated as “fish, animal,” with “ika 2” rendered as “prey, victim, sacrifice,” or Englert’s (1948) Rapanui–Spanish vocabulary regarding the lexical entry “hihi cejas [eyebrows].” In a figurative (metaphorical) context (ibid. 1948, 439), “hihi” refers to the high, rocky part of an elevated and steep slope, or to the part that is close to the peak; for instance, to the high part of the blackish rocks (like the eyebrows) of the Rano Kau volcano. Relative to another entry, “moa pollo ave [chicken bird],” Englert (1948, 472) offers a Rapanui proverb, “moa toke he tangata, o he moa toke te tangata, como un pollo robado es el hombre, quiere decir: breve e insegura es la vida del hombre en la tierra, así como la de un pollo hoy robado que, quizá, mañana ya va al curanto” [… the man (= human being) is like a stolen chicken, meaning, the life of a man (= human being) in this world is short and precarious, as that of a chicken which stolen today, perhaps, will end up tomorrow (roasted) in an earth oven]. Similarly, Du Feu (1996, 180) while dissecting the compound morphology (of various nouns) notes the way modern Rapanui create—via allegories; our comment—new concepts, e.g., “patia kai ‘spear food = fork’,” “kiri va’e ‘skin foot = shoes’,” “manu patia ‘bird spear = wasp’.” Englert (1948, 468) confirms the inventiveness of the local people via another metaphorical entry, “manu va’e ehá, pájaro de cuatro patas, nombre que dieron a las ovejas cuando las vieron por primera vez en la isla [manu va’e ehá, (a) four-legged bird, name given (by the Easter Islanders) to the sheep when they saw them for the first time].” For more information on the “play of meanings [and the] series of complex metaphors (Fischer 1997, 356)” embedded in the Rapanui language, or in the broader family of Polynesia languages, one should see Chapter 31 in Fischer (1997).

47 An indigenously-derived interpretation for the “frigatebird” and “winged human-like” glyphs was “manu rere; oiseau qui vole [bird flying]”; see Jaussen’s section “Oiseaux” [Birds]” (1893, 24). We are aware there is a lot of controversy regarding the reliability of Metoro Tau’a Ure’s readings [“translations”; see Chapter 8 “Die Metoro-Gesänge und ihre Auswertung” [Metoro’s Chants (“readings”) and their Assessment] in Barthel 1958, and Chapter 9 “Bishop Jaussen and Metoro Tau’a Ure” in Fischer 1997]; therefore, rather than taking the drastic approach of enthusiastically trusting Metoro, we cite this particular “reading” for heuristic purposes. For speculations on a “reading” by Indigenous Rapanui who may have interpreted European numbers, shown to them by the Spanish in 1770, as rongorongo glyphs, see Mellén Blanco (1993).

48 For an evaluation over the usefulness and accuracy of Barthel’s code-numbers, see Ávila Fuentealba (2007, 107), “Sobre el sistema de transcripción del señor Barthel [1958] se puede asegurar que no es adecuado para una revisión visual, esto porque incluye muchos signos que en realidad son composiciones de signos simples y en otros casos una modificación en el estado del símbolo lo considera un símbolo distinto” [Regarding the transcription system of Mister Barthel (1958) it may be asserted that it is not appropriate for a visual review, the reason being that it includes many signs that in reality are compounds of simple (= individual) signs, and in other cases (we notice) a modification in the status of the symbol in being considered as a different one (by Barthel)]. It also needs mention the fact that Bodo Spranz’s rongorongo tracings (in Barthel 1958) are placed in a separate section from Barthel’s own numbering (i.e., his personal classification of glyphs via numbers and suffixed alphabetic letters). Hereafter, we admit that since Barthel (1958) and even the 21st century researchers was/are still coping with an unknown script, the eyes get weary in the process of recording, co-ordinating, and classifying hundreds of designs that look both “familiar” and “alien” (in a matter of speaking).

49 Guy (2006, 63, Figure 13) suggests that glyph /74f/ might be related (along “The nine ‘named’ nights of the Lunar calendar of Tablet Mamari”) to the vernacular “hua” [testicles, fruit]. Furthermore, (ibid., 64) points out, “The crescent for the night called Ohua or Hua is accompanied by what might be the pictogram [= semasiogram] of a fruit, or of a scrotum. Englert [1948, 442; our insertion] gives ‘hua’ as meaning testicle or fruit (testículos [de animales], frutos de la tierra).”

50 The “seated” anthropomorphous glyph in Horley (2021, 244) shows a “thumb and fingers” upraised hand (# /386/) instead of Barthel’s (1958) “forked hand” (# /384/). Still, they both “sit right” since they are interchangeable scribal variants (cf. Guy 2006, 62). These variants are most probably suitable to personal scribal liking or interpretation.

51 cf. Butinov and Knorozov (1957 [1956]); Barthel (1958); Pozdniakov (1996, 2011); Ávila Fuentealba (2007); Horley (2007); Melka (2008).

52 See the assessment of Fischer (ibid.) regarding three delimiter-type glyphs, “It is suggested here that compound 380.1 (together with alloglyphic compounds 380.1.3 [commonly occurring on the ‘Small Santiago’ and ‘London’ tablets] and 380.1.52 [particular to the ‘Small Vienna’ tablet] whose suffixes—perhaps reproducing pua ‘turmeric’ (Curcuma longa) and/or hauhau (Triumfetta semitriloba)—are probably suppletive, and thus expendable, mnemonics indicating ‘ritual hauhau’, ‘flourish’, ‘sprout’, etc.”.

53 Martyn Harris, a London-based scholar and researcher, shared an important cache of “Mamari” photographs with one of the authors (TSM) in 2009.

54 For the more demanding viewer / reader, we bring up another example where the “hand” glyphs /6/ and /64/ alternate freely. On section Ia10 (“Santiago Staff”), the first “triadic” sequence sports the “normal hand” /6/ , whereas in a subsequent “triadic” sequence, the scribe switched to the “forked hand” /64/ . Our position is that the “Santiago Staff” encodes onomastic-like series in different formats (Melka 2009a), with the same Old Rapanui “name” accomplished (= incised) herein distinctively.

55 Métraux (1957, 184) specified, “…the same engraved [rongorongo] symbols recur, with numerous variations of detail, on the majority of these objects….”

56 The possible material and format availed of for a flag in the pre-missionary times could have been sheets or strips of beaten mahute (i.e., tapa, bark-cloth).

57 In the words of Katherine Scoresby Routledge (1919, 224), “The warfare consisted largely of spasmodic and isolated raids;….”

58 Fischer (1997, 665) opts for the terms “main sign, main glyph.”

59 Although there are no real substantial data regarding the provenance of several pre-missionary Rapanui artifacts, the concerned researchers should not hesitate in exercising initiative and perseverance on acquiring any scrap of trusted information.

Additional information

Notes on contributors

Tomi S. Melka

Tomi S. Melka is a researcher focused on various aspects of real-world written and symbolic systems. He studies these systems, worthy of serious attention, as they reveal the genius of past individuals and societies, and also the cognitive challenges of the modern scholars and researchers (whether in terms of insightful efforts or entanglements with subjective experiences and self-complacency). When it comes to the classical rongorongo script of Rapa Nui (Easter Island), TSM maintains an open mind regarding the possibilities of establishing a unanimously and independently approved decipherment (i.e., interpretation).

Robert M. Schoch

Robert M. Schoch has a deep interest in the history, culture, art, symbols, and scripts of ancient and extinct civilizations; these subjects have attracted his attention since childhood. Delving into diverse societies of the past and present, as well as the history of our planet prior to the origin of humanity, RMS studied anthropology, ethnology, archaeology, paleontology, and geology, ultimately earning a Ph.D. in geology and geophysics at Yale University. His fascination with Rapa Nui (Easter Island) dates to his first visit there in January 2010.