Money

The Pacific island of Yap was, at the beginning of the twentieth century, one of the most remote and inaccessible inhabited places on earth. An idyllic, subtropical paradise, nestled in a tiny archipelago nine degrees north of the equator and more than 300 miles from Palau, its closest neighbour, Yap had remained almost innocent of the world beyond Micronesia right up until the final decades of the nineteenth century. There had, it is true, been a brief moment of Western contact in 1731 when a group of intrepid Catholic missionaries had established a small base on the island. When their supply ship returned the following year, however, it discovered that the balmy, palm-scattered islands of Yap had not proved fertile ground for the Christian gospel. The entire mission had been massacred several months previously by local witch doctors aggrieved at the competition presented by the Good News. Yap was left to its own devices for another one hundred and forty years.

It was not until 1869 that the first European trading post—run by the German merchant firm of Godeffroy and sons—was established in the Yap archipelago. Once a few years had passed, with
Godeffroy not only avoiding summary execution but prospering, Yap’s presence came to the attention of the Spanish, who by virtue of their colonial possessions in the Philippines—a mere 800 miles to the west—considered themselves the natural overlords of this part of Micronesia. The Spanish laid claim to the islands, and believed that they had achieved a
fait accompli
when in the summer of 1885 they erected a house and installed a Governor in it. They had not counted, however, on the tenacity of Bismarck’s Germany in matters of foreign policy. No island was so small, or so remote, as to be unworthy of the Imperial Foreign Ministry’s attention if it meant a potential addition to German power. The ownership of Yap became the subject of an international dispute. Eventually, the matter was referred—somewhat ironically, given the island’s track record—to arbitration by the Pope, who granted political control to Spain, but full commercial rights to Germany. But the Iron Chancellor had the last laugh. Within a decade and a half, Spain had lost a damaging war with America, and its ambitions in the Pacific had disintegrated. In 1899, Spain sold Yap to Germany for the sum of $3.3 million.

The absorption of Yap into the German Empire had one great benefit. It brought one of the more interesting and unusual monetary systems in history to the attention of the world. More specifically, it proved the catalyst for a visit by a brilliant and eccentric young American adventurer, William Henry Furness III. The scion of a prominent New England family, Furness had trained as a doctor before converting to anthropology and making his name with a popular account of his travels in Borneo. In 1903 he made a two-month visit to Yap, and published a broad survey of its physical and social make-up a few years later.
¹
He was immediately impressed by how much more remote and untouched it was than Borneo. Yet despite being a tiny island with only a few thousand inhabitants—“whose whole length and breadth is but a day’s walk,” as Furness described it—Yap turned out to have a remarkably complex society. There was a caste system, with a tribe of slaves, and special clubhouses lived in by fishing and fighting fraternities. There was a rich tradition of dancing
and songs, which Furness took particular delight in recording for posterity. There was a vibrant native religion—as the missionaries had previously discovered to their cost—complete with an elaborate genesis myth locating the origins of the Yapese in a giant barnacle attached to some floating driftwood. But undoubtedly the most striking thing that Furness discovered on Yap was its monetary system.

The economy of Yap, such as it was, could hardly be called developed. The market extended to a bare three products—fish, coconuts, and Yap’s one and only luxury, sea cucumber. There was no other exchangeable commodity to speak of; no agriculture; few arts and crafts; the only domesticated animals were pigs and, since the Germans had arrived, a few cats; and there had been little contact or trade with outsiders. It was as simple and as isolated an economy as one could hope to find. Given these antediluvian conditions, Furness expected to find nothing more advanced than simple barter. Indeed, as he observed, “in a land where food and drink and ready-made clothes grow on trees and may be had for the gathering” it seemed possible that even barter itself would be an unnecessary sophistication.
²

The very opposite turned out to be true. Yap had a highly developed system of money. It was impossible for Furness not to notice it the moment that he set foot on the island, because its coinage was extremely unusual. It consisted of
fei
—“large, solid, thick stone wheels ranging in diameter from a foot to twelve feet, having in the centre a hole varying in size with the diameter of the stone, wherein a pole may be inserted sufficiently large and strong to bear the weight and facilitate transportation.”
³
This stone money was originally quarried on Babelthuap, an island some 300 miles away in Palau, and had mostly been brought to Yap, so it was said, long ago. The value of the coins depended principally on their size, but also on the fineness of the grain and the whiteness of the limestone.

At first, Furness believed that this bizarre form of currency might have been chosen because, rather than in spite, of its extraordinary unwieldiness: “when it takes four strong men to steal the price of a pig, burglary cannot but prove a somewhat disheartening occupation,”
he ventured. “As may be supposed, thefts of
fei
are almost unknown.”
⁴
But as time went on, he observed that physical transportation of
fei
from one house to another was in fact rare. Numerous transactions took place—but the debts incurred were typically just offset against each other, with any outstanding balance carried forward in expectation of some future exchange. Even when open balances were felt to require settlement, it was not usual for
fei
to be physically exchanged. “The noteworthy feature of this stone currency,” wrote Furness, “is that it is not necessary for its owner to reduce it to possession. After concluding a bargain which involves the price of a
fei
too large to be conveniently moved, its new owner is quite content to accept the bare acknowledgement of ownership and without so much as a mark to indicate the exchange, the coin remains undisturbed on the former owner’s premises.”
⁵

The stone currency of Yap as photographed by William Henry Furness III in 1903, with people and palm trees for scale.

(
illustration credit 1.1
)