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Title: Two Years among New Guinea Cannibals - A Naturalist’s Sojourn among the Aborigines of Unexplored New Guinea
Author: Pratt, A. E., Pratt, Henry
Language: English
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CANNIBALS ***
TWO YEARS AMONG NEW
GUINEA CANNIBALS
[Illustration:
TWO NEW GUINEA DANDIES.
They are natives of Dinawa. Notice their tight-laced waists and the
nose ornaments (chimani) of polished shell.
]
TWO YEARS AMONG NEW GUINEA CANNIBALS
A Naturalist’s Sojourn among the Aborigines of Unexplored New Guinea
By
A. E. PRATT
Gill Memorialist, Royal Geographical Society, 1891 Author of “To the
Snows of Tibet through China,” etc.
With Notes and Observations by his Son
HENRY PRATT
And Appendices on the Scientific Results of the Expedition
_With 54 Illustrations and a Map_
PHILADELPHIA
J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY
LONDON: SEELEY & CO. LTD.
1906
Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO.
At the Ballantyne Press
TO
_MY WIFE_
THE COMPANION, PRESENT OR ABSENT OF MY MANY WANDERINGS
PREFACE
This record of two years’ scientific work in the only country of the
globe that has still escaped exploration purposely avoids the dry detail
of a Natural History Report, such as might properly be submitted to a
learned society, and is intended rather to set forth to the general
reader the vicissitudes of the traveller’s daily life in unknown New
Guinea, or Papua as I prefer to call it. Every hour brought a new
interest, and it was with the intention of trying to communicate some
impression of that wonderful land in which we sojourned, that the
present account has been undertaken. If the result is disappointing to
the reader, the fault must lie with the writer and not with Papua.
During my brief residences in the known parts of New Guinea, I received
much kind assistance and furtherance in my marches into the wilds from
officials, missionaries, and settlers, and I would here especially
acknowledge my indebtedness to his Excellency the Lieutenant-Governor,
Mr. G. Ruthven Le Hunte, Mr. A. Musgrave, C.B., Captain Barton, the Hon.
D. Ballantine, Mr. Robert Hislop, and Mr. James Wood; His Grace
Archbishop Navarre, Coadjutor Bishop de Boismenu, both of the Sacred
Heart Mission; Dr. Laws and the Rev. H. Dauncey of the London Missionary
Society.
The Dutch officials to whom I am under deep obligations are Mr. Kroesen,
the Resident of Merauke, Mr. M. C. Schadee, the Controller, and also the
captain of the gunboat _Neas_.
For permission to reprint the section on the Lakatois and several other
passages I am indebted to the _Wide World Magazine_, and the chapter on
“British Trade Prospects in New Guinea” is given by consent of the
_British Trade Journal_.
My particular acknowledgments are due to Messrs. G. H. Kendrick, Mr. G.
T. Bethune Baker, F.L.S., and Miss Wilmott, without whose help the
expedition could not have been undertaken, and I must also mention Mr.
S. H. Soper, F.R.G.S., another friend whose interest and assistance was
of the greatest value to me.
A. E. P.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
BREAKING THE GROUND
PAGE
The Author’s many Journeys—New Guinea more Interesting than all—
The Second Largest Island in the World, and the last to Guard
its Secrets from Man—Its Vast Possibilities to the Trader and
the Man of Science—Great Riches in Birds and Insects—770 known
Species of Birds—The People—Their Many Dialects—A Geographical
Reason for this—Toilsome Travel—Razor-like Ridges in Endless
Succession—The Author’s Camps—Journeys Outlined—In Unexplored
Country—Gorgeous Scenery—Variations of Temperature—The Chief
Bugbear, Transport 17
CHAPTER II
DISAPPOINTMENTS IN DUTCH NEW GUINEA
Dutch New Guinea—The Coast—Unsavoury Mud-banks—Merauke—The Dutch
Settlement described—Its Wonderful Modernity—A Fierce Tribe, the
Tugeri, now described for the first time—Their Appearance and
Habits—Their Continual Murderous Raids—The Fearful Bamboo Knife—
Scientific Work here impossible owing to Danger of going beyond
Settlement Boundaries—Outbreak of a Mysterious Disease at
Merauke—Its Swift Deadliness—The Symptoms—Determine to leave
Dutch New Guinea and prepare for a March into the Unexplored
Interior 37
CHAPTER III
CHANGES AND STRANGE SCENES
We sail to Thursday Island—A Rough Voyage in a Cattle-boat—A
Glimpse of Thursday Island—The Wonderful Colour of its Waters—We
reach Port Moresby—Contrast to the Scenery of Dutch New Guinea—
Magnificent Mountains—Evidences of Drought—Vegetation burnt up—
The British Government Post of Port Moresby described—A Good
Second to Hades or Aden—The Great Sight of Port Moresby—A
Community of Hereditary Potters—The Pottery Trading Fleet—The
Strange Vessels called Lakatois—Their Structure—Native Orgies
before the Expedition starts—A New Guinea Ballet on Deck—
Seclusion of Women after the Young Braves depart with the Fleet—
My Inland Expedition fitted out—Official Courtesy—Details of
Baggage—Transport procured after Immense Trouble 59
CHAPTER IV
WE STRIKE INLAND
We start Inland—Friendly Natives but Hostile Mosquitoes—Bioto
Creek—Bioto—Guest Houses—A splendid Game Region—Daily Migration
of Flocks of Pigeons—Greedy Coast Natives—Carriers Inadequate—A
Double Journey in Relays—We meet the Chief Mavai, a great Papuan
Character—Mavai’s Way of Life—His Harem—His Western Notions—His
Trousers—His Red Coat—His Severe Discipline—As we proceed,
Construction of Native Houses more elaborate—On to Ekeikei and
Dinawa—March through Wet Vegetation—Tortured by Leeches and an
Abominable Parasite, the Scrub-Itch—A Gloomy Forest—Magnificent
Orchids—Carriers stimulate Laggard Comrades with Nettles—The
Aculama River—I discover a New Fish 81
CHAPTER V
THE FIRST CAMP
Journey continued—A Glorious Scarlet Creeper—Dinawa—Site for Camp
selected—Building Camp—Native Assistance—Organisation for
Scientific Work—Daily Routine—Teaching the Natives how to Catch
and Handle Entomological Specimens—Sudden Affluence leads one of
my Native Boys to Desert—He is Caught and Reformed—My best
Native Assistant and his Wife—Female Influence a great Asset
with other Women—The Day’s Work—Collecting at Night—Photography—
A Dark Room in the Wilds—Native Interest in Developing 105
CHAPTER VI
VICISSITUDES AND A DIGRESSION
The Drought affects our Work—Butterflies begin to Fail—Forest
Fires—We descend to the St. Joseph River—A Temporary Camp—A
Wonderful Native Suspension Bridge—River Scenery—Native Methods
of Fishing—Dull Weather and Little Success in Collecting—A Comic
Incident—A Native besieged by a Wild Pig—War—Native Hostility—A
Chief threatens to Cook and Eat our Heads—Strict Guard kept on
Camp—The Bird of Paradise—Papuan Game Laws—Natives’ Interest in
Writing—Further Stay at the St. Joseph impracticable—A Flood
destroys our Bridge—A Visit to a Native Village—Curious Means of
Ingress—Return to Dinawa—My Cingalese Headman’s Experiences—He
evades Native Treachery—Sudden Growth of New Township 125
CHAPTER VII
GOOD-BYE TO DINAWA
A Beautiful New Orchid discovered and described—Drought continues—
Sufferings of the Natives—I practise as a Physician—Queer Native
Diagnosis—Gaberio, an Intelligent Native, goes collecting on his
own account—How we kept touch—The Wireless Telegraph of the
Wilds—We determine to take our Specimens to the Coast—Methods of
Preservation and Packing—Gaberio returns—He tells of the Murder
of one of his Boys—Hardships of Camp Life—Food and Ammunition
fail—We try Cockatoo Soup—A Visit from a Fine Hill Tribe, the
Ibala—They brighten the Last Days of our Stay—Gorgeous Sunsets
at Dinawa—The Ibala People return according to Contract to act
as Carriers—We depart—Trials of the March to the Coast—A Mishap
at Sea—Our Fine Herbarium ruined with Salt Water—Port Moresby
once again 141
CHAPTER VIII
INACTION AND AN EXCURSION
Period of Inaction at Port Moresby—Christmas in New Guinea—A
Scratch Dinner—A Christmas Privilege for Cingalese to obtain
Spirits—Curious Effect on One Individual—A Noteworthy Character—
An Excursion to Hula—A Fisher Community—A Piebald People—
Picturesque Night Fishing by Flare Light—Fishermen often Killed
by Gare-Fish—Hula Houses—Various Traits of Native Life—A Walk
round Hood’s Bay—Traces of Initiatory Rites at Kalo—The Kalo
Houses described—On to Kerapuna—A Shooting Expedition—We lose
the Trail—Class Distinctions at Kerapuna—Return to Port Moresby
by Sea—A Perilous Voyage in a Little Canoe—Tragic Death of
Flood, the Naturalist 165
CHAPTER IX
TOWARDS THE UNEXPLORED
Beginning of Furthest Journey into Unexplored Interior—The
Everlasting Question of Carriers—Difficulties and Delays—Epa
again—Curious Method of Water Supply—Mavai welcomes us back—He
provides a Dubious Treat—Ekeikei—The Building of a Permanent
Camp—An Elaborate Undertaking—House-building on a Large Scale—
Ingenious Papuan Methods of Thatching—The Chief Kafulu proves
Unneighbourly—He does not fulfil his Engagements—Ow-bow’s
Embassy—My Deputy is robbed—Precautions in Camp against Attack—I
go down to Kafulu and deal faithfully with him—He relents, and
restores Ow-bow’s Goods—An Earthquake and Hurricane at Ekeikei 183
CHAPTER X
UPS AND DOWNS
My man Sam goes to the Kebea to collect—We go to the Coast again
with our Specimens—A Dreadful Night in Bioto Creek—A Crocodile
River—A Tempestuous Voyage to Thursday Island—Fever—Return to
Port Moresby—Adrift for Three Days in a Heavy Sea—A German
Captain’s Thrilling Story of the Storm—We return to Ekeikei—A
New Trouble—Epidemic of Measles among Native Followers—Harry
goes off alone among Cannibals—Adventurous Journey of a Boy of
Sixteen—Description of Native Village on a 15–inch-wide Ridge 201
CHAPTER XI
A BOY OF SIXTEEN ALONE WITH CANNIBALS
Further into the Mountains—A Murder—The Settlement of the Blood
Price—A Pig for a Life—Harry’s Further Adventures alone among
Cannibals—Various other Murders—The Village of Amana—A Tree
House—The Lunatic at Amana—Foula—A Pretty Village 221
CHAPTER XII
THE UNEXPLORED: AMONG PAPUAN PEAKS
Still Higher in the Owen Stanley Range—The Road to Mafulu—Beauties
of the Forest—The Hill Step—Curious Habit of Walking acquired in
Abrupt Ground—Cold at High Altitudes—A New Camp built—Alpine
Signs in Insects and Flowers—Routine Work—Food runs low again—
Native Thieves—Followers discontented—They fear the Hostile
Mafulu People—Daily Threats of Desertion—Strict Watch—My Rule
for Night Visitors—Compulsory Carrying of Torches and Disarming—
Weirdly Picturesque Night Scenes—Further Privations—Bird of
Paradise Soup—Ugh!—Decide to depart—Natives burn down Camp to
ensure our going 241
CHAPTER XIII
LAST JOURNEY TO THE COAST
A Dangerous Stream-Crossing—Babooni—Sunshine once more—Successful
Work—Poor Fare—Messengers to Ekeikei—The Tree-Cabbage—Method of
Cooking Tree-Cabbage—A Great Curiosity—Spiders’ Webs as
Fishing-Nets—Dancing Festivals—Back to the Kebea—Our Bean Crop—A
Papuan Parliament—We obtain Credit—A Wife-Beater—My only Act of
Perfidy—The Journey to Ekeikei—Back to the Land of Plenty—Last
Visit to Epa—Mavai unfriendly—He is talked over and supplies
Carriers—Example better than Precept—The Coast again—An
Accident—The Natives drink Sea-Water—Good-bye to the
Mountaineers 259
CHAPTER XIV
A FORTY-MILE TRAMP BY THE SHORE
A Comfortless Voyage—A Forty-Mile Tramp along the Coast—Wonders of
the Beach—Armies of Soldier-Crabs—A Crocodile River—A Dangerous
Canoe Voyage—At Port Moresby—A Pathetic Incident—Last Days of
our Stay in New Guinea 279
CHAPTER XV
NATIVE MANNERS AND CUSTOMS
The Papuan at Home—His Good Points—Physical Characteristics—
Ceremonial Dress—Coast and Hill Tribes—Differences—Local
Distribution of the Rami or Petticoat—Its Decrease in Length in
the Mountains—Its Disappearance at Epa—Dandyism—The Priceless
Chimani—The Shell Armlet—Household Constitution—Rudimentary
Government—Courtship and Marriage—The Price of a Wife—Position
of Women—Six Ways of Carrying an Infant—Meal Times—Weapons—
Clubs—Their Manufacture the Monopoly of One Tribe—Weird Tribal
Dances 289
CHAPTER XVI
BURIAL, WITCHCRAFT, AND OTHER THEMES
A Short-lived Race—An Aged Man a Curiosity—Burial Customs—The
Chief Mourner painted Black—Period of Mourning brief except for
the Chief Mourner—No Belief in Natural Death—Poison always
Suspected—Religion all but absent—Vague Belief in Magic—Fi-fi, a
Form of Divination—How practised—Its Utter Childishness—No Idea
of Number—Forest Warnings—“Wada,” another Form of Sorcery—
Mavai’s Hideous Magical Compounds—A People seemingly without
History or Legends—Pictures understood—Fear of the Stereoscope—
The “Bau-bau” or Social Pipe—How Made and Smoked—Incidents of
Travel—The Stinging Trees—Ideas of Medicine—Sovereign Remedies—
Bleeding—How practised—Hunting—The Corral—A Strange Delicacy—
Story of Native Trust in Me—A Loan of Beads—Children and their
Sports—Thirty Ways of Cat’s-Cradle 309
CHAPTER XVII
A NOTE ON BRITISH TRADE PROSPECTS IN NEW GUINEA
Sandalwood—The Sea-Slug—Copra and Cocoa-Nut—Coffee—Cocoa—Chillies—
Rubber—Stock-Raising—Gold—Tobacco—Imports—German Enterprise—Our
Lost Coaling Station 333
CHAPTER XVIII
NOTES ON SOME BIRDS OF NEW GUINEA
The Birds of Paradise—Remarkable Species observed—Native Names—
Play-Places—Curious Habits—The Bower-Bird: Artist, Architect,
and Gardener 345
APPENDICES 351
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
TWO NEW GUINEA DANDIES _Frontispiece_
PAGE
LAKATOIS PREPARING TO SAIL 21
THE BOWER-BIRD 27
GUARDING THE WORKERS 33
TUGERI NATIVES 41
THE NATIVE METHOD OF TREE CLIMBING 47
A LAKATOI AND A HOUSE ON PILES 55
SAM AND HIS WIFE 63
HANUABADA GIRLS DANCING 69
GIRLS DANCING ON A LAKATOI 75
EPA VILLAGE 85
EKEIKEI NATIVES 91
THE CAMP AT EKEIKEI 97
NATIVE COLLECTORS 101
HILL NATIVES AT DINAWA 109
DOBOI, OUR NATIVE COOK 115
THE NATIVE VILLAGE OF DINAWA 121
FISHING ON THE ST. JOSEPH RIVER 131
A ROUGH BRIDGE 137
NATIVE WOMEN AT DINAWA 145
THE WIRELESS TELEGRAPHY OF NEW GUINEA 149
NATIVES OF ENUMAKA 155
VEGETATION AT DINAWA 161
A PIEBALD PEOPLE 169
A HOUSE AT KALO 177
THE VILLAGES OF ELEVADA AND HANUABADA 187
NEW GUINEA HOUSE-BUILDING 193
THE PRIMEVAL FOREST 197
POLLING LAKATOIS 205
HOUSES AT HANUABADA 209
A DESERTED VILLAGE 215
HARRY PRATT 225
CAMP IN THE OWEN STANLEY RANGE 231
TWO VIEWS OF A NATIVE BRIDGE 237
CAMP IN THE OWEN STANLEY RANGE 245
UNKNOWN SPECIES DISCOVERED BY THE AUTHOR 251
THE AUTHOR AND SOME NATIVE COLLECTORS 255
A SPIDER’S WEB FISHING-NET 263
FISHING WITH SPIDERS’ WEB NETS 269
A WEIRD TRIBAL DANCE 275
A SEA-COAST SCENE 283
HANUABADA WOMEN WEARING THE RAMI 293
BUYING A WIFE 299
NEW GUINEA WEAPONS AND IMPLEMENTS 305
YOUNG NATIVES AND WOMEN CARRIERS 313
SMOKING THE BAU-BAU 319
A NEW GUINEA HUNT 327
HAULING UP A LOG 337
CHAPTER I
_BREAKING THE GROUND_
The Author’s many Journeys—New Guinea more interesting than all—The
Second Largest Island in the World, and the last to guard its Secrets
from Man—Its Vast Possibilities to the Trader and the Man of Science—
Great Riches in Birds and Insects—770 known Species of Birds—The People—
Their many Dialects—A Geographical Reason for this—Toilsome Travel—
Razor-like Ridges in Endless Succession—The Author’s Camps—Journeys
Outlined—In Unexplored Country—Gorgeous Scenery—Variations of
Temperature—The Chief Bugbear, Transport.
TWO YEARS AMONG NEW GUINEA CANNIBALS
CHAPTER I
BREAKING THE GROUND
In the course of thirty years of almost continuous journeyings in both
hemispheres, it has been my fortune to stray far from the beaten tracks
and to know something of the spell and mystery of the earth’s solitudes.
My work in quest of additions to the great natural history collections,
both public and private, of England, and to a less extent of France, has
led me to the Rocky Mountains, the Amazons, the Republic of Colombia,
the Yangtse gorges, and the snows of Tibet; but it is safe to say that
none of these has aroused my interest and curiosity in so great a degree
as the scene of my latest and my next expedition, the still almost
unexplored Papua, second largest of the world’s islands, and almost the
last to guard its secrets from the geographer, the naturalist, and the
anthropologist.
Fifty years ago, schoolboys, looking at their map of Africa, blessed the
Dark Continent for an easy place to learn. A few names fringed the
coast: inland nearly all was comprehended under the cheerful word
“unexplored.” Such in great measure is the case with New Guinea to-day.
Its 300,000 square miles of territory, held by Great Britain, Germany,
and the Netherlands, and now lying fallow, are destined in the course of
the next half-century to enrich the worlds of commerce and of science to
a degree that may to some extent be forecast by what is already known of
very restricted areas. What New Guinea may become to the trader is
outlined later in the present volume, merely, be it noted, from the
outside observer’s point of view, but this of course has in it a large
measure of uncertainty, contingent on conditions of
“Labour and the changing mart and all the framework of the land.”
Be this as it may, one thing remains sure, the extraordinary value of
Papua to the man of science, particularly to the entomologist and the
ornithologist. In the department of ornithology alone, we already know
of 770 different species of birds inhabiting the mainland and the
islands, which places it in this respect far above Australia, which,
with a superficial area nine times greater, possesses less than 500
species in all.
[Illustration:
LAKATOIS PREPARING TO SAIL.
]
The ethnologist, too, has in Papua a happy hunting ground; for the
tribes on the fringe of exploration present wonderful varieties of type,
and as the mountain fastnesses of the interior are gradually opened up,
there can be no doubt that rich material for the propounding of new
problems and perhaps the solution of old ones will come to light.
Language is curiously diversified: here you meet a tribe with a distinct
speech, and camping near them for a time you learn the common currency
of their tongue; a few miles further on appears another people, perhaps
not greatly differing in type, but with another language altogether.
Thus at Dinawa, where we were encamped for five months on the foot-hills
of the Owen Stanley range, the native phrase for “Make up the fire” was
“Aloba di”; while at Foula, only eighteen miles away as the crow flies,
but far further on foot, the phrase ran “Aukida pute.” It is in the
statement “far further on foot,” of course, that the main reason of this
linguistic variation is chiefly to be found; for travel in the Papuan
highlands is extraordinarily toilsome, owing to the exceeding abruptness
of the configuration, and the endless succession of almost razor-like
ridges. Thus the tribes are confined to narrow areas. Long rough ascents
and descents and devious windings are the portion of the wayfarer who
wishes to reach some spot that may even be visible from his last
halting-place. This experience, and our entire dependence on native
carriers to transport our heavy baggage, with the various _contretemps_
and difficulties besetting the conduct of such a caravan, tempted me at
one time to call this book “Ups and Downs in Papua,” as being at once
literally and metaphorically true and descriptive.
Despite the difficulty of migration, however, it is certain that had our
mission been one of exploration pure and simple we could, during our two
years’ sojourn, have traversed a far more extensive region than we did.
But our first concern was the examination of the butterflies, moths, and
birds of the Owen Stanley range, and that within particular and somewhat
restricted areas, so that our work necessitated encamping sometimes for
months at a time at one particular spot, in order that the collection
and preservation of our specimens might be carried on under the most
advantageous conditions possible in such a wilderness. To this end we
built two permanent camps, one at Dinawa, and the other at Ekeikei, at
altitudes of 3600 and 1500 feet respectively. From these bases we made
short expeditions in various directions, and established temporary camps
on the St. Joseph River, Mount Kebea, and finally at Mafalu, our highest
point of attainment, 6000 feet above the level of the sea among the
fastnesses of the Owen Stanley range. But even that altitude is
comparatively insignificant in the magnificent highlands of Papua. The
higher we rose it was only to catch sight of still loftier ranges that
piled peak on peak as far as the eye could reach. The only one of these
that has as yet been trodden by the white man is Mount Victoria, which
rises to a height of 13,000 feet. This was made the objective of a
special expedition by Sir William Macgregor, who recently crossed
British New Guinea, a journey which took him fifty-one days to
accomplish. Sir William has also explored the Fly River tentatively, and
D’Albertis followed its course for 600 or 700 miles; but when these
achievements are mentioned, one has exhausted nearly all the serious
efforts that have been made in Papuan exploration. Within the last year
the Netherlands officials have issued a map that makes many valuable
additions to our knowledge of the topography of the coast-line of their
territory.
It may make for clearness in following my journeys if the reader will at
this point submit for a moment to the drudgery of a brief examination of
the map, for my trail exhibits various doublings backwards and forwards,
and consequently exposes the narrative to the risk of confusion, unless
the main outline of the itinerary be followed. It had been my intention
to work first in Dutch New Guinea, but various accidents, and the
hostility of a warlike tribe, brought these plans to an untimely end,
and I had to spend the greater part of my time within the borders of the
British possession. Port Moresby, the British Government station,
consequently became my main base of operations, and it was in a
north-westerly and south-easterly direction from that settlement that my
journeyings lay. On the first of these I went by sea from Port Moresby
north-west to Yule Island, separated from the mainland by Hall Sound,
and then I struck up the Ethel River as far as Oo-fa-fa, where we began
our march into the interior. The chief points of the route as noted on
the map were Epa and Ekeikei, Madui, and then on to Dinawa, where we
established our first camp, and settled down for five months’ work,
which included a short expedition to the St. Joseph River. Returning to
Port Moresby, and having some time to spare, I and my son went down the
coast 75 miles to the south-east, partly on foot, partly by boat, by way
of Tupeselae, Kappa-kappa, Kalo, and Kerapuna, as far as Hood’s Bay, a
journey rather of observation than of exploration, for the region is
within the sphere of missionary enterprise, and cannot be regarded as
altogether unknown, although the geographer has not yet by any means had
his last word upon it. Reaching Port Moresby by a reversal of the same
route, we returned once more to Yule Island, and struck inland by way of
Mekeo and Epa to Ekeikei, where we built our second and most elaborate
camp, which served us as the base for our furthest journey to Mount
Kebea, and thence inland by way of Googoolee, Cooloo-coolu, Babooni,
Amana, Foula, and Avola, to Mafalu, our highest point.
It may be worth while noting that as soon as we had passed Bioto Creek
on the Ethel River, existing maps ceased to be of use to us, and with
the exception of a few vaguely indicated mountains, presented a complete
blank. Such outlines of topography as we have filled in give in every
case the native name of the place. The fashion of rechristening
localities, although often complimentary to European explorers and their
friends, pastors, masters, and disciples, and probably commemorative of
a discovery, seems to me always to sever an interesting link with the
country under examination. For this reason I prefer the melodious native
name Papua to its western supplanter New Guinea.
[Illustration:
A FEATHERED ARTIST, THE BOWER-BIRD, WITH HIS HOUSE AND GARDEN.
He distinguishes between colours, lays out his garden in alternate
rows of white and mauve flowers.
]
Our chief movements inland may comprehensively be taken to lie within a
region bounded by a radius of 50 miles around Delana on Hall Sound. On
entering the unexplored region we found ourselves at first in a flat,
swampy country, intersected by a few tiny creeks, some not more than two
feet wide, running through grass. We next passed the eucalyptus belt and
then came the forest proper, in which the trees were at first set in
isolated patches. Undergrowth there was, but it did not attain any
density, and at intervals we could trace the trails of the sandalwood
cutter. Not long after leaving Oo-fa-fa we found a rocky eminence, from
which we enjoyed a lovely view of the entire Bioto Creek winding between
a dense border of mangroves, the vivid green of which marked the course
of the inlet, even when the shimmer of the water in the sunlight was
entirely veiled by the overhanging vegetation. Beyond lay the broader
waters of Hall Sound, bounded by the wooded shores of Yule Island, and
to the west we could descry Nicora, a small village on a hill of red
clay. The vista was closed by the sea, and in the clear atmosphere the
picture was one to be remembered. We then entered a flat tract, an
apparent plateau, at a height of 1000 feet, and for a time travelling
was over comparatively easy ground, but at Epa the forest and our
difficulties began in earnest. Henceforward we had to depend on one or
two trails very difficult to follow, and hills and valleys became
continuous. Fifteen miles inland lay before us a line of rugged peaks,
whither we were bound, but many more miles than fifteen would have to be
covered before we reached them. Further off still towered Mount Yule,
our first glimpse of the Papuan Alps. Passing Ekeikei we entered the
region of ridges, often scarcely twelve inches wide, and affording only
the most precarious foothold. The path as we rose became still more
rugged, and was crossed by numerous creeks. Then the character of the
forest changed, and we traversed damp and gloomy tracts, where the thick
vegetation excluded the sunlight. The track at this point skirted vast
and threatening precipices. At Madui we encountered peaty and spongy
ground, thickly interwoven with roots, which impeded our progress and
made the advance peculiarly toilsome, and the last stage to Dinawa was a
long dip and a longer ascent. Once there, however, we were rewarded by a
delightfully bracing climate and a glorious panorama of mountain
scenery, a delight we often longed for at Mafalu, our furthest and
highest point, where all view, save through an opening we ourselves cut
in the trees, was denied us. Even that was generally obscured, so
incessant was the rain and wetting mist. At favourable moments, however,
we would see through our clearing the sunlight in the valley far below
us, although we ourselves, dwelling as we did among the clouds, were
denied that boon.
Such then, in brief outline, were the changes of scenery through which
we passed. The alternations of climate were not less varied. In Dutch
New Guinea it was very hot and humid, often 150° F. in the sun and 110°
in the shade. On “cool” nights we had temperatures varying from 75° to
80°. At Port Moresby 160° was no uncommon temperature, and this was
rendered worse by the lack of shade and the stony, arid country. The
great heat begins to be felt about 11 A.M., and lasts until 3 P.M.
during the season of the N.W. monsoon. The atmosphere is, however,
fairly dry at times, and the highest temperature is not nearly so
unendurable as I have found 90° in the shade at Manaos, at the
confluence of the Amazon and the Rio Negro, where the air is saturated,
and one sits mopping oneself continually and praying for sunset,
although even that brings but slight relief. This never happens at Port
Moresby, where there is sometimes a pleasantly cool evening. Towards
nightfall the S.E. monsoon dies away, and the same holds good for Yule
Island and Hood’s Bay. For some distance inland these conditions
prevail, but after Ekeikei (1500 feet) there is a decided change.
Considerable humidity prevails in the forest, and although at midday the
heat is scarcely less oppressive than on the coast, yet the traveller is
sustained by the prospect of relief, for the evenings are deliciously
cool. The average day, too, was not unbearably hot at these higher
altitudes. In the neighbourhood of the Deeanay precipice, owing to the
dense forest and the plentiful streams, it is quite cool all day, and at
Dinawa (3600 feet), although we have recorded noon temperatures of 120°
in the sun, the average at 4 A.M. was from 63° to 65°. Winds were
infrequent, but at night there was a brief land breeze from the higher
mountains.
On the Kebea the climatic conditions are very similar, but there is more
mist, and in the morning the valleys are filled with great masses of
white rolling cloud, which rise and disappear as the sun gains power.
These vapours sometimes assume a perfectly level surface, so that they
resemble an ocean or a vast plain of snow, through which the higher
peaks rise like islands. At Mafalu the average temperature was down to
59° F. at nights, and highest in day 80° under the leafage of the
forest, and mist and rain were almost continual from 11 A.M. to 3 P.M.
As the sun sank the heavens would clear, and the mist floated past in
thin wreaths, or lay still in long, ghostly trails if no wind blew. The
nights were often cold, and these altered conditions were not without
their visible effect on animated nature, for at Mafalu the insects
changed, and we secured a fine selection of Lepidoptera we had not met
with before.
This brief sketch of the configuration and conditions of the country
through which we travelled may, I trust, serve as a key to the more
detailed account of our journey, and with the directions and altitudes
thus succinctly placed before him, the reader may possibly find it
easier to follow us up hill and down dale. There is one more point I
would venture to impress upon him, a point which will recur again and
again—he may fancy _ad nauseam_—the difficulties of transport in Papua.
But that was the main crux of our experience, and its importance can
hardly be realised by one who has not undergone similar troubles. You
are entirely in the hands of the natives, without whom you cannot stir a
foot. All your impedimenta, your food, stores, scientific implements,
and “trade” (material for barter, the equivalent of ready money) must go
on the backs of your cannibal friends, a people without organisation,
who are hard to collect and hard to persuade to follow you. It is
necessary to rely on yourself to secure followers, though here and there
a chief may aid you. One such, the greatest “character” we encountered
in Papua, will be introduced to the reader at the proper place. On the
march continual apprehension besets the traveller lest his carriers
bolt, for if this happened in the interior he would be done for, and he
would have a terrible business to get out of the country, if indeed he
got out at all. Hence the reason why I have dwelt on our perpetually
recurring difficulties with carriers, for the natives were veritably our
staff and scrip; and had these failed us at a crucial moment, our
expedition would have broken down utterly, to the great loss of those
who had risked much on the undertaking.
[Illustration:
GUARDING THE WORKERS.
Cultivated ground is generally some distance from the villages. It is
tilled by young women, who are guarded by young natives armed with
spears.
]
On the commission of several friends, all scientific enthusiasts, whom I
have named elsewhere, I and my son Harry, a lad of sixteen, left England
in January 1901, and sailed eastward on board the _Duke of Sutherland_
to Thursday Island, whence we proceeded on board the Netherlands gunboat
_Neas_ to Dutch New Guinea. My brief stay there, and the disappointments
that led to my seeking a different field of operations, form the subject
of the following chapter.
CHAPTER II
_DISAPPOINTMENTS IN DUTCH NEW GUINEA_
Dutch New Guinea—The Coast—Unsavoury Mud-banks—Merauke—The Dutch
Settlement described—Its Wonderful Modernity—A Fierce Tribe, the Tugeri,
now described for the First Time—Their Appearance and Habits—Their
Continual Murderous Raids—The Fearful Bamboo Knife—Scientific Work here
impossible owing to Danger of going beyond Settlement Boundaries—
Outbreak of a Mysterious Disease at Merauke—Its Swift Deadliness—The
Symptoms—Determine to leave Dutch New Guinea and prepare for a March
into the Unexplored Interior.
CHAPTER II
DISAPPOINTMENTS IN DUTCH NEW GUINEA
As we approached the shores of Dutch New Guinea, we first descried
low-lying tracts of marshy land. To the water’s edge came tall trees
loaded with orchids of the most brilliant hues and of many varieties,
notably the Dendrobium. The mangrove swamps, elsewhere so common in New
Guinea, were here entirely absent. Under the trees, close even to the
water’s brink, could be seen a dense tangled undergrowth. There was no
beach, only muddy shores. At low tide the water recedes, probably for a
quarter of a mile, leaving hard mud flats capable of sustaining men
bare-foot. During the winter monsoon a heavy surf would break on these
flats, but we arrived in fine weather, and the water was perfectly calm.
Of course, the _Neas_ could not go inshore, but had to stand off to a
distance of at least ten miles, and we had to land by the boat. A
prominent feature of the landscape was a great spreading tree, which the
Dutch sailors had taken as their chief bearing for finding the mouth of
the Merauke River. Had the hostile natives only known how the access to
their jealously guarded territory depended upon that one landmark, it
would certainly not have been allowed to stand long. These
characteristic shores fringe the mouth of the Merauke River, which
empties itself through a small estuary about three times as wide as the
Thames at Greenwich. It is navigable for about six miles, and at the
furthest end it so narrows that the vessel could be put about only by a
clever manœuvre, during which her bow and stern all but touched the
banks. With a small survey boat, however, such as the _Neas_, drawing
from 10 to 12 feet of water, the river may be navigated for about 160
miles. From larger vessels lying in the river off the new Dutch
settlement of Merauke, which was our point of arrival, it was usual to
land in a small dinghy.
A row of a few yards brought us to a primitive staging, built on piles,
supporting a floating platform of logs, very slippery with the slime
left by the river at high tide. These treacherous logs were far enough
apart to permit of a man’s slipping easily between them into the
unsavoury stream. Unsavoury indeed it was, for the waters of the Merauke
are blue with a greasy alluvial deposit, closely resembling the “blue
slipper” so well known to geologists in the Isle of Wight. The Dutch
Settlement lay close to the landing-stage. It presented a rough
collection of houses and barracks for the Netherlands troops. The
largest building was the barracks, a fairly well-built structure of
wood, capable of accommodating all the Dutch troops, a force of about
150. The house of Mr. Kroesen, who was at that time the Resident, was
quite an attractive building, with a glass roof and thin bamboo walls
hung with a few curtains. It contained ten apartments, all on the ground
floor. Next in importance was the house of the Comptroller, Mr. Schadee,
which had only one apartment, with a large projecting roof and a fine
verandah, under which the Comptroller entertained his friends. A little
distance away were the open sleeping sheds of the Javanese convicts who
had been brought there to build the Settlement and to drain the marsh.
[Illustration:
CURIOUS DRUMS OF THE TUGERI (DUTCH NEW GUINEA).
The body of the drum is cut and hollowed from a solid trunk, and
curiously carved. The drumheads are of lizard skin.
]
It is curious that the Dutch always choose low-lying spots for their
settlements. Some instinct of home seems to draw them to the flat lands,
and better sites at a loftier elevation are neglected. Merauke, however,
was chosen for another reason. The Dutch had been good enough to make
their Settlement here to prevent the Tugeri from making raids on to the
British territory. The thoroughness of the Dutch character, however,
appears in the equipment of their station. When I arrived at Merauke the
Settlement was only two months old, but it was already furnished with
every accessory of civilisation, even including iron lamp-posts from
Europe. It offered, in this respect, a striking contrast to the old
British Settlement of Port Moresby. Merauke was built in a forest
clearing, and the Dutch had already laid out gardens after the
Netherlands pattern, and were raising vegetables in the coffee-coloured
soil—the result of centuries of alluvial deposit—a soil so rich and
productive that beans may be gathered three weeks after being sown. The
gardening is carried on entirely by the civilians, the officers and men
confining themselves exclusively to their military duties. As the
Settlement had been established in the centre of a dangerous and
turbulent district, it was protected with barbed wire defences and with
a ring of block-houses on the landward side. The state of unrest then
prevailing prevented me from carrying on my scientific work. I had come
to Merauke to explore and collect in new territory, but the
long-standing difficulty with the warlike Tugeri tribe was still acute,
and the very day after I landed we had abundant proof of how unwise it
would be to penetrate into the interior. On that day three or four
Javanese convicts who were working on the edge of the clearing were
heard to shout as though in distress. In five minutes an armed guard was
on the spot, but all the convicts were found decapitated by the
head-hunting Tugeri. The heads had been taken off with the bamboo knife
so cleverly, that the doctor on board our ship told me that no surgeon
with the latest surgical instruments could have removed so many heads in
so short a time.
This bamboo knife of the Tugeri is a very remarkable weapon. It is
simply a piece of cane stripped off from the parent stem, leaving a
natural edge as keen as the finest tempered steel.
Nor was this the only outrage. A Chinese woman had died, and had been
buried in the graveyard near the Settlement. The next morning the grave
was found to have been violated, the head taken, and all the clothing
removed. The Tugeri never showed themselves all this time, but it was
known that they were watching Merauke from the dense screen of
undergrowth which came down to the edge of the clearing.
British settlers on the western boundary of British New Guinea have for
a long time been harassed by Tugeri raiders from the Dutch side, and the
Lieutenant-Governor’s report for 1899–1900 contains an exhaustive
account of the negotiations between the British and Dutch authorities
for the suppression of these outrages and the indemnification of
sufferers. In 1896 Sir William Macgregor undertook a punitive expedition
against the Tugeri, and at the time believed that he had finally driven
them out of British territory; but during a murderous raid on the Sanana
tribe, shortly before 1900, many persons were killed and carried away.
The chief result of the negotiations, apart from the settlement of
indemnity and the undertaking of search for missing persons, was the
Dutch decision to appoint a resident official for that part of their
territory which adjoins the British possessions. Hence the establishment
of the Merauke Settlement, and the appointment of Mr. Kroesen to take
charge of it. The Netherlands Government has guaranteed a special sum
for the administration of Merauke, and the Dutch officers there have
also been authorised to correspond directly with the British officers in
the western division on matters requiring their mutual attention,
instead of, as the Blue Book says, “by the circumlocutory channels of
their respective Governments.”
My opportunities for observing the Tugeri were, therefore, necessarily
limited, but I am, I believe, the first person who has made any study of
this remarkable tribe, and, as far as I am aware, they have remained
hitherto undescribed. They are a very numerous people, inhabiting a
tract of country extending as far west as the Marianne Strait, and as
far east as the Fly River at longitude 141°. Inland their boundaries are
unknown, but it is probable that they extend a considerable distance
from the coast. They are known to have co-terminous boundaries with the
Kewi people, from whom the British draw their police, and who are first
found at the mouth of the Fly River.
The first to visit the Tugeri was a renegade missionary, who had
absconded with some of the mission funds. He came upon the tribe by
accident. They captured him, took away his boat, his clothes, and all
that he possessed. Curiously enough they did not kill him, but gave him
a house and food. He stayed with them on very friendly terms for about
six months, and was at length taken off by a schooner which chanced to
touch on the coast.
The second white man who observed them was Captain Pym, who is said to
have been the discoverer of the Merauke River, and who was certainly one
of the first traders there.
The Tugeri are a fine race, very fierce, and absolutely unspoiled by
European vices. The men stand about 5 feet 8 inches on an average, and
are clean-limbed, powerful fellows, capable of any amount of endurance.
As a race, they are broad-shouldered, sinewy, and of enormous strength.
No European can draw their bow. This weapon is made of a longitudinal
section of the bamboo. Near the grip the diameter is about 3½ inches,
and the wood tapers at each end to a diameter of ¾–inch. The string is
of twisted fibre, and the arrow, which is made of a reed, carries to a
distance of at least 300 yards. Like all savages, they are admirable
marksmen.
[Illustration:
THE NATIVE METHOD OF TREE CLIMBING.
]
In the typical Merauke Tugeri the head is rather conical, and the
forehead high but receding. The hair is sparse, beginning well up on the
cranium, and falling in long strands to the middle of the back beyond
the shoulder blades. The hair is plaited with grass and string, and from
the plait at the back rises a single osprey feather. The eyebrows are
straight and meeting, the eyes black, large, and heavy. The nose is
broad and flat, but with a prominent bridge, the mouth degraded and
fatuous, but the lips neither so thick nor so protruding as the negro’s.
The ears lie fairly flat to the head, and are not abnormally large. The
men wear an enormous ear ornament of bamboo bent into an open ring.
Round the periphery of this ring the flesh of the lobe of the ear,
previously perforated, is stretched in infancy, and as the individual
grows the natural spring of the bamboo stretches the flesh more and
more, until in manhood a loop is formed big enough to hold a ring of at
least 4 inches in diameter. It is extraordinary how the tribesmen
contrive to move amidst the tangled forest without hindrance from this
abnormal expansion of the lobe, the most unusual flesh decoration to be
found amongst mankind. When the bamboo is out the loop hangs like a long
pendant, a perfect skein of flesh, a peculiarly hideous accessory of
savage adornment. Some of the Tugeri wear an apology for a beard, or
rather two scraggy tufts of hair depending from each side of the chin.
The use of pomatum in any form is unknown. The teeth are strong and
fairly regular, but perfectly brown, owing to the habit of chewing the
betel-nut.
For personal adornment the Tugeri wear two crossed straps of dogs’ teeth
strung together with grass. Each strap is about 3 inches wide, and is
formed of nine parallel rows of teeth. The strap that rests on the left
shoulder passes under the right armpit; that over the right shoulder
passes outside the left arm above the elbow. The straps are lightly
fastened at the point where they cross the breast. Round the right arm,
just above the elbow, they wear a curious armlet. In the case of the
richer tribesmen this is of shell, decorated with grass, or of grass
decorated with shell. The breadth is from 5 to 6 inches. On the stomach
to the right are two or three horizontal scars made by cutting or
burning. These are self-inflicted for superstitious reasons. The lower
part of the stomach is tightly drawn in (often extremely tight) with a
coil of finely plaited fibre. This seems to be worn for elegance alone,
and tight-lacing is a ruling fashion among the Tugeri dandies: the
tighter the lacing the greater the dandy. From fifteen to sixteen years
of age the young men are hopeless victims to fashion. The Tugeri go
bare-foot, but wear grass anklets adorned with shells, which rattle like
castanets as they walk. I observed, however, no dances, although these,
I understand, are performed in their villages. For decency’s sake they
wear a shell after the manner of the statuesque fig-leaf, and their
costume is completed by a necklace of dogs’ teeth and small pieces of
bone, such treasures as a savage prizes.
Despite the natural ferocity of the Tugeri, the tribe is not without
some rudimentary notions of courtesy, and they paid the Dutch on their
arrival a similar compliment to that paid to Captain Cook, that is to
say, they were good enough to offer to provide wives for the sailors
from among their own women. Certain traders in British New Guinea are
not above accepting this civility, for the possession of a native woman
is often a valuable business asset. Some sandalwood cutters, for
example, frequently make these left-handed marriages, for the mistress
is influential in obtaining workers for her husband from among her own
people. One sandalwood cutter, a Malay, who has made a large fortune at
his trade, could always obtain double the number of labourers procurable
by any other trader on account of his _liaison_ with a native woman, by
whom he has a large family. His numerous Papuan blood-relations stand
him in good stead in his business.
The houses of the Tugeri are built of grass and bamboo. The walls rise
to a height of about ten feet and are covered with a span roof. I
observed their villages only from a distance, however, and never
accompanied the Dutch soldiers on any of their expeditions. Some of the
villages are very large, consisting of two or three hundred houses. Near
the townships immense cocoanut plantations invariably occur, and these
seem to form the chief wealth of the Tugeri.
A strange part of the Tugeri’s paraphernalia was their extraordinary
drums. The body of these, shaped like a dice-box, was hewn out of a
solid log, hollowed, and curiously carved. Midway at the narrowest point
was a clumsy handle, also hewn from the log. The drum heads are of
lizard skin. The performer carries the instrument by the handle in the
left hand, and beats with his right. The noise is prodigious.
The tribe domesticates the gaura. This bird has frequently been
described by naturalists, but a short account of it may not be
inopportune here, as I was fortunate in obtaining many good specimens of
it. The gaura is half as large again as the guinea-fowl, and weighs from
five to ten pounds. The beak is longer than that of the ordinary pigeon,
but is not large in proportion to the bird. It has the ordinary
characteristics of the pigeon beak. The head is small, the neck short,
the body full and fleshy, and remarkably fine eating. The back is broad
and rounded, the legs brightish red and characteristically those of the
pigeon breed. The plumage of the head is a bluish silver grey with a
fine crest of a lighter shade. The crest feathers are very open in their
branching. When erected, the crest spreads out like a fan and makes a
noble display. The breast feathers are a rich maroon, the wings and back
a bluish slate colour. There are white patches on the wings, which are
tipped with maroon. The tail feathers continue the shade of the back
until within two inches of the extremity, when they are graduated into a
lovely grey, almost matching that of the crest. For all its fine looks
it is a silly bird, short and heavy of flight, and easily killed when
once found. The sportsman locates the gaura by its booming sound.
My ten days’ stay at Merauke was a time of strange misfortune, and while
there I had the unenviable opportunity of observing a very serious
outbreak of a mysterious disease, which was said to be that deadly
beri-beri, which has lately been occupying the minds of men of science.
For some time there had been isolated cases among the Javanese convicts,
but about the second week in April the Dutch authorities became greatly
alarmed by the spread of the disease. Cases were reported daily, and all
proved fatal. At last the deaths reached the terrible figure of 160 in
ten days. The victims were all Javanese, the officials and natives went
unscathed. The doctors of the Dutch Colony were very able men, but no
relief could be given to the patient beyond administering anæsthetics. I
question whether it was rightly styled beri-beri, for in South America,
at Manaos on the Rio Negro, I have seen cases of the disease among the
Portuguese rubber gatherers, but these bore no resemblance to the
sickness at Merauke. The sufferers in South America were generally men
who led isolated lives in the vast forests of the Amazons, gathering the
sap of the _hevea braziliensis_, and living for long periods on bad
food. Victims of this type of beri-beri generally live for nine months,
and those of strong constitution and in whom the swelling had not risen
above the knees recovered. If the patient lives the old life and
continues the old diet in the forest, the disease gradually ascends
until it gets above the knees, and then its course becomes very rapid
until it reaches the heart.
I myself caught beri-beri on the Rio Branco, and first noted its
presence by the discovery of a numb spot about the size of a halfpenny
on each ankle. The Brazilian medical men assured me that nowhere in
South America could I hope to get better, and I was ordered to quit the
country at once. Before I reached Havre the numbness was greatly
reduced, the affected patch being then the size of a farthing, and two
months after I reached home, it vanished. In Columbia I have observed
exactly the same form of the disease as on the Amazons.
In Merauke, however, sufferers from the so-called beri-beri had no
seizure of paralysis in the lower extremities. It was always in the
abdomen, and was accompanied by the most excruciating agony. Death
usually came in four hours. There was no relief from pain; the
intestines seemed to be knotted, the patients face was pale and
agonised. He continually moaned, strained forward and doubled his body.
He held his stomach with both hands, and occasionally lay down and
rolled, and as the end approached, the intestines seemed to be forced
upwards towards the thorax, and there was great swelling. The doctors
tried poultices and fomentations in vain. They also administered castor
oil without affording any alleviation of the suffering. Perfect
consciousness remained until the very end, and the last thing the
patient always asked for was fruit. Five minutes after making this
request, he was dead.
One evening we spent with Mr. Schadee on his verandah, there was with us
his Javanese clerk (not a convict), who was enjoying his cigarette and
apparently in the best of health. The next morning he was dead. Our
carpenter on board the _Van Doorn_ was carried off with equal
suddenness, and he, curiously enough, had never been on shore all the
time of the epidemic. The victims were always buried within five hours.
As to the communication of infection, it is doubtful whether the disease
was due in each case to external causes, or whether once having broken
out it spread from man to man. The bad rice,[1] on which the Javanese
live, may have been the cause. At the same time it may be noted, that
the convicts were working in the abominable blue mud of the river.
Another article of diet supplied to the Javanese was dried fish, very
ill cured, or rather not cured at all, and most offensive to European
nostrils.
Footnote 1:
Since these lines were written an eminent medical man, a specialist on
beri-beri, has publicly advanced this view.—E. A. P.
[Illustration:
A LAKATOI (SAILING RAFT OF CANOES) AT ANCHOR AND A DWELLING-HOUSE
BUILT OVER THE WATER.
]
The epidemic was very costly to the Netherlands Government. The _Van
Swoll_, a Dutch merchantman, laden with the necessary plant for
establishing a settlement, was at that time lying at Merauke. After the
beri-beri broke out, there was no labour available to unload the vessel.
Mr. Kroesen accordingly decided to ship the surviving convicts on board
the _Van Swoll_, and send her back to Amboina. There she placed the
convicts in a sanatorium, and went on to Timor to procure a fresh batch
of convicts, who were to return with her to Merauke and unload her. The
delay to the _Van Swoll_ alone cost the Dutch Government 800 guilders a
day.
No doubt a settlement in a low miasmatic country is in itself
unfavourable, but I am inclined to attribute the disease to bad diet.
This so-called beri-beri occurs also in the native princes’ prisons in
India, where the food is very bad. I am disposed to believe that the
Javanese were rendered liable to attack, because their blood had been
impoverished by several years of poor feeding before they came to
Merauke, and that the climate and worse food than they had had in Java
made them ready to receive the germs of the disease.
Such was my visit to Dutch New Guinea. The hostility of the Tugeri and
the prevalence of disease rendered scientific work out of the question,
and accordingly after ten days I returned to Port Moresby, there to
secure means of transport for an expedition into the interior of British
New Guinea, where I proposed to continue my studies of the Lepidoptera
peculiar to that region.
CHAPTER III
_CHANGES AND STRANGE SCENES_
We sail to Thursday Island—A Rough Voyage in a Cattle-boat—A Glimpse of
Thursday Island—The Wonderful Colour of its Waters—We reach Port
Moresby—Contrast to the Scenery of Dutch New Guinea—Magnificent
Mountains—Evidences of Drought—Vegetation burnt up—The British
Government Post of Port Moresby described—A Good Second to Hades or
Aden—The Great Sight of Port Moresby—A Community of Hereditary Potters—
The Pottery Trading Fleet—The Strange Vessels called Lakatois—Their
Structure—Native Orgies before the Expedition starts—A New Guinea Ballet
on Deck—Seclusion of Women after the Young Braves depart with the Fleet—
My Inland Expedition fitted out—Official Courtesy—Details of Baggage—
Transport procured after Immense Trouble.
CHAPTER III
CHANGES AND STRANGE SCENES
While I lay at Merauke on board the _Van Doorn_, the steamship _Moresby_
was signalled. On this I obtained a passage to Port Moresby, the seat of
government in British New Guinea, so I accordingly bade farewell to
Captain De Jong of the _Van Doorn_, and in due course we weighed anchor
for Thursday Island, at which the steamer was to touch on her voyage.
The _Moresby_ could not approach Merauke nearer than twelve miles, so we
went out to her on a small petrol launch. There happened to be a
tremendous swell on at the time, and when we came alongside the
_Moresby_ we found that the deck of the launch was often ten feet from
the companion, and we had to watch our opportunity to get on board. It
was quite half-an-hour before we succeeded.
We found our steamer by no means attractive. She was most unsavoury on
account of the cattle carried for the ship’s use. The cabins were below
and very hot, for the vessel had been built for a cool climate, and was
not at all suited for tropical trade. She was an ordinary cargo boat,
and could not usually steam faster than eight knots an hour.
A run of twenty-four hours’ duration brought us to Thursday Island, one
of the great centres of the pearl fishery, where many nationalities
congregate for the purposes of trade. The stores are kept for the most
part by Chinese, and Japanese and Chinese boats call there on their way
south to Sydney. The coasters also make it a point of call as they pass
from Brisbane and Sydney on their way to the Gulf of Carpentaria and
Normanton, the great centre of the Eastern cattle trade.
Thursday Island, so small a dot in the Eastern Archipelago that the
tiniest mark a geographer can make on his map is widely out of
proportion to its size, rewards the traveller well for a visit. Although
one can walk round the island in an hour and a half, the locality is
full of interest, and the pearl fishery is very engrossing for the
observer. The boats of the fishing fleet afford a most picturesque
accessory to the scene, and the harbour is full of life. Small boats
dart about everywhere, and there is a continual coming and going. The
large Chinese and Japanese steamers, of from 6000 to 7000 tons burden,
are continually arriving at and leaving the Government wharf. The
Europeans are most agreeable and hospitable. The sea round Thursday
Island is a most wonderful colour—in parts emerald green and silver,
deep blue varied with light yellow and brown, and everywhere perfectly
clear. The tides, which at times flow with the rapidity of a mill-race,
have been studied, but are not yet understood. They are tremendously
erratic and very dangerous. Sometimes they run at the rate of seven
miles an hour, and against this steamers can make no headway. The Torres
Straits indeed, as far as Cairns, are the most dangerous seas in the
world. It is, of course, very warm in Thursday Island, but the heat is
tempered by the most delightful sea breezes. I could have enjoyed a
longer stay than twenty-four hours, but that was the limit of our
vessel’s call, and we left next day for Port Moresby, which we reached
after a two days’ run.
[Illustration:
MY CINGALESE LIEUTENANT, SAM, AND HIS WIFE AT THEIR HOME IN PORT
MORESBY.
]
As we approached the coast we found that it presented a very striking
contrast to that of Dutch New Guinea. Here the mountains came close down
to the coast, which was rock-bound, but not cut to sheer cliffs. Inland
the mountain ranges ran parallel with the shore line, range towering
above range, as far as the eye could see, the whole prospect dominated
by the magnificent peak of Mount Victoria, which sprang aloft into the
azure to a height of 13,121 feet. Viewed from the sea Mount Victoria
appears to culminate in a plateau, but Sir William MacGregor declares
that it is really a mass of peaks.
As we drew nearer to the shore we noted unmistakable evidence of the
drought, which had just set in, and which lasted for nine whole months.
The vegetation was entirely brown, and everything seemed barren and
burned up. The drought, it was said, extended as far west as the Fly
River, at the 141st degree of longitude. Even at an altitude of 6000
feet, as I found afterwards, lycopodiums, orchids, and parasites were
falling off the trees, and this, too, within the zone of humidity for
New Guinea.
The approach to Port Moresby is dangerous owing to the reefs that
encircle the coast, and accordingly great caution had to be used in
navigating the ship into the harbour. The course lies east, then west
along a certain known channel, and finally the navigator follows the
coast for a few hours, when, rounding a promontory on his right, he
catches his first glimpse of this anchorage. The Government post of Port
Moresby, although picturesquely situated among rolling hills which slope
down to the water’s edge, is in itself unpretentious enough—merely a
collection of houses and offices of bare, galvanised iron,
architecturally as insignificant as rabbit hutches. During the day the
temperature resembles Hades or Aden, whichever may have the priority.
Here the British official chooses to abide, although comfortable houses
of sago, with thick grass thatch, cool on the hottest day, offering a
delightful dwelling-place, might be had only a few miles distant. A
paternal administration, however, prescribes galvanised iron, and there
its servants swelter, patient and uncomplaining, after the manner of
Britons.
Clustered about the Government buildings are various other buildings—the
jail, which more resembles a pleasure-ground, shipping offices, stores,
and the hotel. On an elevation at the farther end of the bay stands
Government House, a pleasantly situated bungalow raised off the ground
on five-foot posts. The best building in the place, as one might expect,
is the station of the London Missionary Society.
Life at Port Moresby is not without its events, and one of the most
noteworthy of its public spectacles, and one which I was fortunate
enough to see on a subsequent visit, is the annual starting of the
_lakatois_ or huge sailing rafts, laden with pottery for trade in the
western part of the possession.
Those who are familiar with the postage-stamp of British New Guinea
must, no doubt, have often wondered what manner of strange craft is
depicted thereon. The stamp, as will be seen from the accompanying
illustration, bears the representation of a boat, or rather a raft,
carrying two gigantic sails resembling the wings of some weird bird, and
the whole appearance of the vessel is one that arouses curiosity. This
is the _lakatoi_, the remarkable trading vessel of the hereditary
potters of Hanuabada, a little village not far from Port Moresby. The
hamlet, with its neighbour, Elevada, is built partly on land and partly
on piles in the water; but while the land part of Hanuabada stands on
the mainland, that part of Elevada which is not aquatic is founded on an
island.
The inhabitants belong to the Motu tribe, and their numbers do not
exceed 800. Their long grass-thatched huts rise from sixteen to twenty
feet above land or water, and each has its little landing-stage on a
lower tier. The main poles supporting these structures are of rough-hewn
tree trunks driven down into the soft sand. At a height of from five to
six feet above the water the natural forks of the main poles are
retained, and across these logs are laid, forming a rude platform.
Ladders of very irregular construction give access almost at haphazard
from stage to stage. Looking through the village below the houses, the
eye encounters a perfect forest of poles, and between the dwellings in
this queer Venice of the East run little waterways just wide enough to
let a canoe pass along without grazing its outriggers. The houses
themselves each contain only one living apartment.
In and out among the houses ply the dug-out canoes, and a very charming
feature of the village is its crowd of children, playing with toy
_lakatois_. The smallest of these toy craft are made of a section of
bamboo ballasted with stones, with a sail of the same shape as that of
the great rafts used by the grown-up people. The bigger children,
scorning the bamboo vessels, have a larger kind, in which the canoes are
real little dug-outs. These youngsters are wonderful swimmers, and as
they conduct their little regattas they jump about in the water,
swimming and diving fearlessly, and enjoying the merriest possible time.
The people of Hanuabada are an agreeable and rather comely race. They
are typical south-east coast natives, with shock heads of black wiry
hair. The women, who carry on the characteristic industry of the place,
the work in earthenware, are lithe picturesque figures in their long
_ramis_ or kilts of grass.
It is a curious fact that, although the Hanuabada and Elevada people
live actually on waters that teem with fish, they are poor fishermen,
being, in fact, too lazy to follow that craft. They are accordingly
helped in this industry by the Hula people, whose fishing fleet presents
at night one of the most weirdly picturesque sights in Papua. Of this I
have more to say in a later chapter.
For weeks before the annual trading expedition Hanuabada is full of
life. At every turn one comes upon women crouching on the ground,
fashioning lumps of clay into the wonderfully perfect pottery for which
the village is famous. The men-folk, although they do not condescend to
take part in the actual fashioning of the pots, are good enough to dig
the clay, which they take out of the ground with a stone adze—a flat
stone blade lashed to the shorter extremity of a forked stick, the
longer extremity forming the handle.
[Illustration:
HANUABADA GIRLS DANCING AND SINGING.
Before the young braves sail on their annual pottery trading voyage,
which they make on board Lakatois (sailing rafts of canoes), they
have great rejoicing, and the young women dance on the decks of
their strange-looking vessels.
]
There is a distinct organisation of labour among the potters, the women
being divided into “makers” and “bakers.” Several “makers” work together
in a group. They use no wheel, but seize a lump of clay with both hands,
and make a hole large enough to get the right hand in, whereupon they
gradually give the vessel its contour. After being roughly shaped, it is
smoothed off with flat sticks or the palm of the hand. The finished
article of Hanuabada ware is in the form of a flattened sphere with a
very wide mouth, and a neatly finished rim six or eight inches across.
Farther to the east, along the coast, the pottery is highly decorated,
but it is much more crude in form, and has no fine rim. The pots are
dried in the sun for several days, and then they are turned over to the
“bakers,” whose fires are blazing in every street. There are two methods
of baking. One is to lay the pot on a heap of hot ashes; the other to
build the fire right round it. The vessel is watched through the whole
process, and is continually turned on the fire with a little stick
thrust into the mouth.
When many hundreds of pots have been completed, the Hanuabada people
begin to think about the disposal of their wares. Their great market is
at Paruru, a long way up the coast. They barter their pottery for sago
with the nations of that district, and it is very curious to note that
this extensive trading organisation on the part of an utterly savage
people has been in existence from time immemorial, and is no imitation
of European methods. To reach Paruru the potters must undertake a
perilous voyage, for which they are dependent on the tail of the
south-east monsoon.
Then comes the preparation of the craft, the _lakatois_. Several hundred
large dug-out canoes are brought together, and are moored side by side
at the landing stages in groups of six or ten. While this is being done
many people are out in the forest cutting rattans and bamboos for
lashing the dug-outs together, and for the upper framework of the rafts.
Across the canoes, after they have been ranged at the proper distance
(amidships, about six inches apart, although their taper ends cause a
wider gap at bow and stern), are placed long bamboos, extending a
considerable distance beyond the port and starboard sides of the
outermost pair. Along the gunwales of each canoe, at regular intervals,
stout bamboo uprights are erected, and to these the horizontal cross
bamboos are strongly lashed with fibre and cane, until the whole
framework is perfectly rigid. To the cross framework the potters fix
down a floor of split bamboo, and all round the outer edges they wreathe
dried grass to prevent slipping as one steps on board. This platform
overlaps all round the raft fore and aft, and the cross-pieces are very
strong and firmly lashed. Openings are left in the floor above each
dug-out to enable the pottery to be stored in the holds of the canoes. A
clear space is left on the platform, extending about six feet from bow
and stern, and on the whole of the intervening space houses are erected
in skeleton bamboo framework. These can be entirely covered in with mats
to afford a shelter in stormy weather or in rain. The roofs as well as
the sides are formed of mats. Wooden masts are now stepped amidships and
held in place with stout stays of fibre, and then the _lakatoi_ is ready
to receive its sails. These resemble vast kites, and were formerly made
of native matting stretched upon an outer frame of bamboo, but are now
made of calico. It is difficult to describe their form, and they can
best be understood by a study of the accompanying illustration.
Why the strange segment should be cut out of the upper part, leaving two
great wings, I have never been able to discover. The sails of the
_lakatoi_ are of themselves—things apart. Being stretched on a frame
they cannot bulge, but swing like boards. Their points rest on the deck
and work freely in a socket. The sails are hung lightly to the masts by
braces, and there is no clewing up. In spite of their comparative
rigidity they are quite manageable, and in case of sudden squalls can
easily be let go. The _lakatoi_ is now ready for use—perhaps the most
remarkable-looking craft that ever went to sea—and has only to be
tested. From the rigging and the sails float long streamers of Papuan
grass decorations, and the fleet of eight or ten _lakatois_ now lying
off Hanuabada affords, as the sun strikes the brown sails, a really
charming spectacle.
Before they proceed to sea the careful people institute a trial trip,
and celebrate a regatta with several days of extraordinary festivity.
The fleet is sometimes augmented by some _lakatois_ from other villages.
These sail up to Port Moresby from the east to join the main expedition.
About eleven o’clock in the morning, if the wind be strong enough, the
people of Hanuabada and Elevada begin to test each vessel in the
harbour, trying how the ropes run, how the sails work, and how the
lashings hold together. Everything is thoroughly overhauled, for the
lives of the men-folk of the village depend upon the fitness of their
queer craft. The crew go on board and take up their positions. At the
bow stands the professional pilot, a man thoroughly acquainted with the
coast, and behind him, stretching in Indian file down the gunwale on
port and starboard, stand his crew, each man handling a long pole. The
steering is done from behind with two poles slightly flattened at the
ends, and forward, for certain emergencies, they use a small Chinese
sweep. The crew pole gently out from land until the breeze strikes the
sails, and then far away they go merrily down the harbour, tacking about
in every direction with wonderful dexterity, for the _lakatois_, clumsy
although they appear, are quick “in stays.”
[Illustration:
GIRLS DANCING ON A LAKATOI (A RAFT OF CANOES).
]
At last comes the day when the Hanuabada people say, “If the wind is
favourable, we will start tomorrow.” Vast quantities of farinaceous food
are brought on board, and the small dug-outs are busy darting out from
the village to the fleet, bearing the stores that are to last the
voyagers for their two months’ trip. Then the festivities begin. The
damsels of the village deck themselves most artistically with finely
woven garlands that lie in close cinctures round their brows. In most
ravishing _ramis_ they go on board and celebrate the departure of the
young braves by the wildest dances on the platforms fore and aft—dances
that would put a _première danseuse_ to shame. They spin round with such
dizzying rapidity that, when I photographed them, although I used a
shutter snapping at a hundredth of a second, the image of the dancers
was somewhat blurred, as will be seen from the annexed picture. As an
accompaniment to the dances, they sing the appalling and discordant
songs of the coast native, and the merriment and motion cease only for
the intervals of feasting on yams, taro, and fish. The dancing is for
the most part independent, but occasionally there is some attempt at
rudimentary figures, and the little girls, with arms interlaced after
the manner of a “lady’s chain” in the Lancers, form a ring in the
centre, while the bigger girls circle around.
Some of the young braves sleep on board the last night, and the next day
at dawn, if the wind should be favourable, a start is made. The last
good-byes are said, the small canoes dart to and from the shore with
final messages, and as the great _lakatois_ slowly get under way, the
girls crowd upon the beach, shouting and waving to their young heroes,
until the last odd-shaped sail has disappeared round the farthest
promontory. The men of the village will not be seen again for two
months, and some perhaps not at all, for the voyage is long and beset
with divers perils, and not every _lakatoi_ weathers the sudden
treacherous squalls and storms of the Papuan coast.
Their captains, of course, have no knowledge whatever of the science of
navigation, and sail their vessels by cross bearings, or—when out of
sight of land—by sheer instinct.
During the whole time that the traders are absent, gloom reigns in
Hanuabada. At nightfall the desolate women bar themselves into their
houses, and remain in the most jealous seclusion until the daylight
reappears. It is a most unflattering reflection that this custom has
only arisen since Europeans first came to Papua.
From Port Moresby I intended to go sixty miles westward to Yule Island,
and thence push into the interior of British New Guinea, where I
proposed to pursue the special scientific work for which my expedition
had been undertaken. The point which I intended to use as my centre of
operations would require a journey up country of at least three weeks’
duration, through an almost unknown region, where only native paths
existed, or, at the best, a missionary road extending for a short
distance. Wheeled traffic was, of course, impossible, and everything
would have to be transported by carriers. The first necessity was,
therefore, to procure transport, a work of infinite difficulty; but at
last, chiefly through the great assistance and courtesy of Mr. Hislop,
then resident magistrate of the district of Mekeo, sixty miles west of
Port Moresby, I obtained a sufficient number of carriers. Mr. Hislop
then took the trouble to go as far inland with me as our first
halting-place, Epa, in order to help me and to use his influence to
persuade the natives to give me their services. The gross weight of the
baggage to be carried must have been, at least, 2000 lbs., and it
consisted first and foremost of what is technically known as “trade,”
that is, beads, axes, 18–inch knives, 9–inch knives, 6–inch knives,
tobacco, looking-glasses, red calico, bright-coloured cotton prints,
plane-irons for axe-heads, Jew’s-harps—for which a Papuan will do almost
anything—and, most valued of all, dogs’ teeth. In addition to this, I
had to carry the whole of my apparatus for collecting—100 nets, 60 to 70
cyanide bottles and enough cyanide of potassium to poison the whole
population of New Guinea, store boxes, pins, cork bungs, and lamps. I
had also a complete photographic equipment.
For our own sustenance we carried a great quantity of tinned provisions,
and enough rice to feed our carriers for the journey both ways. I ought
not to omit to mention our tents, another heavy item of transport. For
arms we had our 12–bores, our revolvers, one Winchester repeating rifle,
and one Winchester repeating shot-gun, with sufficient ammunition. We
also carried a store of empty cartridge cases, recappers, loose powder,
shot, and caps, extractors and refillers. Before setting out it was
necessary to make bags of stout canvas, sewn with twine and fortified
with two coats of paint. Into these all our baggage was packed, and each
bundle was duly numbered.
CHAPTER IV
_WE STRIKE INLAND_
We start Inland—Friendly Natives but Hostile Mosquitoes—Bioto Creek—
Bioto—Guest Houses—A Splendid Game Region—Daily Migration of Flocks of
Pigeons—Greedy Coast Natives—Carriers Inadequate—A Double Journey in
Relays—We meet the Chief Mavai, a great Papuan Character—Mavai’s Way of
Life—His Harem—His Western Notions—His Trousers—His Red Coat—His Severe
Discipline—As we proceed, Construction of Native Houses more elaborate—
On to Ekeikei and Dinawa—March through Wet Vegetation—Tortured by
Leeches and an Abominable Parasite, the Scrub-Itch—A Gloomy Forest—
Magnificent Orchids—Carriers stimulate Laggard Comrades with Nettles—The
Aculama River—I discover a New Fish.
CHAPTER IV
WE STRIKE INLAND
We left Yule Island at 10 A.M. in a small boat, accompanied by two
Mission Fathers. Our baggage came on with us at the same time in a rough
boat. We reached the mouth of the river at noon, and found some natives
there fishing. They were very friendly and gave us some fish. At that
point the entrance to the river was about half a mile broad, but across
it there was a big bar. At 2 P.M. we had entered the Bioto Creek, where
we suffered tremendously from mosquitoes. Here, in fact, they are quite
a terror, and this is believed to be the very worst place for mosquitoes
in all New Guinea. During the first night that we halted there I had not
fixed my net properly, so I slept very little owing to the annoyance of
these insects. It is an unhealthy spot, and fever rages. The village is
very small, containing only nineteen houses for the regular inhabitants,
and two houses, one at each end, for visitors. This provision for the
stranger within their gates is a general custom in every Papuan village.
Despite this form of hospitality, however, the Bioto people are not very
amiable, and I found them extremely greedy. The region is a perfect one
for game, especially for duck and pigeon. Every evening one sees clouds
of pigeons flying over the sea from the mainland to Pigeon Island. In
the morning they return. This migration is to secure safety, as Pigeon
Island is uninhabited, and in its mangrove swamps the birds know that
they can sleep unmolested. After a night’s rest, such as it was, we
prepared to start again, but found the natives somewhat unwilling to go
on. At length they agreed to take us by canoe as far as the path to Epa,
about ten miles from the Bioto Creek, and from that place they would
take us five miles by road to Jack’s camp, which was six miles distant
from Epa. For this journey they demanded an absurd price—each carrier
wanted a 16–inch knife, a tomahawk, or a pearl-shell—and in this
extravagant rating of their services they showed themselves typical
coast natives. The mountain people would have done the same work for one
stick of tobacco. Before we had come to terms the day had worn away, and
it was necessary to remain another night at Bioto. Next morning we were
up early, and by the time we had breakfasted, the carriers, fifteen in
all, who had come from their gardens the night before, were ready to
take up their burdens. The number available was still inadequate, but as
no more were to be had we had to make up our minds to a double journey.
We stayed the night at Jack’s camp, sending on a messenger to Epa to ask
the chief Mavai to bring his people down the next day. By ten o’clock
the next morning Mavai had not arrived, so we decided to walk to Epa and
see him, at the same time hoping that we might meet him by the way. We
took Sam (my Cingalese servant) with us, and as there were two tracks,
he took one and I the other, each arranging to fire a gun if either
should meet Mavai. As it happened we met Mavai most opportunely just
where the two tracks met, and Sam, who had only gone a few yards, was
with us in a minute. Mavai explained that, as it was already late in the
day, he would not call his people together, but would make arrangements
for them to carry for us on the following day.
[Illustration:
EPA VILLAGE, MAVAI’S CAPITAL.
]
Mavai, the chief of Epa, is a magnificent autocrat, and is proud to be
the white man’s friend. He was credited with powers of sorcery—hence his
extraordinary influence. He overshadowed me with his favour, and
commanded his entire village to “carry for Parki”—the Epan attempt to
pronounce my name. Thus I obtained the force I required to take me
onwards, and I went, one might almost say, on the shoulders of Epa—men,
women, and children. The chief himself shouldered a load, without loss
of dignity, and with great advantage to his royal pocket.
My princely benefactor was no ordinary man. He stood about six feet
high. His features were of Roman type, his bearing active and alert, his
frame strong and wiry. Keen eyes looked out of a dark copper-coloured
visage, which gained by contrast with a scarlet coat—a discarded British
uniform, his only ceremonial garment, donned on occasions of great
gravity. Such an occasion was the issuing of his command to carry for
me. With due ceremony he mounted a platform erected near his house, and
assuming the red coat he addressed his assembled people with magnificent
oratory, emphasising his speech by actions. Mavai is a strict
disciplinarian, and I have seen him administer personal chastisement to
recalcitrant villagers. He is a mighty hunter, a fact attested by his
crushed right hand, which was maimed by a bite from a wild pig. Our
friend is a great polygamist, and formerly had fifteen wives. When we
were there at Epa he possessed only five, to whom he was extremely kind,
although he made them work pretty hard. One of them was specially
appointed to wait upon her lord at his meals. On the death of another he
was deeply affected, and cut off his mop of hair. He kept up
considerable state, and at meal times sat in his house in a different
apartment from that in which he slept. He was not above taking food with
us, and used to ask for tobacco in a very lordly way. He smoked a
European pipe, of which he was particularly proud, and when it was
between his lips he used to touch the bowl consequentially and say,
“Parki,” thus signifying to me that he was no small beer. He would pay
the deepest attention throughout a long story, looking steadily at you,
and when you had finished he would tell you what he thought, giving
elaborate reasons. In the centre of his house hung a hurricane lamp,
which he had got from Jack Exton, the sandalwood trader. He understood
the working of the lamp quite well, and kept a supply of kerosene in the
house in a tin. He was also indebted to Mr. Exton for a further adjunct
of civilisation, viz. a pair of trousers very unfashionably big at the
knee. His Highness used European spoons, forks, and knives.
Mavai had adopted a coloured orphan, whom he kept under very strict
discipline. This youth refused to go with Sam to Oo-fa-fa, and when the
chief found out that his express orders had been disobeyed, he cut off a
stick and thrashed the boy indoors for all he was worth. The boy
received ten cuts, but neither moved nor howled, although the women of
the village set up a dolorous wailing while the punishment was going on.
As soon as the castigation was finished, Mavai seemed to be seized with
sudden shamefacedness, for he ran at top speed to his sago plantation,
and remained in retirement for a considerable time.
At Epa the native houses begin to be beautifully constructed. They are
on a raised platform, and look like inverted boats, the roof being
formed by bending over long sticks, so as to form an arch that is
thatched with sago leaf. The floor is particularly good, and at Epa
there is an admirable guest-house, with a fine level floor of split
sago, the pieces being 1¼ inches wide, neatly laid and bound together.
Mavai’s guest-house, which adjoined his dwelling-house, was open at both
ends. The house poles are very substantial, for they are driven into the
iron ground, which is very stony, and radiated great heat, so that one
could not go comfortably without boots, although in this respect the
natives seem to be pachydermatous.
We saw Mavai’s son build a house, neither asking nor requiring
assistance. Single-handed he brought up his poles, peeled off the bark,
and drove them in.
One evening during our stay there was a terrific wind storm, a heavy
north-wester, which tried the architecture of Epa severely. One slender
house began to heel over, and it was accordingly tied to a tree with
strands of cane, and a large gang of men held these stays until the
worst of the storm was passed. Even Mavai’s substantial house gave way a
little under the tempest.
It was about 9.50 when we started on our journey from Epa to Ekeikei. We
sent twenty-five carriers on with their loads, and we ourselves followed
with the remainder of the baggage. Of course we could not carry
everything on this trip, and it was my intention, when we finally
reached our destination at Dinawa, to send back mountain men to bring
the rest of the material up the forty miles’ tramp from Epa.
At first the path led downwards, and very soon we came to a small river,
over which—as the existing bamboo bridge was unsafe owing to a freshet—
we had to be carried by the natives. We always took great care to avoid,
as far as possible, getting our clothes wet, as this accident renders
the European traveller particularly liable to fever. In this case,
however, this precaution proved futile, owing to the oncoming of a
downpour of rain—the last we were to see for nine months.
[Illustration:
EKEIKEI NATIVES.
]
At times the brushwood was very dense, and we had to cut our way, but
where the forest was closely matted above, forming a thick canopy which
excluded the light, nothing, of course, could grow beneath. At points
where the light penetrated, the undergrowth was immediately thick again.
The path, such as it was, was stony and hard. As we trudged along in the
wet, we made the acquaintance of a new discomfort. This manifested
itself in the presence of a leech, a little creature about ¾–inch long,
with a slender body, very much smaller than the European variety, but
inflicting the same sort of three-cornered bite. The native carriers
offer the easiest victims, for the leeches fasten upon their bare heels
in great numbers, and they had constantly to stop and brush them off
with little switches which they carried in their hands. Sometimes, when
the leeches had bitten very deep, the carriers had to lay down their
loads and pull them off with their fingers. They would endure them until
they became too bad, say, when a dozen or so had adhered to each foot.
At this time we did not suffer much, but later on, in the journey from
Faula to Mafulu, they got over the tops of our boots and socks and
attacked our ankles. The bite was not actually painful, and the presence
of our enemy was not revealed until we realised that our feet were wet
with blood. The chief haunts of the leech are wet stones and moss and
low herbage.
Another discomfort which we experienced at this point of our journey was
the abominable attack of the scrub-itch, a nasty little parasite that
the wayfarer brushes from the low herbage as he moves along. This
hateful microscopic creature, which is of a bright red colour, gets
under the skin and causes terrible irritation. The affection spreads,
and if one is so unwise as to scratch the place, there is no hope of
relief for at least three weeks. The only satisfactory remedy is to
bathe the part in warm salt and water. Scrub-itch, leeches, and
mosquitoes at times render life in the forest anything but blissful, yet
Nature, according to her law, offers her compensations, even in the
primeval forest.
About the elevation that we were traversing there grows a particular
kind of palm, peculiarly grateful to the native when he is hungry—a not
infrequent occurrence—and at such moments of stress they discard their
loads, search out this palm and cut it down. At the top, just below the
crown of the palm, the last shoot, about six feet long, remains green.
It is opened lengthways, and is peeled until the inside layers are
reached. These layers are straw-coloured, like asparagus, and to the
taste are sweet, slightly dashed with acid. Europeans, as well as
natives, can eat great quantities of this wholesome and enjoyable food
with impunity. It is excellent also for quenching thirst, for which it
is often most convenient, as it grows in waterless regions.
The gloom of the forest was diversified by the colours of its
extraordinary orchids. One of these (_grammatophyllum speciosum_), which
had made its home on a lofty tree, was of almost incredible luxuriance,
and could the whole plant have been secured, it would not have weighed
less than half a ton. I despatched one of my native boys to climb the
tree to see if he could secure a specimen. He went about his task in the
native fashion. The climber stands with his face to the trunk, which, as
well as his body, is encircled with a hoop of rattan cane. This hoop he
holds in each hand, and his ankles are tied together. First, he leans
back until his body has purchase on the hoop, and then at that moment,
by the leverage of his ankles, he makes an upward movement of about a
foot. Then, falling backwards against the hoop, and pressing his feet
against the trunk, he is supported for the next spring. This operation
is repeated with marvellous dexterity and rapidity, and with this
contrivance the youth makes his way to the top. There is no tree in New
Guinea that a native cannot climb thus.
In the present instance, my man was not destined to have any luck, for
the network of roots round the tree formed such a wide-spreading dome
that he could not make his way over to the crown to secure a specimen of
the orchid, and the attempt had accordingly to be abandoned.
We pressed on along the rough track, which was everywhere beset with
precipices and ravines that compelled us to take the greatest care. The
road was fairly practicable, however, for transit, and there were no
very serious obstructions at this stage of the journey. My people were
in good spirits, and we plodded on as gaily as might be, occasionally
stopping and giving the men a smoke. Despite the toils of the road,
these halts in the forest were perfectly delightful, for we had in the
improvement of the air a foretaste of the pleasant freshness that was to
make life in the mountains of New Guinea so tolerable and even
attractive.
After five hours’ march we arrived at Ekeikei, rather tired and ready
for slumber, but here, alas! there was no rest for us. The native
carriers had to lodge, some in our hut, some under it, and their method
of spending the night was not favourable to repose. Their idea is to
sleep for half-an-hour, and then light their pipes and spin yarns,
which, to judge by their uproarious laughter, must have been extremely
diverting. After the story-telling, they obliged us with songs, and the
music wooed them again to a brief period of slumber. It did not woo us,
for the coast natives have no ear, and their music is very unlike the
soft and flowing song of the mountaineers. This performance went on
until daybreak, when we rose. In order to make a satisfactory day’s
journey it was necessary to start at 5 A.M. We had to prepare our own
breakfast and give the natives theirs, and then we set out for Madui.
Again, the path wound past high precipices and deep ravines until we
came to our first resting-place, Bamboo Camp, so called from a clump of
bamboo that formed a natural shelter. Here the forest trees were so high
and thick that scarcely any sun or light could penetrate. It was gloomy
in the extreme, and very depressing, the silence broken only by the
drip, drip of the rain, and the only sound of life was the “wauk,”
“wauk” of the bird of paradise.
For two hours the track skirted the Deeanay precipice, and our way led
under enormous overhanging boulders which would reach out some distance
overhead. These were the more impressive in that they seemed to have no
hold, and the imagination made teasing suggestions as to what would
happen if one of them were to topple over. From the crevices little
springs issued, and in these damp nooks there was a luxuriant growth of
lichens and begonias in flower. While accomplishing the long
circumvention of the crags, it was impossible to obtain a view of the
Deeanay, but as we broke out into more open forest, close to Madui, one
could form some idea of its rocky magnificence.
[Illustration:
THE CAMP AT EKEIKEI.
]
Close to the Deeanay precipice we noted an extraordinary sight. Under a
large tree that rose to a height of some 150 feet, were huge mounds,
quite five feet high, of veritable sawdust, that seemed to proclaim the
presence of man. On a nearer approach the wonder became greater, for the
heaps were being continually augmented by a constant rain of sawdust of
different grains, some finer than others. No human sawyer, of course,
was there, but the tree, to a height of at least 100 feet, was riddled
by coleopterous larvæ. Several families of these were represented. The
tree, which was about five feet in diameter, and had a thin bark, was,
as might be expected, dying. It must have possessed some strange
attraction, for it was most unusual in New Guinea to find beetles thus
congregated. The distribution is usually very scattered. The holes were
probably made at first by small beetles of various families, but chiefly
anobiadæ, followed as a rule by brenthidæ, later probably by
longicorniæ. One species follows the other into the same hole, each
succeeding species bigger than its predecessor. Sometimes the
lepidoptera make borings, but this sawdust was much finer. Only a few
living branches remained on the tree, which was a mere shell. It was,
however, so well protected from winds that it still stood. Close by we
saw a native hut, uninhabited, of very rude construction. This point of
our journeyings is otherwise memorable, for it was here, near a creek,
that we found some of our finest butterflies—lycenidæ, papiliosidæ,
satyridæ, and ornithoptera primus.
We were glad to continue the ascent to Madui, where once more we emerged
into the welcome light of the sun. When we were two hours’ distance from
Madui, one of our carriers struck work and refused to go any farther.
There was only one way of persuasion, to which I was greatly averse, but
his comrades considered it necessary, and their method, which was, after
all, not very harsh, had the desired effect. The other carriers picked
the leaves of a gigantic nettle, and with these they gently whipped the
reluctant one until he was fain to “jog on the footpath way, and merrily
hent the stile a’.” A little later, he tried to desert, but his comrades
brought him back, and when we halted he was kept in the centre of the
camp under strict surveillance. When he had had a good rest and a hearty
meal, however, he went on as cheerfully as the others.
We reached the foot of Madui Hill at 3.30 P.M., and a climb of
half-an-hour brought us to the summit, which commands a fine view. On a
clear day Hall Sound is visible on the coast side, and inland there is a
grand prospect of mountain scenery. All the way up it had rained
incessantly, and we were drenched to the skin. Our journey over rocks
and precipices, watercourses and ravines, had completely tired us out,
and, fortunately, the natives were too fatigued to sing. Accordingly, we
contrived to get a good night’s rest, and did not leave Madui until 9.25
A.M. next day.
[Illustration:
THE RETURN OF MY COLLECTORS WITH BIRDS OF PARADISE AFTER A FEW HOURS’
SHOOTING AT EKEIKEI.
]
Getting under weigh again, we descended from Madui into a ravine, where
we passed a delightful waterfall, far away up on the precipices of the
river Aculama, which we were to know better during our stay in New
Guinea. The waterfall was on one of the tributaries of a little river,
which we could see far below us rushing over its rocky bed in small
cataracts that alternated with still blue pools. The trees in the ravine
were loaded with lycopodiums and ferns, and, in their season, a few
rhododendrons. The cluster of flowers was like a golden ball the size of
a man’s head. On a later journey I secured the root, but it died before
I could get it down to the coast for shipment. These rhododendrons did
not grow alone, but attached themselves to tree trunks.
Another curiosity of the Aculama was a large fresh-water prawn, of which
I got wind from the natives’ talk. As soon as I heard it mentioned, I
told my boys that if they could bring me a specimen I would pay well for
it, and also for examples of the fish of the Aculama. They accordingly
went in quest of the crustacean, and before long they brought me a
specimen. The prawn haunts the eddies under the large boulders, around
which the natives draw their net so as to lie close to the shape of the
stone. They then pull it out of the water gradually, and occasionally
find that they have caught one or two specimens. The variety is about 5
inches long, of a transparent brown when caught, very much like our
British prawns, and when cooked of a rich red. The pincers and legs are
longer than those of the marine species. They make delightful morsels,
and are a welcome addition to the explorer’s larder, which provides
changes none too many.
In the waters of the Aculama I had also the good fortune to discover an
entirely new fish, the _rhiacichthys Novæ Guineæ_, which has been
described by Mr. Boulenger, and I am permitted to print his account in
the Appendix.
CHAPTER V
_THE FIRST CAMP_
Journey continued—A Glorious Scarlet Creeper—Dinawa—Site for Camp
selected—Building Camp—Native Assistance—Organisation for Scientific
Work—Daily Routine—Teaching the Natives how to Catch and Handle
Entomological Specimens—Sudden Affluence leads one of my Native Boys to
Desert—He is Caught and Reformed—My best Native Assistant and his Wife—
Female Influence a great Asset with other Women—The Day’s Work—
Collecting at Night—Photography—A Dark Room in the Wilds—Native Interest
in Developing.
CHAPTER V
THE FIRST CAMP
To return, however, to our journey. We crossed the Aculama by a
missionary bridge, a rough structure made of two trees placed about a
couple of feet apart, and laid with cross strips of wood. At once we
began our climb to Dinawa up a winding forest path—the last stage of the
march which was to bring us to our permanent camp. I was always on the
look-out for natural treasures, and when we got to the top of the ridge
just beyond the Aculama, I was fortunate enough to see in a ravine just
below a magnificent example of D’Alberti’s creeper. D’Alberti had
discovered it on the Fly River. The one I found here in the mountains
was of the variety named _Macuna Bennetti_. It ran up its supporting
trunk on a stem which was about 6 inches thick at the base. At the
height of 200 feet it found light, threw out slender arms, and then
dropped down bunches of festoons 20 feet long, a magnificent blaze of
scarlet blossom. The flowers of the _Macuna Bennetti_ are distinguished
by a calyx covered with short hairs, some short and pliable, a few
stiff. When we reached the top of Dinawa Hill we found patches of grass
growing, which did not occur anywhere on the lower slopes.
We at once set about selecting a piece of ground for our camp, and found
a level, grassy space, which required only the cutting of a few trees to
make it clear enough for our purpose. There was, however, very little
brushwood to cut. Pending the building of a more permanent home, we
pitched our tent and settled down for the first night at our base of
operations. Dinawa village was fifty yards away, and the native men came
timidly out to look at us. They were very suspicious, and their
womenkind so shy that it was a considerable time before they would
venture to approach our camp.
The day after our arrival the carriers went back, and it was to the
Papuans of the vicinity that we had to look for the labour that was to
build our house. My Cingalese servant, Sam, spoke the language, and he
made the overtures to our dusky neighbours. We were careful to let them
get some inkling of the “trade” we carried, and this seemed to encourage
them to greater boldness. Occasionally we would open a box in front of
our visitors and show them an axe or a knife, whereat they would say
“lo-pi-ang,” that is, “good,” the first word, probably, that a European
would hear from the lips of a Papuan. A little present of tobacco would
help matters greatly, and in return for this the beneficiary would say
with the ingratiating guilelessness of a child, “Parki lo-pi-ang” (good
Pratt). In time the neighbouring villages, hearing of the vast wealth
that had arrived at Dinawa, came in too, and I was able to engage a
force of workers, whose numbers varied from ten to fifteen, and who
commenced immediately to build my house. These were to be paid when the
house was finished; but during the ten days that the building was going
on they were given occasional supplies of tobacco as a gratuity. The
average wage per day was three sticks of tobacco, or one rami, which
would mean about 1¼ yards of scarlet calico. At the end of the time each
man was to receive a large 18–inch knife, or an axe, and a certain
number of sticks of tobacco.
[Illustration:
HILL NATIVES AT DINAWA.
]
For our house, we first drove into the ground two stout poles 18 feet
apart. These carried the main beam of the roof. At a distance of 6 feet
on each side of these poles we placed the corner supports of the house,
each 12 feet high. The framework was then joined up with poles of
unsplit bamboo tied with split cane, and the framework of the walls
consisted of upright pieces of split bamboo set in the ground 1 foot
apart. We then wattled these uprights with smaller pieces of split
bamboo, the sides and gables of the house forming a complete
basket-work. From the ridge-pole we dropped bamboo rafters extending far
beyond the walls, so as to give very wide eaves, and throw the drip of
the rain as far out as possible. We were now ready to thatch the roof,
and for this we required large quantities of grass. The natives by this
time had gained sufficient confidence in us to allow their women to work
for us, and accordingly I employed ten women as grass-cutters, and kept
them for several days at work cutting with 6–inch knives, which we
supplied. They had no distance to go to find sufficient grass for our
purpose, but the procuring of heavier poles and bamboo was a different
matter. The wood had to be cut at a point some distance down the hill,
and it took quite three hours to bring up each of the heavier logs. When
the roof was on we nailed down our floor, which was made of bamboo fixed
to cross-pieces 6 inches off the ground. The material was not ideal, for
the joints were never closed, and small articles used to fall down into
the cracks. We made our door frame of axed wood and covered it with
thick canvas.
We had also to build our collecting verandah, which we placed on the
edge of a precipice not far from the house. It had a 20–foot frontage,
and was 12 feet wide, with a division down the centre at the ridge-pole
of the roof, which made it, properly speaking, two verandahs placed back
to back, so that when the wind was unfavourable on one side, we could
find shelter on the other. The whole of the structure was raised off the
ground on poles, and the boys had their quarters beneath.
Such was our establishment at Dinawa. When we had finished it we began
to settle down, and were able to organise the camp for work. A native
boy called Doboi, from near Dinawa village, was engaged as cook, and we
had also a water-boy, Matu, whose duty was to go down the hill, a tramp
of three-quarters of an hour, to a beautiful spring whence we derived
our supply. It was lovely water, for the declivity gave no opportunity
for decomposing vegetable matter to collect. The well always ran clear,
and, even at the worst part of the drought, did not fail us altogether,
although its trickle had sunk to the size of an ordinary lead-pencil,
and the boy had to wait quite a long time before he could fill the
billies.
We built our fire outside the house in the open space, gipsy fashion,
and hung the billy, in which we did all our cooking, on a stick resting
on two forked upright sticks. Gradually our working day fell into a
regular routine. We awoke with the dawn, but had always to trust to
ourselves to make the first start, as your Papuan will not wake a
sleeping man. He has indeed a superstitious awe of the slumberer. If one
must be awakened, it must not be by a shake, and when Doboi had advanced
far enough to bring us a cup of tea in the morning, he would tread very
warily.
When we were fairly astir, we found Doboi already about and the fire
going. Then he would make tea while Harry or I baked cakes. The bread
rises easily in New Guinea owing to the temperature, and we were never
at a loss for yeast; for I had brought with me a small quantity of hops,
and we kept our supply going by keeping back a piece of dough from every
batch. This fragment, no bigger than a pocket matchbox, we placed in an
ordinary pound tin, and by noon it had swelled right over the edges. We
breakfasted on bread and dripping of pig, when we had been able to buy
one from the natives, and sometimes we substituted coffee for tea. By
seven o’clock breakfast was finished, the boys having had theirs under
the verandah. It was then time for them to be off to their collecting,
but they were difficult to move. They wanted to sit and smoke. Once off,
they might do a day’s work, but on the other hand there was just the
chance that they would waste their employer’s time in the forest,
smoking and telling stories; or, if they had killed and caught anything,
they would immediately sit down and cook it. If this happened they would
come home empty-handed, quite shamelessly, saying “awpapoo achi” (no
butterflies).
Each boy was supplied with a large butterfly net and collecting box. In
every box we stuck a certain number of pins, and told the boy that if he
filled his box with good specimens he would receive a stick of tobacco.
Bad specimens I always discarded in the culprit’s presence, so that his
iniquity might come home to him. I had, of course, to undertake the
training of the collectors myself, although Sam helped to explain the
method.
First, I got a butterfly and showed how to handle it and pin it sideways
into the box. The crucial matter was the seizing of it once it was in
the net. It must be carefully taken between finger and thumb and the
thorax pinched on the under side. If it be pinched from above—as every
butterfly collector knows—the operator’s finger-marks would show on the
wings and betray slovenly handling. Some of the boys became very
neat-fingered after a time, but others would not learn at all, and were
so shameless that they would bring in part of a wing carefully stuck on
the pin—in fact, it was “anything to fill your box.” Occasionally the
less scrupulous would appropriate the pins to their own use. Of course
there was nothing for it but to pay off and send away such useless
fellows.
[Illustration:
DOBOI, OUR NATIVE COOK AT DINAWA.
]
Making due allowance, however, for the fact that they were savages, the
general character of my collectors said a great deal for human nature.
Doboi was a really good fellow, and had only one reprehensible escapade
to his discredit. It was a case of the deceitfulness of wealth! He had
worked extremely well and had amassed a small fortune, a blanket, many
ramis, and a quantity of tobacco. With these possessions, he became a
small king in his village. One day he vanished with all his goods. Now
Doboi was under contract to remain with me while I was in the interior,
and although he had received much, he had not really worked off his part
of the bargain. Accordingly I had him pursued and brought back, and
thereafter for the rest of his time he was a good boy. He was fourteen,
but had attained to full manhood, and was a very capable fellow.
My best mountain boy, however, was Ow-bow. He was my right hand, my
native first officer. I could send him anywhere, for he was quick and
alert, but he always stipulated that he must go armed, and believing him
to be justified, I invariably provided him with a weapon. He loved
firearms passionately, and to see Ow-bow enter a village with his gun
over his shoulder was to realise on a small scale what a Roman triumph
must have been! He understood the weapon—his fellow-tribesmen did not.
Therein lay Ow-bow’s power. He would fire a shot in the air and then lay
down the law to his comrades. If there were any possibility of getting
what you wanted, Ow-bow would get it. He would, indeed, have done well
on an American newspaper. He understood how to make the most of what
knowledge he had, and was fully conscious that it gave him superior
power, which he was not slow to wield. When he went to a village to
recruit carriers, he arrayed himself in his best, donned his finest
beads and feathers, and painted his cheeks in scarlet stripes. Thus
resplendent, with his gun over his shoulder, he entered the village,
strutting consequentially, and immediately made his presence felt. He
was a man who would not and could not be refused. He showed his wages
and told the tribesmen that they, if they carried for Parki, would
become rich in like manner.
More subtle still was his dealing when he had been sent to engage women
for grass-cutting or similar employment. Ow-bow was a married man who
had permission for his wife to stay in camp with him, and this lady
proved his great advocate with her own sex. While Ow-bow waxed eloquent
and persuasive with the men, Mrs. Ow-bow would display to the womenkind
what wealth had also come to her, and as she reasoned, her sisters were
persuaded, and took service with the white man. But Ow-bow’s flourishes
with the gun were no mere vainglorious show. In two months’ time he had
become a really good shot, and after a morning’s sport would often
return to camp with five or six birds. He invariably accounted for his
empty cartridges, while other boys would return with spent cases and
never a feather to show for them. He grasped the method of aiming at
once and never showed any amateurish disposition to squint along the
barrel, but got his sights on the bird neatly and quickly and fired
without hesitation. He seldom missed.
During the morning, while the boys were out at work, Harry and I would
also be engaged with our nets; or, as our collections increased, we
would be busy putting specimens together, tending them and seeing that
they were not suffering from damp. Sometimes, taking a couple of the
laziest boys with me, I descended to the Aculama and followed the stream
up its course, collecting as we went. As the boys’ skill increased, it
became possible to send them two by two so that several localities could
be worked simultaneously. Work, still further afield, fell to Sam, who
often went away with five or six carriers on collecting expeditions that
lasted a week or a fortnight.
The best time of day for butterflies is from 8 A.M. till noon. The boys
returned to camp at times varying according to their luck or their
laziness, and in any case, we had all returned by three o’clock. Then
Doboi or Weiyah cooked a meal which varied in excellence according to
the state of the stores or our luck with the gun, and afterwards we took
our siesta. The late afternoon or early evening found us at work again
on the collections or putting the camp straight. Darkness descended
quickly, and when there was no moon we went to the verandah and began
collecting moths. On favourable nights we often continued at work till
daybreak.
The boys did not care about night work and usually sat round the camp
fire smoking, spinning yarns, or crooning their charmingly plaintive
mountain melodies until about 1 A.M., when they curled up under the
verandah and went to sleep. Occasionally one or two very hard-up young
gentlemen, whose need of tobacco was urgent, would volunteer to assist
in the moth-catching, but for the most part they preferred free evenings
like the young working people of more advanced nations. Visitors from
Dinawa dropped in until the camp became a thronged resort. Then
unfortunately things began to disappear, and it was necessary to keep
the natives at a greater distance and restrict liberty of entrance. “No
admission except on business” became the rule for outsiders. On my own
boys, I found it was best to impose no cast-iron regulations.
Nor were these all our occupations. Besides the lepidoptera, there were
ornithological and botanical specimens to collect and preserve. Of the
last, the more succulent required constant care and changing, and some
took three weeks to dry. Photography proved a pleasant change, and on
nights unfavourable for moths, we darkened the house with blankets and
had a spell of developing. At such times one realised poignantly the
limitations of a savage country, and the value of things that at home
are too commonplace to be remarked. Our chief lack was a good flat
shelf. Amateur photographers with luxurious equipment should figure to
themselves the discomforts of a ridgy shelf of split bamboo on which no
bottle will stand upright. Groping in the dim red light among one’s
materials on that crazy ledge was as productive of maledictions as the
royal and ancient game itself.
[Illustration:
THE NATIVE VILLAGE OF DINAWA.
]
The natives were, at first, very much frightened at the camera, the
women especially, and some of them were never reconciled to it. I showed
them stereoscopic slides of Papuan views on Negretti and Zambra’s
veroscope. One fellow, on seeing his own portrait stand out in bold
relief, dropped the stereoscope and ran up a tree. I occasionally
allowed a few privileged natives to come into the dark room to watch the
developing. At first they were rather alarmed at the red light, but
gradually they became interested in the process, and as the image
appeared we heard the inevitable “lo-pi-ang.”
Such was our daily life at Dinawa—very enjoyable in the crisp and
bracing mountain air that reminded one of an English October. But for
the unavoidable cares of camp management and fears for the endurance of
our food supply and the safety of our specimens, it would have been
altogether ideal.
CHAPTER VI
_VICISSITUDES AND A DIGRESSION_
The Drought affects our Work—Butterflies begin to Fail—Forest Fires—We
descend to the St. Joseph River—A Temporary Camp—A Wonderful Native
Suspension Bridge—River Scenery—Native Methods of Fishing—Dull Weather
and Little Success in Collecting—A Comic Incident—A Native besieged by a
Wild Pig—War—Native Hostility—A Chief threatens to Cook and Eat our
Heads—Strict Guard kept on Camp—The Bird of Paradise—Papuan Game Laws—
Natives’ Interest in Writing—Further Stay at the St. Joseph
Impracticable—A Flood destroys our Bridge—A Visit to a Native Village—
Curious Means of Ingress—Return to Dinawa—My Cingalese Headman’s
Experiences—He evades Native Treachery—Sudden Growth of a New Township.
CHAPTER VI
VICISSITUDES AND A DIGRESSION
As the days went on at Dinawa, there was no sign of any breaking up of
the great drought, which began seriously to affect the success of our
work. Butterflies grew scarce, and daily the catch fell off, for the
vegetation was getting very dry. Lycopodiums were dropping off the
trees, and often we could see, in the lower grounds, great forest fires,
which consumed the undergrowth throughout large tracts of country, miles
and miles being left blackened and burnt up. In these conflagrations,
millions of low-feeding and high-feeding larvæ must have been destroyed,
and there was a corresponding decrease in the insect life of the
district. Seeing that, for a time, there was not much more to be done,
we decided to quit our camp at Dinawa and descend to the St. Joseph
River; so, on July 22, we set out with thirty carriers, and went down
into a deep valley, whence we climbed a ridge which brought us to a
native village so strongly stockaded that we knew that the tribes must
be at war—village against village—and this unsettled state of affairs
made it very difficult to persuade the natives to pass with us through
the open country that lay between the hamlets.
At this place we changed carriers, and, accompanied by the chief of the
village, we descended by an extremely rough native path to the St.
Joseph River, which we reached at 4 P.M., after a march of about six
hours. We found the river very low but beautifully limpid and very
rapid. For our camp we immediately chose a small patch of sand close to
the stream, the only clear space we could find; for the river bed and
the gorge itself were filled with enormous boulders piled one upon the
other in the wildest confusion.
Our temporary dwellings were of the simplest. Harry and I occupied an
ordinary fly-tent, and another was pitched for our native followers. On
the day after our arrival we set about constructing a rough bridge for
our own convenience. This we did by felling a tree on one side of the
stream and letting it fall across the river bed as far as it would go.
We repeated the operation with a thinner tree, which we let fall from
the opposite bank, and the branches of the two intertwining in the
middle, gave the structure some sort of continuity. Along the two trunks
we could scramble without any very great difficulty. Our feat of
engineering, however, was as nothing compared to the one achieved by our
savage neighbours, for at a little distance up the stream the Papuans
had spanned the gorge with a most wonderful suspension bridge. Across
the ravine they had swung four main chains of bamboo. These were
fastened at each end to a rigid horizontal cross-piece, and this again
was braced on one side of the river to two trees, of no very great
thickness, but of tremendous sustaining power, while on the other the
chains were laid over the top of an enormous crag, then across a little
depression in the ground behind it, and so were made fast to trees at
the height of a few feet from the ground. The four main chains were
under-girt with loops of bamboo, forming a cradle, along the bottom of
which single bamboos were laid on end, affording a precarious footway.
The total length of the span was at least 150 feet, and it swung clear
of the tree-tops on the wooded sides of the gorge. At its greatest dip
the bridge must have been 70 feet above the river. The elasticity and
swing were tremendous, and I confess that the passage of the bridge was
no joke to one unaccustomed to its giddy eccentricities. On this
veritable tight-rope custom is everything, for I have seen fifteen
native carriers at one time dancing carelessly across it, regardless of
their heavy loads and of the tremendous increase in the oscillation that
their numbers caused.
I crossed with some natives of the district, and having descended the
right bank of the St. Joseph for about a mile, we came to the mouth of a
small tributary, the bed of which we ascended for a distance of half a
mile. It was a toilsome ascent owing to the enormous boulders, to which
I have already alluded, and I found that the safest way was to take off
my shoes and stockings and clamber along bare-foot. At intervals among
these boulders occurred calm pools of exquisite deep blue water, and
these the natives choose as their fishing grounds. They favour the pools
with the narrowest outlets, and dam with leaves the little waterfalls,
or natural weirs over which the water rushes from one clear expanse to
another.
My native companions, being very agreeable and obliging fellows, were
kind enough to send to their villages for the great fishing-nets, 30
yards long and 6 or 7 feet wide. When the nets arrived, the natives
collected stones about the size of an orange, wrapped palm leaves round
them, and then tied them to the edge of the net, until it was evenly
weighted all along, at intervals of about 6 inches. They then lowered
their net into the water, so arranging it as to form a half-moon, and,
scrambling along the sides of the watercourse, they gradually drew the
mesh towards them, until they reached the upper end of the pool, where
natives, standing breast-high in the water, landed the fish, as they
were pressed towards the bank, in large dip nets. Some of the fish
jumped over the net, and some escaped down stream, and even managed to
plunge over the weir, for they were strong enough to take a leap of 6
feet. We caught eight beauties, none under 2 lbs. in weight, and some up
to 4 lbs. They were, as far as I could make out, a species of
fresh-water mullet, and in the main stream of the St. Joseph similar
fish, weighing as much as 15 lbs., are no uncommon catch.
These fish are wonderfully provided by Nature with an appliance which
helps them to combat the extraordinary current. At one moment you will
see them being swept down resistlessly, but suddenly they shoot off into
the quieter water and attach themselves to the rocks by a strong sucker
near the mouth. There they hang just outside the current, their tails
moving gently with the eddy; and when they have recovered their
strength, they make another dash through the swifter waters, coming to
anchor again when baffled—otherwise it would be impossible for them to
stem the stream. The fish we caught that day made a most welcome
addition to our larder, as they are delicious eating.
[Illustration:
FISHING WITH HAND-NET ON THE UPPER WATERS OF THE ST. JOSEPH RIVER.
]
From a scientific point of view we did not gain much by our expedition
to the St. Joseph River. Every day the skies were leaden, and during the
whole time of our stay we saw no sun. Butterflies were scarcely more
plentiful than they had been at Dinawa, and once, after a whole
morning’s work, Harry had only secured two—fine specimens, no doubt, but
even at that an insufficient reward for the time spent. Every night we
kept the lamp going, but the moths were very scarce, although our camp
was in the heart of the forest.
Our life at St. Joseph River, however, was not to be all tranquillity.
Once we had an alarm which fortunately degenerated into an incident of
pure comedy, although it might have been very serious. At nightfall, one
evening, a native boy, who had gone out shooting, had not returned, and
we began to grow very anxious about him. At eight o’clock, however, he
came into camp in a state of considerable agitation and bringing a
strange tale of a pig. He had shot a tusker with No. 9 shot, but had
only wounded it, and the animal charged him, whereupon he had thrown
away his gun and run up a tree. Then the pig sat down over against him
and laid siege to him, and our poor friend abode in the tree for several
hours. Finally, however, the pig’s wound, which was over his eye, so
blinded him with blood that he raised the siege in disgust and made off
to his fastnesses.
As time went on the rumours of war increased, and one day three natives
came in from the village of Mi-Mi, six hours’ journey higher up the
mountains, on the top of a ridge. They came from the chief of Baw-boi, a
fierce warrior, who kept all the small villages round him in abject
terror. His emissaries conveyed to me a most agreeable message, that if
we and our followers should honour him with a visit at Mi-Mi, he would
kill my men, and have the pleasure of cooking and eating our heads—a
compliment, presumably, to the superiority of European brains. I had
fully intended to visit him, but after this token of cordiality I
refrained, so that the menu of the chief of Baw-boi’s regal banquet has
not yet included the tempting item, “braised brains of Pratt.” After the
chief’s intimation I kept fires going all night at both ends of the
camp, but it was not necessary to post a stricter watch than usual, for
three or four of my men always kept awake in their hammocks during the
dark hours. This precaution is, in fact, so natural to savages that they
never need to be reminded of its necessity. We heard that the chief of
Baw-boi had placed his village in a complete state of defence, had
excavated a trench 18 feet wide all round, and had erected a stockade.
The effect of these hostile preparations on the weaker villages round we
were to learn later from Sam, who was, at this time, a day’s journey
higher up the river carrying on collecting work for me.
The days seemed very long from lack of occupation, and the nights also,
for we could not sleep for the roar of the St. Joseph River.
Occasionally there were amusing incidents. One of my men, Gaberio, had a
brilliant inspiration. He thought he would shoot fish with a rifle, and
was allowed to go and try; but not only were they too quick for him,
but, of course, the water deflected the ball, and the refraction of
light through water makes a true aim impossible. Gaberio, who had no
knowledge of natural science, covered his defeat by another excuse—
“Water too deep,” said Gaberio.
We found here some indication of rudimentary game laws existing among
the Papuans. Round this region dwelt certain chiefs, in whose territory
grew the play-trees of the _raggiana_ or red bird of paradise. These
gentlemen intimated to us that any one who came to shoot the _raggiana_
must pay them a fee, as the birds, by virtue of their coming to play in
their trees, were their property.
As the natives had little to do in camp, they used to sit round Harry,
watching him with the greatest interest while he posted his diary, and
exclaiming at intervals, “mallelee lo-pi-ang” (good writing). It is most
singular that they should have had a word for writing, for I found no
trace among them even of picture writing, if we except the markings on
the “bau-bau” or pipe; but it is probable that they had some means of
communication by scratching on bark, otherwise the existence of the term
seems to be inexplicable.
At length I saw that a further stay at the St. Joseph was impracticable.
A flood came down and washed away our bridge, and it was with no great
reluctance that we struck our camp and returned to Dinawa. On the way we
repassed the village of Fa-lo-foida, which stands on the top of a
conical hill surrounded by precipices. It was strongly stockaded, and we
had a stiff clamber to get to the top. To enter the stockade we had to
pass through the outer native house before gaining access to the centre
of the village, a sort of compound. The stockade was closely built, only
a few bars being left loose for ingress and egress, and the entrance
could easily be shut in case of attack.
A march lasting from 6 A.M. till 12.30 P.M. brought us back to Dinawa,
where we found all well and in good order, except our plants and one of
the birds. A “magnificent,” a really beautiful specimen of that species
of paradise bird, which one of my boys had brought in, and which we had
hoped to keep in a cage, had died, probably because when its captor
brought it into camp he slung it head downwards from a pole, and kept it
in that position several hours. We were heartily sorry to lose so fine
an example of the _kellelo_, as the Papuans call that variety.
Two days after our return to Dinawa camp, Sam rejoined us. He had much
to tell, for the times had been rather stirring with him. My head-man as
well as I had received the polite attentions of the Baw-boi chieftain,
who had sent in to say that he was not afraid of Sam and his gun, and
that he would cut off his head and eat him. After this overture Sam was
careful to camp at the bottom of the hill, but our adversary did not
give up hopes of a Cingalese dinner. A message came from another village
that if Sam would go there he would be presented with a pig; but he knew
the Papuan too well. He replied to the messengers that if they had a pig
they should bring it into camp. Of course no pig came.
[Illustration:
A ROUGH BRIDGE WE MADE AT THE ST. JOSEPH RIVER.
]
From Sam we learned further that the Fa-lo-foida people, through fear of
the Baw-boi people, had cut the suspension bridge, and that the natives
farther up the St. Joseph River, on hearing of the tyrant’s warlike
preparations, had left their villages and had settled on the site of the
camp I had just quitted. Their object was, of course, to be near
friendly Fa-lo-foida, which would in time of stress be to them as a
fenced city. This incident led to the formation of quite a new township,
and before I left Dinawa for good my old camp on the St. Joseph had
become a considerable village. It was a curious example of the way in
which political necessity affected the _locale_ of village communities.
CHAPTER VII
_GOOD-BYE TO DINAWA_
A Beautiful New Orchid discovered and described—Drought continues—
Sufferings of the Natives—I practise as a Physician—Queer Native
Diagnosis—Gaberio, an Intelligent Native, goes collecting on his own
Account—How we kept touch—The Wireless Telegraph of the Wilds—We
determine to take our Specimens to the Coast—Methods of Preservation and
Packing—Gaberio returns—He tells of the Murder of one of his Boys—
Hardships of Camp Life—Food and Ammunition fail—We try Cockatoo Soup—A
Visit from a Fine Hill Tribe, the Ibala—They brighten the Last Days of
our Stay—Gorgeous Sunsets at Dinawa—The Ibala People return according to
Contract to act as Carriers—We depart—Trials of the March to the Coast—A
Mishap at Sea—Our Fine Herbarium ruined with Salt Water—Port Moresby
once more.
CHAPTER VII
GOOD-BYE TO DINAWA
Among the scientific specimens I brought back to Dinawa was a new
_phallonopsis_ which I had discovered near Fa-lo-foida as we returned
from our camp on the St. Joseph. This orchid is one of the superb
treasures that occasionally reward the seeker as he passes through the
wilds of New Guinea. It was found growing in the fork of a tree, where
it had plenty of shade and a rich damp bed of moss and leaves. The
leaves were a very brilliant dark green, and on the spray, which was
quite 3 feet long, grew thirty magnificent white flowers of exquisite
fragrance. Each specimen must have measured 2½ inches in diameter when
the sepals and petals were extended. Its whiteness fulfilled the most
rigid canons of the orchid fancier, for in judging orchids there are
whites and whites. The value is determined by substance. You may get a
white that is very satisfactory, but there is a thick waxiness of
blossom that gives to a plant the very highest value, and this
delightful specimen was as near the ideal as anything I have ever seen.
It had, of course, pseudo-bulbs, and did not live on the tree, which is
merely used as a means of support, and the plant draws its nourishment
from the humidity of the atmosphere.
Once more we settled down to the routine life of the camp, but it became
plainer every day that, as there was no sign of the drought breaking up,
there was very little hope of satisfactory work until another year. The
skies were still brazen, and vegetation was failing more and more. The
sweet potato crop had utterly failed. Those in store had long been
consumed, and the natives were absolutely starving round us. It was no
use for them to plant another crop of sweet potatoes until the rain
should come, and they were wandering sadly all over the forest seeking
what sustenance they could. Their strength was failing, and their
privations were beginning to tell in terrible emaciation. It was pitiful
to see the starving creatures come into camp, most of them mere skin and
bone. Their children, of course, felt the pinch hardest, and there were
many deaths. To see their condition one could hardly believe that they
would ever recover, but they bore it all with a wonderful stoicism.
Occasionally they would try to catch a pig in their corrals.
[Illustration:
NATIVE WOMEN AT DINAWA.
The background is the roof and side of the author’s house.
]
The Dinawa people would also come to me for medicine, and would
constitute me their physician for small complaints, such as headache,
but I had to be very careful in this respect, for I found out that often
they wanted medicine when nothing was the matter. This recalls to me an
amusing incident of this period connected with my minor Æsculapian
dealings. One morning Doboi, Martu, and Ow-bow came in, saying that
Doboi’s mother was ill. On being questioned as to her symptoms, they
told me that she was aching all over her body, and her head was
particularly painful. Beyond these details we could not find out
anything, and as the woman was some distance off, and it was not
convenient to go that day, we gave them a headache compound and sent
them off with it. Later in the afternoon the boys returned and told us
that Ow-bow’s mother was dead, but the tidings were not so alarming as
at first appeared; for they added that “her head was dead but her
stomach was alive,” from which I understood that she was unconscious.
The neighbouring Roman Catholic missionary, on hearing this, said that
he would go over the following day. These cases were not new to him; in
fact, he told us that fainting was quite common. Obviously, the dead
head and the live stomach was a simple instance of swooning.
During this time we had permitted our man Gaberio—whom I have already
mentioned as being with us at the St. Joseph River—to go off on his own
account collecting butterflies and birds. Gaberio was a Papuan whom I
had engaged at Port Moresby. He was very intelligent, capable, and
quick, and to his other qualities he added a knowledge of pigeon
English. I mention him chiefly because the fact of his absence brought
home to us with considerable force the value of that extraordinary
system of intercommunication prevailing among the Papuans, which may
well be called the wireless telegraphy of the wilds. For some time
Gaberio was, as one might expect in such a region, entirely beyond our
ken, and although we knew he could take care of himself very well, as
the days went on, and our departure was approaching, we felt that we
should like to have tidings of him.
One morning, while we were writing home, we heard the natives calling
from hill to hill. In that pure air their voices carry magnificently for
a great distance, and village answers village with perfect ease from
ridge to ridge. A little later the natives came in and told us that
Gaberio was at a village called Kea-ka-mana, on the northern slope of
the hill beyond us. It appeared that he was coming back by the same
route as he had gone, and they told us that he expected to reach camp
the next day. We thought at the time that he might go from Kea-ka-mana
to the Kebea, but the natives said no, so we surmised that he must have
a good collection of butterflies and birds, for he had had fine weather—
finer, indeed, than Sam, who after all had got together quite a fine
number of specimens. This news set us quite briskly to the work of
preparation for our departure, for as soon as Gaberio should have
returned we determined to make all speed down to Epa. The next day we
were on the look-out for Gaberio, but he did not arrive, so we concluded
that he had either gone to the Kebea or was remaining at Kea-ka-mana
collecting. We filled up the day with active preparations for breaking
up the camp, and, of course, our chief care was our collections.
[Illustration:
THE WIRELESS TELEGRAPHY OF NEW GUINEA.
The natives shout their news from hill-top to hill-top, thus conveying
it with amazing rapidity.
]
The first precaution was to take measures for the preservation of our
moths and birds, so we made deep trays from the logs we had already sawn
and held over from our house-building, each tray being strong enough to
resist concussion, for as it would be carelessly carried, swung on a
long bamboo, and allowed to dash against trees and other obstacles, the
antennæ and legs of our specimens would be easily jarred, and very
probably shaken off. The butterflies did not require such care, for each
specimen was wrapped in paper and laid in sago boxes. Inside the wooden
cases we placed the moth boxes proper, and in other two cases we laid
our birds. Outside everything we pasted paper, treated with arsenic, to
keep out insects when we should come to the lower ground, for the tiny
ants at Port Moresby are legion and can penetrate the smallest aperture;
once the ants enter a naturalist’s collection, woe betide it! Our only
trouble during these packing operations was that we had not any nails
small enough, for the huge ones we had brought from the coast very often
split the wood.
During our last fourteen days at Dinawa we had one small gleam of good
fortune in our collecting, for, curiously enough, we had quite a run of
good nights with the moths. The nights were dark and misty, and we very
often had sufficient success to encourage us to remain on the verandah
and work until the small hours.
The second morning after the day we had our first news of Gaberio there
was more calling, and shortly we heard that our follower was still at
Kea-ka-mana, and that he had after all decided to go to the Kebea, and
would return that way. The next day, while we were hard at work on our
packing, we heard that Gaberio was on the Kebea—very pleasant news—for
he was right in the heart of the best locality for the blue bird of
paradise and for _heterocera_. There was another reason why this news
was encouraging, and that was that a native feast was pending at
Kea-ka-mana, and we had feared that Gaberio might be tempted to waste
his time there in savage orgies. According to the latest intelligence,
Gaberio would still be absent four or five days, and as he was in such a
fine collecting country we hoped he would stay out to the end of his
tether. Gaberio, however, did not fulfil our expectations in this
respect, for the next day, shortly after noon, we heard that he was not
at the Kebea at all, but that he was approaching the village on the
ridge opposite, about 500 or 600 feet above Dinawa. Three hours later
the intelligence department lied. It announced that Gaberio was at hand,
the fiction being invented, no doubt, out of the savage’s fondness for
creating a little pleasurable expectation. Unconsciously, however,
Gaberio himself disproved the story, for we heard his gun far away on
the heights, and we were able to locate him. Before nightfall we knew
that he was really at the village first mentioned, for we could clearly
distinguish his tent.
The next morning, September 21, both Harry and I slept late, for we had
had an extremely heavy day. While we were still in bed we heard a shot
from Gaberio, whom we welcomed back about eleven o’clock. He brought a
really good collection, which included three blue birds of paradise and
four longtails. Gaberio’s news, however, was not all good, for he had to
report that one of his boys had been murdered. Whether the chief of
Baw-boi had a hand in it, or whether there was a private reason for the
crime, I cannot say. It was not on the Baw-boi side of the river, so
perhaps if it was not fortune of war it may have been misfortune of
love, for the eternal feminine is as potent in Papua for evil as she has
been in other lands since Eden or Troy was lost. Be that as it may, the
lad, a carrier from the village of Kowaka, about a day’s journey from
Dinawa, went out from camp at Ta-poo-a one night into the forest, and
there the adversary overtook him. It is probable that he was laid wait
for, or he may merely have fallen to the spear of some wandering
marauders. The natives in camp heard his cry and were speedily on the
spot, but it was too late. He had been speared through the cheek, and
his jugular vein had been severed. In a very few minutes he died. The
victim’s own kindred came in to take charge of the body, arriving even
before Gaberio’s messenger could reach their village, so swift and
mysterious is the communication of news in New Guinea.
Now that Gaberio was back we were more than ever anxious to leave, for
our provisions were running very low, and we were living principally on
cockatoo soup. To make matters worse we had almost run out of
ammunition, and for some time not even a pigeon broke the monotony of
our poor fare. Occasionally we procured one or two sweet potatoes, but
the natives were naturally very unwilling to sell them. A further
difficulty stared us in the face, for the exhaustion of the natives
through famine was now so great that I did not know how we were to get
our baggage down to the coast, but relief dropped, if not from the
clouds, at least from the hills.
One day we heard that the people of Ibala, who had heard of the white
men’s coming, had been sufficiently overcome with curiosity to make the
journey from their distant home to visit us. At that home of theirs, far
away on one of the greater mountain sides of the Owen Stanley range, I
had often gazed with wonder and all the explorer’s longing. Some five or
six days’ journey to the north towered a great and mysterious peak,
higher than Mount Yule, the northern slopes of which I imagine were in
German territory. Close to this mountain was a range of low foot-hills,
bare of trees, but clothed, as far as we could make out through our
glasses, with rich pasturage, and it seemed an ideal spot for some
future stock-breeder in New Guinea, for such open spaces for
grazing-grounds are uncommon in the island. From these foot-hills there
rose continually into the clear air countless columns of pale blue
smoke, telling of a numerous population. On the mountain the forests
hung dense to the summit, but the strangest thing of all was that
through these masses of trees there ran what seemed like a drive, rising
straight to the highest ridge, its sides as sharply and clearly marked
as though it had been cleared by the hand of man. There were no
straggling trees dotted here and there at irregular intervals from the
sides. The forest left off sharply in an ascending line, but the space
seemed to extend for at least 300 yards, and then the forest began
again, being as clearly defined as the side of a well-built street. On
the very summit we could make out through our glasses the presence of
giant araucarias, of which I obtained some specimens from Sam, who,
while absent on one of his short expeditions, sent a native up the
mountain for seedlings. I hoped that one of these might find a home in
some British collection, but, unfortunately, it died of the drought.
[Illustration:
NATIVES OF ENUMAKA IN THE OWEN STANLEY RANGE.
]
It was from that region that the Ibala people hailed, and certainly, had
the difficulties of transport not been so great, I should long ere this
have visited them in their fastnesses. These fine northern men entered
camp very shyly, and sat down with great diffidence. In appearance they
were really handsome. Each man stood 5 feet 8 inches on an average; all
were of fine physique and of a rich copper colour. Their women, of whom
they brought a few, were not quite so tall. They were all in full
finery, the men decorated with feathers, their faces painted in regular
stripes with the juice of a scarlet berry. Between each red stripe ran a
line of charcoal to set off the colour. A few of them wore the
transverse pencil of tapering shell thrust through the septum of the
nose, a form of decoration much affected by Papuan dandies. The women’s
chief article of apparel was the customary dogs’ teeth necklace.
At first our visitors did not ask for anything, but talked in a
desultory way through Ow-bow, who knew their language. Later in the
afternoon, however, they proffered a request for some tobacco. Here was
my opportunity. These admirable fellows, who had come from a region
where there was no famine and were in the pink of condition, were just
the very material I wanted for my journey. Accordingly, I said that they
should receive tobacco on condition that, on their being called by
wireless telegraphy, they would return and carry me to Ekeikei. They
gave me their word, and I took the risk of their keeping it. They
received their tobacco, but were in no apparent hurry to depart. In
fact, they stayed two whole days, got over their first shyness, and
cheered us up wonderfully—indeed, it was “roaring camp!” Growing bolder,
they pried into everything, and the house was always full. There was
great coming and going with the Dinawa people, with whom the Ibala
people were related by marriage, and the nights were musical with
unceasing mountain choruses.
Nothing would content them but they must see everything that the white
men possessed, and it was very amusing to watch the men calling the
women’s attention to anything that particularly attracted them. They
felt our clothes and looked with curiosity at our photographs. In their
power of appreciating and understanding a picture, one could realise how
much higher in the social scale they were than their neighbours, the
Australian aborigines, to whom drawing was unintelligible. They would
pick out the portraits of Dinawa characters, and exclaim with great
delight, “Ow-bow—Doboi—Martu,” as the case might be. I gave some
additional tobacco to each man who would consent to stand for his
photograph, but they never quite got over their shyness of the camera.
Sometimes, when I had got everything fixed and ready, my sitter would
get up and walk slowly away; some of the women faced the lens, but even
when doing so, they would often cover their faces. Our visitors did not
understand guns, so we took care not to frighten them with firearms.
On the third day, about ten in the morning, they announced that they
were going. They got together the bags in which a Papuan carries his
effects, packed up their new acquisitions, and did a little business
with the Dinawa people in small articles I had traded with the
villagers, such as matches, tobacco, or an axe, the greatest of
treasures—for “trade,” in the Papuan sense, had not reached Ibala. I
myself made a few purchases from them, chiefly of clubs, for which I
gave in exchange some small knives. To the Dinawa people they gave some
sugar-cane, which was greedily snapped up by our destitute neighbours.
Then they formed up, shook hands most cordially with us all, took the
route, and disappeared into the forest, a party of men in front, the
women in the centre carrying the loads, and another party of braves
bringing up the rear. For a long time their shouts came echoing back to
us through the trees. It was a most pleasant interlude, and when these
cheerful fellows were gone we felt the camp almost painfully quiet.
One or two incidents occurred to break the monotony of the remaining
days. While I was collecting, close to the Aculama, I heard the
missionary dog barking in great excitement, and discovered that he had
seen a tremendous snake. This I shot in the head and brought into camp,
where, on measuring it, I found it to be 18 feet long and 4 inches in
diameter. It was of a non-poisonous variety—one of those snakes that
live on the small arboreal mammals. I still retain the skin and skeleton
as trophies. Even minor incidents of these dull days seemed worthy of
setting down, and I note in my diary that one day one of my native
carriers, who was going off to the river, demanded a gun. When I
explained to him that he could not have one, he remarked with great
nonchalance, “Maw-mo-na yow valeo dorka”—“Enough, I understand very
well,” and he went off contentedly without firearms.
I must not conclude my account of Dinawa without mentioning what was
perhaps the greatest of its natural attractions—the almost overpowering
magnificence of its sunsets. From the ridge I have watched every variety
of colour, ranging from amber, gold, and orange, through purple and
violet, to delicate shades of mauve, green, and pink—in fact, every hue
of the prismatic spectrum was flung in magnificent profusion across the
sky from horizon to zenith. On certain nights the whole landscape would
be bathed in a glow of reflected crimson. It seemed as if the world were
on fire. Even the vegetation was dyed a vivid red, and as the rim of the
sun gradually disappeared, the tints melted to paler shades before they
vanished. A brief period of starless twilight succeeded, and then the
firmament was gemmed with a million sparkling points, and the tropic
night reigned serene in its marvel and mystery. Many and many a time I
have sat in rapt enjoyment of that gorgeous spectacle, watching the
constellations wheel westward until the dawn overtook and hid them.
[Illustration:
VEGETATION AT DINAWA.
Some of the tree ferns grow to a height of 40 feet.
]
The day for our departure now began to draw very near. All the specimens
were safely packed, but the question of transport pressed more and more
heavily. From the Dinawa people, as I have noted, little help was to be
expected. The fittest of the men were abroad in the forest on foraging
expeditions, and when we asked the women to carry for us, they replied
that they could not come while their husbands were away. We sent out our
boys to see what they could do in the surrounding country, but they
invariably came back to report that they could recruit very few men. We
ourselves, after a great deal of wearisome tramping from village to
village, managed to enlist a meagre band of five fairly able-bodied
assistants, but our party was still very inadequate. This was on
September 22. A few days earlier, in pursuance of the compact the Ibala
people had made with me, I had set the telegraph in motion, and told
Fa-lo-foida to call up Kea-ka-mana, Kea-ka-mana to call up Tapua, and so
on stage by stage to the distant home of my picturesque mountaineers, to
tell them that the time had come to redeem their promise and earn the
tobacco advanced on personal security alone. The calling accordingly
began, and in less than ten minutes Ibala of the five days’ journey had
received my summons. During the afternoon the answer arrived. Ibala was
willing and would come. Accordingly, close to the time fixed for our
departure—September 23—we were cheered by the return of our merry
friends, who came like the honourable gentlemen they were to discharge
their obligation.
Even with this reinforcement we were still undermanned, and decided to
start with only half the baggage, leaving Gaberio behind to see to the
despatch of the other half when the bearers should be sent back. On
September 23, at 9 A.M., we started for Ekeikei. At twelve we halted at
Madui, where the natives wished to sleep; but this, of course, was out
of the question, so we pushed on. As far as Madui the drought still
prevailed. After that point it was damp, but not wet. In one way the
drought had served us well, for all the leeches had died and we were
saved from that pest; but the scrub-itch was worse than ever, especially
after we passed Ekeikei. We reached the Bamboo Camp after a hard march
at 7 P.M., and both we and our followers were thoroughly tired out. Next
day we went by way of Ekeikei to Epa, when our friends from Ibala went
back, having performed their undertaking. We found Epa terribly parched,
and it presented a very different aspect to that which we had seen three
months earlier. Thence we proceeded to Oo-fa-fa, where our old
acquaintance Mavai saw us through with our impedimenta. We travelled by
boat to Pokama, where we got on board a small cutter and set sail for
Port Moresby. Unfortunately, we encountered very heavy weather, and had
to beat up to our destination under a lashing south-east monsoon. We
shipped many seas, and thus lost our fine herbarium, all the plants in
which were blackened by salt water. This was an irreparable misfortune,
and most disheartening after the tremendous trouble we had taken in
collecting and drying our specimens of Papuan flora.
CHAPTER VIII
_INACTION AND AN EXCURSION_
Period of Inaction at Port Moresby—Christmas in New Guinea—A Scratch
Dinner—A Christmas Privilege for Cingalese to obtain Spirits—Curious
Effect on One Individual—A Noteworthy Character—An Excursion to Hula—A
Fisher Community—A Piebald People—Picturesque Night Fishing by Flare
Light—Fishermen often Killed by Gare-fish—Hula Houses—Various Traits of
Native Life—A Walk round Hood’s Bay—Traces of Initiatory Rites at Kalo—
The Kalo Houses described—On to Kerapuna—A Shooting Expedition—We lose
the Trail—Class Distinctions at Kerapuna—Return to Port Moresby by Sea—A
Perilous Voyage in a Little Canoe—Tragic Death of Flood, the Naturalist.
CHAPTER VIII
INACTION AND AN EXCURSION
As there was really nothing to be done until the beginning of the year,
we settled down at Port Moresby in some spare rooms which Sam, my
Cingalese head-man, let me have in his house.
We occupied our time with the despatch of our collections. The
herbarium, of course, had perished, but the moths, butterflies, and
birds had come safely down from Dinawa. We did not disturb the boxes
already packed, but merely stowed them in large cases, packing them with
cocoanut fibre and straw to resist concussion. Each box was tin-lined,
and on receiving its full complement was soldered up.
For the procuring of empty cases I was greatly obliged to the courtesy
of Mr. Ballantine, the Curator of the Intestate Office at Port Moresby.
This work occupied us in all over a fortnight, and finally we despatched
our collections to England by way of Australia.
Thereafter the days were very dull and uneventful. Christmas was fast
approaching, but there was very little hope of its being a merry one—for
us, at any rate. The stores of provisions were running very short, and
our Christmas dinner was probably one of the queerest that was ever set
before an exiled Britisher. I left the task of preparing the meal
entirely to Sam, who managed somehow to procure some wallaby, a piece of
bacon, and biscuits. Instead of pudding we had a Cingalese plum-cake,
made by Sam’s daughter, and a glass of claret rounded off the banquet.
Harry and I dined together on the verandah, and remembered absent
friends, but we were not very festive.
There is one curious observance of the Port Moresby Christmas which may
be worthy of mention here. At that season any Cingalese resident in the
place may, on obtaining a Government permit, be served with spirits at
the Stores.
The effect of this privilege on one Port Moresby worthy was truly
deplorable. I saw him in the road, and I have little doubt that he saw
more than one of me, but then, of course, it was a year since he had
permission before. He was quite a character, and his residence was as
peculiar as himself. It was built entirely of flattened paraffin tins
and other oddments, a style of architecture which I have also noticed in
the West Indies.
[Illustration:
A PIEBALD TRIBE: THE MOTU-MOTU PEOPLE OF HOOD’S BAY, AND A TYPICAL
KALO HOUSE.
The piebald people are one of the mysteries of New Guinea, and their
origin is unexplained. The spear in the warrior’s hand is made of
hard redwood, sharpened, and has no metal. The house is built on an
open wooden framework, and the flooring of the dwelling-room begins
at the bottom of the closed-in gable. On this inflammable floor,
within the thatch of flag-grass, they actually have a fire on a mud
hearth. The slanting pole is a ladder for the inhabitants. In some
cases they have little ladders for the dogs.
]
Another Port Moresby character was Weaver, the greengrocer; he has a
history, but no man knows it, and it is popularly reported that he has a
family in Australia. He has been in New Guinea for some years, and lives
quite alone in an isolated district where he built a house and took up
some land. He stands 6 feet 2 inches, and is a curious eccentric fellow
whom nobody understands. He does not care for visitors, and has even
been known to threaten distinguished personages with his gun when they
dared to knock at his door! Twice a week Weaver brings in his
vegetables, packed on two ponies, and sells them to Europeans at Port
Moresby. It is said that he is accumulating money. He is perfectly
independent, and quite a character; utterly illiterate, he has the
dogged opinions which usually accompany lack of education. He believes
in himself, has no one to help him in his work, and tells you quite
frankly that he thinks _he_ could run New Guinea better than any one. On
all subjects under the sun the opinion of Weaver is absolutely right and
that of the world absolutely wrong.
As the days dragged on Harry and I thought we would vary the monotony of
our life, and obtain a change of diet, by taking a small excursion down
to Hula, the great fishing-place. By the courtesy of a trader, who was
going down in a whaleboat, we obtained a passage. A voyage of a few
hours took us down, and we found the village fairly large, built like
Hanuabada, only most of the houses stood in the water on piles. The
shore is thickly fringed with cocoanut plantations. The people, who
belong to the Motuan tribe, as those of Hanuabada do, live by supplying
the inland natives with fish. They go down to the fishing-ground, about
two miles from shore, in small dug-out canoes, and this industry affords
a very delightful touch of colour to the scenery of this part of the
Papuan coast. The fishing is done at night, and just as the sun sinks
the canoes come up past Hula in great crowds. In each boat are four or
five fishermen, who pole up the shallows and paddle when they come to
deeper water. As the darkness deepens the flotilla suddenly bursts into
flame, for their method of attracting gare-fish, which is their chief
quarry, is by burning huge flares of dried palm leaves. Each of these
flares is made up of a considerable bundle of leaves, and the men
brandish them about in their hands. The light lasts for a considerable
time. The effect of these many fires, reflected in long tracks on the
water, is extremely picturesque. The fishing lasts all night, and at
dawn the fleet returns with its catch.
The work is not unattended with danger, for sometimes the gare-fish,
which are armed with a sharp sword-like projection of bone from the
front part of the head, will, as they leap in blind terror of the light,
strike the fishermen and kill them. The natives set up a stick in the
water where any one has been killed by gare-fish.
Another interesting feature of Hula was the presence there of a piebald
people. For the most part their bodies were brown, but they were marked
with pinkish patches unevenly distributed. It is not improbable that
this marking might be due to a disease, contracted from a too constant
fish diet, but if it were a disease I could not discover that it gave
any discomfort. Against this theory must be set this fact, that I
observed one man in whom the light markings predominated. In fact, he
was quite fresh-coloured, like a European, and had light hair. These
piebald people were not a class apart from the rest of the Hula
villagers, but shared their life in every respect.
The piles on which the Hula houses are built look quite insufficient to
support the superstructure. The pitch of the gables is not always
uniform in the same house, and in these cases the ridge-pole is not
horizontal.
Before we came to Hula, however, we had paid a visit to Kappa-Kappa, one
of the very few localities in New Guinea that show any immediate result
of missionary effort and of a direct attempt to introduce the methods of
civilisation. There resides the agent of the London Missionary Society,
Dr. Laws, who has been perhaps longer in British New Guinea than any
other white man, for his stay now extends over thirty years. The
missionary has a fine house standing on a slight elevation and
commanding a magnificent view to the north and south. A remarkably fine
road leads up to Dr. Laws’ residence, and 300 yards away is the
Christian village, built in detached houses along the rise and forming a
regular street. We were very much amused to notice that the houses were
all numbered, and that many of them had Scotch names inscribed on a
little piece of wood fastened over the door.
There were about sixty houses in all, and a really fine church and
school. This last we visited and heard the children sing. They gave not
at all a bad performance for coast natives, to whose discordant tones I
have already alluded, and if my good friends, the mountain people, with
their beautiful voices and their fine idea of music, had had the same
training, the effect would have been little short of charming. We saw
the place at a slight disadvantage, for the drought had greatly withered
the vegetation, and Dr. Laws’ fine orange trees were all dead. The
natives, I was glad to see, wore their ordinary dress, and no ridiculous
attempt had been made to thrust them into European clothes. Dr. Laws did
everything in his power to render our visit pleasant, and to him and his
wife we are indebted for much kind hospitality. There is much that is
enviable in his pleasant dwelling-place, and he seems to be on excellent
terms with the natives. As I have elsewhere had occasion to remark, it
is doubtful whether this generation of Papuans is capable of much
spiritual enlightenment at the missionary’s hands, but the seeds of
industrial progress at any rate are being sown, and the order and
apparent prosperity of Kappa-Kappa say much for the work of the pioneer.
There is no Paradise, however, without its serpent, and the scourge of
Kappa-Kappa is the black snake, which attacks the natives.
The poison is most virulent, and Dr. Laws told me that if he could see
the sufferer immediately he could save him, but if only a few minutes
elapse before help is available death must inevitably ensue within an
hour. This snake also kills the missionary’s horses, which it invariably
bites on the instep. He keeps the horses for his little trap, in which,
at the close of our visit, he drove us down to the coast, a distance of
about four miles.
Besides the things I have mentioned, we found little else to interest us
in Hula, and after a short stay we set off to walk round Hood’s Bay to
Kalo, the next village of any importance, situated a little way from the
coast. On the way we passed the little village of Babacca, the
headquarters of a copra trader called Joher.
Formerly Kalo was the centre of strange ceremonial dances, connected
with the worship of the reproductive powers of Nature.
Initiatory rites were celebrated, and the orgies taken part in by the
young men and women were often of the most indecorous character. By the
decree of a paternal Government these celebrations have now ceased to
exist. It is possible that they were accompanied by cannibalism, but I
am not aware that there is any proof of this. Descriptions are extant,
but it is doubtful whether these have been given at first hand, for the
natives would certainly not have admitted visitors to their mysteries.
The houses at Kalo are the most substantial I saw in New Guinea. They
were built upon 9–inch posts and were raised 10 or 11 feet off the
ground. It was extraordinary to me how these posts were secured, the
soil seemed so loose and sandy; about one-third distance up occurred a
cross-piece, above which there were two others. The lower parallelogram
thus formed was crossed by two diagonal pieces of bamboo, the third and
upper parallelogram by one diagonal piece; these were the steps giving
access to the house, and their arrangements will be easily understood by
reference to the photograph. The third cross-piece, above which the
gable is enclosed, marks the level of the floor. There was an open
verandah at one end, and the house had only one room. The house was
eaved, and was thatched with flag-grass, and the whole structure
measured 30 feet by 15 feet. On the inflammable floor, within the
thatch, they actually have a fire on a mud hearth. The strangest sight
of all was the elaborate carvings hung up outside, and it was a singular
thing that no two houses at Kalo bore carvings of the same pattern.
We stayed only a few hours at Kalo, and then went on to Kerapuna, where
we arrived about dusk after a long day’s march. At one point our advance
was barred by a small river, very still and muddy and fringed with rank
vegetation, the whole aspect of the place proclaiming it the haunt of
the crocodile. It would have saved time had we swum across, but the mere
look of the place obviously made it unwise to do so, so we fetched a
slight détour until we came to a little village where we were able to
hire a canoe.
Kerapuna is a fairly large fishing village on the east side of Hood’s
Lagoon, just within the entrance. It possesses its missionary, Mr.
Pearce, who lives there with his wife in great isolation. It is many
years since he has been home, and it is not often that a European knocks
at his door. With him we found hospitality. He is pleasantly housed and
seems very comfortable and is on good terms with the natives, to whose
spiritual needs he ministers in a little hall. It is doubtful how far
the Papuan can be reached through theological channels at this stage of
his development. A great deal, however, can be done towards training him
in the simpler industries.
From Kerapuna we went out for a short shooting expedition in the flat,
trackless forest that lies inland. The region is very gloomy; tall
Pandanus trees with aërial roots and thickly matted branches obscure the
daylight, but there is no dense undergrowth. There the gaura pigeon
abounds, and we were fortunate enough to shoot some.
[Illustration:
A HOUSE IN THE VILLAGE OF KALO.
The floor of the house is on a level with the eaves.
]
The little expedition, however, was rather uneventful, except at one
point, where we discovered somewhat to our anxiety that we had lost the
trail. The two natives we had brought with us went, one to the right and
the other to the left, searching for it, and we kept shouting to each
other all the time. At last, after a couple of hours’ search, we found
the track, which would have been visible only to a Papuan, as there was
no well-worn path. We required native guidance also to get us back to
the creek where we had left our canoe.
If there were no division between the piebald people and the ordinary
inhabitants of Hula, at Kerapuna we noticed a curious class distinction,
founded not on any physical peculiarity, but upon the mere question of
occupation. One part of the village was occupied by the fisher tribe,
the other part by a purely agricultural people. The latter were
extremely lazy, and, as I have noted elsewhere, the lazier Papuan tribes
are never fishermen, and always employ some more active people to do
this work for them. The tillers of the soil and the spoilers of the sea
hold rigidly aloof from one another at Kerapuna, and only meet on the
common ground of an exchange of commodities—the fish being purchased for
bananas and cocoanuts. Yet, strangely enough, the more active tribe was
evidently there on sufferance, and was allowed to remain only because of
the fish they supplied. Another remarkable point was, that the fishing
populations dwelt on land and not on pile-built houses, as at Hula and
Hanuabada. In this district we could get on without any other “trade”
than tobacco.
As there was nothing to tempt us to remain, and as Kerapuna, even at the
best, was a dull place, we did not stay longer than four or five days. I
was very anxious, too, to get back to Port Moresby to make my
preparations for a second journey into the interior to resume my work.
We determined to make the return journey by water, and accordingly hired
a little canoe from a native, who, with a companion, came with us to act
as our navigator.
The little craft was hardly more than 18 inches wide, and just held the
four of us in a rather cramped position. We set our course, which lay
twenty miles across Hood’s Bay to Hula, and started about 10 A.M. in
fine weather. When we had got about half-way, however, the wind rose,
and a tremendous swell began to come in from the point where the reef
opens seawards, and very soon the dug-out was dancing like a cork and
was continually shipping seas, so that Harry and I had to bale
constantly.
I must say, however, that our natives knew how to handle their craft,
and were very expert watermen. They kept the little square sail of
matting under excellent control, and steered with the flat of a paddle
from the side at the stern. Although they were very frightened, they did
their best, and kept the canoe’s head up to the seas very neatly. For a
time, I must confess, I myself was doubtful whether we should get
through safely. We were dripping wet and in rather a sorry plight, but
after rounding the point close to Hula we got into calmer water, and we
landed safely, but very stiff and cold.
Two or three days later we bade good-bye to Hula, and the same whaler’s
trading boat that had got us down took us back to Port Moresby, where I
at once set about active preparations for my second journey inland.
On my return to Port Moresby I heard, to my great regret, the news of
the death of Mr. Flood, the American naturalist. When I went up to
Dinawa, while on my first journey, I left Flood in Port Moresby. Some
time after he went up the Venapa River, seeking land shells. He was
foolish enough to go alone, and his folly was the greater because he was
very deaf. At length the authorities got alarmed about him, and Mr.
Ballantine headed a search party, but the only trace of the naturalist
was one of his camp fires. It is thought almost certain that he may
either have strayed away and died of hunger, or he may have been
devoured by a crocodile. It was not the first time that a party had gone
out to seek Flood after his prolonged absence had given cause for alarm,
and it was doubly absurd of him to go alone, because, even with Papuan
attendants, it is difficult—as I myself have found—to pick up the trail
when once it has been lost. I was much distressed about Flood, for he
was a most unselfish enthusiast in the pursuit of science.
CHAPTER IX
_TOWARDS THE UNEXPLORED_
Beginning of Furthest Journey into Unexplored Interior—The Everlasting
Question of Carriers—Difficulties and Delays—Epa again—Curious Method of
Water Supply—Mavai welcomes us back—He provides a Dubious Treat—Ekeikei—
The Building of a Permanent Camp—An Elaborate Undertaking—House-building
on a Large Scale—Ingenious Papuan Methods of Thatching—The Chief Kafulu
proves Unneighbourly—He does not fulfil his Engagements—Ow-bow’s
Embassy—My Deputy is robbed—Precautions in Camp against Attack—I go down
to Kafulu and deal faithfully with him—He relents, and restores Ow-bow’s
Goods—An Earthquake and Hurricane at Ekeikei.
CHAPTER IX
TOWARDS THE UNEXPLORED
On January 1, 1903, Harry and I left Port Moresby on board Captain Pym’s
vessel, the _Whaup_. This took us to Yule Island, and from that point we
proceeded to Pokama, on the mainland. There we were met and entertained
by Cavé, a hospitable Papuan woman, widow of Captain Williams, a trader.
She has a very comfortable bungalow at Pokama, and keeps a small store,
where she does business with passing traders, who are always welcome at
her house. She also owns a small light-draught cutter, which brings
sandalwood down from Bioto Creek, and this boat she is willing to let
out to travellers. She also keeps up the beautiful gardens and fine
mango trees planted by her husband, and she cultivates custard apples
and a delightful fruit known as Soursop. It is the shape of a kidney and
about the size of a pumpkin; within it is a mass of creamy pulp,
surrounding black seeds. This pulp is most cooling, and it is
accompanied by a pleasantly astringent acid juice, the whole fruit
forming an ideal refreshment for the tropics.
From Pokama we went by canoe to Yule Island, where we halted at the
Sacred Heart Mission, and then went on to Aruopaka, where we stayed for
several days in the house of Mr. Russell. Mr. Russell himself was
absent, but we joined him later at Moa, one and a half hours’ row from
Aruopaka, a voyage which we made in our host’s whaleboat. From Moa we
passed by way of Inawee, Inawa, and Inawabia to Aipiana, the Government
station, where Mr. Russell entertained us for five days. In the
curiously-named villages just mentioned we tried to collect carriers,
and at this juncture I sent Harry back to Pokama to bring on the goods
we had left behind us, appointing to meet him at Bioto. During his
absence Mr. Russell and I went to the southward through other villages
Rarai and Nara, and picked up twenty more men. On our way through these
southern villages we met Captain Barton, then the head of the native
armed constabulary, and now the Administrator. With him I spent one
night, and then pushed on to Bioto with my thirty bearers, who, as yet,
had nothing to carry. To perform the journey adequately I really should
have had a force of seventy. At Bioto we enlisted a few, but our numbers
were still very insufficient. At 4 A.M. in the morning after my arrival
at Bioto, Harry rejoined me, and during that day we began sending the
baggage by relays to Epa. Harry had been enabled to bring all our
remaining goods with him through the kindness of the Rev. Mr. Dauncey,
who had lent him his whaleboat. With the help of the Chief Constable,
who gave us the use of his canoe, we got the baggage along to Oo-fa-fa,
from which point I was assisted by my old friend Mavai, who sent down
carriers from Epa to take the stuff up to Ekeikei. At Bioto the
mosquitoes were at this time a terror, and were so thick that one could
hardly put food in one’s mouth or take an aim with a gun.
[Illustration:
THE VILLAGES OF ELEVADA AND HANUABADA.
The latter is built on piles in the water. Its inhabitants are the
potters of New Guinea.
]
While we passed through Epa on this occasion, I noticed specially the
extraordinary method of water supply there in vogue. A spring which
supplies the community was distant some twenty minutes’ walk down-hill,
and twice every day, in the morning and just before dusk, the women went
down to draw water. This they carried in long bamboos, measuring at
least 12 feet. The partitions dividing the sections of bamboo had been
knocked out with a long, hard stick, the bottom one was allowed to
remain, and these light but unwieldy receptacles, capable of holding
about thirty-six pints each, were taken to the spring and filled. The
open end was plugged with a green leaf, and the women carried the
vessels up-hill held slantwise over their shoulder. The bamboo was set
up against a shady wall, beside the house door, and the method of
procuring a small supply of water was comical in the extreme. Whenever
you wanted a drink two people had to officiate; a native took hold of
the bamboo by the lower end and you proceeded to the other. It was then
gingerly lowered towards you, for the greatest care had to be taken not
to tilt it too far, otherwise more water than you wanted would have come
out with a rush and drenched you.
On my reappearance at that village I was very heartily welcomed by the
chief. I found him busily engaged in hunting the cassowary and the pig,
and generally keeping up his reputation of a great sportsman.
During this visit to Mavai, the excellent chief, who kept fowls,
presented me with two eggs; these we boiled with lively anticipations of
a treat, but we broke the shells only to discover that the eggs were of
a remote antiquity. We passed them on, however, to Ow-bow, who received
them with gratitude, for he regarded chicken in this form as a very
great delicacy indeed.
I purchased some sago from the chief, and when we got bearers together I
started for Ekeikei. One day’s journey brought us to our destination,
which was situated 1500 feet above sea level, on the foot-hills of the
Owen Stanley range. This point I had already selected in my mind as the
scene of my future labours, and I at once set about building a permanent
camp. I chose the site in a part of the forest overlooking a fine
valley, and we set to work speedily, felling the forest trees to make
the necessary clearing. It was a big business, much bigger than founding
our establishment at Dinawa, but I intended to erect much more permanent
structures, which were to be built large enough not only to serve for
scientific work, but as a depôt for expeditions to other districts. The
house and two collecting verandahs were all in one building, one
verandah facing the forest and the other the valley, so as to permit of
work being carried on whatever the direction of the wind. The whole
structure was built on poles 6 feet 6 inches off the ground, so that my
natives could shelter, sling their hammocks, and take their meals below.
This work occupied us three weeks, and in it we were assisted by Mavai’s
people, who were helped by the villagers of the neighbouring chief,
Kafulu. These came in to lend a hand for the sake of tobacco and other
trade articles they needed.
The best thatch to be obtained in Papua is the sago leaf, and of this
the natives make roofs that are water-tight and very durable. At Ekeikei
we adopted this method. Along the rafters of our house we ran horizontal
bamboos, and instead of a ridge-pole roof we had two of these bamboos
running from end to end a few inches apart. The frond of the sago leaf
which we used for this purpose is at least 4 feet long; it measures 6
inches at the base, and tapers to a point. To begin the thatch, one
takes the leaf and bends it two-thirds away from the apex. One starts
from the bamboo horizontal that lies nearest the eaves, and hooks the
leaf over, laying the pointed end out. On the next higher bamboo one
hooks over another leaf, similarly folded, so that its long pointed end
far overlaps the other, and so on until the ridge of the roof is
reached. The operation is thus repeated until the whole roof is
thatched. The space between the two parallels which form the ridge-pole
is finally covered with grass laid thickly across and across. The sago
leaf is grooved laterally, and forms, as it were, a natural water-spout
for carrying off the rain.
So durable is this roof that after an absence of five months we found
that our Ekeikei house was still water-tight. This thatch is, however, a
great harbourage for cockroaches, and there must have been millions of
them in our house. At night we could hear them rustling among the dry
leaves. I could not ascertain that they had done any actual damage, and
they had the grace not to fall down upon us.
As soon as the camp was finished we settled down to our old routine of
work, very similar to that observed during our stay at Dinawa, and for a
time all went smoothly. But suddenly a cloud loomed upon our horizon in
the shape of our neighbour Kafulu. This worthy, whose village was an
hour’s journey off, had often visited the camp while the building was in
progress. He was a very low type of Papuan, with a receding forehead and
a face altogether ape-like. After his people, who helped me in my
building operations, had been paid off, I did a little business with the
chief himself, and ordered sago stalks for wattling the sides of the
house. For these I paid in advance, but the sago was not forthcoming. I
made no complaint at first, and this probably deceived him into thinking
I might be treated with further contumely, for he suddenly began to
threaten my boys, until at last they would no longer venture out into
the forest to collect. Accordingly, I sent my trusty advocate Ow-bow and
his wife down to Kafulu’s village to know the reason why he did not
deliver the sago, which was several weeks overdue. Ow-bow was allowed to
take a gun with him, but no cartridges, and his empty weapon evidently
was not impressive. My emissary’s experience was painful; Kafulu did not
take his life, but he took his effects. Now, every Papuan carries with
him as his most cherished possession a little net-bag, containing a
charming collection of oddments dear to the savage mind—his knife,
tobacco, bamboo pipe, matches, which he had earned, betel-nut and gourd,
and little trophies of the chase. All these Kafulu took from the
unfortunate Ow-bow, as well as his blanket, his dogs’ teeth necklace,
and other adornments. Thus bereft, Ow-bow executed a strategic movement
to the rear, and returned to camp with his tale of wrong. Kafulu then
sent in a polite message informing me that he had no intention of
sending the sago, and further, that I was not to shoot bird, kangaroo,
wallaby, or any game around my camp, for they were his animals;
otherwise he would burn the camp and kill us all.
[Illustration:
NEW GUINEA HOUSE-BUILDING.
Our house at Ekeikei under construction.
]
As matters stood thus, I considered that greater precautions were
necessary, especially as I knew that Kafulu had recently broken into and
robbed the mission-house at Ekeikei, for it was more than likely that a
treacherous spear might, in the darkness, penetrate the thin sago walls
of our house, and perhaps find its billet. We accordingly built around
our beds an inner screen of 1½–inch bamboo poles, and even though a
missile had penetrated the thin sago walls, it would have been stopped
by this barricade.
Matters did not improve, and accordingly, taking Harry and Sam with me,
I determined to go down and try what a little plain personal dealing
could accomplish with our agreeable neighbour. I found him in his
village, sitting apart, smoking the bau-bau, and extremely surly. He
gave us no greeting, in fact, took not the slightest notice of us, and
continued to smoke stolidly. We sat down, and I at once opened the
affair, Sam and Harry acting as my interpreters. I told Kafulu that
unless he sent the sago at once, and returned Ow-bow’s goods, it would
be necessary for me to bring pressure to bear on him. This was continued
for three-quarters of an hour, entirely on my part, for it was not until
that time had elapsed that Kafulu deigned to reply. He then remarked
that he did not want me in the neighbourhood, and that he could not
answer for it that his villagers would not wipe us out. At the end of an
hour he showed some signs of relenting, but the victory was not yet won.
The parley still continued, and Kafulu resumed his pipe, whereupon I
gave him some tobacco, which he took without thanks. At the end of three
hours certain arguments, which I thought proper to use, prevailed, and
he produced some of Ow-bow’s goods. Ow-bow remarked that that was not
all, whereupon Kafulu promised to send everything, to deliver the sago,
and also that he would not frighten our collectors any more. With this
assurance we shook hands upon it and I returned to camp.
Two days after the sago arrived, and in four days the whole of Ow-bow’s
possessions were returned. They were brought in by some of Kafulu’s
villagers and handed to their owner without comment. Thereafter, as far
as I could see, Kafulu lived a sober, righteous, and godly life. I am
not sure, however, although he committed no overt act of hostility, that
he was not the instigator of some trouble which I had at a later period
with the Madui people.
[Illustration:
IN THE PRIMEVAL FOREST.
]
During our stay at Ekeikei we experienced an earthquake shock, not great
but sufficiently alarming. There were two distinct shocks, which shook
the house violently, and the phenomenon was peculiar inasmuch as it was
not heralded by any preliminary rumblings as is usually the case. Many
of the other atmospheric signs usually accompanying an earthquake were,
however, present. There was a tremendous and oppressive heat with
death-like stillness; the skies were inky black, and there was a perfect
deluge of rain, so heavy that it could easily have been described as
pouring down in bucketfuls. Then the heavens opened with what seemed to
be rivers of lightning, for the discharges resembled great main streams
with thousands of fiery affluents, and all around us the thunder crashed
terrifically, seeming at times as if it were inside the house. For
three-quarters of an hour there was no cessation of the din. A tree just
below our verandah was struck and split from top to bottom, but
fortunately no one was injured.
After the worst of the storm had passed, a fierce hurricane came,
tearing up the valley which our camp faced. We heard its roaring long
before we felt its force. When it came it blew off some of the thatch of
one of our buildings. We were to a certain extent protected from its
full force by the large trees around us, and at the same time we were
saved from the danger of falling trees, because, with a view to the
emergencies of such storms, we had taken care to fell all the larger
trees for a considerable distance around our camp. The effect of the
oncoming wind heard at a distance had another weird parallel in the
onset of rain storms, for we heard the rush and patter of a distant
shower long before it was actually raining at our camp.
At Ekeikei were swarms of wasps that haunted the low bushes, and
concealed themselves under the leaves so cunningly that the traveller
did not perceive them till he was actually upon them. Their bodies are a
dark yellowish brown. At the least disturbance they all rise together in
a buzzing cloud and take vengeance. The sting is severe, but the pain
fortunately does not last long. It dies out in six or seven minutes,
leaving a red lump which gradually subsides.
CHAPTER X
_UPS AND DOWNS_
My man Sam goes to the Kebea to collect—We go to the Coast again with
our Specimens—A Dreadful Night in Bioto Creek—A Crocodile River—A
Tempestuous Voyage to Thursday Island—Fever—Return to Port Moresby—
Adrift for Three Days in a Heavy Sea—A German Captain’s Thrilling Story
of the Storm—We return to Ekeikei—A New Trouble—Epidemic of Measles
among Native Followers—Harry goes off alone among Cannibals—Adventurous
Journey of a Boy of Sixteen—Description of Native Village on a
15–inch-wide Ridge.
CHAPTER X
UPS AND DOWNS
The day after I had settled the business with Kafulu, I sent Sam on to
the Kebea to collect Lepidoptera, so that we might be working two
different localities and elevations at the same time. On April 26 Harry
left Ekeikei to fetch Sam back with the collections he had made, for we
had decided to go back to Hall Sound and send home our specimens, which
the humid atmosphere was threatening to spoil. In due time they
returned, and after I had examined the results of Sam’s labours, I
arranged with him to return to Foula, where he had been collecting,
while my son and myself went down to the coast.
The journey down was not very eventful, but one night we spent at Bioto
Creek will always remain memorable to us. At Bioto we put all our cases
on board a canoe, and set out with two natives to navigate the overladen
craft to Pokama. As we did not leave until late we were forced to spend
the whole night in the creek. In our crazy vessel, weighed down almost
to the water’s edge, for she had only three inches of free board, we lay
close inshore, under dense mangrove trees. Sleep was impossible, for we
were assailed by mosquitoes and other discomforts; added to this we had
to endure the stench of mud, the hoarse cry of the mound-builder, the
clacking of myriads of bivalves as the tide receded, the incessant rain,
the inky blackness of the night, and the unmistakable presence of
innumerable crocodiles. Fortunately we did not know then that only a
short time before, near this place, two natives had had a desperate
fight with a crocodile, which lifted one of them right out of their
canoe; the other fought the crocodile gallantly, and managed to get his
companion back into the boat, when the saurian, nothing daunted,
returned to the attack, and seized the poor fellow again, dismembering
him.
Although we had not the knowledge of this accident to add to our
troubles, that night in Bioto Creek, which we spent cramped up in the
most uncomfortable position, was probably the most unenviable I have
ever passed. Darkness fell at 6.30; at 3.30 A.M. we were very glad to
welcome the moonrise, and saw the light gradually silhouette the dense
matted branches of the mangrove. About 4 A.M. we left our anchorage, and
the dawn saw us well on our voyage to Pokama. It was wonderful on our
arrival there how soon, under the influence of a good bath, clean
clothes, a white table-cloth, and a decent meal, we forgot the horrors
of the night that had just passed.
[Illustration:
POLING LAKATOIS (RAFTS OF CANOES) OUT FROM THE SHORE.
]
From Pokama we went on to Hall Sound, where we were fortunate enough to
find the ketch _St. Andrew_ about to sail, and on board that boat we
secured a passage. Setting out on the 4th May, we were often badly
becalmed, and on the third day we lay ten miles off the coast for the
whole twenty-four hours. On the 9th we sighted an islet thirty miles
from Thursday Island. This we passed safely, but at 1.30 a strong tide
from the leeward set us to windward of the next island, where there is a
bad reef, and at 4 P.M., when we were running before the wind at the
rate of six knots an hour, we ran right on to it. As morning broke we
found we were on a shelving reef, and in a very undesirable predicament
indeed. We threw out stone ballast, and after bumping about for four
hours, and making many unsuccessful attempts to get the boat off, losing
an anchor and chain in the process, we managed to get clear with the
flood tide. Next night we got into Thursday Island, and, on examining
the ship, we found that some sheets of copper had been torn off her.
At Thursday Island we were both prostrated by a sharp attack of fever.
This was the first time it had seized me since I came to New Guinea, and
it is not unusual when a man has been living in the wilds for some time,
and has escaped malaria, that he falls a victim to it almost as soon as
he returns to comparative civilisation and better food. In spite of this
drawback, we were successful in getting our collections despatched, and
at 8 P.M., on the 23rd of May, on a dark, dirty, and very gusty night,
with a nasty sea running, we left Thursday Island, and steered our
course for Hall Sound. In the vicinity of Bramble Cay—a dangerous
sandbank, about 160 miles from Yule Island—we had our sails blown away,
and were left in an almost helpless condition, only two small sails
remaining. For the three following days we beat about in a heavy sea,
not knowing exactly where we were, for we had not been able to take an
observation since we left.
On the evening of Friday the 29th May we managed to get under the
shelter of Yule Island, inside the reef, and into smoother water. This
was fortunate, for that night it blew a hurricane, and there was a heavy
sea, even where we were lying. When daylight broke we went on, and
anchored off the mission station at Yule Island, whence we sent word to
Port Moresby by whaleboat that, owing to our disabled condition, it
would be impossible for us to go there to clear, for the Customs
regulations are that all vessels crossing to New Guinea must clear at
Port Moresby, Samurai, or Daru. Of course, we could not beat up to Port
Moresby against the S.E. monsoon without sails, so we lay there five
days, until the whaleboat returned with our clearance. Our stay was
anything but pleasant, for we had to remain on board the small ketch
under a blazing sun, as we were unable to land until we got our
clearance from the Customs.
There was, however, one remarkable diversion during this weary time of
waiting; for on our arrival we found, to our surprise, a large iron
sailing-ship at anchor in the sound—certainly the largest vessel that
ever entered it. She proved to be the _W. C. Watjen_, a German barque
that had gone through a terrible experience in the very centre of the
typhoon, the tail of which had given us so much trouble. I made friends
with the captain—a hero in his way—who, without being aware of what an
extraordinary feat of seamanship he had performed, told me in the
quietest possible manner one of the most wonderful tales of the sea it
has ever been my lot to hear. It was indeed, in many particulars, almost
an exact parallel to Mr. Conrad’s remarkable story, “Typhoon.”
[Illustration:
1.—LOW TIDE AT HANUABADA, SHOWING THE PILE-BUILT HOUSES.
2.—SIMILAR HOUSES FROM ANOTHER POINT OF VIEW.
]
The vessel was bound from New York for Yokohama with kerosene. She had
been out from New York for 196 days without sighting a single ship, and
when off the coast of New Caledonia she encountered the typhoon. The
captain’s first warning that a tempest was brewing was, of course, a
sudden and unaccountable fall of the glass. Suspecting what was in store
for him, he went on deck and gave orders to prepare for a typhoon. In
fifteen minutes he returned to his cabin, and found that in that short
space of time the mercury had actually fallen seven-sixteenths more, and
he knew from that indication that he would shortly have to face a storm,
which he may well have doubted the powers of his vessel to weather.
Before very long the tempest struck her in all its fury. For five days
she encountered the direst perils. Her cargo had originally consisted of
80,000 cases of kerosene, and during the worst of the tempest 20,000 had
been thrown overboard. On the very first day the rudder was carried
away, but by extraordinary efforts the crew contrived to rig a staging
at the stern for steering, and they managed to fit up a primitive
rudder. The captain was injured when the rudder was carried away, for
the long tiller (the _W. C. Watjen_ was so old-fashioned that they did
not use a wheel) swept round and hit the master heavily on the groin. A
huge hole, six feet in diameter, had been knocked in the stern when the
rudder was carried away, and this flooded the cabin and the middle part
of the ship. They managed to stop the hole and bale out the cabin, but
the tremendous seas denied the crew all access to the forward part of
the vessel, where the store of fresh water was kept, and for five days
they had nothing to drink but the dish-water which had been left in the
cook’s galley. Strangely enough, there was only one very serious
casualty, the second mate being disabled by an accident to his knee. The
captain told me that during the worst of the storm they were continually
under water; the seas seemed to strike them simultaneously at bow,
stern, port, and starboard, and at times seemed to descend even from the
heavens. How terrible the force of the tempest must have been was proved
by the fact that the great steel masts of the vessel, six feet in
circumference, had all gone over the side.
Although thus disabled herself, however, the _W. C. Watjen_ was enabled
to play good Samaritan to a smaller German vessel in a like plight, and
took up her crew and brought them safely to Hall Sound. All the bulwarks
were carried away, iron plates one-eighth of an inch thick were peeled
from the sides of the ship, and crumpled up like paper by the force of
the wind and sea. After the fifth day the captain was able to take an
observation, and, by the help of an old chart, he concluded that New
Guinea must be his nearest land. Crippled as he was, he endeavoured to
make for Yule Island, where his chart, which was incomplete, told him
there was a mission station, and, curiously enough, he was quite close
to his desired haven when he was discovered and towed in by the
_Moresby_ after seventy-six days’ stress. Had the vessel drifted farther
west, she must have gone on the reefs, and the crew would certainly have
fallen victims to the cannibal natives. It is really extraordinary how
she managed to escape all the dangers of the coral islands that dot the
seas for at least 200 miles west of Hall Sound.
The same typhoon wrecked Townsville, unroofed an hotel, reduced brick
buildings to débris and killed seven men; at the same time the sea
receded and left the shipping dry.
When we had been lying in Hall Sound some three or four days, the
_Merrie England_ came up with the Administrator, Mr. Ruthven Le Hunte,
who asked us to breakfast, and told us that for some days he had been
very anxious about the _St. Andrew_ and had been keeping a sharp
look-out for us on his passage from the west.
When we had finally got our clearance we set about going to camp again
at Ekeikei, but it took us until the 17th June to get together our
carriers. The old difficulties in regard to them again beset us, but
after great trouble and much searching and persuasion we obtained a
somewhat inadequate force with which we pushed on and got back to
Ekeikei on the 20th June. There five of our boys deserted.
No sooner were we back in camp than a new trouble assailed us in the
shape of an attack of sickness among our natives. We had hardly been a
week at Ekeikei and were just settling down to our work, when one or two
boys turned ill and complained of headache and were very feverish, and
very soon the tell-tale rash proclaimed they had German measles. They
were very miserable, poor fellows, and lay, some under the house, and
some in the sun, all showing signs of considerable distress. Nursing,
according to our ideas, was of course impossible, for you cannot induce
a savage to keep himself covered up. A curious symptom in one case was
that the boy’s speech was affected. We did our best for them and gave
them cooling medicine, and fortunately they all recovered. As soon as
they were convalescent they wanted to go back to their villages, and it
was very difficult to dissuade them. That would of course have been a
very disastrous proceeding, as they would certainly have returned only
to spread the infection, which is most easily communicated during
convalescence.
Knowing that they had caught the disease on the coast, they were,
naturally, very reluctant ever to undertake any other journeys for me to
the sea again, and the situation was altogether very trying, for they
said that the white man brought the sickness. While it lasted it was a
very hard matter to hold the camp together. Finally, however, when they
saw that the white man was doing everything in his power to help them,
they were reassured. On their own account they tried to treat
themselves, by the peculiar native method of bleeding, which will be
found more particularly described in the chapter dealing specially with
Papuan manners and customs.
On June 22 we lost Sam for awhile, for we had to let him go down to Port
Moresby to be treated for some trouble in his leg, but he promised to
return in six weeks.
[Illustration:
A DESERTED VILLAGE.
All the inhabitants of the village had fled at our approach except one
old man.
]
At the beginning of July Harry set out on a rather adventurous journey,
for I consented to allow him to go alone to the Kebea. It is scarcely
likely that in the history of British New Guinea an English boy of
sixteen has ever been alone with cannibals. His difficulties were not
long in beginning, and I quote the following extracts from his diary:—
“Left Ekeikei 5.30 A.M. After half-an-hour one man played out, so I
had to take about 12 lbs. out of his bag and carry it myself; two
hours from Madui he played right out; a woman carried his load. We
travelled very slowly and stopped often. Did not get to Madui until 4
P.M.; found the little bottle of brandy father gave me in case of
need, broken and contents gone.
“_July 2nd, ’03._—After changing carriers went on to Dinawa, and after
resting a little, on to the Kebea, where we arrived at 5 P.M.
“_July 7th._—I left for Yo-ya-ka, on the other side of the Kebea, as I
wanted to get carriers to go to Ekeikei to bring up father and Sam.
They were very frightened when I went into the village and would not
come near me. The road was very steep and I got back very tired. It
was a long walk. Could not get any carriers.
“_July 8th._—There is a feast at Yo-ya-ka and I shall be very glad
when it is over, as then I hope to get carriers. There is not much
food here, only sweet potatoes. A difficult country to shoot or
collect in.
“_July 9th._—Hardly any food left. The natives of the village of
Inomaka object to my collector shooting there, and refuse to permit
him to collect butterflies, so the boy returned empty-handed. I am
sending a few carriers to father, only three. I have been busy
enclosing the end of the hut that Sam had previously hastily built up,
as it was left open. One of my boys, Matu, left me yesterday and has
not returned.
“_July 13th._—Shall be glad of the shooters’ return, for I have had no
meat for nine days, only sweet potatoes. Last night I tried the lamp
for moths and did not do badly.
“_July 14th._—Shooters return with nothing. Ow-bow arrived in the
afternoon, but no carriers. Got 190 moths to-night and busy pinning
them to-day.
“_July 15th._—Father arrived at 4.30 P.M.”
AMPLIFIED NOTE ON THE JOURNEY TO YO-YA-KA
For my journey to Yo-ya-ka I started from a point opposite the Kebea and
went down past one of the Yuni-Yuni villages, situated on a spur of the
mountains. We then made a long ascent of some 2000 feet leading up to
the same ridge as Mount Kebea where the village of Yo-ya-ka is situated.
It was a most remarkable place, and it is difficult to convey exactly to
those who have never seen it, the idea of what these Papuan ridges with
their strangely perched villages are. They come up almost to a razor
edge, relatively speaking, and certainly the free footway on that
Yo-ya-ka ridge was no wider than fifteen inches. This narrow strip of
foothold followed the main street of the village, and on each side of it
the houses were on supporting poles. The extreme sharpness of the
declivity on each side, of course, made the houses much higher on the
side farthest from the road than on that facing it. As structures they
were not much to boast of; there were about twenty of them and all were
tumble-down. The Yo-ya-ka people were preparing for a feast, and when I
arrived the men were strutting about in their feathers and paint.
Various tribesmen from a distance had assembled; three were from
Yuni-Yuni and some from Baw-boi. Among the visitors we noticed some
familiar faces. A native helper named Gavashana recognised me at once.
He asked me to come in, so I sat down and gave him some tobacco. The
Baw-boi people, however, were greatly alarmed at my appearance. They
began to cry and retreated, saying it was “Fi-fi,” that is, magic. Their
acquaintances, however, reassured them and made them come up to me and
shake hands. I then tried to induce a few men to enter our service as
carriers, but failed, so I determined to return and started at once.
When I had gone a little way up the ridge, Ow-bow, for some reason best
known to himself, persuaded me to let off my gun, whereat the whole of
the merry-makers turned out and began to jabber at the rate of nineteen
to the dozen.
I returned to the camp at Mount Kebea, and for the next week or so
experienced rainy weather and great discomfort. All my provisions were
gone, and I had to live on sweet potatoes and a few birds we could
shoot. I tried eating the _Drepanornis Albertisii_, but it was the most
shocking flesh I have ever eaten. We roasted the bird on a split stick
and found it as bitter as gall; as was to be expected, I did not go
further than the first mouthful, although I was very hungry.
CHAPTER XI
_A BOY OF SIXTEEN ALONE WITH CANNIBALS_
Further into the Mountains—A Murder—The Settlement of the Blood Price—A
Pig for a Life—Harry’s Further Adventures alone among Cannibals—Various
other Murders—The Village of Amana—A Tree-House—The Lunatic at Amana—
Foula—A Pretty Village.
CHAPTER XI
ALONE WITH CANNIBALS
The next day or two are thus outlined in Harry’s diary:—
“_July 17th, 1903._—Some natives arrived from Deva-Deva and two from a
village close by called Coo-lu-coo-lu. These natives are going for us
to Ekeikei to fetch up our things, but they ask for a gun as they are
afraid of the Madui people—likely!
“_July 21st._—Father down with fever.
“_July 23rd._—Yesterday’s report that a man had been killed proved
correct. Getting some fine moths, about 300 last night—good nights are
rare. Sam returned to-day with the three boys he took with him; they
are to have a few days’ holiday and then they will return to us. Warm,
misty, dark nights such as we are having are best for moths.
“_July 28th._—To-night the best night we have had as yet, 750
specimens—94 of which were Sphingadae. On nights like this we do not
go to bed at all. Getting short of boxes. We have to send to Ekeikei
for material.”
NOTE ON THE MURDER OF OW-BOW’S BROTHER
One evening we heard a woman wailing down in the village and knew that
something was wrong. Shortly afterwards the natives began calling, and
we learned that some one had been killed. A messenger came up to tell us
it was Ow-bow’s brother who had been murdered. The latter man was much
disconcerted, and tried to persuade himself that it could not be so.
Later on, however, the messenger came up with indisputable news, and we
heard that the murder had been occasioned by a proceeding that was to
some extent romantic.
It seemed that Ow-bow’s brother had some time before stolen the
murderer’s wife, and taken her away to his own village and kept her
there. After a time it occurred to him that having got her he might as
well pay for her, after the native manner, and accordingly he visited
the husband in order to settle his account. The husband, however, was
not disposed to receive compensation of this sort, and accordingly he
killed and ate the other. There is no doubt that he had heard of the
man’s intention to come and see him, and that he laid wait for him. The
victim was either speared or clubbed.
The wailing for the dead man lasted about four or five hours, which is
about the limit of Papuan mourning. After that time a murder becomes
merely an interesting subject of conversation, and the people gathered
around the camp fires, eagerly conversing in low tones until far into
the night. At first their disposition was to demand a life for a life,
that they might slay and eat, although, curiously enough, they would not
have committed cannibalism in the presence of a white man or a native
woman!
[Illustration:
HARRY PRATT.
]
Next day our people and the villagers held a conference; they did not
meet, however, but simply contented themselves with calling from ridge
to ridge. Gradually the idea of the vendetta wore out of their minds,
and at last it was proposed that the murderer, instead of paying a life
for a life, should simply pay a pig for the murdered man.
Accordingly two messengers brought in the compensation, slung on a pole.
The pig was solemnly slain and eaten, and the incident was closed.
The next extract from my son’s diary is more important, for if his
journey close to the Kebea was risky, it was not nearly so sensational
as one he had afterwards to make back to Ekeikei in order to relieve our
higher camp from the pinch of hunger. His own account, however, scarcely
gives a hint of the peril he was in.
“_July 30th._—All the boys engaged to go to Ekeikei for the sago have
run away, as they say that the natives at the village of Madui are
hostile. Sam has gone out carrier hunting and obtained only two.
“_July 31st._—I left this morning (as we are out of trade and
provisions) at 6 o’clock for Ekeikei, arriving there at 4.30, but it
was 2 A.M. before I could rest.
“_Sat., Aug. 1st._—Left Ekeikei early about 7 A.M., and reached Madui
about 4 o’clock. Had a bad night; it was very long, and I had no sleep
at all. The mist very thick over the Madui hills. A good night for
moths had it not been so light.”
“_Aug. 2nd._—Reached the Kebea at 3 P.M.
“_Aug. 3rd._—Very busy making sago boxes.
“_Aug. 4th._—They killed another man at Madui the night I was there—
they are killing a lot of men, women, and children.”
The incident here outlined by my son may well bear a little further
amplification. Trade and provisions had all but failed us, and I could
not possibly go back myself to our base at Ekeikei without serious loss
of time. It would have been out of the question, too, to take back the
whole party. There were sufficient indications of the unrest among the
natives at the time, and consequently it was nothing but the direst
necessity that induced me to accept Harry’s offer to go down himself
with a few carriers to bring up what we required. I had great confidence
in the lad’s common sense, he knew the language, and he seemed to have
the knack of dealing with the natives. After serious consideration of
the risk, therefore, I agreed to let him go. At first it was not easy to
get our carriers to undertake the journey, so evil was the reputation of
the village of Madui through which the party must pass, but after
persuasion we got the consent of a sufficient number, and not without
serious misgivings, which I was careful to conceal, did I watch the
little party set out. The matter, however, was urgent. Starvation,
rebellion, and desertion of my followers threatened us had we been left
absolutely destitute. On the way down Harry and his party got through
Madui safely. They reached Ekeikei, procured what they wanted from our
stores, and began the toilsome ascent once more. At Madui trouble
awaited them. There had been a native fracas, a man had just been
murdered, and the blood-lust was strong in the people, who, on Harry’s
arrival, demanded that he should give up one of his boys to be killed
and eaten. My son, though well armed, had the wisdom not to make any
parade of force, and resorted to persuasion. After much argument, he
persuaded the Madui people to forego their demand, but it is not
surprising that during the night, in the course of which another murder
was committed, he kept the strictest watch, allowing himself not a wink
of sleep. One can well believe he found the vigil “long.” In the morning
they got clear away with their loads, and the same evening I was,
needless to say, relieved and delighted to welcome them back to my camp
on the Kebea. No youth of my son’s age has ever, I am sure, undertaken
so hazardous a journey among the New Guinea cannibals.
“Preparations to leave the Kebea for Foula.
“_Aug. 8th._—Left the Kebea at 9 A.M. Left eight loads behind me.
Reached Coo-lu-coo-lu at 11 A.M. We ascended a hill 4000 feet high,
then descended 2000 feet, very steep, then up again to Coo-lu-coo-lu.
Many of the inhabitants are absent making sago.
“_Aug. 11th._—Kept two days for our relays. Only by studying the daily
routine of this journal can any one realise the difficulty of getting
about in New Guinea.
“Reached Babooni after three hours’ walk, and then descended 1000 feet
to the river Aculama.
“_Aug. 12th._—We arrived at Amana at 10 A.M. There is a tree-house
here, 40 feet above the ground—used as a look-out station. A small
village, and the people bad. About two months ago the chief murdered a
man and a boy close to our yesterday’s camp. We heard of five other
recent murders. There is a lunatic here, the first and only lunatic we
saw in New Guinea. We sent an armed native to call Foula to our aid
for carrying.”
NOTES ON AMANA AND THE TREE-HOUSE
Amana was a most peculiar village, and like Yo-ya-ka was built on an
extremely narrow ridge, so narrow indeed that we could not pitch our
fly-tent there, but slept in a house the front part of which overhung a
precipice. The house commanded a most lovely view far away into the
valley, the slopes of which were covered with dense wood. We could see
the river flashing at intervals through the greenery; it must at least
have been 1500 feet below us, but the roar of the torrent came up to us
with great distinctness. As we approached Amana our carriers suddenly
put down all their loads and would not enter. On being asked why, they
said that some time before the chief of Amana had killed one of their
people.
[Illustration:
OUR CAMP IN THE OWEN STANLEY RANGE 3,400 FEET ABOVE SEA LEVEL.
The scenery in central New Guinea is magnificent.
]
We went in and made the acquaintance of this worthy. He was rather a
personable character, quite bald, and with a very noble forehead, but,
like most of the more degraded aborigines, he could not look the white
man in the face. On hearing of our approach he became frightened and
retreated to a tree-house, one of the most remarkable curiosities which
we saw in New Guinea. In the village was a large tree, the trunk of
which reached up about 20 feet bare of branches, and then the main stem
divided into a fork. Among the branches were two platforms. To the first
there was a very rude ascent, a rough ladder consisting of two uprights
with rungs placed at an angle of at least 65 degrees. Above that was the
second platform, forming the bottom of the house, which was reached by
steps, very narrow, but not so far apart as the steps of the lower
ladder. The tree-house is not uncommon in New Guinea, but it is very
exceptional to find two platforms. The uprights and ladders were made of
bamboo, and the rungs were made of boughs cut anyhow with walo, a
species of cane which grows to a length of 20 feet, and is used for
lashings. Each cane is the size of a thick pencil, and has a spiky outer
cover. This is peeled off when the cane is ripe, and it is then split,
an operation requiring great dexterity, and one which can only be
performed by the Papuans themselves, for none but a native could split a
20–foot cane cleanly down its entire length.
The higher platform which supported the house measured about 12 feet by
6 feet; it was made of bamboo cross-pieces, interlaced with bark. The
roof was covered with grass, and the only aperture was one small door,
over which the thatch came closely down. There was just room for a
person to crawl in.
We had considerable difficulty in inducing the chief to leave his
retreat, but at length he summoned up sufficient courage to come out and
speak to us.
At Amana we noticed no conical houses, the dwellings being for the most
part of the kind known as the “lean-to.”
We noticed various other curiosities at Amana. One was a rather
mysterious grave, just outside the village at the point where the
carriers put down their loads. This place, which for some reason or
other was regarded as sacred, was surrounded by a low stockade, but no
attempt was made to keep the enclosure—which was quite overgrown—in
order, and we learned nothing regarding its origin, for the Papuans are
a people without a history.
The people wore an ornament, which we also noticed among the Tugeri in
Dutch New Guinea. This was the oval, highly-polished grey seed of a
species of grass which grows at Amana. The villagers wore the seeds on
strings or singly in their hair. The Tugeri string the seed into
necklaces and wristlets. As the grass grows only at Amana, it is a
certain proof of communication between the Tugeri and the hill tribes.
THE LUNATIC AT AMANA
In the village of Amana we met the only halfwitted Papuan we saw in New
Guinea. He had been imbecile from his birth, and at the time we saw him
his age was probably from 28 to 30, but it might have been less. He
could not speak and was very deaf. He was of a very pale coffee colour,
and might probably have stood about 5 feet 6 inches, but he was
strangely bent and very thin. He communicated with his fellows by means
of signs, and was regarded in the village as quite an amusing character.
In fact, to the best of my belief, he was maintained by the villagers
simply because of the amusement they got out of him. He had a mother
alive who was quite sane, but he himself lived alone, and was very
nervous about coming out to see the white man. The tribesmen, however,
were determined to show him off, and after a great deal of persuasion he
was brought up to me.
They made signs to him to dance, and this was evidently a common
pastime, for, without the least reluctance, he began his performance,
which was unskilled enough and slightly repulsive. His dancing consisted
of wobbling the head and feet at a tremendous rate and putting out his
tongue. As soon as he began to show off, the Amana people sat down in
front of him and enjoyed the spectacle. He took his mission of purveyor
of diversion with deadly seriousness, and all the time he danced he made
a strange mumbling noise. He was popular with the children also, and
they would bring him out and set him dancing whenever they felt dull.
For clothes he wore the usual native costume of the mountains, except
the tight belt, which was perhaps too much an adjunct of dandyism for
this unfortunate to affect. Not only would he dance at the word of
command, but he would take off all his clothes to order, and carrying
his meagre garments over his arm, he would run from one end of the
village to the other clapping his hands in slow time. It was considered
superexcellent fun to make him dance with his clothes off, and all the
time the Philistines made game of the poor creature, who, however, was
no Samson!
Another primitive jest was to give him unpalatable and impossible things
to eat, but they had the decency never to let him actually eat a gift of
charcoal—a not uncommon present—although they allowed him to come within
an ace of doing so. He was tremendously greedy, and when cooking or
eating was going on he would try to grab all he could. As soon as we
began to prepare a meal he lost all fear of us, and pursued his usual
tactics. He would snatch at our plates like a dog, seize as much as he
could, and long before one could say that curiously cumbrous phrase
“Jack Robinson,” he would have it all stuffed into his mouth. If we told
him to go away, he would remove himself for about five yards and sit
down. In a very few minutes he had crawled up again and would make
another raid upon our dishes.
We had some most interesting conversations regarding the lunatic with
Ow-bow, who told us what was to be known of his family history. Ow-bow
said descriptively that he was “bad inside,” and added oracularly,
“Olana lakuana,” which means, “Head no good.” We asked particularly if
such a person would have been allowed to marry, whereupon Ow-bow gave an
emphatic negative, saying, “Wabeeni daba kadena enai makana affi?” which
is literally, “Woman what kind this fellow have?” (“What sort of woman
would have this fellow?”) The poor unfortunate was, however, extremely
harmless. One could do what one liked with him, for he was never known
to lose his temper.
[Illustration:
1.—LOOKING DOWN A NATIVE HANGING BRIDGE.
2.—A SIDE VIEW OF THE SAME BRIDGE.
]
“_Aug. 13th._—Several carriers came, and we started at 10 A.M. and
arrived at Foula at 3 P.M. It is a fairly large village for this part.
They speak quite a different language from that of the Kebea and
Dinawa. We rigged up a temporary verandah for our work. To-day we got
a few good butterflies, but few moths at night; too much light. The
height of our camp here is 2600 feet. We bought a pig to-day, killed
it, and found it quite a treat; the meat was very good, and it
afforded us fat for cooking.”
FOULA VILLAGE
Just before the entrance to Foula village we noticed the evidences of a
great land-slide, which had left the ridge of rock, along which our path
lay, as clean as a piece of china. The path had thus been rendered
perilous, but the natives had had the sense to put up a light bamboo
rail on each side, and this was extremely fortunate, for there was
hardly room for the foot, and a slip would have certainly meant
disaster, for the descent was sheer on each side for several hundred
feet.
Foula is one of the sweetest villages imaginable. There are really two
villages—the upper and the lower. The upper one contains about fifteen
to twenty houses arranged in a circle, and the approach to it is through
an avenue of beautiful crotons planted by the natives. To reach the
lower village one had to descend for about ten minutes. This other
hamlet, which is picturesquely situated close to a fine waterfall, is
divided into two parts, a narrow ridge connecting the two. The houses in
this village stand in a line, and are very substantially built. Past
them runs what looks like a road of well-trodden red clay, which seemed
as if it had been rolled, and the whole place had the appearance of
being beautifully kept.
The Foula people were of a Jewish type of feature. Their language
differs considerably from the dialects we had heard.
CHAPTER XII
_THE UNEXPLORED: AMONG PAPUAN PEAKS_
Still Higher in the Owen Stanley Range—The Road to Mafulu—Beauties of
the Forest—The Hill Step—Curious Habit of Walking acquired in Abrupt
Ground—Cold at High Altitudes—A New Camp built—Alpine Signs in Insects
and Flowers—Routine Work—Food runs low again—Native Thieves—Followers
discontented—They fear the Hostile Mafulu People—Daily Threats of
Desertion—Strict Watch—My Rule for Night Visitors—Compulsory Carrying of
Torches and Disarming—Weirdly Picturesque Night Scenes—Further
Privations—Bird of Paradise Soup—Ugh!—Decide to depart—Natives burn down
Camp to ensure our going.
CHAPTER XII
THE UNEXPLORED: AMONG PAPUAN PEAKS
From the Kebea to Mafulu it was a five days’ journey along the most
rugged, toilsome, and difficult path. At one point one has to traverse a
ridge which turns in a half-circle, and at the very top it is scarcely
more than 6 inches wide, sheer precipice running down on each side. The
dangers of the road were, however, somewhat compensated for by the
magnificent view which one could enjoy from that point, and a
butterfly-collector had also something to reward him. As we rested
there, after having passed the most dangerous part of the ridge, along
which we had to crawl on our hands and knees, I saw some of the rarer
_Papilios_ in fairly large numbers. Unfortunately, they were all rather
worn specimens and of no value for the collecting box, and I was sorry
that I was not there earlier, so as to have captured these butterflies
when they had freshly emerged from the chrysalis. They measure about 3
inches across from wing to wing, and are of a most brilliant pea-green,
shot with a lovely mauve sheen on the under wings. The descent was very,
very steep, especially the last portion of the road, where it descended
abruptly to the creek. We had to hold on by roots and vegetation and to
look most carefully after our footing, for a false step might have sent
us down a precipice, falling sheer for 800 feet. But for the support of
the growing things we could not have made the descent at all, and the
marvel was how our carriers managed it with their heavy loads. They
seemed, however, quite unconcerned, and took no notice of the dangers
besetting them. They would never think of lightening or setting down
their loads, but moved on in a zig-zag, catching hold of the creepers as
they went, without effort. The bed of the creek, when we reached it, we
found to be full of boulders. While my men took a bath, I examined the
gravel in the river bed, for it looked tempting for the mineral
prospector. By way of experiment, and to pass the time, I washed out a
panful or so of gravel, and noticed a few colours in the sand that
indicated the presence of gold. It is not improbable that the prospector
who worked that creek would find considerable trace of mineral wealth.
Here I saw the indigenous breadfruit, about the size of a cricket ball,
and full of kernels smaller than a chestnut, only with a thinner rind
and of a chocolate rather than a red-brown colour. The natives boil it,
and we found it floury and very palatable, though slightly bitter. The
Papuans are very fond of this fruit when they can get it.
[Illustration:
ONE OF OUR CAMPS IN THE OWEN STANLEY RANGE.
Note the line of mist across the picture just below the summits.
]
We ascended, by way of one of the two villages known as Foula, for four
hours, the climb being all the way through dense forest soaking with the
humidity of the atmosphere. Even the hot sun seemed scarcely to affect
the prevailing damp. The rocks which beset our path were covered with
lovely-shaded begonias, ferns, and trailing creepers, intermingled in
richest profusion of golden tints. In the early morning the forest is
alive with bird-life. The trees are of strange magnificence,
particularly the mountain Pandanus, with its aërial roots, which cover
an immense space and all converge into one stem 60 feet above the
ground, whence the trunk runs up perfectly straight. Around us
everywhere were also tree ferns, some of them rising to 30 feet in
height, and besides these there were the enormous _Lycopodiums_ with
leaves 10 feet long. These luxuriant forms of vegetation were thickly
clustered upon the trees, and some of the masses must have been of
enormous weight. They displayed a glorious profusion of scarlet, which
had taken full possession of its supporting tree, for far above the
domed mass of this superb parasite one could see occasionally large
clusters of brilliant blossom here and there. More humble, but still
very beautiful, was a little fern, similar to our Parsley Fern, which
was distinguished by an exquisite iridescent blue all over the upper
side of the leaf, while on the under side those fronds that were in seed
showed a most brilliant golden yellow. Parrots great and small flashed
about us, and now and then we caught a glimpse of the white cockatoo
with the yellow crest that is found all over New Guinea. As we passed
among the feathered colony, all these birds set up a tremendous
screeching. The cockatoo, as I had occasion to know at a later period,
can, when wounded, bite most cruelly. Of animals we saw little, for the
inhabitants of this region are mostly arboreal and nocturnal. There are
several species of the smaller animals, including the tree kangaroo, of
which I wished I could have secured some specimens. These are born very
imperfect, and are placed in the pouch; when they are once there the
mother squeezes the milk into their mouths.
We found the village of Mafulu very small and the people extremely shy.
One or two men were about, and the women were at work in their gardens.
We sent on some of our men to discover the best possible camping-place,
a work of considerable difficulty, for there are no plateaux in the Owen
Stanley range, and the contour of the ground, as I have already
indicated, is terribly abrupt. In fact, when one has travelled for some
weeks in these regions, a peculiar habit of walking is acquired, which
is somewhat equivalent to a sailor’s sea-legs. This acquisition the
traveller does not find out until he returns to low, flat ground, when
he suddenly realises that he is stumbling at every step, and some
practice is required to recover the ordinary method of locomotion, and
he has to break himself of the habit of lifting his knees almost to his
nose. About an hour’s march from the village the men discovered a fairly
level spot, and by the time we came up they had, with axes and knives,
begun to cut a clearing of the undergrowth to enable us to pitch our
camp. We set up our own fly-tent and the natives’ two tents and built a
large fire, for it was very cold and the boys were beginning to feel the
climate of that high elevation. Indeed, during our whole stay at Mafulu
we felt the stress of the climate severely. That first night was very
chilly, and it was necessary to serve out blankets to the natives in
order to enable them to withstand the cold. They slung their hammocks on
sticks or trees, sometimes one above the other, and close to these they
built large fires and kept them going during the night. The sky at night
was clear and starlit, but the morning brought clouds, and mists
enveloped the forest, often accompanied by heavy rain that made the
place most depressing. The view was entirely shut out; everything was
dripping; our clothes were very soon saturated, and the whole situation
was most uncomfortable.
The humidity of that region was proved by the fact that the under side
of the leaves of various plants was covered with moss.
The day after our arrival we began the building of a proper camp. We
felled trees, erected a stockade and also a platform some little
distance above the ground; over this last we threw the fly-tent, making
a floor to it of split bamboo. Inside the tent we arranged to have a
fire in the native manner. We put down a wooden frame, inside which we
laid earth closely patted down to form a hearth in the Papuan style.
After building our abode we had to discover another spot where we could
carry on our work at night. When this was found, a further task awaited
us, for the forest came so close that we had to open up a space to
enable our lamp to shine out and thus attract the moths. To do this we
had to fell more trees, and the precipitous nature of the ground
rendered our task all the harder, for once when we had allowed a large
newly-felled trunk to slide, it got out of hand and careered three or
four hundred yards down the precipice, taking other trees with it.
Finally, however, we managed to open up a gap towards the camp, which
left us an excellent clearing for scientific purposes. Here we built our
collecting verandah, and thither we repaired every night, a little
journey requiring some self-sacrifice, for as we went those dreadful
leeches I have already described attacked our feet and legs
unmercifully.
We had to do a good deal of our work unassisted, for our natives were
not willing to accompany us, as they feared the Mafulu people. We knew
perfectly well there was some risk, and never went up to the verandah
without taking our revolvers. As we worked there through the small
hours, our position was brilliantly lighted up by our lamp, so that, had
the Mafulu people wished to do so, they would have had every opportunity
of taking a good aim at us. Fortunately, however, they did not realise
that while our lamp made us very visible to them, it rendered them
entirely invisible to us, and although we sometimes felt rather uneasy,
we never received any unpleasant reminder in the shape of a hurtling
spear. Had they known, however, how entirely we were at their mercy, we
might not have escaped.
As we pursued our collecting here, it was interesting to note the Alpine
signs in insects and flowers. On the trees grew a very fragrant
rhododendron. Moths were plentiful, but butterflies were not, for
everything in this dense forest was struggling for light, and the
butterflies had accordingly retired to the tops of the trees. Here I
counted at least twelve different species of paradise birds.
[Illustration:
SOME UNKNOWN SPECIES DISCOVERED BY THE AUTHOR IN NEW GUINEA.
1.—A new Reptile—Lygosama Pratti. 2.—Another new Reptile—
Toxicolamus Stanleyanus. 3.—A new fish of the Gobiid Genus
_Rhiacichthys_.
_By permission of the Zoological Society of London._
]
We had not been long at Mafulu when we were faced with another trouble.
Our food supply began to run low. We found that the tinned provisions
had been tampered with, and suspected native thieves; our suspicions one
day being confirmed, when our dog Yule brought in from the forest two
empty meat tins which had been broken open with the axe. This evidence
was incontestable, for we ourselves always used the tin-opener. Of
course, when we taxed our Papuans they were ignorant of the whole
affair. This theft did not improve our larder; meat ran out, we had very
little tea and no sugar, only a scanty supply of flour, and, worst of
all, no salt. We were accordingly dependent upon sweet potatoes and
yams, which we purchased from the Mafulu people, and occasionally a few
bananas were obtainable. The boys soon began to grumble about the cold
and lack of food, but the real reason of their discontent was, of
course, fear of the Mafulu people. Every day deputations waited on Sam
and myself and threatened to leave. It was evident that the discontent
was stirred up by two ringleaders, so we found out who these were and
talked to them very severely, telling them they might go; but two men
would not dare to venture back to their own village through a hostile
country, so, of course, our permission to leave was not taken. These
troubles were very annoying, for we wanted to remain as long as we
could, as we were getting admirable specimens, but about the fourteenth
day of our stay matters had come to such a pass that we had to give the
men a definite promise that we would leave in a week.
With such a state of things constant vigilance became necessary, and we
had to divide the nights into watches. Sam would take three hours and
then I would take three hours, and some of the natives were always awake
for fear of other natives. It was very lonely in camp, but we passed the
time smoking and watching a few sweet potatoes baking in the embers. As
our own fellows were disaffected, it was necessary also to keep them
under constant observation. From the tent we could watch their quarters,
and Sam made a bamboo bed in the men’s shelter. They, poor fellows, had
rather a rough time of it, apart from their fears and discontent, for
one night a tremendous deluge of rain swamped their quarters. Next day
they went into the forest and cut a large quantity of bamboo leaves,
with which they made a splendid rain-tight roof about 6 inches thick. As
it would have been a pity to have left without doing our best to get
specimens of the paradise bird, we sent all our shooting boys away and
allowed them to take a tent with them. The long-tail paradise birds
frequent the Pandanus trees when they are in seed, and when the shooters
found a tree in that condition they would camp near it and lie in wait
for the birds. While this little expedition was out, Sam, Harry, myself,
and a boy remained alone in considerable anxiety, for while the guns
were away none of us had any sleep.
[Illustration:
THE AUTHOR AND SOME NATIVE COLLECTORS.
]
I cannot say that we had any actual threats, but the country round about
us was disturbed, and great numbers of the Kabadi people, who had been
to trade with Mafulu, and were returning home, began to stream through
our camp. They came through in strings, at intervals of an hour or
longer. Some of them carried pigs that they had received from the Mafulu
people after dances and entertainments. These companies consisted of
men, women, and a very few children. Several of them were painted as for
a festival, and they always passed through the camp as quickly as
possible, taking no notice of us. The Mafulu people used to visit us a
good deal with the ostensible purpose of trading, but they always took
care to come armed with spears. This I did not like at all, so I
directed them to lay down their arms before they entered, and if they
came to visit me after dark, I said they must light torches and hail me
from the edge of the clearing as they approached. This they did, but
they seldom came at night after I had put this restriction on them. The
few times, however, that they did come with their torches, the sight was
weirdly picturesque as the lights came glinting through the trees, and
then congregated at the edge of the clearing, the flickering glare
throwing up the lithe, bronze figures of the warriors into fine relief
as they stood there waiting for permission to enter the white man’s
enclosure. They seemed to have a lot of intimate conversation with our
people, although only one of our men knew their language. They were,
however, content to do their talking through the interpreter.
Before we left, our food had practically run out and we were feeling the
pinch very badly. Both Harry and I were growing extremely thin, and we
were always taking in reefs in our belts. As regards weight, however, we
were in fine walking form. The nerves of my people got no better.
Sometimes they would hear the Mafulu people calling, and then they would
be on the _qui vive_, thinking something was about to happen; they were,
in fact, like men living on a volcano. Before we left we were in such
stress that we were compelled to try bird of paradise soup; it was truly
abominable, and after the first spoonful we got no further.
All our things were packed, and Harry and I were inside taking the
fly-tent down, when suddenly we heard a terrible uproar among the
carriers. I rushed out, but by the time I got into the open I found one
of the native houses in flames, and in less than ten minutes the whole
camp was ablaze. I immediately demanded of the boys what they meant by
this act, but they seemed to look upon it as a great joke, much as
youngsters at home would regard a bonfire. It is not improbable that
their object was to compel me to go, for the previous day my shooters
had brought in twelve paradise birds, at which I had shown great
delight, and they probably thought that I should be tempted to prolong
my stay. It is just possible that I might, for the last days were the
richest we had had so far as the capturing of birds and specimens was
concerned. When the camp was still roaring up in flames we departed with
our few remaining followers, the main body having gone on already with
the chief part of the loads. One thing that makes me sure that the
firing of the camp was deliberate was that the outbreak occurred in two
or three places simultaneously.
CHAPTER XIII
_LAST JOURNEY TO THE COAST_
A Dangerous Stream-Crossing—Babooni—Sunshine once more—Successful Work—
Poor Fare—Messengers to Ekeikei—The Tree-Cabbage—Method of Cooking
Tree-Cabbage—A Great Curiosity—Spiders’ Webs as Fishing-Nets—Dancing
Festivals—Back to the Kebea—Our Bean Crop—A Papuan Parliament—We obtain
Credit—A Wife-Beater—My only Act of Perfidy—The Journey to Ekeikei—Back
to the Land of Plenty—Last Visit to Epa—Mavai unfriendly—He is talked
over and supplies Carriers—Example better than Precept—The Coast again—
An Accident—The Natives drink Sea-Water—Good-bye to the Mountaineers.
CHAPTER XIII
LAST JOURNEY TO THE COAST
From our camp at Mafulu a march of from five to six hours brought us to
Foula. On our way we rested at a little village, one of those belonging
to the Foula people, but situated on the opposite ridge. There I missed
my prismatic compass, and was rather concerned, but I ordered a thorough
search in the bags, and was glad to find it. At this village the natives
were reluctant to move on, and I believe that they were aware we were
about to have bad weather, for before we had gone much farther we were
in the midst of a deluge. I accordingly paid off all the unwilling
carriers and allowed them to return home, hoping to get more at Foula.
There they told us that as the Delava River was swollen there was no
crossing, so I went down to inspect it myself and found it in a most
terrible state. The stream was full of tangled mangrove roots and
treacherous with slimy ooze. It was a horrible and uninviting flood to
enter, with its foul waters and its mosquitoes, and one knew that it was
a veritable fever-trap. In we had to go, however, the natives making a
terrible splashing. For the most part we were wading up to our hips in
water, picking our way as best we could across the tangled mangrove
roots, and occasionally slipping down between them to a depth of two
feet, these slips threatening to take Harry out of his depth. For part
of the way we had to swim.
When we had crossed we took our way to Babooni, along a track which ran
up a valley and then wound up steep precipices. There was no actual
village there, but only a camp which had been built by Sam on the
extreme edge of the ridge. The situation was grandly picturesque, for
this ridge terminated in an abrupt precipice, falling several hundred
feet, and having the appearance of a huge headland thrust out into the
valley. On each side the cliff came to within a few feet of our
collecting verandah, and looking down from it we could see the
confluence of three silvery streams, winding through charming tropical
vegetation. Babooni would have been an ideal spot for a picnic. There we
spent three weeks and had wonderful success in our work.
Except that we were in daylight and amid delightful scenery—a welcome
change from the awful gloom of the forest at Mafulu—we were, as far as
living went, no better off than we had been on the higher ground, and
our staple food was still sweet potatoes; but it was something to have
the sun again, and altogether we were conscious of a reviving feeling of
exhilaration at Babooni. The _Drepanornis Albertisii_, one of the finest
of the birds of paradise, abounded, and we secured a considerable number
of specimens on the opposite hill. I also secured a fine series of the
_Ornithoptera primus_, the bird-winged butterfly, which is distinguished
by its beautiful green and velvet-black wings, with brilliant golden
fore-wings, the under side of which is black. It is very partial to the
flowers of the tree Spirea, among the foliage of which its black and
gold wings can continually be seen twinkling. Its colour contrast,
indeed, gives it a most remarkable appearance in flight.
[Illustration:
A SPIDER’S WEB AS A FISHING-NET: A STRANGE NEW GUINEA DEVICE.
A very huge and strong spider’s web, common to New Guinea, is used by
the natives as a fishing-net. They set up in the forest a bamboo,
bent as in the picture, and leave it until the spiders have covered
it with a web in the manner shown.
]
But scientific work cannot be done on sweet potatoes alone, so I sent
Wei-Yah and five men to Ekeikei to replenish our larder. They took a
week on the journey, and on their return reported that the Ekeikei camp
was safe, but there had been thefts from the stores at the Kebea. The
foolish fellows had come back without salt, and as five men cannot carry
very much, we were only a little better off than we had been. We were
also in dire want of “trade,” and there would be fairly long accounts to
settle with our carriers for the rest of the journey, the Foula men
having exhausted all our trade when we paid them off at Babooni. In our
straits, however, nature provided us with at least one delicacy, and we
shall always remember Babooni gratefully for its tree-cabbage. These
edible leaves grow on a small tree like a sycamore, and the manner of
cooking is as follows: Each leaf is plucked separately, and when a
sufficient number has been got together they are tied up into neat
packets, bound round in banana leaves and cane string. Then stones are
collected and heated on a large wood fire, and on the top of the hot
stones the bundles of cabbage are placed, and over them the natives lay
more banana leaves to a depth of about two feet, and above all another
layer of hot stones. In about one hour the cabbage is cooked, the outer
wrapping is taken off, and the delicacy is served on a banana leaf or a
dish. It is a perfect god-send to the half-starved traveller.
From Babooni we returned to the Kebea, varying our route so as to
include the village of Waley, which we entered during a heavy rainstorm.
Waley is a pleasantly situated village, occupying the whole of one side
of a hill, where a large clearing had been burnt out and planted with
sugar-cane and bananas. The natives had also laid out extensive and
well-planted gardens.
One of the curiosities of Waley, and, indeed, one of the greatest
curiosities that I noted during my stay in New Guinea, was the spiders’
web fishing-net.
In the forest at this point huge spiders’ webs, 6 feet in diameter,
abounded. These are woven in a large mesh, varying from 1 inch square at
the outside of the web to about ⅛th inch at the centre. The web was most
substantial, and had great resisting power, a fact of which the natives
were not slow to avail themselves, for they have pressed into the
service of man this spider, which is about the size of a small
hazel-nut, with hairy, dark-brown legs, spreading to about 2 inches.
This diligent creature they have beguiled into weaving their
fishing-nets. At the place where the webs are thickest they set up long
bamboos, bent over into a loop at the end. In a very short time the
spider weaves a web on this most convenient frame, and the Papuan has
his fishing-net ready to his hand. He goes down to the stream and uses
it with great dexterity to catch fish of about 1 lb. weight, neither the
water nor the fish sufficing to break the mesh. The usual practice is to
stand on a rock in a backwater where there is an eddy. There they watch
for a fish, and then dexterously dip it up and throw it on to the bank.
Several men would set up bamboos so as to have nets ready all together,
and would then arrange little fishing parties. It seemed to me that the
substance of the web resisted water as readily as a duck’s back.
Waley was also a place for dancing. Thither the tribes came for great
Terpsichorean festivals, and invitations used to be sent as far as Foula
by special messengers to bid the Foula people to these entertainments.
As we passed Babooni we had met these couriers on their way to tell the
Foula people about a dance that was shortly to be held, and inviting
them to come and bring all their fine feather-work—the Papuan
dress-suit—and all their pretty women. These dances often last for a
week, and the revellers feast during the day and at night dance by
torch-light. During the time we were in camp the noise of dancing and
singing never ceased, and the fat pigs were continually being killed.
This indispensable adjunct of Papuan life is solemnly divided according
to ceremonial custom, and certain parts are reserved for the leading
degrees of the tribesmen. The guests receive the more honourable
portions, and in this instance the chief from Foula would receive the
most honoured part of all.
The tribesmen come to the dance fully armed, bearing spears 10 feet
long, which were often splendidly decorated with birds’ feathers; over
the point would be slung a pod full of seeds, which rattled as the spear
was brandished in the dance.
When we left Waley we pursued a very winding path through steep valleys,
zig-zaging up the face of precipices and along the tops of almost
razor-like ridges.
On our return to the Kebea we picked a very fine crop of beans of our
own sowing. The Papuan bean is broader than ours, and is gathered at a
rather later stage; it is largely cultivated in the native villages.
Once at the Kebea we had seriously to face the problem of getting down
to the coast. Here we were with all our collections on our hands, as
well as our stores and “trade” to meet the charges of our carriers none
too plentiful. Obviously, the right plan would be to get the natives to
engage to carry for us right down to Pokama on Hall Sound, for if we
should be faced with the necessity of paying off a gang at Ekeikei, we
should be cleaned right out of the equivalent of ready cash. I opened
negotiations tentatively, and allowed the idea to get wind among my
followers; then the thing began to be mooted in camp conversations, and
the men would go off to discuss it with their womenkind. At first they
were in great doubt, saying that it was very far, they did not know the
country beyond such a place, and they would be very frightened in
strange districts, especially on their return. At our invitation they
gathered for a great conference, and I may be said to have summoned a
Papuan Parliament, which immediately went into committee to discuss ways
and means. I sent out Ow-bow, and several reliable fellows whom we knew
to be willing to go all the way with us, to induce the others to come to
the congress, and when we got them together we told them that if they
would go to Hall Sound with us, we would make each man a certain
payment, enumerating the different articles we were prepared to pay on
our arrival at Pokama. We added that if any one preferred that his wages
should include a preponderance of tobacco, or beads, or calico, over
other articles, we should be quite agreeable.
[Illustration:
FISHING WITH THE SPIDER’S-WEB NET.
The natives are here using the curious net prepared in the manner
shown in another picture.
]
They gathered round our little house, some in and some out, and smoked
the everlasting bau-bau, keeping up the while a quiet conversation. The
women with husbands made difficulties, as was to be expected. They would
say to any man who showed a disposition to join the expedition: “But we
want you to help us in our gardens.” One of the wives proved especially
a thorn in our side. She was the worst woman we met in Papua, the
possessor of a terrible tongue, and she was always setting the men
against going anywhere. The other women disliked her heartily, and there
were always rows when she came into camp. Not once, but twenty times,
were we annoyed by these disturbances, for Gouba, her husband, believed
in attempting to tame his shrew, although, alas! he never succeeded. His
methods were simple and drastic. He would pick up a billet of wood, when
she was half-way through a tremendous scolding, and fetch her a terrific
blow over the back. Thereupon ensued Pandemonium; the other men and
women would gather round jabbering, but they made no attempt to stop the
beating once it had begun. The unfortunate man had another wife, and the
scolding one was not always with him, but when she was there was
trouble. Gouba was willing enough to stay with us, poor fellow, but Mrs.
Gouba was always on the _qui vive_ for some village dance or other. Her
social engagements invariably clashed with Gouba’s industrial projects,
and between them they made the camp very hot. To see her running with
Gouba after her was a memorable sight. Of course, no Englishman likes to
see a woman knocked about, but from what Ow-bow used to tell us, I am
persuaded that Gouba was a sorely-tried man, and I should not be
surprised to hear that by this time he has arranged a divorce on Henry
the Eighth’s plan, and that Mrs. Gouba is now no more.
But to return to our Parliament. I finally carried my point and engaged
the carriers, but, alas! it was only by committing the only act of
perfidy which I can lay to my conscience in all my dealings with
natives. I found that if we were to get out of the country safely I must
offer some further inducement, other than the ordinary articles of
trade, and accordingly, although I had no intention of contravening the
Government regulations so far, I said that a gun would be included in
the wages of those who went down to Pokama. When the time came for this
promise to be made good, I simply explained that the Government would
not permit me to give them the gun. They acquiesced quite cheerfully,
and consented to receive compensation in other articles. That there was
no discontent or resentment, I am persuaded, and I had ample proof of
this in my final parting from my followers, which I shall relate in its
proper place.
We now returned to Ekeikei, and on arrival there passed from the land of
starvation to the land of abundance; hunting was once more possible, and
early on the morning after our arrival we sent out our shooters, who
came in loaded with cassowary, Gaura pigeon, wallaby, pig, and other
spoils. The natives were in clover once again, and had a glorious time
building fires, dressing the game, and preparing the food, for your
Papuan’s greatest pleasure is to eat as much as he can, and in the
shortest possible time, to sing, and then to sleep. Meals of Homeric
generosity were devoured, and thereafter our people sat round their camp
fires singing the beautiful mountain melodies of which I have already
spoken. The prettiest and most soothing of all their tunes was the
following, which has often with its gentle cadence lulled me to sleep in
the wilds:—
[Illustration: Chi-li-pa-la lu-a chi-li-pa-la lu-a lay: Chi-li-pa-la
lu-a.]
At Ekeikei we had, of course, to take up many additional loads of
baggage, and the resources of our staff, already severely tried,
threatened to prove entirely inadequate. Further recruits were not
forthcoming, so all the baggage had to be re-distributed and the bags
repacked. Even when this was done, and an additional weight apportioned
to each man, we found that ten carriers more would be wanted, but as
these were not obtainable I decided to leave Wei-Yah with the remaining
baggage until I could get down to Epa, where I trusted that my old
friend Mavai would send it in relays for me to Oo-fa-fa.
At Epa things looked rather hopeless, for not only did five of my
carriers bolt, leaving me saddled with their loads, but Mavai proved a
broken reed. My ancient ally was no longer a white man, and for some
unexplained reason had turned very uncivil. When I asked for carriers he
said he had “no people,” but his village seemed as populous as ever, and
the same numbers streamed in from the yam patch in the evening. I had a
big talk with him over night, but could make no terms with him. Next
morning Harry and I again had a long quiet talk with his Highness, and
at last he relented so far that he ascended his platform, but did not
don the persuasive red coat. He waxed fairly eloquent, gesticulated
wildly, and at last, about 7 P.M., things took a better turn, and the
first carriers consented to engage with us. Then the right honourable
gentleman resumed his seat, having spoken just over half-an-hour. Next
day they sulkily picked up their loads and set out. Mavai himself,
believing that example was better than precept, marched with the first
detachment. He himself shouldered a load. Thus we got everything away
with the exception of two loads, the carriers in charge of which sat
sullenly in their house. Finally, Harry and I had to go over and make
these two fellows pick up their burdens, and thus we took leave of Epa.
[Illustration:
A WEIRD TRIBAL DANCE.
The central figure wears a huge head-dress of bird of Paradise plumes
surmounted by a gigantic aigrette of parrots’ feathers (to be seen
in the background). The rank and file wear grass-fibre head-dresses.
]
The journey to Oo-fa-fa was accomplished in very sultry, trying weather,
through a country that afforded little shade. The ground was stony,
broken here and there with patches of wild oats and groups of eucalyptus
trees, which ran up to a height of about 30 feet, and were conspicuous
by their silvery bark, which was constantly peeling off like tissue
paper.
Having once undertaken the job, Mavai was as good as his word, and took
us down to Oo-fa-fa, where we got boats. There I had a nasty accident.
We put up for the night in a hut belonging to Mr. Jack Exton, the
sandalwood trader, a very industrious and indefatigable man, who has
made good roads to haul his timber down to the coast, and is very
popular with the natives. “Jack,” as we called him, entertained us very
kindly at his camp when we first went to Epa, and gave us every
assistance in his power. During the first night at Oo-fa-fa I was
sitting on a native hammock in the hut, when suddenly the cords gave way
and I fell backwards upon a sharp stump and hurt my back severely. My
leather belt saved me from any very serious injury, and there was
fortunately no penetration, but the pain was intense for three or four
days. I fomented the bruises with hot water at Oo-fa-fa, and managed to
get down to the canoe next day, but I had to lie still during the rest
of the voyage. At Pokama I was greatly relieved by the application of
Elliman’s Embrocation, but I had difficulty in walking and was not free
from pain for ten days.
At the Sound some of the native carriers, those paying their first visit
to the coast, drank great quantities of salt water without evil
consequences.
The canoe voyage was rather uneventful. Our flotilla was not numerous
enough; the canoes we had were overladen, and, accordingly, we sent some
baggage overland to Pokama. At that point the Rev. Mr. Dauncey received
us with great hospitality, and with him we stayed while we were paying
off our natives. To Ow-bow I entrusted the wages of the five rascals who
had run away from us at Epa, and I have no doubt he paid it over
scrupulously.
After our business was concluded, the mountain people went away with
very happy faces, and bade us good-bye, cordially hoping that they would
see us again, and saying that on my return, if I sent for them, they
would come down to the coast and carry me up-country. Some of them even
wept as they took leave, and I must confess that I was genuinely sorry
to part from my warm-hearted, good-natured followers, who had up to the
last served me faithfully, in spite of occasional fits of
refractoriness, which, after all, were easy enough to understand. It
said a good deal for them that they followed the unknown white man as
cheerfully as they did.
CHAPTER XIV
_A FORTY-MILE TRAMP BY THE SHORE_
A Comfortless Voyage—A Forty-Mile Tramp along the Coast—Wonders of the
Beach—Armies of Soldier-Crabs—A Crocodile River—A Dangerous Canoe
Voyage—At Port Moresby—A Pathetic Incident—Last Days of our Stay in New
Guinea.
CHAPTER XIV
A FORTY-MILE TRAMP BY THE SHORE
At Pokama we got on board a vessel very heavily laden with sandalwood. I
did not notice how perilously deep she was in the water until after we
had put to sea. This promised a voyage of great discomfort, and Harry
shortly became very sick. Partly on this account, and partly because we
wanted to see a certain part of the coast more minutely, we went ashore
in a small boat, and slept that night at the house of a coloured teacher
in the service of the London Missionary Society. Next morning we set out
on foot for Manu-Manu, forty miles distant, a long and very toilsome
tramp, often rendered doubly difficult by the uncertain sands of the
beach. Where the tide had left it wet we found it as firm to walk upon
as a bicycle track, but in the dry sand we often sunk to our knees.
Harry, especially, suffered severely, and his ankles were sore for a
long time after. The heat also was terrific, and added greatly to our
discomfort; but the walk was not without its interest and its diversion,
although in point of scenery it was rather monotonous. Very conspicuous
on the fringe of the coast vegetation was the true species of the shore
Pandanus. Inland was dense forest, diversified with patches of grass and
marshland. Our itinerary was as follows: Our first stage was twenty-two
miles from Giabada to Issu, the way being greatly lengthened by the need
to follow the bend of ever-recurring bays, where the treacherous sand
and the lack of shelter from the sun proved particularly trying. But at
this part of the march we saw one of the most extraordinary sights of
all our travels—many thousands of soldier-crabs traversing the sandy
beach in detached, regularly ordered bodies that moved evidently by the
signal of some common commander. These “armed battalions” stretched for
miles, and no matter what figure they assumed—whether wedge, triangle,
or rhombus—the dressing, so to speak, of the outer ranks was perfect,
and would have put many a Volunteer corps to shame. Not a crab was out
of line. The advance was fairly rapid, and was always towards the sea,
for a distance of, say, two hundred yards. When the crabs come out of
their holes in the sand they throw themselves into this compact
formation probably for safety. There was no walking along the beach for
them—scarcely a clear hundred yards for miles. When approached, they
quickened their pace perceptibly.
The individual crab is small and has no shell. The spread of the legs
would probably be 1½ inches, and the body is of a dark fawn colour,
exactly resembling the wet sand of the beach, so that the creature’s hue
is without doubt yet another of Nature’s adaptations for protection. It
is remarkable also that it imitates only the wet sand, for the dry sand
is of a dazzling silky whiteness.
[Illustration:
A SEA-COAST SCENE IN NEW GUINEA.
Some of the houses of Elevada, one of the pottery towns, may be seen
by the sea.
]
At Issu we stayed for the night, and did our best to sleep, although the
sand-flies were a great torment. From Issu we went on to Manu-Manu, a
stretch of eighteen miles, and as we went we saw many sharks, who
followed us close inshore and kept pace with us for a considerable
distance, hoping in vain that we would be unwise enough to bathe. Some
natives, who had followed us from Giabada, tried to kill them by
throwing sticks.
Manu-Manu was our last halt before taking a canoe for Port Moresby. At
the former place we found some men to assist us, and after spending the
night there, and the best part of the following day in preparation, we
embarked. At the mouth of the Manu-Manu River the crocodiles swarmed in
the brackish water. This is the point where there occurred the fight
between the natives and the crocodiles which I described in one of my
earlier chapters. The canoe voyage that we made at this time was one
that was only possible in fine weather, for there were many nasty
headlands to round. The bays were very deep, and at the middle of the
crossing from point to point we would often be ten miles off the land.
Often, too, there were treacherous reefs to avoid, but fortunately we
had moonlight after 2 A.M.; and so, sometimes sailing and sometimes
paddling, we passed the villages of Boira and Borepada and reached Port
Moresby at five on the evening of the day after we had left Manu-Manu.
We arrived at the Government station just about the same time as the
ketch which was bearing the bulk of our baggage.
We entered Port Moresby by the western entrance, which is not deep
enough for large ships, and can only be made by canoes. At Port Moresby
we had intended to put up as formerly at Sam’s house, but we found news
of deep affliction awaiting our faithful head-man. His wife Heli was in
terrible distress, for she had lost two children while her husband was
with us in the interior. Both were boys, one of seventeen known as
George, and the other a bright little fellow of ten called Foralis, who
had been a great favourite of ours on our former visit, and who used to
make himself very useful to us.
Poor George’s death was a merciful release, for although he was so well
on in his teens, he was a mere dwarf, and had been ill since his birth—a
sufferer from the so-called New Guinea disease, that incurable and
mysterious disorder which eats away the legs. It is believed to be a
form of leprosy. He was a fleshless, melancholy little being, who lay in
bed all day, hardly ever moving. He had, however, all his senses, and it
was pathetic to see him pursuing his only amusement, playing with the
petals of flowers and with different coloured papers, of which he
sometimes made strings. Sam must have missed Foralis very keenly, for
the youngster was at a most attractive age, and was beginning to be very
useful in various ways. He had become quite a bold little horseman, and
would often ride on errands for his father.
We spent five days at Port Moresby in the usual routine of packing for
the homeward voyage, the first stage of which we performed on the small
steamer _Parua_, which took us to Cooktown, where we were interested to
note the relics of former mining activity, for the place enjoyed a brief
spell of prosperity, during which pretentious banks and public buildings
sprang up, and still stand there as if in mockery of its absolute
deadness. The time was when they took fifty tons of gold from the Palmer
River, but those days had long gone by, although there is certainly
plenty of mineral wealth in the hinterland that is entirely unworked,
and excellent for tin miners especially. No effort has been made to work
this, and it is difficult to get money for even a gold mine at the back
of Cooktown, so much British capital has been lost there in wild-cat
schemes. A once busy railway still runs fitfully to the Palmer River.
We stayed three weeks at Cooktown, and during the second week we
witnessed a thunderstorm that transcended in violence the worst I had
ever seen in South America, and that is saying a good deal. After an
intensely oppressive morning, a black cloud came up from the westward,
and the storm burst with startling suddenness. In less than half-an-hour
every street was a veritable river, and the lightning, continuous and
seemingly ubiquitous, was accompanied by cracking and rending thunder
that could only be described as appalling. Fortunately, no one was
killed, and the only damage was to the roof of Burns’s store, which was
struck by lightning.
Save for the thunderstorm, our stay at Cooktown was utterly uneventful,
and at the end of the third week we went down to Sydney and came home by
the White Star line.
CHAPTER XV
_NATIVE MANNERS AND CUSTOMS_
The Papuan at Home—His Good Points—Physical Characteristics—Ceremonial
Dress—Coast and Hill Tribes—Differences—Local Distribution of the Rami
or Petticoat—Its Decrease in Length in the Mountains—Its Disappearance
at Epa—Dandyism—The Priceless Chimani—The Shell Armlet—Household
Constitution—Rudimentary Government—Courtship and Marriage—The Price of
a Wife—Position of Women—Six Ways of Carrying an Infant—Meal Times—
Weapons—Clubs—Their Manufacture the Monopoly of One Tribe—Weird Tribal
Dances.
CHAPTER XV
PAPUAN MANNERS, CUSTOMS, AND SUPERSTITIONS
My object in visiting New Guinea, as the reader already knows very well,
was not to prosecute the proper study of mankind, according to Mr.
Alexander Pope, but it was impossible to live daily with those unspoilt
children of nature without observing a good deal that was curious and
noteworthy. I cannot pretend to be a trained ethnologist, and
accordingly the notes that I have set down in this chapter on manners
and customs make no pretension to any scientific co-ordination. I shall
not therefore venture to draw conclusions, nor advance any theories such
as would fall within the province of the professed anthropologist. My
notes, too, were fragmentary, and often, owing to the stress of our
journeyings and the pressure of the work which it was incumbent on me to
prosecute, I had perforce to leave unrecorded at the time many things
that might be useful to the student of primitive peoples. Such
observations, however, as I am able to make, however incomplete, may
safely be regarded as at first hand, and it is probable that in the
majority of cases they were taken under exceptionally favourable
conditions for observing the people just as they are. During our
journeyings in the interior we depended on native help alone, and the
people whom we employed were not, one might say, scared out of their
usual way of life by the presence of a large body of white men. I and my
son went absolutely alone into the wilds with no white lieutenant. We
cast ourselves, as it were, on the hospitality of the aboriginal Papuan
(and cannibal at that), but as the reader has seen, we had no reason to
regret our draft on the bank of savage fidelity.
In my second chapter I described the warlike Tugeri of Dutch New Guinea,
a tribe whose ferocity has been such a thorn in the side of British and
Netherland officials alike. I certainly should not have cared to trust
myself with the Tugeri, but with the gentler people of the south-east
portion of the island there was comparatively no great risk. My first
close acquaintance with the Papuans was with the Motuan tribe, who lived
around Port Moresby, and my earliest acquaintances were made among the
potters of Hanuabada. The Motuans are fairly numerous, numbering, it is
said, about 1400 in the Port Moresby district; they may be taken as the
type of coast natives in this quarter, and roughly, for the purposes of
this account, I may distinguish between “coast-men” and “hill-men,”
taking the former to extend as far up as Epa. The Motuan men are
well-grown, standing about 5 feet 10 inches on an average, the height of
the women being from about 5 feet 6 inches to 5 feet 8 inches. Their
features are very varied, and do not incline to any single type. The
colour is of a rich bronze, and they are well and sturdily made. Most of
them have mop-like hair very much frizzed, and some wear it tied up,
while others have it short and curly, looking almost as if it had been
cropped and lying close to the scalp. What we may call the “cropped”
hair required little dressing, but to keep the mop hair in order they
use a comb like a wide fork with five prongs and a fairly longish
handle. With this implement they comb out their hair elaborately.
[Illustration:
HANUABADA WOMEN WEARING THE RAMI, OR PETTICOAT MADE OF LEAVES.
]
For ceremonial dances, and on festal occasions, they wear a wonderful
head-dress made of cockatoo feathers, which looks, when it is assumed,
like an enormous flat horseshoe, passing over the top of the head and
slightly in front of the ears. It conceals the ears entirely when the
observer looks the wearer full in the face.
The most cherished ornament, however, is the necklace of dogs’ teeth,
which is prized by the Papuans beyond any article of “trade” that the
traveller can give them. Not even a knife or an axe is so welcome, nor
can the traveller get so much work out of the Papuan for any steel
implement as he can for one or two teeth. I knew of a case where a
missionary, not with any fraudulent intention, but merely from a desire
to test Papuan intelligence, manufactured imitation dogs’ teeth very
cunningly out of bone, and offered them to a native. The man, however,
had too keen an eye to be done; he weighed the teeth critically in his
hand for a moment, and then handed them back with a scornful “No good.”
A further adjunct of their very simple costume is the armlet, which is
knitted from grass fibre with a pointed cassowary bone. This primitive
needle has a hole running up its entire length through which the grass
fibre is threaded, and then the ornament is woven either in a diagonal
pattern or in straight horizontal stripes, with strands of various
colours. They often actually knit it round the arm or the wrist quite
tightly, and when this is done the ornament is permanent, and is never
removed until it is worn out. Sometimes they wear a bunch of flowers
stuck into the armlet, and these not particularly fragrant, but the
Papuans are persuaded that it is quite otherwise, and, pointing to their
bouquet, they say with delightful naïveté, “Midina Namu”—“Good smell.”
Alas! it is really the reverse, and the wearers of flowers in this
manner are by no means pleasant neighbours.
They also wear anklets of feathers and strings of beads, and in some of
their dances I have seen them decorated with huge bunches of grass,
which hang from between the shoulders and sweep the ground. Some also
affect a light band at the knee, and light cane anklets which rattle as
they dance.
Indispensable to the men is the little bag which carries their few
personal possessions: their betel-nut, their lime gourd and knife, the
invariable adjunct of the delightful vice of chewing betel—as every
traveller in the Malay Archipelago knows—and the “Paw-paw,” a fruit with
which a little European tobacco is often eaten. The coast women carry a
much larger bag of knitted fibre, which may be best described by saying
that it resembles a hammock with the ends tied together; in this they
carry potatoes and wood, and sometimes it is borne upon the head, the
centre of it being brought over so that it is supported by the forehead,
while the tapering ends hang down over the shoulders. At other times it
is carried round the neck.
The chief costume of the women of the coast tribes is the extraordinary
petticoat made of grass or of a wide-bladed weed, each leaf of which
would be about 3 inches wide. The blades composing this garment fall
down perpendicularly from a waistband, to which layer after layer is
attached, until the “Rami” has that fine spread which used to be
attained by more civilised women by a contrivance which I believe was
called a “dress-improver.” As we went inland and rose gradually higher
and higher in the mountains, we observed that the “Rami” was growing
shorter and shorter, until at length, just after we had passed Epa, it
disappeared altogether; and one may reasonably consider the absence or
presence of this garment as the great symbol of division between the
coast natives and those of the highlands proper.
Among the men, both highland and lowland, the great symbol of dandyism
is the “Chimani,” or nose ornament. This is made from a section of a
shell about ⅜ of an inch thick in the middle, and tapering most
beautifully towards the ends. It is accurately made, perfectly round and
polished, and a good example would be about a span long. A fine
“Chimani” very often has two black rings painted round it, about 1 inch
distant from the end. These things are manufactured by the coast people,
and they drift by exchange through the whole country. Very few young
blades can afford to possess one, and accordingly it may be lent, either
for a consideration or as a very special favour. The possessor of one of
these ornaments could easily buy a wife for it, and sometimes it is paid
as a tribal tribute by one who may have to pay blood-money, or is unable
to give the statutory pig as atonement for a murder.
Another shell ornament is the armlet, made from the lower part of one
species of a conical shell; a section of this adornment would present
the figure of a pointed oval, and, according to the part of the shell
from which the armlet has been cut, its ends either meet or overlap
without touching. To it they sometimes attach European beads or little
fragments of tin. Its manufacture entails a great deal of work and a
long continued grinding on stone or other hard substance. Sam had a very
fine one which he presented to a man in order that that man might buy a
wife, and my head-man’s generosity will be understood when I mention
that one of these armlets fetches £5 at Port Moresby. A very affluent
person will wear one on each arm, or two on one arm, as I sometimes
observed was the case among the coast natives. This occurred chiefly at
Hula.
As regards households and tribal government, the Papuan customs are
simple in the extreme; there is no augmentation of households on the
patriarchal system of the sons bringing the wives under the parental
roof. Each household consists of the father, mother, and children. The
sons when they marry set up a separate establishment, and when all have
married the grandparents usually remain alone.
[Illustration:
BUYING A WIFE: A NEW GUINEA WOOING.
The suitor is depicted making an offer for the girl seated in the
hammock beside her father.
]
The men marry after they are eighteen and the girls much younger, for
they are considered ready for double-blessedness at fourteen. In the
case of the men, there are exceptions to this rule, for we met an
experienced young gentleman of fourteen, Kaukwai, who confided to us,
with an air of deep wisdom, that he had already had two wives and had
dismissed them both.
In the villages there was no clearly defined form of government. There
was, of course, invariably a chief, but his authority was not great, and
nowhere did I see an autocrat, except Mavai, with whom the reader is
already well acquainted. There is no regular council of elders, but in
isolated instances the younger men may go to the elder for advice. The
villagers, however, are wonderfully conservative in their institutions,
and marriage between distant villages is uncommon. The man who dares to
bring a wife from a distance gains great credit for an enterprising
person. At Amana, for instance, we found an interpreter who had married
a Foula woman, and this person was accounted strong-minded. He had
either learnt the Foula dialect from his wife or had acquired it while
he was staying at Foula courting her.
The method of wooing is, as with all primitive peoples, more commercial
than romantic. The intending suitor generally comes to the point during
a tribal dance which has been arranged by calling from hill to hill. If
the woman agrees to the match, the wooer does not think it at all
necessary to make overtures to her father, but should negotiations be
required he is neither laggard nor bashful. He puts the price in his bag
and approaches the house of the sire, entering boldly and sitting down
unbidden. Not infrequently the girl also comes in and sits probably in a
hammock, listening to the debate on which her destiny hangs. The suitor
at once names his price; if the old man thinks this is a promising
bargain, he shows himself quite willing to discuss matters. If there is
tobacco, the suitor takes up his host’s “Bau-bau,” draws a few whiffs,
passes it to the father, scratches his head violently with both hands,
and proceeds to haggle. Should the father think the match a good thing,
he seldom withholds his consent long, but if he considers the young man
is under-bidding, he holds out stiffly till the youth has raised the
price sufficiently. As soon as the father consents, the bride is taken
away at once and without any fuss. There is no ceremony and no wedding
feast.
The women are the agricultural labourers of Papua. Early in the morning
they go out to till the gardens and the yam- or taro-patch; they are the
hewers of wood and the drawers of water. Every night at Hanuabada we
used to watch the long files of them wading across the shallow channels
to the villages, carrying the great bundles of wood they had collected.
Their families are not large, seldom more than two or three children,
and though they treat them quite kindly, there is no demonstrative
affection. At seven years old the children are expected to assist in
domestic affairs, and begin to take their little part of carrying water
and firewood to the village. Their faggots are tied up with wild cane
string and are carried home on the women’s backs.
When the women go out to the garden, or when they aid in heavy transport
service, as in the case of my expedition, the baby always accompanies
them, and I counted at least six different ways of carrying the infant.
1. In the net-bag, slung behind, and supported by the band passed across
the mothers forehead; to save abrasion a leaf was placed between the
forehead and the knot made by tying the two ends of the bag together.
Among many of the women I noted a patch of white hair, just at the point
where the knot had pressed. 2. The child on the top of the load,
supported by the mother’s left arm. This, of course, refers to the time
when they were carrying for us, and had a particularly heavy burden. 3.
Astride of one shoulder; this was practised by the men, and the infant
was so placed as to face the side of his father’s head. 4. Also a man’s
method, pick-a-back, with the little legs round the father’s neck. 5.
The child with the arms clasped round the father’s neck and no other
support at all. 6. Similar to the last, except that the child in this
instance was carried by the mother, who, being blessed with an
exceptional spread of “Rami” behind, could allow the little one’s feet
to rest comfortably on that.
In the village communities on the hills there was no very regular
observance of meal times. They ate when they wanted to, but on the coast
a meal was taken in the morning, in the afternoon, in the early evening,
and sometimes at night. The cooking was done by the women in the round
earthenware pots mentioned in the description of the Hanuabada potters.
In point of dress and appearance the mountain people differ widely from
those of the coast. The place of the “Rami” is taken by the cheebee, or
perineal band, a simpler garment than even the fig-leaf. They are a
shorter people, with better developed legs than the coast natives, which
is no doubt owing to the extraordinary exercise imposed on the limbs by
the difficulties of the ground.
The women wear fewer adornments than the men, their principal ornaments
being the dogs’ teeth necklace and armlet, and on the breast a pearl
shell, ground with a stone night and day for three weeks until the outer
shell is gone and the mother-of-pearl is left bare and polished. They
tie up their hair with bark so that the hair itself can hardly be seen,
and sometimes they plait it up into small tails. They carry the
customary bag of small odds and ends, and their weapons are distinctly
formidable. These consist of the spear and club only. The spear is
pointed and jagged, and is made of very hard redwood; the club has a
heavy stone top, elaborately hewn into sharp bosses. The Dinawa people
do not know how to make these clubs, which are manufactured in the
Keakama district, and their presence in the hills proves that there is
some system of commercial distribution.
[Illustration:
1.—A STONE-HEADED CLUB.
2.—VARIOUS FORMS OF THE BAU-BAU, OR TOBACCO PIPE, SHOWING DIFFERENT
KINDS OF ORNAMENTATION.
Note on the left of the pipes the butt of one, showing how the end is
closed by the natural section of bamboo.
3.—A STONE AXE.
]
But the most splendid of all the articles of the Papuan costume is the
feather head-dress, 16 feet high, which forms the central point of
attraction when it occurs in a tribal dance. This ornament is extremely
rare, and is always an heirloom, for it has taken generations to
complete. It is a wonderful, fantastic device of feathers, built upon a
light framework. The Bird of Paradise and the Gaura pigeon are laid
under tribute for its construction, and the feathers of the different
birds, and of different species of the same bird, are kept carefully
apart, and are arranged in rows according to their natural order. A few
lines of Bird of Paradise, a few lines of Gaura pigeon, then a few lines
of another species of Bird of Paradise, and so on. The whole contrivance
is most fantastic, and looks really impressive in the weird light of the
torches as the dancers, decorated with flowing bunches of grass behind,
proceed with their revel.
The dances of the hill tribes are not elaborate in form, and consist
principally of violent jumping up and down, accompanied by wild singing
and noise, but the coast dances, as carried out by the members of the
native police at Port Moresby, by permission of the authorities,
although less effective in point of costume—for little dress at all is
worn—have something of the orderly and progressive arrangement of the
ballet of civilisation. On the day set apart for the dance at Port
Moresby, a circle of native drummers would seat themselves on the
ground, and would begin their monotonous performance—bang, bang, bang;
bang, bang, bang—apparently without end, and with a wearisomely
monotonous rhythm. Suddenly, to the orchestra and the spectators would
enter two members of the Fly River police off duty, carrying a long,
thin reed. These would begin the performance. They jumped up and down in
regular rhythm, crouching lower and lower as the dance proceeded, their
movements getting quicker and quicker as the drums “gave them pepper.”
Then, still crouching and still jumping up and down with incredible
swiftness, they would back out and disappear round the side of the
house. This ended the first figure. For the second figure probably
twenty of the force would enter, marching sedately in Indian file, the
drums playing a slower rhythm. Suddenly the performers would stop, then
they would turn their heads from side to side, and begin to move their
legs slowly in time to the drums. Still wagging their heads, and without
any increased motion of the limbs, they would proceed right round the
ring of spectators and retire, without any perceptible quickening of
pace. For the third figure they reappeared in files, moving their heads,
the limbs still going in slow time. They advanced and retreated to and
from the spectators several times, singing as they went, and finally
backed out.
We witnessed also a dance of the Mombare people, who are likewise
members of the native police. With the dancers was one woman. Their
method was to jump up and down, and thus they worked slowly round the
oval enclosure formed by spectators. They held themselves erect all the
time, and their demeanour was not serious, the dance being accompanied
by loud shouting and great perspiration. During all these dances the
Orgiasts fell into a terrible state of excitement, and often could not
stop dancing until they fell quite exhausted. Mountain dances are
sometimes accompanied by tragedies, for the confusion of the revel is
made the occasion for wiping off old scores, and a dancer will suddenly
fall dead, struck through by the spear of his enemy.
CHAPTER XVI
_BURIAL, WITCHCRAFT, AND OTHER THEMES_
A Short-lived Race—An Aged Man a Curiosity—Burial Customs—The Chief
Mourner painted Black—Period of Mourning brief except for the Chief
Mourner—No Belief in Natural Death—Poison always Suspected—Religion all
but absent—Vague Belief in Magic—Fi-fi a Form of Divination—How
practised—Its Utter Childishness—No Idea of Number—Forest Warnings—
“Wada,” another Form of Sorcery—Mavai’s Hideous Magical Compounds—A
People seemingly without History or Legends—Pictures understood—Fear of
the Stereoscope—The “Bau-bau” or Social Pipe—How Made and Smoked—
Incidents of Travel—The Stinging Trees—Ideas of Medicine—Sovereign
Remedies—Bleeding—How practised—Hunting—The Corral—A Strange Delicacy—
Story of Native Trust in Me—A Loan of Beads—Children and their Sports—
Thirty Ways of Cat’s-Cradle.
CHAPTER XVI
BURIAL, WITCHCRAFT, AND OTHER THEMES
The Papuans are not a long-lived race. The mountain people die off about
forty: at Googooli, high up on the mountains, we saw one very old man,
who may have been sixty years of age—the only example of longevity that
we came across. He was a very pathetic spectacle: his features were
almost gone, the skin was terribly shrivelled, and the eyes sunken. He
was bent almost double, and had a long white beard. His fellow-tribesmen
regarded him as a great curiosity, and brought him to see us. Despite
the decrepitude of his body, however, there was no trace of senility:
his senses were unimpaired; and the poor old creature showed great
gratitude for a gift of tobacco.
Of the mountain people’s burial customs I have no precise knowledge, but
at Hanuabada we were able to observe a coast funeral. The dead body was
wrapped in a net and lashed to a pole, which was borne by two bearers.
To the funeral, which was celebrated the morning after death, the whole
village turned out, and followed the corpse without any regard to
precedence, except that the chief mourner—in this case, the mother—
walked immediately behind the bier. The chief mourner is invariably
blacked all over with charcoal, but the others wear no token of sorrow.
Just as the procession started the women set up a tremendous wailing,
which was continued all the way to the grave. On reaching the
burial-place, which was some seven minutes’ walk from the village, the
corpse was set down, and the mother, seating herself at its head,
encircled it with her arms, the hands being clasped below the chin, and
began with shrill cries to try to call her son back to life. For twenty
minutes, while the shallow grave was being dug, this ceremony proceeded,
while the rest of the mourners sat around. The corpse was then lifted
into the grave without much reverence and was covered up, the mourners
waiting until this was done, whereupon they walked away and, as far as
they were concerned, the mourning was over, and far from being a cause
of sorrow, it had become merely an interesting topic of conversation.
The chief mourner, however, if a woman, keeps the house, and sees no one
after the funeral for a space that may extend to three weeks. It is
indeed very difficult to persuade a mourner to leave the house. Another
method of disposal of the dead is tree-burial. A light framework of
bamboo or sticks is laid in the fork of a tree. On this the corpse,
wrapped in bark, is exposed. When nature has done its work on the
remains, the bones are afterwards distributed among the friends of the
deceased.
[Illustration:
1.—YOUNG NATIVES’ CURIOSITY ABOUT MY CAMERA.
2.—WOMEN CARRIERS ON THE WAY TO PORT MORESBY.
]
They do not believe in a natural death, and attribute every decease to
poison in a vague and general sort of way. Belief in another world they
have none, and the most elementary ideas of religion do not seem to
exist. There is not even any definite superstition, but only a sort of
vague and particularly childish belief in some kind of magic under the
name of “Fi-fi.” This is a sort of divination, and is practised at night
by a recognised medium, usually a girl, who is “Fi-fi,” and yet who is,
at the same time, believed to represent this mysterious power known as
“Fi-fi.”
Fi-fi is supposed to be a spirit always invisible and occasionally
audible. It is considered a bringer of both good and bad luck, but
although this is so no attempt is made to propitiate it. The cult indeed
is so absurd that the wonder is that the people believe in it at all;
yet, although there is apparently nothing supernatural on the face of
it, the Papuans are willing to credit its manifestations. When a tribe
wishes to know its luck, and when a hostile attack is imminent, it has
recourse to the rites of Fi-fi; these are always celebrated at night.
The crowd gathers round the fire, and the girl who is supposed to be the
medium of the power is told off to communicate with Fi-fi; from that
moment, by a peculiar confusion in their minds between the spirit and
the medium, she becomes Fi-fi to all intents and purposes. She retires
to some corner near at hand, where she is not seen, and from there she
whistles in different keys. The sound is made entirely at the medium’s
discretion, but the moment it is heard the people exclaim that Fi-fi has
come, and they judge by the whistling whether the omens are favourable
or not. They would seem to have an idea of two Fi-fis, for the girl’s
first call is two short notes repeated. No immediate answer comes, and
the people round the fire remark casually to each other that the other
Fi-fi has not heard, but they say, “Gua-fua”—that is, “Wait.” The girl
whistles again, and in a moment or two answers herself; then the
listeners round the fire exclaim, “Oi-kai-yoi, Fi-fi-mai” (“You hear,
Fi-fi has come”). Occasionally we have said to them, “Tell Fi-fi to
speak,” but they refused point-blank; and when we asked them why they
did not bring Fi-fi, they said they could not. The priestess varied her
whistle, and then interpreted her own messages. Once a woman is chosen
to communicate with Fi-fi, she retains the office for life. This form of
divination occurred most frequently at Waley.
The priestess is not above the Delphic trick of framing her oracles to
suit political necessity or her own inclinations and likings. One would
think that people of such general common sense as the Papuans would see
the possibility of deception, but they have implicit faith in Fi-fi’s
manifestations.
Certain insects, I noted, were also regarded as “Fi-fi.” When a
particular species of fire-fly entered the house at night the natives
immediately predicted bad luck, or impending attack and extermination by
hostile tribes. This failure of intelligence at one point is paralleled
by their inability to grasp the simplest idea of number. Further than
three they cannot count, although we often tried, by means of their ten
fingers, to instil some notions of a higher calculus into them.
On the march we observed the existence of a curious system of warnings.
Now and then a green bough, newly broken off, would be found lying in
the path, and the sight of this almost drives the natives out of their
wits; for it is the recognised symbol that some one has been there who
does not want you to pass. It has a correlative in a friendly symbol,
which is also a broken bough, but in this instance it is not entirely
severed from the tree.
Another superstition is “Wada,” which, as far as one can ascertain,
seems to be a belief in an invisible man who stands near a tree, but is
so like it that he cannot be seen. As you go through the forest “Wada”
may touch you, and then you are doomed. After this there is nothing for
you to do but go home and die; and so great is the power of suggestion,
that a person who believes he has been touched by “Wada” generally does
die.
Mavai practised “Wada,” but it took a somewhat pharmaceutical form with
him. He made an abominable mixture of rotten bananas, and all sorts of
decomposing matter. This he kept in his house and gave to persons he
wanted to be rid of, generally without any evil effect, but that never
shook his belief in the efficacy of his decoctions. It was delightfully
comical to see the seriousness with which he sat compounding his horrid
messes, and telling you of their dire results. It may be wondered how
ever he got the dread substance administered; but then, of course, Mavai
was all-powerful, and the person who refused to take his “Wada” drugs
would probably have encountered “Wada”—a sure and certain “Wada”—in the
person of Mavai himself.
There was also some confusion of “Wada” with a stone or a stick, and
therein probably one might find the truth about the real deadliness of
the charm.
The Papuans are entirely without history as a people, and of personal
tradition they have only the merest scraps. At Port Moresby they had a
legend of an eclipse, and referred to it as “Labi labi” (that is,
“night”). They have no tales of gods or heroes, and their chief interest
is the question, “Where are you going?” and “What are you doing?”
They were very keen to see our photographs, and had no difficulty in
understanding a picture: therein they differed greatly from the debased
Australian aborigines, who could never grasp the graphic symbol, and in
the famous instance, when shown a picture of Queen Victoria, said it was
a ship. They picked out their friends’ photographs at once, and
recognised them with exclamations of delight. For one of our men,
however, our stereoscope proved too much, as the relief of the figures
had probably been too realistic; and on being invited to look at a group
of our retainers, he no sooner put his eyes to the glass than he howled
and nearly dropped the instrument. He ran away, saying, “Mookau meego”
(“Man lives there”), and could not be persuaded to look again.
I hope that during my next journey I may be able to pierce more deeply
into the psychology of the Papuans, and it may be that, with greater
familiarity, they will communicate more of what they know; for it
appears improbable that they should be as destitute as they seem of
legend or myth.
[Illustration:
SMOKING THE BAU-BAU.
This curious pipe is made of a length of bamboo closed at each end.
Into a small hole at one end is inserted a small green leaf rolled
like a grocer’s paper bag. In this the lighted tobacco is placed.
The smoker then reverses the tube, and sucks in the smoke until the
bamboo is filled. He now takes out the tobacco and inhales a long
whiff. The operation is repeated as long as the tobacco lasts.
]
Over the “Bau-bau,” or social pipe, I trust there may be some
discoveries in store for me. The Papuan pipe is itself a most
interesting instrument, not only in its everyday use, but in its
construction and in the method of smoking. It is made of one joint of
bamboo, closed at both ends by the natural section of the bamboo. In the
side of the cylinder near one end they drill a hole by applying a piece
of hard wood made red-hot. They press the red-hot wood to the bamboo,
and blow it to incandescence, repeating the operation until a hole is
pierced. They next knock a hole in the opposite end of the bamboo, so as
to admit a current of air. The red-hot wood is now applied again to the
original hole, and they blow through the hole knocked in the opposite
end until the small hole in the side is gradually enlarged. The
“Bau-bau” is now complete, except for its ornamentation. Elaborate
patterns are scratched on the hard enamel of the bamboo with glass, a
knife, a stone, or red-hot wood, and the speed with which this
decoration is accomplished is extraordinary.
In the accompanying illustration I show some of the prevailing patterns.
On the march our men would cut a bamboo, and on reaching camp would
borrow some suitable tool from us, and make a pipe in a very short time.
They were sufficiently accomplished smokers, however, to like an old
“Bau-bau” best, and gave the reason, which will be appreciated by every
smoker, that tobacco is not good in a new one.
The method of smoking is elaborate. They roll a leaf into a little horn,
and insert it in the smaller hole on the side of the “Bau-bau,” within
this leaf is placed the charge of tobacco which they light, and then
placing their lips to the end hole they draw. The little horn, or
cigarette as one may call it, is now removed from the hole in the side,
and if the pipe is new they blow away the first charge of smoke, by
placing their lips to the hole in which the cigarette was originally
inserted. Again the cigarette is placed in the small hole, and the pipe
is drawn from the end hole. This time the smoke is intended to be used,
so the cigarette is removed from the small hole, and the smoker applying
his lips thereto inhales the whole charge. Again the cigarette is
removed, and the pipe is filled by a long pull at the end hole, but this
time the smoker does not inhale the charge himself, but removes the
cigarette and politely hands the charged pipe to his neighbour, who
punctiliously rubs the mouthpiece, and enjoys the long whiff. Very often
there is one drawer for an entire party, whose duty it is to fill the
pipe with smoke, and pass it so filled to each of his companions in
turn.
They usually sit in a circle for these smoking parties; and in camp the
“Bau-bau” is continually used. They grow their own tobacco, which is
very rank, and not good smoking at all. In fact, the natives themselves
cannot inhale much, as it makes them giddy; and they are not
infrequently seized with severe fits of coughing when the fumes have
proved particularly suffocating.
The supply of tobacco is carried in the armlet or behind the ear—this
last method being not unknown to the festive Cockney, who, on Bank
Holiday, is seldom complete without a cigarette so worn.
The pipe at the end of the day’s march was invariably well earned, for
the heartiness and endurance of my carriers were almost incredible. On
one occasion I despatched a party to one of my camps, thirty miles
distant, through an almost inaccessible mountain region. They left at
eight o’clock in the morning, and came into camp again at five in the
afternoon of the following day, having accomplished the whole journey of
sixty miles, and the latter half while they were burdened with their
loads of rice, tinned provisions, tobacco and hardware, and all the
other miscellaneous articles known as “trade.” The women’s loads weighed
about 50 lbs., the men’s somewhat less, for the women are the great
burden-bearers in New Guinea.
The difficulties of our march were heightened by certain natural
features, particularly the stinging trees, which occurred close to
Madui. The tree in shape, size, and foliage resembles a sycamore, and
has a leaf of which the under side is extremely rough and covered with
spines. These possess a stinging power like that of the nettle, only
much worse, and the irritation lasts far longer. The slightest touch is
sufficient to wound. First a white blister appears, then redness,
covering about a square inch around each pustule; rubbing aggravates the
irritation, which shortly becomes maddening. The pain is not allayed for
at least twelve hours; and I have never observed any natural antidote
growing in the vicinity of this stinging-tree, as the dock-leaf grows
near the nettle. Needless to say, the natives take the utmost care to
give these trees a wide berth.
A smaller stinging-plant, resembling our nettle, only larger, with a
rough under side of pale pea-green, is also found at intervals in the
forest; both sides of the leaf possess the power of irritation. The
natives use it as a universal specific for all ailments. As soon as they
come on a clump of this plant the women discard their loads and gather
bundles of the leaves, which they carefully preserve for future
requirements. It is also applied probably for the sheer pleasure of it
when they have no actual disorder, and it is quite common for them to
rub their bodies lightly with the leaves. This causes violent
irritation, followed by a feeling of pleasant numbness, like that which
results from the application of menthol. For a mosquito bite this is a
most admirable remedy, since the irritation of the bite is allayed and
goes down long before the irritation of the leaf has passed. It is a
curious example of the old medical practice of counter-irritation.
Although we were glad to resort to it for mosquito bites, no European
would without that cause risk the irritation for the sake of possible
future benefits.
While on the subject of Papuan sovereign remedies, I may mention a
curious form of bleeding which is in use among the tribes, especially
among the younger men. The bleeding is performed by two persons, who sit
opposite to each other. The operator takes a small drill, or rather
probe of cassowary bone brought to an extremely fine point, and this is
attached to the string of a tiny bow about 4 inches long. Holding the
bow as if he were going to shoot, the operator aims the little probe at
the patient’s forehead, draws the bow slowly, and lets the string go;
the probe is thus brought into sharp contact with the patient’s skin,
and the operation of drawing the bow and letting fly the arrow is
repeated again and again until blood is drawn. It should be remembered
that the probe or arrow is always attached to the string and never
escapes. The patient now leans forward, and the blood is allowed to flow
profusely on to the ground.
I have often seen as much as half a pint allowed to escape. When
faintness supervenes the wound is staunched with ashes or any convenient
styptic, and the patient sits up. If the ashes fail to act, cautery with
a hot cinder is practised. Headache is the usual trouble for which this
remedy is applied, and this frequency of bleeding may be the reason why
there is no heart disease or sudden death among the natives. This may
probably lend colour to the theory of some physicians, that the increase
of heart disease and sudden death in civilised nations is due to the
entire abandonment of bleeding, once certainly carried to excess.
Although the women do all the hard work of the house and in the field,
they are nevertheless regarded with affection. It is erroneous to
suppose that they are compelled to be burden-bearers because they are
lightly esteemed. As far as my own observation goes, the men are left
free of loads, or are given lighter loads, in order that they may be
ready to protect the women from the sudden raids of other tribes. Their
gardens are often a considerable distance from the village, and the
women never go to gather yams or taro, or to till their patches, without
an escort of young men as protectors.
On the other hand, the men are not idle, but perform their part in the
economic system by acting as hunters. Their chief game is the pig, the
cassowary, and the wallaby. They hunt this quarry with spears, and drive
the game into nets which have been spread between the trees and posts in
the forest over a considerable area, forming a corral, approached by a
long decoy, two long lines of nets gradually converging. When the nets
have been set the drive commences. The beaters extend themselves for a
considerable distance, and, with the assistance of dogs, gradually force
the game towards the nets. The game is plentiful, and as it closes
towards the corral, birds and beasts are forced into the centre in
crowds. At length the hunters close round the opening, a final rush is
made, and the victims are despatched with spears. These hunting bouts
occur only at long intervals, and on the lower slopes of the mountains.
After a successful drive there is a great jollification. Fires are built
in the camp, the game is roasted, and in an incredibly short space of
time every portion has disappeared, and the people are lying around
gorged.
In one particular delicacy favoured by the Papuans I was, as an
entomologist, very much interested. The natives are exceedingly fond of
the larvæ of a large tropical beetle, one of the _Passalidæ_, which are
found in decayed tree trunks. Whenever the natives noticed the presence
of the borings made by the larvæ, they seized a native instrument,
probably one of their stone axes, dug out the dainty, which is about
five inches long, and ate it raw. Should a fire be handy, they would
sometimes throw the larvæ into the ashes, give it a turn or two, and
then enjoy it: the flavour is said to resemble that of a lemon. I could
never, however, bring myself to try it.
[Illustration:
A PAPUAN HUNT.
The natives drive their game, chiefly the pig, the cassowary, and the
wallaby (a small kangaroo) into a corral, and then despatch the
quarry with spears.
]
The Papuans are a jovial, light-hearted people, and when a stranger has
once won their confidence they are hospitable and friendly. Their trust
when once gained will stand even rather severe tests, as I found to my
great satisfaction and advantage after a stay of some months at Mount
Kebea. I was anxious to push farther into the interior, but found myself
absolutely without beads, which are the journey money of the explorer.
It would have delayed me too long to have waited for the return of my
messengers, who had been sent to the coast for a further supply, so I
hit upon the expedient of trying how far my credit with the natives
would go. I called the tribe—men, women, and children—together, and in a
lengthy harangue I explained the situation to them; finally asking them
if they would lend me their beads, which every one of them wore on his
or her person in considerable profusion, promising them that on my
return I would pay them double the quantity. This tribe, be it noted,
was not to accompany me farther, and the beads would have to be given to
other bearers, whom I should engage as I proceeded. These ornamentations
are to the Papuans as precious as her pearls are to a _grande dame_,
but, nevertheless, every man, woman, and child immediately consented to
the loan. This appreciation of the idea of credit—one might almost say
of banking—denotes a considerable receptivity of mind, and shows that
the Papuan cannot be inaccessible to civilisation.
I cannot pass from the subject of the Papuan at home without saying
something about his children, who are the merriest little creatures
imaginable. Without being very demonstrative, the parents like them well
enough, and the child is not at all hardly used—although, be it
remembered, the family pig has a deeper place in the adults’ affections.
In times of stress it is to be feared it is the pig that is first
considered, probably because it is so important an article of diet. The
devotion to this animal goes far further than that of Pat, for it is not
unusual to see a Papuan woman acting as foster-mother to a young pig.
But to return to the children; up to the age of seven their life is one
long holiday, and they very early begin to practise the use of weapons.
Spearthrowing is their favourite sport; for this they use a long stick
of grass with an enlarged root. They pull off all the leaves until the
shaft is clean, and the root is allowed to remain to represent the heavy
head of the spear. Their targets are each other, and at a very early age
they have acquired a marvellous dexterity, hitting each other with
nicest accuracy even at 40 feet range. Every hit is registered with a
delighted jump and a howl. The amount of cleverness and dexterity
required for this spear practice was realised by my son, who tried it,
and found that not only could he not hit, but he could not make the
spear carry. Very small girls play also at spearthrowing, but they give
it up early.
We were very much amused to find the presence of “Cat’s-Cradle”; we had
thought to amuse the little ones by teaching them this game, but we
found that they were already more than our masters therein; for they no
sooner saw what we were after than they let us know that they were well
acquainted with it, and whereas we had just the old stereotyped process
to give them, they showed us thirty different ways. They did not,
however, play in pairs as we do, the players taking the string from each
other’s hands in turn, but each child sits by himself or herself and
works out the pattern. It is really amusing to see how they effect the
different changes and the regular routine of forms by the movement of
the fingers alone, without the aid of another pair of hands.
The dogs at Epa and Port Moresby were highly favoured animals. Not only
had they the run of the house, but each house had an entrance sacred to
the dog. To this access was given by special dog-ladders 9 inches wide,
with the rungs quite a foot apart, up and down which the animals ran
like monkeys.
CHAPTER XVII
_A NOTE ON BRITISH TRADE PROSPECTS IN NEW GUINEA_
Sandalwood—The Sea-Slug—Copra and Cocoa-Nut—Coffee—Cocoa—Chillies—
Rubber—Stock-Raising—Gold—Tobacco—Imports—German Enterprise—Our Lost
Coaling Station.
CHAPTER XVII
A NOTE ON BRITISH TRADE PROSPECTS IN
NEW GUINEA
The intelligent observer of New Guinea cannot fail to recognise that the
country presents a vast unopened field for the development of British
trade. Many sources of wealth are as yet absolutely untouched, but
experiments that have recently been made in coffee, tobacco, cocoa, and
rubber, yield the richest promise. The geographical configuration of the
coast will greatly aid the enterprising trader, for many centres of
industry can easily be approached by water at such inlets as Hall Sound,
and the cost of transport from the interior would consequently be a mere
bagatelle.
One of the chief industries is sandalwood cutting. The sandalwood is
found in arid, elevated regions, and the particular spots where the
trees grow in any quantity are known to the trade as patches. These
patches, however, do not signify that the trees grow closely together.
One tree might be found here and another might not occur for a hundred
yards or so; but still there is an area of sandalwood growth
sufficiently definite to justify the title “patch.” For any one who
understands the intricacies of the situation, and the proper method of
going to work, there is something to be made; but at present the
development of the trade is beset with difficulties which can only be
surmounted by one who is thoroughly familiar with the country and the
conditions.
A rich source of income, still only little worked, is the trade in
_béche-de-mer_, the sea-slug, which is an indispensable article of
seasoning in every Chinese kitchen. This commands £70 a ton in the China
market, and the variety known as the “black fish” fetches as much as
£100 a ton. It is used for thickening gravies and soups. These molluscs
are about 9 inches long and 3 inches thick, and are to be found adhering
to the corals. The Papuans dive for them, and when they have secured
them they are split open, dried in the sun, and packed in boxes. This
trade could be made very profitable to any capable operator who cared to
embark a moderate capital in its development. Divers can be had for a
little tobacco or a few shells, a knife or an axe, but the chief expense
is the preparation and preservation for the market. As a matter of fact,
an enterprising Brisbane firm has lately introduced the tinning system
for this mollusc, but the China market is supplied with the dried
commodity untinned.
There is also much to be done in copra and in cocoanut products
generally. Large cocoanut plantations pay well, as every part of the
tree can be utilised, and there is no doubt that a great deal of
business can be done with Java, which at present cannot produce enough
cocoanut fibre for its mat industry, and actually brings consignments
all the way from Ceylon. The copra is in great demand amongst
soap-makers, and one large firm has prospectors at work in the interior
of the islands with a view to increasing the supply. To my own knowledge
efforts are being made to extend this trade, by several Europeans, east
and west of Hall Sound, but there is plenty of room for others without
in any way damaging the prosperity of the industry.
[Illustration:
HAULING UP A LOG FOR BUILDING THE CAMP AT DINAWA
]
New Guinea is favourable to the production of coffee, although the plant
is not indigenous to the island. A fine quality is grown at Wariratti.
The plantations are flourishing, but here again the enterprise is still
young. The trade is so new that the experimental stage is hardly passed.
It cannot be doubted that Australia offers a vast and lucrative market
to the future coffee grower of New Guinea.
Cocoa and chillies thrive in the Mekeo region, and this district is also
very rich in fruit. The Government at Port Moresby often sends down a
sailing vessel to bring back large consignments of fruit for the
convicts in Port Moresby jail. The fruit-farmer might find in the Mekeo
region a richer California.
In about the same condition as the coffee is the rubber trade. Trees are
found throughout the possession, and the natives have some understanding
of the method of collecting the sap. Their operations are, however, very
crude and rough. I question whether the New Guinea rubber would ever
rival in excellence the South American variety (_hevea Braziliensis_),
which is undoubtedly the finest in the market, although Ceylon is just
commencing to send rubber which may run it hard.
To the stock-raiser New Guinea offers a tempting field. At the Mission
of the Sacred Heart on Yule Island I saw remarkably fine cattle—cows and
oxen—which had doubtless been introduced from Australia. Not only the
headquarters of the Mission, but the outlying stations, were plentifully
supplied with milk and butter, and, at the time I was there, they hoped
to be in a position to kill a beast a week, an important consideration,
for fresh meat is valuable in New Guinea. I did not see sheep in New
Guinea at all, but goats were met with at Hall Sound, although they are
not raised in any great numbers. On Yule Island the pasturage is
splendid, and drought, that terror of the Australian squatter, is by no
means frequent.
Turning to the mineral wealth, for the past five years gold workings
have been carried on at the Yodda Fields, on the Mombare River, in the
north-east portion of the island. The gold is alluvial. Although I
cannot give the exact figures of the output, some idea of the
productiveness of the region may be obtained from the fact that, for the
last five years, 150 miners have been able to live on these fields. When
it is remembered that the price of provisions at the Yodda Camp is
prohibitive, it is not an extravagant assumption to compute that each
man must be turning out at least three ounces of gold per week to make
it worth his while to remain. There are other workings in the Woodlark
Islands, and there are certainly evidences of gold everywhere in the
streams of New Guinea. It does not seem likely that the miners are
turning their earnings to the best account at the present time. The
local stores, of course, consume a great deal of their dust, and when a
man has got a fair pile together he not infrequently goes down to
Samarai, and has what he calls “a good time,” returning with empty
pockets to begin his labour over again. I believe the Government is now
making a road to the Yodda Fields, and when this is completed, the
longer route will be abandoned, and provisions on the fields will be
cheaper.
As regards imports for commerce with the natives, the chief desiderata
are the articles technically known as “trade,” with which the labour to
be used for developing the exports is remunerated. The native generally
desires to receive from the white man knives, axes, tobacco, Jews’
harps, beads, dogs’ teeth, and red calico; but it is to the exports that
the enterprising trader has to look in the future.
The finest field for enterprise in New Guinea—and one which I have
therefore left to the last to be dealt with—is tobacco. The district of
Mekeo produces a magnificent leaf, of which the seed has been imported
from Cuba. The syndicate that imported the leaf applied to the
Government for 100,000 acres of land in the central division of British
New Guinea, but this request was opposed by the New South Wales
Government, without reason vouchsafed to the Government of the
possession, whose officials in a recent report described this action as
“a very serious blow to the immediate development of the country by
Australian capitalists of high standing.” The same report, while
deploring this misfortune, remarks that the tobacco should do very well
if the leaf is properly treated for the market, as the soil appears to
be very rich. Very different was the action of the German authorities in
the Kaiser’s New Guinea possessions. With their usual indefatigable
enterprise, the Teutons have financed a large tobacco undertaking, and
are exporting the leaf in great quantities. Their syndicate has so far
introduced methods of civilised trade that they have struck and issued
their own coinage (which bears the image of a bird of paradise), and
their five-mark, two-mark, and one-mark pieces are accepted by the
natives instead of trade. These pieces are, of course, spent by the
natives in the German stores. Not without reason did the Prince of Wales
advise Great Britain to wake up.
With all these extraordinary opportunities, it is a curious fact that,
as regards shipping, the island is in a worse position for trade than it
was twenty years ago. Even as recently as 1902, the _Moresby_ was
calling every five weeks at Port Moresby, but now her route has been
changed, and she sails from Sydney to Singapore, calling at Port Moresby
only once every two and a half months. In the interval goods and mails
are carried in an erratic manner by a little steamer called the _Parua_,
by the _Merrie England_ (a Government survey boat), or by the _St.
Andrew_, the Sacred Heart Mission boat. Two small sailing vessels, it is
true, sail between Cook Town and Samarai, but this does not improve the
communication with Port Moresby, the seat of Government, as these
vessels make no call there. It is almost incredible that the second
largest island in the world—the “Pearl of the East,” probably the
richest region in proportion to its size that Great Britain has the
option of developing—is thus left hermit-like in the midst of the
eastern seas. It is the more surprising when it is remembered that New
Guinea lies directly on the trade route between Sydney and the great
commercial centres of China and Japan. We might have had a magnificent
coaling station on the east coast of the island, in the Dampier Strait,
but for the action of Lord Derby, when he permitted the Germans to
extend their possessions so as to occupy almost a quarter of the eastern
peninsula of the island. As matters stand now, a coaling station could
only be established at such a point on the south-eastern coast that
vessels coming and going from Sydney would have to double the south-east
cape, thus making an awkward and almost impossible détour in these days
when time is more than ever the essence of every shipping contract.
CHAPTER XVIII
_NOTES ON SOME BIRDS OF NEW GUINEA_
The Birds of Paradise—Remarkable Species observed—Native Names—
Play-Places—Curious Habits—The Bower-Bird: Artist, Architect, and
Gardener.
CHAPTER XVIII
NOTES ON SOME BIRDS OF NEW GUINEA
New Guinea is remarkable for its paucity of mammals and its richness in
birds. As we have already noted, at least 770 different species of birds
are known, and to these doubtless many more will be added as the
explorer ventures farther into the interior. The chief haunts of the
blue bird of paradise, the _Paradisornis Rudolphi_, are in Central
British New Guinea, at an altitude of from 4000 to 6000 feet. There are
about a dozen species of the bird of paradise, and at Mafulu we obtained
the following, of which I give, where possible, the native name:—
Lophorina atra Wagoda.
Epimachus magnus Yawvee.
Astrapia stephaniæ Beebee.
Parotia Lawsii Aliga.
Diphyllodis speciosa Kellolo.
Ptiloris magnifica ——
Besides these we found two species of bower-bird—
Amblyornis subalaris.
Laurea lori.
The limit of the king bird (_Cicinnurus Regius_) was at an elevation of
about 1500 feet. It has a brilliant crimson back, the throat crimson,
with a green band edged with another narrow band of crimson. The breast
is white, the beak blue, two big tail feathers curve gracefully
outwards, and end in spatulæ of brilliant green on the upper side. There
are also shortish plumes on each side ending in a band of green.
At Ekeikei and Dinawa, but chiefly at Dinawa, were the playgrounds of
the _Diphyllodis magnifica_. These were very remarkable. The bird
chooses a fairly clear space among saplings ten or fifteen feet high.
These it clears of leaves, and also the ground between, making all
beautifully clean and level. There it dances, leaping from tree to tree,
running along the ground for a little, and then taking to the branches
again. Every movement is extraordinarily rapid. If any leaves are thrown
into the enclosure the bird gets very angry, and flings them out again
immediately.
Sam told me that on the Kebea he had observed the play-place of the
_Parotia Lawsii_, which is even more singular. The bird digs a hole, at
least a foot in diameter, and over it places cross-sticks. Above these
again it strews leaves and other vegetable refuse, and on the top of
that it dances. Its playtime is the morning, but during the day it
haunts the tops of the highest trees, and is consequently very difficult
to come by.
I was fortunate enough to be able to observe one of the latest and most
wonderful discoveries among the birds of paradise, the _Paradisornis
Rudolphi_, familiarly known as the blue bird of paradise. It feeds on
the larvæ of beetles found in the umbrella head of the mountain
pandanus. This tree has adventitious roots which spring clear of the
ground to a height of sixty feet, and then throw out flag leaves in the
shape of an umbrella. From the umbrella top hang fine clusters of
scarlet fruit. The decomposition of the vegetable matter at the point
where the leaves stretch out gives refuge to the pupæ of beetles of many
diverse species, and these prove a great attraction to the blue bird of
paradise, who finds them excellent eating. The bird is about the size of
a jay, and is very gorgeous. The upper part of its wings is a sky blue;
the side plumes are in gradations of brilliant greenish blue and
ultramarine; when the plumes are spread there is also a band of brown
feathers. The head resembles that of the common crow, but is smaller.
From the upper part of the tail spring two elongated feathers with two
light-blue spatulæ at the tips. In the same pandanus tree lives also the
_Astrapia stephaniæ_, remarkable for its long tail, with two violet
feathers and a white shaft. The upper part of this bird’s breast is a
most brilliant green, with a band of copper below. In one light it
appears shaded with violet. The back of the head is violet with gold
iridescence. The whole length of the bird is 2 feet 6 inches.
Equally wonderful is the bower-bird, at once gardener, architect, and
artist. Not only does it build the most extraordinary nest known to
naturalists—a long, tunnel-like bower framed like a delicate Gothic
arch, but it actually lays out a garden. I have myself seen the
creature’s marvellous achievement. It has definite colour-sense, for it
picks the blossoms of orchids, and arranges them in alternate lines of
mauve and white. The whole impulse is, of course, the universal one of
love, for among its rows of flowers it dances to its mate. This was
probably the prettiest and most fascinating of all the sights provided
by nature in New Guinea, that land of surprises.
APPENDICES
APPENDIX I
NEW LEPIDOPTERA DISCOVERED DURING THE EXPEDITION
┌───────────────────────┬──────────────────────┬──────────────────────┐
│ SPECIES. │ PLACE. │ SEASON. │
├───────────────────────┼──────────────────────┼──────────────────────┤
│Dicalleneura ekeikei, │Ekeikei │March and April │
│ spec. nov. │ │ │
│Gunda kebea, spec. nov.│Mount Kebea │March to April │
│Pseudodreata strigata, │Dinawa │.... │
│ spec. nov. │ │ │
│Tarsolepis sommeri │Dinawa │.... │
│ dinawensis, sub-spec.│ │ │
│ nov. │ │ │
│Pseudogargetta diversa,│Dinawa │May and June │
│ spec. nov. │ │ │
│Osica turneri, spec. │Dinawa; Ekeikei │August and September; │
│ nov. │ │ January and February│
│Cascera bella, spec. │Dinawa and Mount │.... │
│ nov. │ Kebea; Ekeikei │ │
│Hirsutopalpis fasciata,│Ekeikei; Dinawa │January and February; │
│ spec. nov. │ │ August │
│Omichlis hampsoni, │Dinawa │May and June │
│ spec. nov. │ │ │
│Omichlis dinawa, spec. │Dinawa │September │
│ nov. │ │ │
│Omichlis ochracea, │Ekeikei and Mount │.... │
│ spec. nov. │ Kebea │ │
│Omichlis griseola, │Ekeikei │January and February │
│ spec. nov. │ │ │
│Omichlis pratti, spec. │Ekeikei │January and February │
│ nov. │ │ │
│Omichlis rufofasciata, │Mount Kebea │March or April │
│ spec. nov. │ │ │
│Stauropus viridissimus,│Dinawa; Ekeikei │March and April │
│ spec. nov. │ │ │
│Stauropus kebeæ, spec. │Mount Kebea │March and April │
│ nov. │ │ │
│Stauropus dubiosus, │Mount Kebea; Ekeikei │A series taken in │
│ spec. nov. │ │ March and April; │
│ │ │ January to March │
│Stauropus bella, spec. │Ekeikei │January and February │
│ nov. │ │ │
│Stauropus dinawa, spec.│Dinawa │.... │
│ nov. │ │ │
│Stauropus pratti, spec.│Ekeikei │.... │
│ nov. │ │ │
│Notodonta irrorati │Dinawa │May and June │
│ viridis, spec. nov. │ │ │
│Cerura multipunctata, │Dinawa │May and June │
│ spec. nov. │ │ │
│Thyatira dinawa │Dinawa │September │
│Thyatira ekeikei, spec.│Ekeikei │January and February │
│ nov. │ │ │
│Parazeuzera celæna, │Dinawa │August │
│ spec. nov. │ │ │
│Parazeuzera aurea, │Dinawa │September │
│ spec. nov. │ │ │
│Scopelodes dinawa, │Dinawa │August │
│ spec. nov. │ │ │
│Scopelodes nitens, │Dinawa │.... │
│ spec. nov. │ │ │
│Birthama dinawa, spec. │Dinawa │.... │
│ nov. │ │ │
│Contheyla pratti, spec.│Dinawa │August │
│ nov. │ │ │
│Contheyla ekeikei, │Ekeikei │March and April │
│ spec. nov. │ │ │
│Contheyla birthama, │Ekeikei │January and February │
│ spec. nov. │ │ │
│Dinawa rufa, spec. nov.│Dinawa │July and September │
│Dinawa nigricans, spec.│Dinawa │August and September │
│ nov. │ │ │
│Pygmæomorpha modesta, │Dinawa │August │
│ spec. nov. │ │ │
│Pygmseomorpha brunnea, │Dinawa │August │
│ spec. nov. │ │ │
│Lasiolimacos pratti, │Dinawa; Ekeikei │August and September; │
│ spec. nov. │ │ January and February│
│Lasiolimacos kenricki, │Dinawa │.... │
│ spec. nov. │ │ │
│Lasiolimacos │Ekeikei │January to February │
│ ferruginea, spec. │ │ │
│ nov. │ │ │
│Euproctis rubroradiata,│Dinawa │August and March │
│ spec. nov. │ │ │
│Euproctis pratti, spec.│Dinawa │August │
│ nov. │ │ │
│Euproctis irregularis, │Dinawa; Aroa River │September │
│ spec. nov. │ │ │
│Euproctis albociliata, │Ekeikei │January │
│ spec. nov. │ │ │
│Euproctis │Ekeikei; Mount Kebea │.... │
│ novaguinensis, spec. │ │ │
│ nov. │ │ │
│Euproctis sublutea, │Dinawa; Mount Kebea │June and July; March │
│ spec. nov. │ │ and April │
│Diversosexus bicolor, │Dinawa │.... │
│ spec. nov. │ │ │
│Anthela ekeikei, spec. │Ekeikei │.... │
│ nov. │ │ │
│Dasychira subnigra, │Dinawa │August │
│ spec. nov. │ │ │
│Dasychira │Dinawa │September │
│ subnigropunctata, │ │ │
│ spec. nov. │ │ │
│Dasychira brunnea, │Dinawa │August │
│ spec. nov. │ │ │
│Dasychira minor, spec. │Dinawa │August │
│ nov. │ │ │
│Dasychira kenricki │Dinawa │June to August │
│Dasychiroides obsoleta,│Owen Stanley range │.... │
│ spec. nov. │ │ │
│Dasychiroides │Dinawa and generally │.... │
│ nigrostrigata, spec. │ distributed │ │
│ nov. │ │ │
│Dasychiroides pratti, │Dinawa; Ekeikei │July and August; │
│ spec. nov. │ │ January and February│
│Dasychiroides bicolora,│Dinawa; Mount Kebea │ │
│ spec. nov. │ │ │
│Dasychiroides │Dinawa │.... │
│ brunneostrigata, │ │ │
│ spec. nov. │ │ │
│Lymantria ekeikei, │Ekeikei │January and February │
│ spec. nov. │ │ │
│Lymantria kebea, spec. │Mount Kebea │.... │
│ nov. │ │ │
│Imaus niveus, spec. │Ekeikei and Mount │March and April │
│ nov. │ Kebea │ │
│Imaus spodea, spec. │Dinawa; Ekeikei and │August; March and │
│ nov. │ Mount Kebea │ April │
│Imaus aroa, spec. nov │Aroa River │January │
│Nervicompressa │Dinawa │July to September │
│ unistrigata, spec. │ │ │
│ nov. │ │ │
│Nervicompressa lunulata│Dinawa │August │
│Nervicompressa │Dinawa │August │
│ albomaculata, spec. │ │ │
│ nov. │ │ │
│Nervicompressa dubia, │Dinawa │September │
│ spec. nov. │ │ │
│Nervicompressa kebea, │Kebea │March and April │
│ spec. nov. │ │ │
│Nervicompressa aroa, │Aroa River │..... │
│ spec. nov. │ │ │
│Lasiochra pulchra, │Dinawa │August and September │
│ spec. nov. │ │ │
│Squamosala │Dinawa │August │
│ nigrostigmata, spec. │ │ │
│ nov. │ │ │
│Taragama dinawa, spec. │Dinawa │Taken in May and June,│
│ nov. │ │ and again in August │
│ │ │ and September │
│Taragama rubiginea, │Dinawa │August │
│ spec. nov. │ │ │
│Taragama proserpina, │Dinawa │August │
│ spec. nov. │ │ │
│Arguda pratti, spec. │Ekeikei │January │
│ nov. │ │ │
│Isostigena bicellata, │Dinawa │Taken in May and again│
│ spec. nov. │ │ in August │
│Sporostigena uniformis,│Dinawa │..... │
│ spec. nov. │ │ │
│Odonestis │Dinawa │August │
│ centralistrigata, │ │ │
│ spec. nov. │ │ │
│Caviria dinawa, spec. │Dinawa │September │
│ nov. │ │ │
│Porthesia ekeikei, │Ekeikei │March to April │
│ spec. nov. │ │ │
│Euproctis swinhœi, │Mount Kebea │March to April │
│ spec. nov. │ │ │
│Euproctis virginea, │Ekeikei │January to April │
│ spec. nov. │ │ │
│Euproctis parallelaria,│Dinawa │August and September │
│ spec. nov. │ │ │
│Euproctis kebea, spec. │Mount Kebea │March │
│ nov. │ │ │
│Euproctis dinawa, spec.│Dinawa │..... │
│ nov. │ │ │
│Euproctis yulei, spec. │Dinawa │August │
│ nov. │ │ │
│Imaus pratti, spec. │Dinawa │August and September │
│ nov. │ │ │
│Deilemera kebea, spec. │Mount Kebea │March and April │
│ nov. │ │ │
│Deilemera dinawa, spec.│Dinawa │August and September │
│ nov. │ │ │
│Deilemera pratti, spec.│Owen Stanley range │September and March │
│ nov. │ │ and April │
│Mænas punctatostrigata,│Mount Kebea; Dinawa │August and March and │
│ spec. nov. │ │ April │
│Diacrisia pratti, spec.│Mount Kebea; Dinawa │March and April; │
│ nov. │ │ August │
│Diacrisia dinawa, spec.│Dinawa │August │
│ nov. │ │ │
│Diacrisia kebea, spec. │Kebea │March and April │
│ nov. │ │ │
│Celama fuscibasis, │Dinawa │August │
│ spec. nov. │ │ │
│Celama aroa, spec. nov.│Dinawa; Aroa River │January and February │
│Acatapaustus basifusca,│Dinawa │September and January │
│ spec. nov. │ │ │
│Acatapaustus ekeikei, │Ekeikei │March │
│ spec. nov. │ │ │
│Scoliacma hampsoni, │Dinawa │September │
│ spec. nov. │ │ │
│Nishada melanopa, spec.│Dinawa │June to July │
│ nov. │ │ │
│Acco bicolora, spec. │Dinawa │August and February │
│ nov. │ │ │
│Pseudilema dinawa, │Dinawa │August and September │
│ spec. nov. │ │ │
│Ilema ekeikei, spec. │Ekeikei │January and February │
│ nov. │ │ │
│Ilema dinawa, spec. │Dinawa │August and September │
│ nov. │ │ │
│Ilema costistrigata, │Ekeikei │August and September │
│ spec. nov. │ │ │
│Ilema unicolora, spec. │Dinawa │August │
│ nov. │ │ │
│Ilema hades, spec. nov.│Dinawa │.... │
│Ilema nivea, spec. nov.│Dinawa │September │
│Chrysæglia bipunctata, │Mount Kebea; type, │March and April; │
│ spec. nov. │ Dinawa │ August │
│Œonistis bicolora, │Dinawa │May to June │
│ spec. nov. │ │ │
│Macaduma bipunctata, │Dinawa, type; Ekeikei │August │
│ spec. nov. │ │ │
│Halone flavopunctata, │Dinawa │August │
│ spec. nov. │ │ │
│Chionæma dinawa, spec. │Dinawa │August │
│ nov. │ │ │
│Chionæma charybdis, │Dinawa │September │
│ spec. nov. │ │ │
│Cleolosia aroa, spec. │Dinawa │September │
│ nov. │ │ │
│Asura ochreomaculata, │Dinawa │August │
│ spec. nov. │ │ │
│Asura flaveola, spec. │Dinawa │September │
│ nov. │ │ │
│Asura brunneofasciata, │Dinawa │August and September │
│ spec. nov. │ │ │
│Asura unicolora, spec. │Dinawa │September │
│ nov. │ │ │
│Asura sagittaria, spec.│Dinawa │August │
│ nov. │ │ │
│Asura rosacea, spec. │Dinawa │August │
│ nov. │ │ │
│Asura dinawa, spec. │Dinawa │August │
│ nov. │ │ │
│Eugoa tricolora, spec. │Dinawa │August │
│ nov. │ │ │
│Eugoa conflua, spec. │Dinawa │August and September │
│ nov. │ │ │
│Amphoraceras │Dinawa │August │
│ rothschildi │ │ │
│Parabasis pratti, spec.│Dinawa │August │
│ nov. │ │ │
│Collusa ekeikei, spec. │Ekeikei; Mount Kebea │January and February; │
│ nov. │ │ March and April │
└───────────────────────┴──────────────────────┴──────────────────────┘
APPENDIX II
A NEW REPTILE FROM DINAWA
_Toxicocalamus Stanleyanus_
Rostral much broader than deep, just visible from above; internasals
nearly as long as the præfrontals, which are in contact with the second
upper labial and with the eye; frontal small, slightly broader than the
supraocular, once and three-fourths as long as broad, as long as its
distance from the end of the snout, a little shorter than the parietals;
one postocular; temporals, one plus two; five upper labials, second and
third entering the eye; three lower labials in contact with the anterior
chin-shields, which are larger than the posterior. Scales in fifteen
rows. Ventrals, 261; anal entire; subcaudals, twenty-five pairs; tail
ending in a compressed, obtusely pointed scute, which is obtusely keeled
above. Blackish-brown above; traces of a yellowish nuchal collar; upper
lip white; two outer rows of scales white, each scale with a blackish
central spot; ventrals and subcaudals white, with a black spot on each
side, some of the ventrals with an interrupted blackish border.
Total length, 610 millimetres; tail, 40.
APPENDIX III
A NEW FISH DISCOVERED BY THE EXPEDITION
_Rhiacichthys Novæ Guineæ_
Depth of body nearly equal to length of head, five to six times in total
length. Diameter of eye six or seven times in length of head,
interorbital width three times; snout but very slightly longer than
postocular part of head. Dorsals VII., I. 8–9; longest spine, ¾; longest
soft ray ⅘ length of head. Anal I. 8–9; longest ray as long as head.
Pectoral about 1½ length of head; ventral as long as head, or a little
longer. Caudal feebly emarginate. Caudal peduncle 2½ as long as deep.
Scales strongly ciliated, 37 to 39 in a longitudinal series on each
side, 14 or 16 round caudal peduncle. Dark olive above, whitish beneath.
Total length, 225 millimetres.
Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO.
Edinburgh & London
[Illustration: PART OF SOUTH-WESTERN NEW GUINEA Showing Mr. PRATT’S
Routes.]
------------------------------------------------------------------------
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES
1. Silently corrected obvious typographical errors and variations in
spelling.
2. Retained archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings as printed.
3. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.
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