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[Image: Map illustrating Author's route in New Guinea.]
TWO YEARS AMONG
THE
SAVAGES OF NEW GUINEA.
WITH INTRODUCTORY NOTES ON NORTH QUEENSLAND.
BY
W. D. PITCAIRN,
Fellow of the Royal Geographical Society and Associate
Member of the Manchester Geographical Society.
_With a Map._
LONDON:
WARD & DOWNEY
12, YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN, W.C.
1891.
[_All rights reserved._]
PRINTED BY
KELLY AND CO., GATE STREET, LINCOLN'S INN FIELDS,
AND KINGSTON-ON-THAMES.
TO MY FRIEND
OSCAR SOELBERG,
WITH WHOM I HAVE SPENT MANY HAPPY DAYS IN NEW GUINEA,
I DEDICATE THIS BOOK.
PREFACE.
As every Bill has a preamble, so, I suppose, every book should have a
preface. At any rate, such appears to be the universal custom, and I,
being of an orthodox turn of mind, am not going to depart from the
general rule. Some months ago I mentioned to an acquaintance of mine,
a gentleman of considerable literary attainments, that I purposed
writing a book on New Guinea, describing my experiences, etc. He
replied "Why, the subject is thrashed out, and writings on New Guinea
are overdone." I may state that, as the said gentleman had never been
in that country, I was not biassed by his opinion.
Had he said that the few writers on New Guinea were thrashed out, he
would have been nearer to the mark, as the subject of a country so
vast, and the civilised settlement of which is in its infancy, will not
be thrashed out for many years to come. We do not all wear the same
pair of spectacles. I have endeavoured to describe places and people as
they appeared to me. Whether the results as set forth in this work
will be found satisfactory or otherwise must be decided by its readers.
W. D. PITCAIRN.
The Vicarage, Eccles, June, 1890.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
INTRODUCTION.
NORTH QUEENSLAND.
Cooktown--Landing of Capt. Cook--North Shore--Native Fights--Decline
of the Race--Endeavour River--Bush Scenery--Birth of Township--Palmer
Goldfield--Frank Stubley--Mount Morgan--The Tin Fields--Sugar
Cultivation--Bloomfield River--Deserted in the Bush--A Fishing
Excursion 1
NEW GUINEA.
CHAPTER I.
THE VOYAGE.
Schooner _Spitfire_--Last Adieus--The Start--The Great Barrier--
Osprey Reef--Wreck of the S.S. _Papua_--"Taking the Sun"--
Somnambulism on the High Seas--Breakers Ahead--Land in Sight--
Brumer Islands--A Dead Calm--H.M.S. _Harrier_--Heath Island--
Natives Come on Board--China Straits--At Anchor 27
CHAPTER II.
THE GOVERNMENT.
British Policy--Death of Sir Peter Scratchley--Hon. John
Douglas--Discovery of Gold--Samarai--Native Policy of the
Government--China Straits--A Marine Villa--Native Intelligence 40
CHAPTER III.
NATIVE CUSTOMS.
Types--Origin--Religion--Mourning--Marriage--Treatment of
Women--Children--Dress--Villages--Land Tenure--Food--Language
--Musical Instruments--Native Manufactures 57
CHAPTER IV.
A STORMY TRIP.
Christmas at Samarai--Ah Gim--Expedition to Wari--A Series of
Mishaps--The Island of Wari--Chewing Betel-Nut--Smoking--Canoe
Trading 72
CHAPTER V.
A GOLDEN PROSPECT.
Arrival of _Juanita_--Origin of Gold Discovery--Fight Between
Wagga-Wagga and Tube-Tube Natives--Weapons--Return of _Juanita_
--Trip to Sud-Est--Sud-Est--Head Hunting--Schooner _Hygeia_
left for Rossel Island--Cannibalism 88
CHAPTER VI.
VOYAGE TO BISMARCK ARCHIPELAGO.
Return of _Seagull_ from Sud-Est--Capt. Ancell Killed--Native
Treachery--_Hygeia_ arrived China Straits--Left for East
Cape--Strange Looking Natives at Bentley Bay--Egum (Woodlarks)--
Tokaiakus the Dwarf--Trobriand Group--Met Cutter _Albatross_
--Trade with Natives--I go on Shore--Jurien Island--Waterspout, St.
George's Channel--Arrival at Mioko, Duke of York Islands 111
CHAPTER VII.
BISMARCK ARCHIPELAGO.
Mioko--Mr. H----'s Hospitality--Boat Race--Ralume, New Britain--
Mrs. F----'s Plantation--Native Markets in Blanche Bay--Mud
Throwing--Volcano--Picnic to Pigeon Island--Samoan Dance 151
CHAPTER VIII.
RETURN VOYAGE.
Left Ralume--St. George's Channel--Fate of Charles Hunstein--
Marquis de Ray's Expedition--Head Winds--Shot a Shark--Pilot
Fish--Lost two Buckets Overboard--Arrived Egum--Landed Dwarf--
Obtained large Turtle--Painted Boat--Arrived China Straits--
Christmas Eve 1888. 186
CHAPTER IX.
THE "TRIAL."
Diggers Sick with Fever--The Supreme Court--Reported Murder of S.
and W., Ferguson Island--Went in _Alice Meade_ to Rescue--Report
Untrue--Schooner _Myrtle_ dismasted--Went in _Juanita_ to
her assistance--Dawson Island--Brought _Myrtle_ into Port--Tide
Rips--Arrival of _Seagull_--Coffee Plantation on Mainland 203
CHAPTER X.
SOUTH COAST.
I Visit Aroma--Chief Koepina--Village of Hula--Port Moresby--Ascent
of Mount Owen Stanley--Sir William MacGregor--Murder of Two White
Men at Cloudy Bay 235
CHAPTER XI.
CONCLUSION.
Coastal Formation--Animals &c.--Climate--Population--Products,
Present and Future--Native Labour 263
APPENDIX.
Vocabulary of Language 283
TWO YEARS AMONG
THE
SAVAGES OF NEW GUINEA.
INTRODUCTION.
NORTH QUEENSLAND.
About seven years ago, when living in South Queensland, I happened to
come across a small book on New Guinea, which I devoured with great
appetite; so much so that I determined, some time or another, to visit
that little-known country, with its interesting savage inhabitants.
Two years afterwards I found my way up to Cooktown, North Queensland,
which is situated immediately opposite the shores of New Guinea.
I remained in the Cook district for two years, previous to embarking
for the home of the Papuans.
Before taking the reader over with me, let me introduce him to
Cooktown, which is a fair type of a Northern Colonial Township.
Cooktown is situated on the Endeavour River in lat. 15 deg. 30' south, and
long. 145 deg. east.
It derives its name from the immortal Captain Cook, who visited the
site on which it stands in or about the year 1770, and beached his
vessel, named the _Endeavour_, on the north shore, which is on the
opposite side of the harbour to the town.
The vessel had sprung a leak, so Captain Cook chose a suitable spot
where there was little surf, in order to make the necessary repairs.
How different was its appearance from that of the present time. Then,
everything was in its primeval state. Crowds of savages lined the
north shore, and interfered with Captain Cook's men in their work. The
sailors had often to keep them back by force of arms.
Even at the present day, blacks are living there, but their numbers are
sadly reduced.
Occasionally the monotony of their existence is varied by fights with
the Normanby River blacks, who are more warlike and numerous, and who
periodically make raids on them. Spears are then to be seen flying in
all directions, and after several days' severe fighting, in which one
or two are killed, and maybe one or two wounded, peace is once more
restored, and the belligerent party returns to its river haunts.
The blacks of North Queensland are, without exception, the lowest type
of humanity on the face of the earth.
They are almost on a level with the brute creation. They are naturally
very lazy, and it is only the pangs of hunger that induce them to make
any exertion to procure food.
They are treacherous in the extreme; their principal occupation appears
to consist in spearing the white man's cattle, and, when possible, the
white man himself.
They are as dangerous as snakes in the grass, and, like them, should be
trodden under foot.
They practise no cultivation of the soil, and are even too lazy to
build houses to shelter them from the winds and heavy rains.
They just throw two or three branches of trees together, and crawl
underneath.
Like the pestilential fever before the advance of settlement and
civilization, they have to retire. They are fast approaching
extinction, and in a century hence, one of the race will be an admired
curiosity, if his existence is not already a memory.
The Endeavour is a tortuous river, and navigable for vessels of three
or four feet draught for over 20 miles, after which it becomes a
narrow, shallow stream.
The banks are lined with mangrove trees; beyond is a beautiful scrub,
backed by mountains, with the Pacific Ocean glistening in the distance.
It is a pretty river. Every few miles you come upon a settler's
homestead smiling with cultivated fields and orchards, where all kinds
of tropical fruits are grown, such as the mangot, granddilla, banana,
pine-apple, lemons, oranges, pomegranates, paw-paws, etc. Small herds
of cattle are to be seen grazing in the bush, and there is the lovely
tropical bush itself, with its variegated colours, whose silence is
broken only by the mournful cry of the curlew or the peculiar weird
note of the mopawk.
When sunset approaches, the beauty and tranquillity of the scene are
enhanced by the exquisite tints thrown on mountain, scrub and sea.
There is no twilight here. It is dark immediately after the sun has
set, so there is little time to drink in the glories of the departing
day.
To a stranger, the township has a peculiar appearance. It consists
mainly of one long straggling street, viz., Charlotte Street, and all
the houses are wooden, with roofs of corrugated iron. This, to my
mind, gives to the buildings a very ugly appearance, to say nothing of
the great heat engendered thereby. The shops, or "stores" as they are
called, are tumble-down poky affairs. The principal and best buildings
are the hotels and public-houses, of which there are many--about one to
every 100 inhabitants.
The town has a municipality and Mayor, who is elected once a year.
There is a police magistrate, who presides at the court, and who is
generally looked upon as the leading man of the place, a police
inspector and the usual Government officials, C. P. S., land agent,
etc.
There are good wharves, under the control of the municipality, also a
very good harbour; the channel is well-marked by buoys and two leading
lights, as there are many sandbanks, and occasionally the sand silts up
in the channel, but a few months' dredging soon puts things to rights.
Vessels drawing 16 feet, moor alongside the wharves, and as Cooktown is
the principal port of call for the north, and for English and China
mail steamers, the shipping is of considerable importance; in fact,
take the shipping away from the place, and little remains.
The town came into existence in 1873, only 17 years ago, and so short a
life explains its present condition.
Large gold discoveries were made in the Palmer district, about 150
miles up country, to which flocked thousands of miners, and from which
millions of ounces of gold were extracted.
This gave birth to Cooktown, as it was the nearest port to the
diggings.
At that time there were only two or three tents in the place, but the
Palmer diggings soon altered this state of affairs.
Wooden and iron buildings were hastily thrown up, teams of bullocks and
pack-horses were all day long leaving for the Palmer district with
heavy loadings of provisions, etc.
The rates of carriage were enormous, as much as L30 a ton being
charged.
At times flour was dearer than gold.
This great activity and bustle gave to the town a tremendous impetus,
the effects of which are still visible.
The Palmer diggings are now deserted, as they are said to be
unworkable.
Of course many made their fortunes at the time of the great rush, and
many likewise spent a fortune. Naturally, as in all great gold-fields,
numbers were disappointed, lost what little they had, were
unsuccessful, and left the place disgusted, swearing they would never
attempt digging again.
Talking of the vicissitudes of gold-digging, reminds me of the strange
career of Frank Stubley, whom I met in Queensland.
He was one of fortune's favourites. He was a hardworking miner in a
gold claim at Gympie, one of the most permanent reefing fields in
Queensland. He was working on wages, receiving about L3 10_s._ per
week, that being the usual rate of pay. He saved a few pounds and
invested them in a small interest in the claim in which he worked, and
in one or two adjoining. Fortune smiled on him. Everything he put into
turned out trumps. His shares rose tremendously in value, and in a
short time he developed from a working man into one of the wealthiest
capitalists of the colony.
He, by pure luck, found himself possessed of the immense sum of a
quarter of a million pounds sterling.
This, judiciously invested in Australia, meant an income of L20,000 per
annum for life.
What did he do with his wealth? Did he invest it judiciously? Nothing
of the kind. He determined to become a large landed proprietor, bought
two or three great estates, turned squatter, and purchased a number of
race-horses. He invited all his friends and old mates to champagne
suppers, took unto himself a wife of extravagant habits, who was a
great help to him in spending money, went before the electors of the
district as a candidate for parliamentary honours, and was returned as
member by an overwhelming majority. He took his seat in the house of
representatives at Brisbane, where, of course, his expenses were still
further increased. Everything for a time went merrily as a marriage
bell, but the day of reckoning was drawing near, and in the short
period of four years he had wasted his substance.
His land, race-horses, etc., were sold to pay his debts, and, from a
large capitalist, he once more became a working man.
Some friends subscribed sufficient funds to carry him to the Croydon
gold-field, which had recently "broken out" (1885).
There he determined once more to woo the fickle goddess of Fortune and,
with his proverbial good luck, retrieve his lost fortunes. But fate
decreed otherwise. I saw him on the day he left Cooktown by steamer
for Normanton, _en route_ to Croydon, wished him good-bye and good
luck.
He arrived safely in Normanton, stayed there a couple of days, and with
two or three of his mates started on the tramp to Croydon, 100 miles
distant.
Poor Frank Stubley, however, never reached his destination, as, before
he got half-way, he suddenly dropped down dead on the road, partly from
the terrible heat of the sun and partly, no doubt, from drinking too
heavily in Normanton.
Such was the sad end of a man who, owing to his many sterling
qualities, was a general favourite. To him good fortune proved a curse
instead of a blessing. "_Requiescat in Pace._"
The production of gold in Queensland during the last five years has
been greater than ever. This is owing partly to the discovery of new
rich fields, partly to the better working of old ones, to which
machinery has been applied, as, from the extension of railways, the
rates of carriage have been considerably reduced.
The Croydon Gold Field "broke out" in 1885, and from all appearances is
likely to prove permanent.
By far the most important mine yet discovered in Australia is the
celebrated Mount Morgan, a few miles from Rockhampton.
It might well be called the mountain of gold. It is the richest gold
mine in Australasia, and its resources are unlimited. It derives its
name from the original discoverer, Mr. William Morgan of Rockhampton.
It would not be out of place here to give a short account of its
origin.
A few years ago Mr. Morgan, a prospector, who was roaming over the
country in search of minerals, happened to be travelling through a
small selection of 640 acres owned by a workingman, who just managed to
eke out a living on it, the land being very poor. The selector, an
uneducated man and ignorant of geology, was busy carting stone in his
wheelbarrow. Mr. Morgan, being of an observant nature, took up one or
two pieces of it, examined them, and asked the owner where he had
obtained them, and of what use the stuff was. He pointed out to him a
hill where there were tons of the same material, and told him he was
building a fence with it. After a few more inquiries, Mr. Morgan went
on his way, taking with him a few specimens of the stone, which he sent
for assay, and shortly afterwards wrote to the selector asking him what
he would take for his property. He was only too glad to get rid of it,
worthless as the land seemed.
So the upshot of it was that Mr. Morgan bought the holding for about
L600. Had this man been an intelligent mineralogist he would not have
parted with it for L60,000, as the sequel will prove. The stone, which
he thought only fit for building walls, was very rich quartz. The hill,
or mountain, was in fact a golden one.
The transfer was duly made, and Mr. Hall, the manager of the Queensland
National Bank, Rockhampton, advanced the money required to carry on the
mining works, in consideration of a share or interest, and at the
present time both he and Mr. Morgan, together with several others
interested, are millionaires. The mine is practically inexhaustible and
the output returns are enormous. The further down they go, the richer
the ore proves. The mine is now worked by a large and powerful company,
the value of each L1 share being about L10. Whether Mr. Morgan and his
partners made the poor selector a handsome present I cannot say, but I
believe they did, if not they ought to have done so. Of course such a
rich prize provoked litigation, but Morgan's claim was too strong to be
overthrown. The total value of the mine may be stated at L10,000,000.
It is without doubt the most extraordinary mine in all Australasia.
The country for miles round Cooktown is stanniferous. From the Annan
River, four miles beyond Cooktown, as far as Herberton, the strata
are continuous, with breaks here and there. The principal tin claims
are at Mount Romeo and the Tableland, some 40 miles distant, and also
in the Bloomfield. About three years ago I visited several of the
claims at Mount Romeo, many of which were doing very well, turning
out several tons a week. The tin assayed from 70 to 75 per cent. of
pure ore, and at that time was worth about 18_s._ a unit. The
standard is 70 per cent., and for every unit above 70 per cent. the
value is threehalfpence per unit more, that is to say, the price of the
standard being 18_s._ per unit, if it assays 71 per cent. it is worth
18_s._ 1-1/2_d._ per unit, and so on. Some time after, owing to a
syndicate in Paris having monopolized the supply and obtained control
of the market, tin rose to an abnormal value. Whilst this fictitious
value held, the tin miners made a little fortune, but suddenly the
syndicate burst, tin dropped 50 per cent., and many were ruined. By
degrees, however, it regained its normal value or thereabouts, and at
the present time, with slight fluctuations, it stands at about L90 per
ton of pure ore. The supply, too, of late (within the Cook district at
least) has fallen considerably, though to make up for this several new
lodes have been discovered and, if systematically worked, will no doubt
turn out satisfactory to the promoters. Herberton is the principal
tin-mining centre in Queensland, as it has many permanent lodes,
whereas in the Cook district the claims are for the most part alluvial.
A rich tin claim is quite as valuable as a rich gold claim. The "stream
tin" is found in the beds or banks of streams or creeks, at a depth
varying from a few inches to several feet. Box drains are placed in the
creek, and the dirt is placed in them. A good sluice of water is
constantly brought to bear on it, and a fork or spade is continually at
work stamping it, to get rid of the loose stones and dirt. The heavy
matter of course remains at the bottom of the sluice box, and is
afterwards cleaned and put through two sieves and dried in the sun. It
is then put in sacks, after which it is packed in flour bags ready for
the packer and his mules to take away to the port of Cooktown, whence
it is shipped by steamer to Sydney for sale. Of course a great quantity
is sold on the field to the merchants and storekeepers of the town,
who, in some instances, send their own teams of pack-horses to cart it
away. They also supply the miners with provisions and all requisites,
such as tools, and by their stores, erected on the field, often make a
rattling good thing out of the tin-miner. The latter is proverbially a
hard worker, and when he has made "a big cheque" he goes into town with
his mates for a spell, and spends it "like a man," which means that he
never sees daylight until all his hard-won earnings are in the till of
the publican. He then returns to his claim a poorer, but seldom a
wiser, man, as he will, in all probability, repeat the debauch a few
months afterwards. It is no use talking to him about the virtue of
thrift, and the follies of a spendthrift, as it is his idea of "life,"
and he would enjoy no other. He prefers to live modestly, and work hard
for six months, and then to come into town and live at the rate of
L1,000 a year for a fortnight. "_Chacun a son gout._" It pleases
him and hurts no one else, so why carp at him? Take him as a whole, he
is a genial, good-hearted man, hail fellow, well met, rough in
exterior, but true at heart. Though he knows how to swear and to drink,
he is free from mean vices, and we must remember that he has never
known refinement of manners or thought. I like his rough ways and his
honest character, and I take him just as he is, with all his faults,
which in many instances are but the cloak of hidden virtues.
* * * * *
Sugar growing has always been an important industry in Queensland, and
was most profitable, but if the Government carry out their present
intention of prohibiting the importation of Kanaka labour, the above
industry will be crushed, and the immense capital sunk in mills and
machinery will be irretrievably lost. In North Queensland the climate
is very hot, and it is impossible for white men to work in the fields,
cutting the cane, also the high rate of wages that would have to be
paid them would take away most of the planter's profits. It must be
borne in mind that the capital necessary to erect a sugar mill and
plant, and to work a plantation properly, is very great, and naturally
the planters expect to receive a fair return for their enormous outlay.
Taking these facts into consideration, I consider the policy of the
Government in prohibiting black labour to be suicidal and foolish. In
the Cook District there are only two sugar plantations, the Weary Bay
Company's and Messrs. Hislops' of Wyalla, both in the Bloomfield
District. The Weary Bay has turned out some very high-class sugar, but
has been unfortunate in its management. Twelve months ago it was
closed, owing to some financial difficulty, but I heard that it was
intended to work it again. The scenery on the Bloomfield River is
superb. It is thoroughly tropical. Dense scrubs reach close to the
bank's edge, and the bush is filled with the most beautiful orchids,
which, when in full flower, is a sight never to be forgotten. The
ferns, too, are many, and of varied species, and the clearings are
covered with the succulent cane, and circling the plain stand
precipitous mountains, notably Stuckey's Gap; whilst from a gentle rise
can be seen, over the tops of the dense scrub, the broad and undulating
bosom of the Pacific Ocean. These scrubs are rather dangerous in wet
weather, as then the numerous creeks become flooded and are unfordable,
and sometimes the traveller is unwillingly made a prisoner, or has to
run the risk of crossing a swollen stream. Another danger is that of
getting lost in the bush, which is a very simple matter, but a very
difficult one to get out of. Many a good bushman even has been lost in
the trackless forest, where his bones have suggested a terrible story
of death by hunger or thirst. The bush has, indeed, furnished many a
sad tale of woe. In some instances men have gone mad from despair,
having given up all hope of extricating themselves from the trap.
Some years ago a great friend of mine, Bob S----n, went through some
terrible experiences. He was a thoroughly experienced bushman and a
well-educated man, and to listen to his thrilling yarns of peril and
adventure by sea and by land was a never-ending source of pleasure. Of
all the good fellows I have ever met, he was, without doubt, one of the
most entertaining and pleasant of companions. The particular story to
be related is this. He started with a small party of men, equipped with
tents and all the necessary supplies of provisions, which were carried
on pack-horses, on an expedition for the purpose of finding new country
that would be suitable for carrying stock, _i.e._ cattle. They
travelled about 400 miles west from Cooktown, pitched their camp and
were fortunate in finding some good-looking country. Bob S----n went
some distance away from the camp, and on returning in the evening, to
his great astonishment found his friends had struck their tents and
left. He now realized that he was deserted 400 miles from civilization,
alone in the pathless bush, the home of wild and treacherous blacks,
with nothing to protect him but a revolver, and without a morsel of
food.
Fortunately he was an experienced bushman, and a plucky fellow to boot,
or he would never have survived the awful ordeal. There was nothing
else for it but to face the inevitable, so he started on his weary
journey, often suffering the fearful pangs of hunger. Now and then he
managed to get a few berries to eat, and water to drink, and so day
after day, weak from privation, without a covering at night, save the
trees overhead, he wearily jogged along. One morning at sunrise as he
was descending a rise, to his dismay, about 50 yards beneath him, he
saw a large camp of blacks. One of them had just risen, and was
stretching himself immediately facing him. The black fellow was equally
taken aback, but before he could recover from his surprise, Bob S----n,
with two or three piercing shouts, rushed into the camp, firing his
revolver. The blacks, evidently thinking that there was a large force
behind, took to ignominious flight across the river. This plucky
conduct saved him.
Some more days' suffering, and, on the eleventh day out, he sank to the
ground faint and exhausted, unable to move. He was, although he knew it
not, within a short distance of a cattle station, where, luckily, one
of the stockmen, who was out riding, stumbled across him, brought him
to the homestead, where he received every care and attention, and
eventually quite recovered his health and strength.
Had he not been a strong and hardy man he would assuredly have
perished.
* * * * *
On one occasion I, together with five others, left the port of
Cooktown in a small cutter at midnight, for the purpose of fishing at
D Reef. The night was fine, a fresh breeze had sprung up, and the
boat sped merrily on her way. Three of the party, however, succumbed
to seasickness, which interfered greatly with the sport, and after
remaining at anchor for some time without enticing any fish to leave
their native element, we hoisted sail and ran for the harbour, about
eight miles distant, to the great relief of the sick mariners. We
then went for a cruise up the Endeavour River, landing on the right
hand bank. The boat here grounded, and, as it would be impossible to
get her off until the evening tide, I and two others of the party
determined to leave the boat and work our way through the mangroves
to St. Patrick's Creek, where we could hail a boat to ferry us across
and take us on to Cooktown. But "_L'homme propose et le Dieu
dispose_" was exemplified in this instance. We started without food
or water, taking a single-barrelled gun in the event of meeting with
any hostile or hungry natives. The fateful start was made at 1 p.m.,
and after tearing through the dense and sickly mangroves for some
miles, with a burning sun overhead, and the miasma rising from the
ground beneath, it was found impossible to break the barrier of
mangroves which stood in front of us like a wall. After bruising our
heads against the cruel trees, we retraced our steps, and after going
some distance one of us ascended a tree to take bearings, when crash,
crash, down came the tree with its living burden, who received a severe
shaking, but was not much the worse for his mishap. After some more of
this delightful travelling, with our hands and feet cut and bruised,
and darkness beginning to creep round the horizon, we turned our backs
on the fetid spot, and were fortunate in coming out upon a plain or
flat, covered with grass and timber. Following this up we reached the
river bank. Our thirst was burning. There was "water, water everywhere,
but not a drop to drink." It was quite salt. There was nothing else for
it, but to lie down on the grass and resign ourselves to our fate. The
night was clear and cool, the heavens above studded with countless
stars, and a light breeze played in the trees. Occasionally might be
heard the splash of an alligator as he glided from his slimy bed into
the cold and gruesome river.
The river at this point is full of these saurian monsters, seeking whom
they may devour. We did not light a fire, fearing lest the blacks, who
favour this camp, might pay us an evening call, as on these occasions
they are apt to be rather brusque in their manners. However, we boasted
one gun. There is always a day as well as a night, so at last dawn
appeared, looking with astonishment at the three recumbent figures on
the grass, as if wondering what on earth had brought us to this lonely
place. After breakfast, consisting of salt water and grass, we followed
the river up for a couple of miles thinking we should obtain fresh
water, but were doomed to disappointment. It was quite brackish.
Returning to our camp, with our thirst now raging, we held a
consultation, the result of which was that we decided to construct a
raft, capable of holding the three of us, on which we could drift down
the river, and effect a landing on the opposite bank, where a settler
named A---- lived. We had no appliances, so had to make the best shift
we could. We humped some big logs, which we found on the flat, to the
water's edge, placing them crosswise and lashing them together with our
shirts and handkerchiefs torn into strips, and when finished the raft
would only support one. D---- then bravely volunteered to navigate
this craft down the river to A----'s, although, as I said before, the
river here swarmed with alligators. We launched her a little after
noon, wishing our comrade _bon voyage_. Some hours afterwards we
heard a shot fired in the scrub some distance off, which we returned,
and after numerous interchanges of shots, a sergeant of police, with a
couple of black trackers, appeared on the scene, armed with a bottle of
brandy in one hand, and a bottle of water in the other. We hastily
emptied the contents of the latter, and did not neglect the former. We
then accompanied the police through the mangroves, to the creek where
they had moored their boat, and started for home. Our plucky mate had
already reached his destination in safety, having had to walk barefoot
six miles into town, had got a boat, and gone up the river to rescue
us. We went up the river to overtake him if possible, and eventually we
all met together at A----'s, where our jaded frames were regaled with a
substantial supper, after which we steered for home, reaching town a
little after 10 p.m., to the delight of our friends, lovers and
acquaintances. I will conclude by saying that it will be some time
before I again attempt to navigate my way through mangrove swamps,
unless well provided with the necessaries of life.
CHAPTER I.
THE VOYAGE.
In the year 1887, two months after the adventure spoken of in the
previous pages, hearing that Captain Matheson was in port, and that he
intended sailing for New Guinea in a few days, I went on board his
schooner; and knowing him to be an able seaman and a jolly good fellow,
I decided to go with him in his vessel, the _Spitfire_. The _Spitfire_
is a strongly built "fore and aft" schooner of 35 tons net register.
Besides this he had two small vessels, a cutter and a lugger, the
former in charge of a South Sea Islander, and the latter in charge of a
Queensland black. These comprised the entire fleet. The crew of the
schooner was made up of the captain, the mate (a white man), a South
Sea Islander, who acted as quartermaster, a cook (also a white man),
about 20 Queensland blacks, including three women, and myself, the
solitary passenger.
I put my traps--which were not many, as, like the Romans, I prefer to
travel free of "impedimenta"--on board, as I expected to make a start
on the following day. There was some delay, owing to the Customs
authorities, so we had to remain another day in port. I occupied my
spare time in bidding good-bye to many of my friends and comrades, and
they took leave of me as if they would never see me in the flesh again,
as so many had lately lost the number of their mess in New Guinea. At
last, to my great relief, the partings were over, for saying good-bye
in Northern Queensland is a very serious affair, as everyone is bent on
drinking your health, so with a slight headache, in company with the
skipper, I stepped into the dinghy which was in waiting for us at No. 1
wharf. We were rapidly rowed by two of the crew to the schooner, which
was moored to the buoy off the Pilot Jetty, anxiously waiting to slip
her cable.
Everything was made ready for a start, the "fore and aft" sails
hoisted, when Mr. W----, a friend of mine, and the chief officer of
Customs, boarded us, had a parting glass, wished us a safe voyage, and
then left for the shore. Soon after their departure, a breeze having
sprung up, the order was given to hoist the head sails, we cast off our
moorings, took a last look at the town where I had spent many a happy
day, and commenced our voyage to the land of cannibals and savages.
The clouds were dark and lowering, Mount Cook looked angry, and
everything presaged a blow. The wind was dead ahead, but the expected
blow did not come off. We were not long rounding Cape Bedford, twelve
miles to the N.E., but, as the day was well advanced, we knew that with
the present wind we should be unable to get through the great Barrier
before dark. We therefore determined to anchor at a sandbank, for to
attempt to make the passage through the "Lark" opening in the dark
would be the height of madness, as the passage is very narrow, and from
the sandbank to the Barrier is one mass of coral reefs. We managed to
reach our anchorage by sundown, and enjoyed what sailors call a
"Farmer's" night. We had no work to do, as our two small craft were
safe at anchor close to us. We spent the evening at a quiet game of
cards (there being just four of us, the skipper, mate, cook and I) and
in spinning yarns. Then, after a nightcap of rum, we turned into our
bunks until daylight should appear. The captain, a Scotchman, was one
of the most generous-hearted, upright men that I have ever come across,
and every inch a sailor. The mate, too, was a first-rate fellow, and
had been to New Guinea on a fishing cruise some years before; the cook,
who hailed from the land of the shamrock, was full of fun, and an
excellent comic singer, but a little too fond of the rum bottle; whilst
I had the distinction of being the only passenger. Captain Matheson had
already made a trip to New Guinea.
On this occasion he left his mate with some of the crew--blacks of
Queensland--on an island, to superintend the curing of fish
(Beche-de-mer) and went to an island further away. On his return he
found that his mate had been cruelly murdered that very day, only a few
hours previous to his arrival. He immediately went ashore, surrounded
the men, and with some difficulty captured four of the ringleaders and
brought them in his schooner to Cooktown, where they were afterwards
tried and, I regret to say, discharged, notwithstanding that one of
them openly declared that he had killed the murdered man.
We were upon deck at daylight, weighed anchor, and steered our course
for the Barrier. After a good deal of tacking, the wind being still
ahead, we entered the "Lark" passage, and after beating about for
several hours, just managed to clear it before dark, otherwise we
should have been obliged to "'bout" ship and anchor inside for the
night.
The Great Queensland Barrier Reef is a wonderful sight. It extends for
several hundred miles, with narrow openings here and there, and at low
tide the upper part of it is quite bare.
From the deck of a vessel, with the sun shining on it the white coral
sparkles like crystal, and you cannot but marvel at the wonderful
industry and workmanship of the countless millions of insects that have
built up this gigantic sea-wall. Numerous vessels come here for the
purpose of obtaining the valuable Beche-de-mer, whose habitat is on
this Barrier. We were now properly out at sea, as we had entered the
Pacific Ocean, with its long sweeping roll. The sea was not very rough,
but being the first night out I felt a little qualmish. It soon passed
away, however, and I settled down to a life on the ocean wave.
We made good way, steering a direct course for the S.E. end of the
Osprey Reef, which lies in mid-ocean, about 80 miles from the Barrier.
It is 15 miles long, and woe betide the vessel that is stranded there,
as she would speedily break up. It is a most dangerous reef, and not
very well surveyed. In the year 1886, the steamer _Papua_, belonging to
the German New Guinea Company, and laden with a heavy cargo, ran foul
of it on the N.E. end, and soon became a total wreck, but all the crew
managed to escape in the whale boats, nothing being saved except a few
compasses.
The next day, owing to the wind being unfavourable, our run was a very
poor one. We took the sun at 8 a.m., and at 12 noon, when I spent some
of my time in trying to work out our position. I covered several sheets
of foolscap with figures, but even then I did not come out right. What
with cards, spinning yarns, and taking a turn at steering, the time
passed rapidly away, and ere I was aware of it, supper was announced.
The weather being very mild, for we were getting into warmer latitudes,
we had all our meals on deck. Having finished supper, comprising the
inevitable dry hash, we filled our pipes, and under the soothing
influence of a tropical night, free from all care and trouble, lent
ourselves to the enjoyment of the hour. There is nothing to my mind
more intoxicating than being on a well-found vessel, with a spanking
breeze, surrounded by the boundless ocean, and enjoying the
companionship of jovial fellows. I turned into my bunk after the
customary nightcap of rum, and soon fell asleep. "To sleep, perchance
to dream." Dream I did, and the dream with its attendant circumstances
was one of the most curious coincidences that has ever happened to me.
I dreamt that I was on the top of a high cliff. I had an album with me,
which I threw over the cliff to the ground beneath. I tried to find a
good way to descend, and at one part I noticed a rudely-constructed
ladder attached to the top of the cliff, and reaching nearly to the
ground. I stepped on to the ladder, intending to descend, but, not
liking the look of it, stepped back, walked a short distance along the
cliff, when my dream came to an abrupt end. I still slept on, not
awaking until 7 a.m., in time for my cup of coffee. The dream was
vivid, and in the morning the impression of it was as clear as on the
night before.
Now for the coincidence.
I afterwards learned that at 2 a.m., still asleep, I had risen from my
bunk, gone up on deck, strode over a seaman's chest, and walked along
the deck until I reached the ratlins, then stepped on to them and was
about to jump into the sea. Something or other stopped me, I then
walked along the deck the same way I had come, stepped down to the
cabin and lay down on my bunk. The captain, who slept on deck, noticed
me coming up, but never thought for a moment that I was asleep, or he
would have followed me. I have never practised somnambulism before or
since. It is very strange, but not the less true, that anyone walking
in his sleep seldom comes to harm. How is this I wonder? We had a good
laugh over my adventure, which I put down to the rum and a disordered
stomach.
The following night, about 10 p.m., the moon shining bright, we
calculated that we ought to be somewhere near the Osprey Reef, when
suddenly the mate, who was forward, sung out, "Breakers ahead!" It is
anything but a welcome cry. The captain, fearing that we might be out
of our course and dangerously near the dreaded Osprey, flew to the
tiller, quickly put the helm hard down, and put the ship about. It
turned out to be an hallucination. The moon shining on the sea gave it
the appearance of broken water. The scare was soon over, and we went on
our way rejoicing. We did not sight the Osprey Reef, but must have
passed about 10 miles to windward of it. We had several days' calms,
the sun burning like fire. It was almost impossible to find a shady
spot. Down below it was very close, and upon deck very hot. We had a
succession of head winds, which greatly retarded our progress. So the
days went by until, on the morning of the ninth day out, we sighted the
shores of New Guinea. We were 40 miles from Orangerie Bay, with its
mountains of Alpine height towering away in the distance. What a relief
to sight land after tossing for days on the ocean! By evening we were
within a stone's throw of the mainland. The coast here is most
interesting, very bold and broken, range after range of mountains
covered with scrub, and here and there picturesque grassy islands,
making a pleasant contrast to the dark foliage of the mainland bush. We
had a long beat before us, as we were a good deal to leeward of our
destination. We kept well within sight of land the whole way from this
point, of which I was very glad, as it gave me an opportunity of
observing the coastal formation. Every now and then we hove the
schooner to, in order to enable our convoy, the lugger, to come up with
us, when we filled up their water-casks and replenished their stock of
provisions. The cutter had disappeared, and we did not see her again
until we came to our anchorage in China Straits. We were not very
anxious about her, as the South Sea Islander in charge was an
experienced hand in a boat, and was sure to turn up some time or other.
The next day we passed close to the Brumer Islands (native name
"Banaroa"). We did not stop, although Capt. Matheson wanted to get a
number of the natives to go with him on a fishing cruise to the East
End. The cutter, however, touched there and was successful in obtaining
about 15 natives. The Banaroa people are good workers and of a friendly
disposition.
This group of islands lies about 10 miles from the mainland, and they
are very beautiful. There are most fertile plantations of yams,
bananas, and coco-nuts, with here and there a bright patch of green. I
should think that these islands would be very healthy, as they are free
from swamps and not too much covered with scrub.
I was very much pleased with their appearance, and should not object to
a prolonged residence on them.
As darkness set in the Brumers had been left many miles astern. When
within a few miles of Heath Island (Loger), which is a boundary of
China Straits, to our disgust the wind entirely died away, and we were
left to loll and roll about all night. We seemed destined never to
reach port. This was the eleventh day of a voyage (in a straight
course) of 430 miles.
The day previous we passed close to the schooner _Harrier_, in
full sail with a fair wind, bound for Queensland. We saluted and
exchanged compliments. Having passed a restless night, we once more
steered for China Straits. When off the north-western point of Heath
Island (Loger) we were boarded by two or three canoes, filled with
natives, their faces painted in various colours, and all having large
mops of hair on their heads. They wore no clothing save a banana leaf
round the loins. This was my first introduction to the Papuan race, and
I must confess that they had a most diabolical appearance. Several of
them came on board, where they kept up an incessant chatter.
The passage between Heath Island and the mainland, known as the Western
Passage, is rather narrow. Coral reefs extend a good distance out, so
that it is necessary to hug the shore of Heath Island. The tide too is
very swift here, rushing at the rate of five to six miles an hour,
making it impossible to stem it without the aid of a strong breeze.
Everything has an end, so at last we rounded the point of Heath Island
and entered the charming and romantic harbour of China Straits.
We dropped our mud-hook just about sundown in ten fathoms of water on
the lee side of the Island of Samarai, having been 12 long days on the
voyage.