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._

]