We had not been long at Mafulu when we were faced with another trouble.

Our food supply began to run low. We found that the tinned provisions

had been tampered with, and suspected native thieves; our suspicions one

day being confirmed, when our dog Yule brought in from the forest two

empty meat tins which had been broken open with the axe. This evidence

was incontestable, for we ourselves always used the tin-opener. Of

course, when we taxed our Papuans they were ignorant of the whole

affair. This theft did not improve our larder; meat ran out, we had very

little tea and no sugar, only a scanty supply of flour, and, worst of

all, no salt. We were accordingly dependent upon sweet potatoes and

yams, which we purchased from the Mafulu people, and occasionally a few

bananas were obtainable. The boys soon began to grumble about the cold

and lack of food, but the real reason of their discontent was, of

course, fear of the Mafulu people. Every day deputations waited on Sam

and myself and threatened to leave. It was evident that the discontent

was stirred up by two ringleaders, so we found out who these were and

talked to them very severely, telling them they might go; but two men

would not dare to venture back to their own village through a hostile

country, so, of course, our permission to leave was not taken. These

troubles were very annoying, for we wanted to remain as long as we

could, as we were getting admirable specimens, but about the fourteenth

day of our stay matters had come to such a pass that we had to give the

men a definite promise that we would leave in a week.

With such a state of things constant vigilance became necessary, and we

had to divide the nights into watches. Sam would take three hours and

then I would take three hours, and some of the natives were always awake

for fear of other natives. It was very lonely in camp, but we passed the

time smoking and watching a few sweet potatoes baking in the embers. As

our own fellows were disaffected, it was necessary also to keep them

under constant observation. From the tent we could watch their quarters,

and Sam made a bamboo bed in the men’s shelter. They, poor fellows, had

rather a rough time of it, apart from their fears and discontent, for

one night a tremendous deluge of rain swamped their quarters. Next day

they went into the forest and cut a large quantity of bamboo leaves,

with which they made a splendid rain-tight roof about 6 inches thick. As

it would have been a pity to have left without doing our best to get

specimens of the paradise bird, we sent all our shooting boys away and

allowed them to take a tent with them. The long-tail paradise birds

frequent the Pandanus trees when they are in seed, and when the shooters

found a tree in that condition they would camp near it and lie in wait

for the birds. While this little expedition was out, Sam, Harry, myself,

and a boy remained alone in considerable anxiety, for while the guns

were away none of us had any sleep.

[Illustration:

THE AUTHOR AND SOME NATIVE COLLECTORS.

]

I cannot say that we had any actual threats, but the country round about

us was disturbed, and great numbers of the Kabadi people, who had been

to trade with Mafulu, and were returning home, began to stream through

our camp. They came through in strings, at intervals of an hour or

longer. Some of them carried pigs that they had received from the Mafulu

people after dances and entertainments. These companies consisted of

men, women, and a very few children. Several of them were painted as for

a festival, and they always passed through the camp as quickly as

possible, taking no notice of us. The Mafulu people used to visit us a

good deal with the ostensible purpose of trading, but they always took

care to come armed with spears. This I did not like at all, so I

directed them to lay down their arms before they entered, and if they

came to visit me after dark, I said they must light torches and hail me

from the edge of the clearing as they approached. This they did, but

they seldom came at night after I had put this restriction on them. The

few times, however, that they did come with their torches, the sight was

weirdly picturesque as the lights came glinting through the trees, and

then congregated at the edge of the clearing, the flickering glare

throwing up the lithe, bronze figures of the warriors into fine relief

as they stood there waiting for permission to enter the white man’s

enclosure. They seemed to have a lot of intimate conversation with our

people, although only one of our men knew their language. They were,

however, content to do their talking through the interpreter.

Before we left, our food had practically run out and we were feeling the

pinch very badly. Both Harry and I were growing extremely thin, and we

were always taking in reefs in our belts. As regards weight, however, we

were in fine walking form. The nerves of my people got no better.

Sometimes they would hear the Mafulu people calling, and then they would

be on the _qui vive_, thinking something was about to happen; they were,

in fact, like men living on a volcano. Before we left we were in such

stress that we were compelled to try bird of paradise soup; it was truly

abominable, and after the first spoonful we got no further.

All our things were packed, and Harry and I were inside taking the

fly-tent down, when suddenly we heard a terrible uproar among the

carriers. I rushed out, but by the time I got into the open I found one

of the native houses in flames, and in less than ten minutes the whole

camp was ablaze. I immediately demanded of the boys what they meant by

this act, but they seemed to look upon it as a great joke, much as

youngsters at home would regard a bonfire. It is not improbable that

their object was to compel me to go, for the previous day my shooters

had brought in twelve paradise birds, at which I had shown great

delight, and they probably thought that I should be tempted to prolong

my stay. It is just possible that I might, for the last days were the

richest we had had so far as the capturing of birds and specimens was

concerned. When the camp was still roaring up in flames we departed with

our few remaining followers, the main body having gone on already with

the chief part of the loads. One thing that makes me sure that the

firing of the camp was deliberate was that the outbreak occurred in two

or three places simultaneously.

CHAPTER XIII

_LAST JOURNEY TO THE COAST_

A Dangerous Stream-Crossing—Babooni—Sunshine once more—Successful Work—

Poor Fare—Messengers to Ekeikei—The Tree-Cabbage—Method of Cooking

Tree-Cabbage—A Great Curiosity—Spiders’ Webs as Fishing-Nets—Dancing

Festivals—Back to the Kebea—Our Bean Crop—A Papuan Parliament—We obtain

Credit—A Wife-Beater—My only Act of Perfidy—The Journey to Ekeikei—Back

to the Land of Plenty—Last Visit to Epa—Mavai unfriendly—He is talked

over and supplies Carriers—Example better than Precept—The Coast again—

An Accident—The Natives drink Sea-Water—Good-bye to the Mountaineers.

CHAPTER XIII

LAST JOURNEY TO THE COAST

From our camp at Mafulu a march of from five to six hours brought us to

Foula. On our way we rested at a little village, one of those belonging

to the Foula people, but situated on the opposite ridge. There I missed

my prismatic compass, and was rather concerned, but I ordered a thorough

search in the bags, and was glad to find it. At this village the natives

were reluctant to move on, and I believe that they were aware we were

about to have bad weather, for before we had gone much farther we were

in the midst of a deluge. I accordingly paid off all the unwilling

carriers and allowed them to return home, hoping to get more at Foula.

There they told us that as the Delava River was swollen there was no

crossing, so I went down to inspect it myself and found it in a most

terrible state. The stream was full of tangled mangrove roots and

treacherous with slimy ooze. It was a horrible and uninviting flood to

enter, with its foul waters and its mosquitoes, and one knew that it was

a veritable fever-trap. In we had to go, however, the natives making a

terrible splashing. For the most part we were wading up to our hips in

water, picking our way as best we could across the tangled mangrove

roots, and occasionally slipping down between them to a depth of two

feet, these slips threatening to take Harry out of his depth. For part

of the way we had to swim.

When we had crossed we took our way to Babooni, along a track which ran

up a valley and then wound up steep precipices. There was no actual

village there, but only a camp which had been built by Sam on the

extreme edge of the ridge. The situation was grandly picturesque, for

this ridge terminated in an abrupt precipice, falling several hundred

feet, and having the appearance of a huge headland thrust out into the

valley. On each side the cliff came to within a few feet of our

collecting verandah, and looking down from it we could see the

confluence of three silvery streams, winding through charming tropical

vegetation. Babooni would have been an ideal spot for a picnic. There we

spent three weeks and had wonderful success in our work.

Except that we were in daylight and amid delightful scenery—a welcome

change from the awful gloom of the forest at Mafulu—we were, as far as

living went, no better off than we had been on the higher ground, and

our staple food was still sweet potatoes; but it was something to have

the sun again, and altogether we were conscious of a reviving feeling of

exhilaration at Babooni. The _Drepanornis Albertisii_, one of the finest

of the birds of paradise, abounded, and we secured a considerable number

of specimens on the opposite hill. I also secured a fine series of the

_Ornithoptera primus_, the bird-winged butterfly, which is distinguished

by its beautiful green and velvet-black wings, with brilliant golden

fore-wings, the under side of which is black. It is very partial to the

flowers of the tree Spirea, among the foliage of which its black and

gold wings can continually be seen twinkling. Its colour contrast,

indeed, gives it a most remarkable appearance in flight.

[Illustration:

A SPIDER’S WEB AS A FISHING-NET: A STRANGE NEW GUINEA DEVICE.

A very huge and strong spider’s web, common to New Guinea, is used by

the natives as a fishing-net. They set up in the forest a bamboo,

bent as in the picture, and leave it until the spiders have covered

it with a web in the manner shown.

]

But scientific work cannot be done on sweet potatoes alone, so I sent

Wei-Yah and five men to Ekeikei to replenish our larder. They took a

week on the journey, and on their return reported that the Ekeikei camp

was safe, but there had been thefts from the stores at the Kebea. The

foolish fellows had come back without salt, and as five men cannot carry

very much, we were only a little better off than we had been. We were

also in dire want of “trade,” and there would be fairly long accounts to

settle with our carriers for the rest of the journey, the Foula men

having exhausted all our trade when we paid them off at Babooni. In our

straits, however, nature provided us with at least one delicacy, and we

shall always remember Babooni gratefully for its tree-cabbage. These

edible leaves grow on a small tree like a sycamore, and the manner of

cooking is as follows: Each leaf is plucked separately, and when a

sufficient number has been got together they are tied up into neat

packets, bound round in banana leaves and cane string. Then stones are

collected and heated on a large wood fire, and on the top of the hot

stones the bundles of cabbage are placed, and over them the natives lay

more banana leaves to a depth of about two feet, and above all another

layer of hot stones. In about one hour the cabbage is cooked, the outer

wrapping is taken off, and the delicacy is served on a banana leaf or a

dish. It is a perfect god-send to the half-starved traveller.

From Babooni we returned to the Kebea, varying our route so as to

include the village of Waley, which we entered during a heavy rainstorm.

Waley is a pleasantly situated village, occupying the whole of one side

of a hill, where a large clearing had been burnt out and planted with

sugar-cane and bananas. The natives had also laid out extensive and

well-planted gardens.

One of the curiosities of Waley, and, indeed, one of the greatest

curiosities that I noted during my stay in New Guinea, was the spiders’

web fishing-net.

In the forest at this point huge spiders’ webs, 6 feet in diameter,

abounded. These are woven in a large mesh, varying from 1 inch square at

the outside of the web to about ⅛th inch at the centre. The web was most

substantial, and had great resisting power, a fact of which the natives

were not slow to avail themselves, for they have pressed into the

service of man this spider, which is about the size of a small

hazel-nut, with hairy, dark-brown legs, spreading to about 2 inches.

This diligent creature they have beguiled into weaving their

fishing-nets. At the place where the webs are thickest they set up long

bamboos, bent over into a loop at the end. In a very short time the

spider weaves a web on this most convenient frame, and the Papuan has

his fishing-net ready to his hand. He goes down to the stream and uses

it with great dexterity to catch fish of about 1 lb. weight, neither the

water nor the fish sufficing to break the mesh. The usual practice is to

stand on a rock in a backwater where there is an eddy. There they watch

for a fish, and then dexterously dip it up and throw it on to the bank.

Several men would set up bamboos so as to have nets ready all together,

and would then arrange little fishing parties. It seemed to me that the

substance of the web resisted water as readily as a duck’s back.

Waley was also a place for dancing. Thither the tribes came for great

Terpsichorean festivals, and invitations used to be sent as far as Foula

by special messengers to bid the Foula people to these entertainments.

As we passed Babooni we had met these couriers on their way to tell the

Foula people about a dance that was shortly to be held, and inviting

them to come and bring all their fine feather-work—the Papuan

dress-suit—and all their pretty women. These dances often last for a

week, and the revellers feast during the day and at night dance by

torch-light. During the time we were in camp the noise of dancing and

singing never ceased, and the fat pigs were continually being killed.

This indispensable adjunct of Papuan life is solemnly divided according

to ceremonial custom, and certain parts are reserved for the leading

degrees of the tribesmen. The guests receive the more honourable

portions, and in this instance the chief from Foula would receive the

most honoured part of all.

The tribesmen come to the dance fully armed, bearing spears 10 feet

long, which were often splendidly decorated with birds’ feathers; over

the point would be slung a pod full of seeds, which rattled as the spear

was brandished in the dance.

When we left Waley we pursued a very winding path through steep valleys,

zig-zaging up the face of precipices and along the tops of almost

razor-like ridges.

On our return to the Kebea we picked a very fine crop of beans of our

own sowing. The Papuan bean is broader than ours, and is gathered at a

rather later stage; it is largely cultivated in the native villages.

Once at the Kebea we had seriously to face the problem of getting down

to the coast. Here we were with all our collections on our hands, as

well as our stores and “trade” to meet the charges of our carriers none

too plentiful. Obviously, the right plan would be to get the natives to

engage to carry for us right down to Pokama on Hall Sound, for if we

should be faced with the necessity of paying off a gang at Ekeikei, we

should be cleaned right out of the equivalent of ready cash. I opened

negotiations tentatively, and allowed the idea to get wind among my

followers; then the thing began to be mooted in camp conversations, and

the men would go off to discuss it with their womenkind. At first they

were in great doubt, saying that it was very far, they did not know the

country beyond such a place, and they would be very frightened in

strange districts, especially on their return. At our invitation they

gathered for a great conference, and I may be said to have summoned a

Papuan Parliament, which immediately went into committee to discuss ways

and means. I sent out Ow-bow, and several reliable fellows whom we knew

to be willing to go all the way with us, to induce the others to come to

the congress, and when we got them together we told them that if they

would go to Hall Sound with us, we would make each man a certain

payment, enumerating the different articles we were prepared to pay on

our arrival at Pokama. We added that if any one preferred that his wages

should include a preponderance of tobacco, or beads, or calico, over

other articles, we should be quite agreeable.

[Illustration:

FISHING WITH THE SPIDER’S-WEB NET.

The natives are here using the curious net prepared in the manner

shown in another picture.

]

They gathered round our little house, some in and some out, and smoked

the everlasting bau-bau, keeping up the while a quiet conversation. The

women with husbands made difficulties, as was to be expected. They would

say to any man who showed a disposition to join the expedition: “But we

want you to help us in our gardens.” One of the wives proved especially

a thorn in our side. She was the worst woman we met in Papua, the

possessor of a terrible tongue, and she was always setting the men

against going anywhere. The other women disliked her heartily, and there

were always rows when she came into camp. Not once, but twenty times,

were we annoyed by these disturbances, for Gouba, her husband, believed

in attempting to tame his shrew, although, alas! he never succeeded. His

methods were simple and drastic. He would pick up a billet of wood, when

she was half-way through a tremendous scolding, and fetch her a terrific

blow over the back. Thereupon ensued Pandemonium; the other men and

women would gather round jabbering, but they made no attempt to stop the

beating once it had begun. The unfortunate man had another wife, and the

scolding one was not always with him, but when she was there was

trouble. Gouba was willing enough to stay with us, poor fellow, but Mrs.

Gouba was always on the _qui vive_ for some village dance or other. Her

social engagements invariably clashed with Gouba’s industrial projects,

and between them they made the camp very hot. To see her running with

Gouba after her was a memorable sight. Of course, no Englishman likes to

see a woman knocked about, but from what Ow-bow used to tell us, I am

persuaded that Gouba was a sorely-tried man, and I should not be

surprised to hear that by this time he has arranged a divorce on Henry

the Eighth’s plan, and that Mrs. Gouba is now no more.

But to return to our Parliament. I finally carried my point and engaged

the carriers, but, alas! it was only by committing the only act of

perfidy which I can lay to my conscience in all my dealings with

natives. I found that if we were to get out of the country safely I must

offer some further inducement, other than the ordinary articles of

trade, and accordingly, although I had no intention of contravening the

Government regulations so far, I said that a gun would be included in

the wages of those who went down to Pokama. When the time came for this

promise to be made good, I simply explained that the Government would

not permit me to give them the gun. They acquiesced quite cheerfully,

and consented to receive compensation in other articles. That there was

no discontent or resentment, I am persuaded, and I had ample proof of

this in my final parting from my followers, which I shall relate in its

proper place.

We now returned to Ekeikei, and on arrival there passed from the land of

starvation to the land of abundance; hunting was once more possible, and

early on the morning after our arrival we sent out our shooters, who

came in loaded with cassowary, Gaura pigeon, wallaby, pig, and other

spoils. The natives were in clover once again, and had a glorious time

building fires, dressing the game, and preparing the food, for your

Papuan’s greatest pleasure is to eat as much as he can, and in the

shortest possible time, to sing, and then to sleep. Meals of Homeric

generosity were devoured, and thereafter our people sat round their camp

fires singing the beautiful mountain melodies of which I have already

spoken. The prettiest and most soothing of all their tunes was the

following, which has often with its gentle cadence lulled me to sleep in

the wilds:—

[Illustration: Chi-li-pa-la lu-a chi-li-pa-la lu-a lay: Chi-li-pa-la

lu-a.]

At Ekeikei we had, of course, to take up many additional loads of

baggage, and the resources of our staff, already severely tried,

threatened to prove entirely inadequate. Further recruits were not

forthcoming, so all the baggage had to be re-distributed and the bags

repacked. Even when this was done, and an additional weight apportioned

to each man, we found that ten carriers more would be wanted, but as

these were not obtainable I decided to leave Wei-Yah with the remaining

baggage until I could get down to Epa, where I trusted that my old

friend Mavai would send it in relays for me to Oo-fa-fa.

At Epa things looked rather hopeless, for not only did five of my

carriers bolt, leaving me saddled with their loads, but Mavai proved a

broken reed. My ancient ally was no longer a white man, and for some

unexplained reason had turned very uncivil. When I asked for carriers he

said he had “no people,” but his village seemed as populous as ever, and

the same numbers streamed in from the yam patch in the evening. I had a

big talk with him over night, but could make no terms with him. Next

morning Harry and I again had a long quiet talk with his Highness, and

at last he relented so far that he ascended his platform, but did not

don the persuasive red coat. He waxed fairly eloquent, gesticulated

wildly, and at last, about 7 P.M., things took a better turn, and the

first carriers consented to engage with us. Then the right honourable

gentleman resumed his seat, having spoken just over half-an-hour. Next

day they sulkily picked up their loads and set out. Mavai himself,

believing that example was better than precept, marched with the first

detachment. He himself shouldered a load. Thus we got everything away

with the exception of two loads, the carriers in charge of which sat

sullenly in their house. Finally, Harry and I had to go over and make

these two fellows pick up their burdens, and thus we took leave of Epa.

[Illustration:

A WEIRD TRIBAL DANCE.

The central figure wears a huge head-dress of bird of Paradise plumes

surmounted by a gigantic aigrette of parrots’ feathers (to be seen

in the background). The rank and file wear grass-fibre head-dresses.

]

The journey to Oo-fa-fa was accomplished in very sultry, trying weather,

through a country that afforded little shade. The ground was stony,

broken here and there with patches of wild oats and groups of eucalyptus

trees, which ran up to a height of about 30 feet, and were conspicuous

by their silvery bark, which was constantly peeling off like tissue

paper.

Having once undertaken the job, Mavai was as good as his word, and took

us down to Oo-fa-fa, where we got boats. There I had a nasty accident.

We put up for the night in a hut belonging to Mr. Jack Exton, the

sandalwood trader, a very industrious and indefatigable man, who has

made good roads to haul his timber down to the coast, and is very

popular with the natives. “Jack,” as we called him, entertained us very

kindly at his camp when we first went to Epa, and gave us every

assistance in his power. During the first night at Oo-fa-fa I was

sitting on a native hammock in the hut, when suddenly the cords gave way

and I fell backwards upon a sharp stump and hurt my back severely. My

leather belt saved me from any very serious injury, and there was

fortunately no penetration, but the pain was intense for three or four

days. I fomented the bruises with hot water at Oo-fa-fa, and managed to

get down to the canoe next day, but I had to lie still during the rest

of the voyage. At Pokama I was greatly relieved by the application of

Elliman’s Embrocation, but I had difficulty in walking and was not free

from pain for ten days.

At the Sound some of the native carriers, those paying their first visit

to the coast, drank great quantities of salt water without evil

consequences.

The canoe voyage was rather uneventful. Our flotilla was not numerous

enough; the canoes we had were overladen, and, accordingly, we sent some

baggage overland to Pokama. At that point the Rev. Mr. Dauncey received

us with great hospitality, and with him we stayed while we were paying

off our natives. To Ow-bow I entrusted the wages of the five rascals who

had run away from us at Epa, and I have no doubt he paid it over

scrupulously.

After our business was concluded, the mountain people went away with

very happy faces, and bade us good-bye, cordially hoping that they would

see us again, and saying that on my return, if I sent for them, they

would come down to the coast and carry me up-country. Some of them even

wept as they took leave, and I must confess that I was genuinely sorry

to part from my warm-hearted, good-natured followers, who had up to the

last served me faithfully, in spite of occasional fits of

refractoriness, which, after all, were easy enough to understand. It

said a good deal for them that they followed the unknown white man as

cheerfully as they did.

CHAPTER XIV

_A FORTY-MILE TRAMP BY THE SHORE_

A Comfortless Voyage—A Forty-Mile Tramp along the Coast—Wonders of the

Beach—Armies of Soldier-Crabs—A Crocodile River—A Dangerous Canoe

Voyage—At Port Moresby—A Pathetic Incident—Last Days of our Stay in New

Guinea.

CHAPTER XIV

A FORTY-MILE TRAMP BY THE SHORE

At Pokama we got on board a vessel very heavily laden with sandalwood. I

did not notice how perilously deep she was in the water until after we

had put to sea. This promised a voyage of great discomfort, and Harry

shortly became very sick. Partly on this account, and partly because we

wanted to see a certain part of the coast more minutely, we went ashore

in a small boat, and slept that night at the house of a coloured teacher

in the service of the London Missionary Society. Next morning we set out

on foot for Manu-Manu, forty miles distant, a long and very toilsome

tramp, often rendered doubly difficult by the uncertain sands of the

beach. Where the tide had left it wet we found it as firm to walk upon

as a bicycle track, but in the dry sand we often sunk to our knees.

Harry, especially, suffered severely, and his ankles were sore for a

long time after. The heat also was terrific, and added greatly to our

discomfort; but the walk was not without its interest and its diversion,

although in point of scenery it was rather monotonous. Very conspicuous

on the fringe of the coast vegetation was the true species of the shore

Pandanus. Inland was dense forest, diversified with patches of grass and

marshland. Our itinerary was as follows: Our first stage was twenty-two

miles from Giabada to Issu, the way being greatly lengthened by the need

to follow the bend of ever-recurring bays, where the treacherous sand

and the lack of shelter from the sun proved particularly trying. But at

this part of the march we saw one of the most extraordinary sights of

all our travels—many thousands of soldier-crabs traversing the sandy

beach in detached, regularly ordered bodies that moved evidently by the

signal of some common commander. These “armed battalions” stretched for

miles, and no matter what figure they assumed—whether wedge, triangle,

or rhombus—the dressing, so to speak, of the outer ranks was perfect,

and would have put many a Volunteer corps to shame. Not a crab was out

of line. The advance was fairly rapid, and was always towards the sea,

for a distance of, say, two hundred yards. When the crabs come out of

their holes in the sand they throw themselves into this compact

formation probably for safety. There was no walking along the beach for

them—scarcely a clear hundred yards for miles. When approached, they

quickened their pace perceptibly.

The individual crab is small and has no shell. The spread of the legs

would probably be 1½ inches, and the body is of a dark fawn colour,

exactly resembling the wet sand of the beach, so that the creature’s hue

is without doubt yet another of Nature’s adaptations for protection. It

is remarkable also that it imitates only the wet sand, for the dry sand

is of a dazzling silky whiteness.

[Illustration:

A SEA-COAST SCENE IN NEW GUINEA.

Some of the houses of Elevada, one of the pottery towns, may be seen

by the sea.

]

At Issu we stayed for the night, and did our best to sleep, although the

sand-flies were a great torment. From Issu we went on to Manu-Manu, a

stretch of eighteen miles, and as we went we saw many sharks, who

followed us close inshore and kept pace with us for a considerable

distance, hoping in vain that we would be unwise enough to bathe. Some

natives, who had followed us from Giabada, tried to kill them by

throwing sticks.

Manu-Manu was our last halt before taking a canoe for Port Moresby. At

the former place we found some men to assist us, and after spending the

night there, and the best part of the following day in preparation, we

embarked. At the mouth of the Manu-Manu River the crocodiles swarmed in

the brackish water. This is the point where there occurred the fight

between the natives and the crocodiles which I described in one of my

earlier chapters. The canoe voyage that we made at this time was one

that was only possible in fine weather, for there were many nasty

headlands to round. The bays were very deep, and at the middle of the

crossing from point to point we would often be ten miles off the land.

Often, too, there were treacherous reefs to avoid, but fortunately we

had moonlight after 2 A.M.; and so, sometimes sailing and sometimes

paddling, we passed the villages of Boira and Borepada and reached Port

Moresby at five on the evening of the day after we had left Manu-Manu.

We arrived at the Government station just about the same time as the

ketch which was bearing the bulk of our baggage.

We entered Port Moresby by the western entrance, which is not deep

enough for large ships, and can only be made by canoes. At Port Moresby

we had intended to put up as formerly at Sam’s house, but we found news

of deep affliction awaiting our faithful head-man. His wife Heli was in

terrible distress, for she had lost two children while her husband was

with us in the interior. Both were boys, one of seventeen known as

George, and the other a bright little fellow of ten called Foralis, who

had been a great favourite of ours on our former visit, and who used to

make himself very useful to us.

Poor George’s death was a merciful release, for although he was so well

on in his teens, he was a mere dwarf, and had been ill since his birth—a

sufferer from the so-called New Guinea disease, that incurable and

mysterious disorder which eats away the legs. It is believed to be a

form of leprosy. He was a fleshless, melancholy little being, who lay in

bed all day, hardly ever moving. He had, however, all his senses, and it

was pathetic to see him pursuing his only amusement, playing with the

petals of flowers and with different coloured papers, of which he

sometimes made strings. Sam must have missed Foralis very keenly, for

the youngster was at a most attractive age, and was beginning to be very

useful in various ways. He had become quite a bold little horseman, and

would often ride on errands for his father.

We spent five days at Port Moresby in the usual routine of packing for

the homeward voyage, the first stage of which we performed on the small

steamer _Parua_, which took us to Cooktown, where we were interested to

note the relics of former mining activity, for the place enjoyed a brief

spell of prosperity, during which pretentious banks and public buildings

sprang up, and still stand there as if in mockery of its absolute

deadness. The time was when they took fifty tons of gold from the Palmer

River, but those days had long gone by, although there is certainly

plenty of mineral wealth in the hinterland that is entirely unworked,

and excellent for tin miners especially. No effort has been made to work

this, and it is difficult to get money for even a gold mine at the back

of Cooktown, so much British capital has been lost there in wild-cat

schemes. A once busy railway still runs fitfully to the Palmer River.

We stayed three weeks at Cooktown, and during the second week we

witnessed a thunderstorm that transcended in violence the worst I had

ever seen in South America, and that is saying a good deal. After an

intensely oppressive morning, a black cloud came up from the westward,

and the storm burst with startling suddenness. In less than half-an-hour

every street was a veritable river, and the lightning, continuous and

seemingly ubiquitous, was accompanied by cracking and rending thunder

that could only be described as appalling. Fortunately, no one was

killed, and the only damage was to the roof of Burns’s store, which was

struck by lightning.

Save for the thunderstorm, our stay at Cooktown was utterly uneventful,

and at the end of the third week we went down to Sydney and came home by

the White Star line.

CHAPTER XV

_NATIVE MANNERS AND CUSTOMS_

The Papuan at Home—His Good Points—Physical Characteristics—Ceremonial

Dress—Coast and Hill Tribes—Differences—Local Distribution of the Rami

or Petticoat—Its Decrease in Length in the Mountains—Its Disappearance

at Epa—Dandyism—The Priceless Chimani—The Shell Armlet—Household

Constitution—Rudimentary Government—Courtship and Marriage—The Price of

a Wife—Position of Women—Six Ways of Carrying an Infant—Meal Times—

Weapons—Clubs—Their Manufacture the Monopoly of One Tribe—Weird Tribal

Dances.

CHAPTER XV

PAPUAN MANNERS, CUSTOMS, AND SUPERSTITIONS

My object in visiting New Guinea, as the reader already knows very well,

was not to prosecute the proper study of mankind, according to Mr.

Alexander Pope, but it was impossible to live daily with those unspoilt

children of nature without observing a good deal that was curious and

noteworthy. I cannot pretend to be a trained ethnologist, and

accordingly the notes that I have set down in this chapter on manners

and customs make no pretension to any scientific co-ordination. I shall

not therefore venture to draw conclusions, nor advance any theories such

as would fall within the province of the professed anthropologist. My

notes, too, were fragmentary, and often, owing to the stress of our

journeyings and the pressure of the work which it was incumbent on me to

prosecute, I had perforce to leave unrecorded at the time many things

that might be useful to the student of primitive peoples. Such

observations, however, as I am able to make, however incomplete, may

safely be regarded as at first hand, and it is probable that in the

majority of cases they were taken under exceptionally favourable

conditions for observing the people just as they are. During our

journeyings in the interior we depended on native help alone, and the

people whom we employed were not, one might say, scared out of their

usual way of life by the presence of a large body of white men. I and my

son went absolutely alone into the wilds with no white lieutenant. We

cast ourselves, as it were, on the hospitality of the aboriginal Papuan

(and cannibal at that), but as the reader has seen, we had no reason to

regret our draft on the bank of savage fidelity.

In my second chapter I described the warlike Tugeri of Dutch New Guinea,

a tribe whose ferocity has been such a thorn in the side of British and

Netherland officials alike. I certainly should not have cared to trust

myself with the Tugeri, but with the gentler people of the south-east

portion of the island there was comparatively no great risk. My first

close acquaintance with the Papuans was with the Motuan tribe, who lived

around Port Moresby, and my earliest acquaintances were made among the

potters of Hanuabada. The Motuans are fairly numerous, numbering, it is

said, about 1400 in the Port Moresby district; they may be taken as the

type of coast natives in this quarter, and roughly, for the purposes of

this account, I may distinguish between “coast-men” and “hill-men,”

taking the former to extend as far up as Epa. The Motuan men are

well-grown, standing about 5 feet 10 inches on an average, the height of

the women being from about 5 feet 6 inches to 5 feet 8 inches. Their

features are very varied, and do not incline to any single type. The

colour is of a rich bronze, and they are well and sturdily made. Most of

them have mop-like hair very much frizzed, and some wear it tied up,

while others have it short and curly, looking almost as if it had been

cropped and lying close to the scalp. What we may call the “cropped”

hair required little dressing, but to keep the mop hair in order they

use a comb like a wide fork with five prongs and a fairly longish

handle. With this implement they comb out their hair elaborately.

[Illustration:

HANUABADA WOMEN WEARING THE RAMI, OR PETTICOAT MADE OF LEAVES.

]

For ceremonial dances, and on festal occasions, they wear a wonderful

head-dress made of cockatoo feathers, which looks, when it is assumed,

like an enormous flat horseshoe, passing over the top of the head and

slightly in front of the ears. It conceals the ears entirely when the

observer looks the wearer full in the face.

The most cherished ornament, however, is the necklace of dogs’ teeth,

which is prized by the Papuans beyond any article of “trade” that the

traveller can give them. Not even a knife or an axe is so welcome, nor

can the traveller get so much work out of the Papuan for any steel

implement as he can for one or two teeth. I knew of a case where a

missionary, not with any fraudulent intention, but merely from a desire

to test Papuan intelligence, manufactured imitation dogs’ teeth very

cunningly out of bone, and offered them to a native. The man, however,

had too keen an eye to be done; he weighed the teeth critically in his

hand for a moment, and then handed them back with a scornful “No good.”

A further adjunct of their very simple costume is the armlet, which is

knitted from grass fibre with a pointed cassowary bone. This primitive

needle has a hole running up its entire length through which the grass

fibre is threaded, and then the ornament is woven either in a diagonal

pattern or in straight horizontal stripes, with strands of various

colours. They often actually knit it round the arm or the wrist quite

tightly, and when this is done the ornament is permanent, and is never

removed until it is worn out. Sometimes they wear a bunch of flowers

stuck into the armlet, and these not particularly fragrant, but the

Papuans are persuaded that it is quite otherwise, and, pointing to their

bouquet, they say with delightful naïveté, “Midina Namu”—“Good smell.”

Alas! it is really the reverse, and the wearers of flowers in this

manner are by no means pleasant neighbours.

They also wear anklets of feathers and strings of beads, and in some of

their dances I have seen them decorated with huge bunches of grass,

which hang from between the shoulders and sweep the ground. Some also

affect a light band at the knee, and light cane anklets which rattle as

they dance.

Indispensable to the men is the little bag which carries their few

personal possessions: their betel-nut, their lime gourd and knife, the

invariable adjunct of the delightful vice of chewing betel—as every

traveller in the Malay Archipelago knows—and the “Paw-paw,” a fruit with

which a little European tobacco is often eaten. The coast women carry a

much larger bag of knitted fibre, which may be best described by saying

that it resembles a hammock with the ends tied together; in this they

carry potatoes and wood, and sometimes it is borne upon the head, the

centre of it being brought over so that it is supported by the forehead,

while the tapering ends hang down over the shoulders. At other times it

is carried round the neck.

The chief costume of the women of the coast tribes is the extraordinary

petticoat made of grass or of a wide-bladed weed, each leaf of which

would be about 3 inches wide. The blades composing this garment fall

down perpendicularly from a waistband, to which layer after layer is

attached, until the “Rami” has that fine spread which used to be

attained by more civilised women by a contrivance which I believe was

called a “dress-improver.” As we went inland and rose gradually higher

and higher in the mountains, we observed that the “Rami” was growing

shorter and shorter, until at length, just after we had passed Epa, it

disappeared altogether; and one may reasonably consider the absence or

presence of this garment as the great symbol of division between the

coast natives and those of the highlands proper.

Among the men, both highland and lowland, the great symbol of dandyism

is the “Chimani,” or nose ornament. This is made from a section of a

shell about ⅜ of an inch thick in the middle, and tapering most

beautifully towards the ends. It is accurately made, perfectly round and

polished, and a good example would be about a span long. A fine

“Chimani” very often has two black rings painted round it, about 1 inch

distant from the end. These things are manufactured by the coast people,

and they drift by exchange through the whole country. Very few young

blades can afford to possess one, and accordingly it may be lent, either

for a consideration or as a very special favour. The possessor of one of

these ornaments could easily buy a wife for it, and sometimes it is paid

as a tribal tribute by one who may have to pay blood-money, or is unable

to give the statutory pig as atonement for a murder.

Another shell ornament is the armlet, made from the lower part of one

species of a conical shell; a section of this adornment would present

the figure of a pointed oval, and, according to the part of the shell

from which the armlet has been cut, its ends either meet or overlap

without touching. To it they sometimes attach European beads or little

fragments of tin. Its manufacture entails a great deal of work and a

long continued grinding on stone or other hard substance. Sam had a very

fine one which he presented to a man in order that that man might buy a

wife, and my head-man’s generosity will be understood when I mention

that one of these armlets fetches £5 at Port Moresby. A very affluent

person will wear one on each arm, or two on one arm, as I sometimes

observed was the case among the coast natives. This occurred chiefly at

Hula.

As regards households and tribal government, the Papuan customs are

simple in the extreme; there is no augmentation of households on the

patriarchal system of the sons bringing the wives under the parental

roof. Each household consists of the father, mother, and children. The

sons when they marry set up a separate establishment, and when all have

married the grandparents usually remain alone.

[Illustration:

BUYING A WIFE: A NEW GUINEA WOOING.

The suitor is depicted making an offer for the girl seated in the

hammock beside her father.

]

The men marry after they are eighteen and the girls much younger, for

they are considered ready for double-blessedness at fourteen. In the

case of the men, there are exceptions to this rule, for we met an

experienced young gentleman of fourteen, Kaukwai, who confided to us,

with an air of deep wisdom, that he had already had two wives and had

dismissed them both.

In the villages there was no clearly defined form of government. There

was, of course, invariably a chief, but his authority was not great, and

nowhere did I see an autocrat, except Mavai, with whom the reader is

already well acquainted. There is no regular council of elders, but in

isolated instances the younger men may go to the elder for advice. The

villagers, however, are wonderfully conservative in their institutions,

and marriage between distant villages is uncommon. The man who dares to

bring a wife from a distance gains great credit for an enterprising

person. At Amana, for instance, we found an interpreter who had married

a Foula woman, and this person was accounted strong-minded. He had

either learnt the Foula dialect from his wife or had acquired it while

he was staying at Foula courting her.

The method of wooing is, as with all primitive peoples, more commercial

than romantic. The intending suitor generally comes to the point during

a tribal dance which has been arranged by calling from hill to hill. If

the woman agrees to the match, the wooer does not think it at all

necessary to make overtures to her father, but should negotiations be

required he is neither laggard nor bashful. He puts the price in his bag

and approaches the house of the sire, entering boldly and sitting down

unbidden. Not infrequently the girl also comes in and sits probably in a

hammock, listening to the debate on which her destiny hangs. The suitor

at once names his price; if the old man thinks this is a promising

bargain, he shows himself quite willing to discuss matters. If there is

tobacco, the suitor takes up his host’s “Bau-bau,” draws a few whiffs,

passes it to the father, scratches his head violently with both hands,

and proceeds to haggle. Should the father think the match a good thing,

he seldom withholds his consent long, but if he considers the young man

is under-bidding, he holds out stiffly till the youth has raised the

price sufficiently. As soon as the father consents, the bride is taken

away at once and without any fuss. There is no ceremony and no wedding

feast.

The women are the agricultural labourers of Papua. Early in the morning

they go out to till the gardens and the yam- or taro-patch; they are the

hewers of wood and the drawers of water. Every night at Hanuabada we

used to watch the long files of them wading across the shallow channels

to the villages, carrying the great bundles of wood they had collected.

Their families are not large, seldom more than two or three children,

and though they treat them quite kindly, there is no demonstrative

affection. At seven years old the children are expected to assist in

domestic affairs, and begin to take their little part of carrying water

and firewood to the village. Their faggots are tied up with wild cane

string and are carried home on the women’s backs.

When the women go out to the garden, or when they aid in heavy transport

service, as in the case of my expedition, the baby always accompanies

them, and I counted at least six different ways of carrying the infant.

1. In the net-bag, slung behind, and supported by the band passed across

the mothers forehead; to save abrasion a leaf was placed between the

forehead and the knot made by tying the two ends of the bag together.

Among many of the women I noted a patch of white hair, just at the point

where the knot had pressed. 2. The child on the top of the load,

supported by the mother’s left arm. This, of course, refers to the time

when they were carrying for us, and had a particularly heavy burden. 3.

Astride of one shoulder; this was practised by the men, and the infant

was so placed as to face the side of his father’s head. 4. Also a man’s

method, pick-a-back, with the little legs round the father’s neck. 5.

The child with the arms clasped round the father’s neck and no other

support at all. 6. Similar to the last, except that the child in this

instance was carried by the mother, who, being blessed with an

exceptional spread of “Rami” behind, could allow the little one’s feet

to rest comfortably on that.

In the village communities on the hills there was no very regular

observance of meal times. They ate when they wanted to, but on the coast

a meal was taken in the morning, in the afternoon, in the early evening,

and sometimes at night. The cooking was done by the women in the round

earthenware pots mentioned in the description of the Hanuabada potters.

In point of dress and appearance the mountain people differ widely from

those of the coast. The place of the “Rami” is taken by the cheebee, or

perineal band, a simpler garment than even the fig-leaf. They are a

shorter people, with better developed legs than the coast natives, which

is no doubt owing to the extraordinary exercise imposed on the limbs by

the difficulties of the ground.

The women wear fewer adornments than the men, their principal ornaments

being the dogs’ teeth necklace and armlet, and on the breast a pearl

shell, ground with a stone night and day for three weeks until the outer

shell is gone and the mother-of-pearl is left bare and polished. They

tie up their hair with bark so that the hair itself can hardly be seen,

and sometimes they plait it up into small tails. They carry the

customary bag of small odds and ends, and their weapons are distinctly

formidable. These consist of the spear and club only. The spear is

pointed and jagged, and is made of very hard redwood; the club has a

heavy stone top, elaborately hewn into sharp bosses. The Dinawa people

do not know how to make these clubs, which are manufactured in the

Keakama district, and their presence in the hills proves that there is

some system of commercial distribution.

[Illustration:

1.—A STONE-HEADED CLUB.

2.—VARIOUS FORMS OF THE BAU-BAU, OR TOBACCO PIPE, SHOWING DIFFERENT

KINDS OF ORNAMENTATION.

Note on the left of the pipes the butt of one, showing how the end is

closed by the natural section of bamboo.

3.—A STONE AXE.

]

But the most splendid of all the articles of the Papuan costume is the

feather head-dress, 16 feet high, which forms the central point of

attraction when it occurs in a tribal dance. This ornament is extremely

rare, and is always an heirloom, for it has taken generations to

complete. It is a wonderful, fantastic device of feathers, built upon a

light framework. The Bird of Paradise and the Gaura pigeon are laid

under tribute for its construction, and the feathers of the different

birds, and of different species of the same bird, are kept carefully

apart, and are arranged in rows according to their natural order. A few

lines of Bird of Paradise, a few lines of Gaura pigeon, then a few lines

of another species of Bird of Paradise, and so on. The whole contrivance

is most fantastic, and looks really impressive in the weird light of the

torches as the dancers, decorated with flowing bunches of grass behind,

proceed with their revel.

The dances of the hill tribes are not elaborate in form, and consist

principally of violent jumping up and down, accompanied by wild singing

and noise, but the coast dances, as carried out by the members of the

native police at Port Moresby, by permission of the authorities,

although less effective in point of costume—for little dress at all is

worn—have something of the orderly and progressive arrangement of the

ballet of civilisation. On the day set apart for the dance at Port

Moresby, a circle of native drummers would seat themselves on the

ground, and would begin their monotonous performance—bang, bang, bang;

bang, bang, bang—apparently without end, and with a wearisomely

monotonous rhythm. Suddenly, to the orchestra and the spectators would

enter two members of the Fly River police off duty, carrying a long,

thin reed. These would begin the performance. They jumped up and down in

regular rhythm, crouching lower and lower as the dance proceeded, their

movements getting quicker and quicker as the drums “gave them pepper.”

Then, still crouching and still jumping up and down with incredible

swiftness, they would back out and disappear round the side of the

house. This ended the first figure. For the second figure probably

twenty of the force would enter, marching sedately in Indian file, the

drums playing a slower rhythm. Suddenly the performers would stop, then

they would turn their heads from side to side, and begin to move their

legs slowly in time to the drums. Still wagging their heads, and without

any increased motion of the limbs, they would proceed right round the

ring of spectators and retire, without any perceptible quickening of

pace. For the third figure they reappeared in files, moving their heads,

the limbs still going in slow time. They advanced and retreated to and

from the spectators several times, singing as they went, and finally

backed out.

We witnessed also a dance of the Mombare people, who are likewise

members of the native police. With the dancers was one woman. Their

method was to jump up and down, and thus they worked slowly round the

oval enclosure formed by spectators. They held themselves erect all the

time, and their demeanour was not serious, the dance being accompanied

by loud shouting and great perspiration. During all these dances the

Orgiasts fell into a terrible state of excitement, and often could not

stop dancing until they fell quite exhausted. Mountain dances are

sometimes accompanied by tragedies, for the confusion of the revel is

made the occasion for wiping off old scores, and a dancer will suddenly

fall dead, struck through by the spear of his enemy.

CHAPTER XVI

_BURIAL, WITCHCRAFT, AND OTHER THEMES_

A Short-lived Race—An Aged Man a Curiosity—Burial Customs—The Chief

Mourner painted Black—Period of Mourning brief except for the Chief

Mourner—No Belief in Natural Death—Poison always Suspected—Religion all

but absent—Vague Belief in Magic—Fi-fi a Form of Divination—How

practised—Its Utter Childishness—No Idea of Number—Forest Warnings—

“Wada,” another Form of Sorcery—Mavai’s Hideous Magical Compounds—A

People seemingly without History or Legends—Pictures understood—Fear of

the Stereoscope—The “Bau-bau” or Social Pipe—How Made and Smoked—

Incidents of Travel—The Stinging Trees—Ideas of Medicine—Sovereign

Remedies—Bleeding—How practised—Hunting—The Corral—A Strange Delicacy—

Story of Native Trust in Me—A Loan of Beads—Children and their Sports—

Thirty Ways of Cat’s-Cradle.

CHAPTER XVI

BURIAL, WITCHCRAFT, AND OTHER THEMES

The Papuans are not a long-lived race. The mountain people die off about

forty: at Googooli, high up on the mountains, we saw one very old man,

who may have been sixty years of age—the only example of longevity that

we came across. He was a very pathetic spectacle: his features were

almost gone, the skin was terribly shrivelled, and the eyes sunken. He

was bent almost double, and had a long white beard. His fellow-tribesmen

regarded him as a great curiosity, and brought him to see us. Despite

the decrepitude of his body, however, there was no trace of senility:

his senses were unimpaired; and the poor old creature showed great

gratitude for a gift of tobacco.

Of the mountain people’s burial customs I have no precise knowledge, but

at Hanuabada we were able to observe a coast funeral. The dead body was

wrapped in a net and lashed to a pole, which was borne by two bearers.

To the funeral, which was celebrated the morning after death, the whole

village turned out, and followed the corpse without any regard to

precedence, except that the chief mourner—in this case, the mother—

walked immediately behind the bier. The chief mourner is invariably

blacked all over with charcoal, but the others wear no token of sorrow.

Just as the procession started the women set up a tremendous wailing,

which was continued all the way to the grave. On reaching the

burial-place, which was some seven minutes’ walk from the village, the

corpse was set down, and the mother, seating herself at its head,

encircled it with her arms, the hands being clasped below the chin, and

began with shrill cries to try to call her son back to life. For twenty

minutes, while the shallow grave was being dug, this ceremony proceeded,

while the rest of the mourners sat around. The corpse was then lifted

into the grave without much reverence and was covered up, the mourners

waiting until this was done, whereupon they walked away and, as far as

they were concerned, the mourning was over, and far from being a cause

of sorrow, it had become merely an interesting topic of conversation.

The chief mourner, however, if a woman, keeps the house, and sees no one

after the funeral for a space that may extend to three weeks. It is

indeed very difficult to persuade a mourner to leave the house. Another

method of disposal of the dead is tree-burial. A light framework of

bamboo or sticks is laid in the fork of a tree. On this the corpse,

wrapped in bark, is exposed. When nature has done its work on the

remains, the bones are afterwards distributed among the friends of the

deceased.

[Illustration:

1.—YOUNG NATIVES’ CURIOSITY ABOUT MY CAMERA.

2.—WOMEN CARRIERS ON THE WAY TO PORT MORESBY.

]

They do not believe in a natural death, and attribute every decease to

poison in a vague and general sort of way. Belief in another world they

have none, and the most elementary ideas of religion do not seem to

exist. There is not even any definite superstition, but only a sort of

vague and particularly childish belief in some kind of magic under the

name of “Fi-fi.” This is a sort of divination, and is practised at night

by a recognised medium, usually a girl, who is “Fi-fi,” and yet who is,

at the same time, believed to represent this mysterious power known as

“Fi-fi.”

Fi-fi is supposed to be a spirit always invisible and occasionally

audible. It is considered a bringer of both good and bad luck, but

although this is so no attempt is made to propitiate it. The cult indeed

is so absurd that the wonder is that the people believe in it at all;

yet, although there is apparently nothing supernatural on the face of

it, the Papuans are willing to credit its manifestations. When a tribe

wishes to know its luck, and when a hostile attack is imminent, it has

recourse to the rites of Fi-fi; these are always celebrated at night.

The crowd gathers round the fire, and the girl who is supposed to be the

medium of the power is told off to communicate with Fi-fi; from that

moment, by a peculiar confusion in their minds between the spirit and

the medium, she becomes Fi-fi to all intents and purposes. She retires

to some corner near at hand, where she is not seen, and from there she

whistles in different keys. The sound is made entirely at the medium’s

discretion, but the moment it is heard the people exclaim that Fi-fi has

come, and they judge by the whistling whether the omens are favourable

or not. They would seem to have an idea of two Fi-fis, for the girl’s

first call is two short notes repeated. No immediate answer comes, and

the people round the fire remark casually to each other that the other

Fi-fi has not heard, but they say, “Gua-fua”—that is, “Wait.” The girl

whistles again, and in a moment or two answers herself; then the

listeners round the fire exclaim, “Oi-kai-yoi, Fi-fi-mai” (“You hear,

Fi-fi has come”). Occasionally we have said to them, “Tell Fi-fi to

speak,” but they refused point-blank; and when we asked them why they

did not bring Fi-fi, they said they could not. The priestess varied her

whistle, and then interpreted her own messages. Once a woman is chosen

to communicate with Fi-fi, she retains the office for life. This form of

divination occurred most frequently at Waley.

The priestess is not above the Delphic trick of framing her oracles to

suit political necessity or her own inclinations and likings. One would

think that people of such general common sense as the Papuans would see

the possibility of deception, but they have implicit faith in Fi-fi’s

manifestations.

Certain insects, I noted, were also regarded as “Fi-fi.” When a

particular species of fire-fly entered the house at night the natives

immediately predicted bad luck, or impending attack and extermination by

hostile tribes. This failure of intelligence at one point is paralleled

by their inability to grasp the simplest idea of number. Further than

three they cannot count, although we often tried, by means of their ten

fingers, to instil some notions of a higher calculus into them.

On the march we observed the existence of a curious system of warnings.

Now and then a green bough, newly broken off, would be found lying in

the path, and the sight of this almost drives the natives out of their

wits; for it is the recognised symbol that some one has been there who

does not want you to pass. It has a correlative in a friendly symbol,

which is also a broken bough, but in this instance it is not entirely

severed from the tree.

Another superstition is “Wada,” which, as far as one can ascertain,

seems to be a belief in an invisible man who stands near a tree, but is

so like it that he cannot be seen. As you go through the forest “Wada”

may touch you, and then you are doomed. After this there is nothing for

you to do but go home and die; and so great is the power of suggestion,

that a person who believes he has been touched by “Wada” generally does

die.

Mavai practised “Wada,” but it took a somewhat pharmaceutical form with

him. He made an abominable mixture of rotten bananas, and all sorts of

decomposing matter. This he kept in his house and gave to persons he

wanted to be rid of, generally without any evil effect, but that never

shook his belief in the efficacy of his decoctions. It was delightfully

comical to see the seriousness with which he sat compounding his horrid

messes, and telling you of their dire results. It may be wondered how

ever he got the dread substance administered; but then, of course, Mavai

was all-powerful, and the person who refused to take his “Wada” drugs

would probably have encountered “Wada”—a sure and certain “Wada”—in the

person of Mavai himself.

There was also some confusion of “Wada” with a stone or a stick, and

therein probably one might find the truth about the real deadliness of

the charm.

The Papuans are entirely without history as a people, and of personal

tradition they have only the merest scraps. At Port Moresby they had a

legend of an eclipse, and referred to it as “Labi labi” (that is,

“night”). They have no tales of gods or heroes, and their chief interest

is the question, “Where are you going?” and “What are you doing?”

They were very keen to see our photographs, and had no difficulty in

understanding a picture: therein they differed greatly from the debased

Australian aborigines, who could never grasp the graphic symbol, and in

the famous instance, when shown a picture of Queen Victoria, said it was

a ship. They picked out their friends’ photographs at once, and

recognised them with exclamations of delight. For one of our men,

however, our stereoscope proved too much, as the relief of the figures

had probably been too realistic; and on being invited to look at a group

of our retainers, he no sooner put his eyes to the glass than he howled

and nearly dropped the instrument. He ran away, saying, “Mookau meego”

(“Man lives there”), and could not be persuaded to look again.

I hope that during my next journey I may be able to pierce more deeply

into the psychology of the Papuans, and it may be that, with greater

familiarity, they will communicate more of what they know; for it

appears improbable that they should be as destitute as they seem of

legend or myth.

[Illustration:

SMOKING THE BAU-BAU.

This curious pipe is made of a length of bamboo closed at each end.

Into a small hole at one end is inserted a small green leaf rolled

like a grocer’s paper bag. In this the lighted tobacco is placed.

The smoker then reverses the tube, and sucks in the smoke until the

bamboo is filled. He now takes out the tobacco and inhales a long

whiff. The operation is repeated as long as the tobacco lasts.

]

Over the “Bau-bau,” or social pipe, I trust there may be some

discoveries in store for me. The Papuan pipe is itself a most

interesting instrument, not only in its everyday use, but in its

construction and in the method of smoking. It is made of one joint of

bamboo, closed at both ends by the natural section of the bamboo. In the

side of the cylinder near one end they drill a hole by applying a piece

of hard wood made red-hot. They press the red-hot wood to the bamboo,

and blow it to incandescence, repeating the operation until a hole is

pierced. They next knock a hole in the opposite end of the bamboo, so as

to admit a current of air. The red-hot wood is now applied again to the

original hole, and they blow through the hole knocked in the opposite

end until the small hole in the side is gradually enlarged. The

“Bau-bau” is now complete, except for its ornamentation. Elaborate

patterns are scratched on the hard enamel of the bamboo with glass, a

knife, a stone, or red-hot wood, and the speed with which this

decoration is accomplished is extraordinary.

In the accompanying illustration I show some of the prevailing patterns.

On the march our men would cut a bamboo, and on reaching camp would

borrow some suitable tool from us, and make a pipe in a very short time.

They were sufficiently accomplished smokers, however, to like an old

“Bau-bau” best, and gave the reason, which will be appreciated by every

smoker, that tobacco is not good in a new one.

The method of smoking is elaborate. They roll a leaf into a little horn,

and insert it in the smaller hole on the side of the “Bau-bau,” within

this leaf is placed the charge of tobacco which they light, and then

placing their lips to the end hole they draw. The little horn, or

cigarette as one may call it, is now removed from the hole in the side,

and if the pipe is new they blow away the first charge of smoke, by

placing their lips to the hole in which the cigarette was originally

inserted. Again the cigarette is placed in the small hole, and the pipe

is drawn from the end hole. This time the smoke is intended to be used,

so the cigarette is removed from the small hole, and the smoker applying

his lips thereto inhales the whole charge. Again the cigarette is

removed, and the pipe is filled by a long pull at the end hole, but this

time the smoker does not inhale the charge himself, but removes the

cigarette and politely hands the charged pipe to his neighbour, who

punctiliously rubs the mouthpiece, and enjoys the long whiff. Very often

there is one drawer for an entire party, whose duty it is to fill the

pipe with smoke, and pass it so filled to each of his companions in

turn.

They usually sit in a circle for these smoking parties; and in camp the

“Bau-bau” is continually used. They grow their own tobacco, which is

very rank, and not good smoking at all. In fact, the natives themselves

cannot inhale much, as it makes them giddy; and they are not

infrequently seized with severe fits of coughing when the fumes have

proved particularly suffocating.

The supply of tobacco is carried in the armlet or behind the ear—this

last method being not unknown to the festive Cockney, who, on Bank

Holiday, is seldom complete without a cigarette so worn.

The pipe at the end of the day’s march was invariably well earned, for

the heartiness and endurance of my carriers were almost incredible. On

one occasion I despatched a party to one of my camps, thirty miles

distant, through an almost inaccessible mountain region. They left at

eight o’clock in the morning, and came into camp again at five in the

afternoon of the following day, having accomplished the whole journey of

sixty miles, and the latter half while they were burdened with their

loads of rice, tinned provisions, tobacco and hardware, and all the

other miscellaneous articles known as “trade.” The women’s loads weighed

about 50 lbs., the men’s somewhat less, for the women are the great

burden-bearers in New Guinea.

The difficulties of our march were heightened by certain natural

features, particularly the stinging trees, which occurred close to

Madui. The tree in shape, size, and foliage resembles a sycamore, and

has a leaf of which the under side is extremely rough and covered with

spines. These possess a stinging power like that of the nettle, only

much worse, and the irritation lasts far longer. The slightest touch is

sufficient to wound. First a white blister appears, then redness,

covering about a square inch around each pustule; rubbing aggravates the

irritation, which shortly becomes maddening. The pain is not allayed for

at least twelve hours; and I have never observed any natural antidote

growing in the vicinity of this stinging-tree, as the dock-leaf grows

near the nettle. Needless to say, the natives take the utmost care to

give these trees a wide berth.

A smaller stinging-plant, resembling our nettle, only larger, with a

rough under side of pale pea-green, is also found at intervals in the

forest; both sides of the leaf possess the power of irritation. The

natives use it as a universal specific for all ailments. As soon as they

come on a clump of this plant the women discard their loads and gather

bundles of the leaves, which they carefully preserve for future

requirements. It is also applied probably for the sheer pleasure of it

when they have no actual disorder, and it is quite common for them to

rub their bodies lightly with the leaves. This causes violent

irritation, followed by a feeling of pleasant numbness, like that which

results from the application of menthol. For a mosquito bite this is a

most admirable remedy, since the irritation of the bite is allayed and

goes down long before the irritation of the leaf has passed. It is a

curious example of the old medical practice of counter-irritation.

Although we were glad to resort to it for mosquito bites, no European

would without that cause risk the irritation for the sake of possible

future benefits.

While on the subject of Papuan sovereign remedies, I may mention a

curious form of bleeding which is in use among the tribes, especially

among the younger men. The bleeding is performed by two persons, who sit

opposite to each other. The operator takes a small drill, or rather

probe of cassowary bone brought to an extremely fine point, and this is

attached to the string of a tiny bow about 4 inches long. Holding the

bow as if he were going to shoot, the operator aims the little probe at

the patient’s forehead, draws the bow slowly, and lets the string go;

the probe is thus brought into sharp contact with the patient’s skin,

and the operation of drawing the bow and letting fly the arrow is

repeated again and again until blood is drawn. It should be remembered

that the probe or arrow is always attached to the string and never

escapes. The patient now leans forward, and the blood is allowed to flow

profusely on to the ground.

I have often seen as much as half a pint allowed to escape. When

faintness supervenes the wound is staunched with ashes or any convenient

styptic, and the patient sits up. If the ashes fail to act, cautery with

a hot cinder is practised. Headache is the usual trouble for which this

remedy is applied, and this frequency of bleeding may be the reason why

there is no heart disease or sudden death among the natives. This may

probably lend colour to the theory of some physicians, that the increase

of heart disease and sudden death in civilised nations is due to the

entire abandonment of bleeding, once certainly carried to excess.

Although the women do all the hard work of the house and in the field,

they are nevertheless regarded with affection. It is erroneous to

suppose that they are compelled to be burden-bearers because they are

lightly esteemed. As far as my own observation goes, the men are left

free of loads, or are given lighter loads, in order that they may be

ready to protect the women from the sudden raids of other tribes. Their

gardens are often a considerable distance from the village, and the

women never go to gather yams or taro, or to till their patches, without

an escort of young men as protectors.

On the other hand, the men are not idle, but perform their part in the

economic system by acting as hunters. Their chief game is the pig, the

cassowary, and the wallaby. They hunt this quarry with spears, and drive

the game into nets which have been spread between the trees and posts in

the forest over a considerable area, forming a corral, approached by a

long decoy, two long lines of nets gradually converging. When the nets

have been set the drive commences. The beaters extend themselves for a

considerable distance, and, with the assistance of dogs, gradually force

the game towards the nets. The game is plentiful, and as it closes

towards the corral, birds and beasts are forced into the centre in

crowds. At length the hunters close round the opening, a final rush is

made, and the victims are despatched with spears. These hunting bouts

occur only at long intervals, and on the lower slopes of the mountains.

After a successful drive there is a great jollification. Fires are built

in the camp, the game is roasted, and in an incredibly short space of

time every portion has disappeared, and the people are lying around

gorged.

In one particular delicacy favoured by the Papuans I was, as an

entomologist, very much interested. The natives are exceedingly fond of

the larvæ of a large tropical beetle, one of the _Passalidæ_, which are

found in decayed tree trunks. Whenever the natives noticed the presence

of the borings made by the larvæ, they seized a native instrument,

probably one of their stone axes, dug out the dainty, which is about

five inches long, and ate it raw. Should a fire be handy, they would

sometimes throw the larvæ into the ashes, give it a turn or two, and

then enjoy it: the flavour is said to resemble that of a lemon. I could

never, however, bring myself to try it.

[Illustration:

A PAPUAN HUNT.

The natives drive their game, chiefly the pig, the cassowary, and the

wallaby (a small kangaroo) into a corral, and then despatch the

quarry with spears.

]

The Papuans are a jovial, light-hearted people, and when a stranger has

once won their confidence they are hospitable and friendly. Their trust

when once gained will stand even rather severe tests, as I found to my

great satisfaction and advantage after a stay of some months at Mount

Kebea. I was anxious to push farther into the interior, but found myself

absolutely without beads, which are the journey money of the explorer.

It would have delayed me too long to have waited for the return of my

messengers, who had been sent to the coast for a further supply, so I

hit upon the expedient of trying how far my credit with the natives

would go. I called the tribe—men, women, and children—together, and in a

lengthy harangue I explained the situation to them; finally asking them

if they would lend me their beads, which every one of them wore on his

or her person in considerable profusion, promising them that on my

return I would pay them double the quantity. This tribe, be it noted,

was not to accompany me farther, and the beads would have to be given to

other bearers, whom I should engage as I proceeded. These ornamentations

are to the Papuans as precious as her pearls are to a _grande dame_,

but, nevertheless, every man, woman, and child immediately consented to

the loan. This appreciation of the idea of credit—one might almost say

of banking—denotes a considerable receptivity of mind, and shows that

the Papuan cannot be inaccessible to civilisation.

I cannot pass from the subject of the Papuan at home without saying

something about his children, who are the merriest little creatures

imaginable. Without being very demonstrative, the parents like them well

enough, and the child is not at all hardly used—although, be it

remembered, the family pig has a deeper place in the adults’ affections.

In times of stress it is to be feared it is the pig that is first

considered, probably because it is so important an article of diet. The

devotion to this animal goes far further than that of Pat, for it is not

unusual to see a Papuan woman acting as foster-mother to a young pig.

But to return to the children; up to the age of seven their life is one

long holiday, and they very early begin to practise the use of weapons.

Spearthrowing is their favourite sport; for this they use a long stick

of grass with an enlarged root. They pull off all the leaves until the

shaft is clean, and the root is allowed to remain to represent the heavy

head of the spear. Their targets are each other, and at a very early age

they have acquired a marvellous dexterity, hitting each other with

nicest accuracy even at 40 feet range. Every hit is registered with a

delighted jump and a howl. The amount of cleverness and dexterity

required for this spear practice was realised by my son, who tried it,

and found that not only could he not hit, but he could not make the

spear carry. Very small girls play also at spearthrowing, but they give

it up early.

We were very much amused to find the presence of “Cat’s-Cradle”; we had

thought to amuse the little ones by teaching them this game, but we

found that they were already more than our masters therein; for they no

sooner saw what we were after than they let us know that they were well

acquainted with it, and whereas we had just the old stereotyped process

to give them, they showed us thirty different ways. They did not,

however, play in pairs as we do, the players taking the string from each

other’s hands in turn, but each child sits by himself or herself and

works out the pattern. It is really amusing to see how they effect the

different changes and the regular routine of forms by the movement of

the fingers alone, without the aid of another pair of hands.

The dogs at Epa and Port Moresby were highly favoured animals. Not only

had they the run of the house, but each house had an entrance sacred to

the dog. To this access was given by special dog-ladders 9 inches wide,

with the rungs quite a foot apart, up and down which the animals ran

like monkeys.

CHAPTER XVII

_A NOTE ON BRITISH TRADE PROSPECTS IN NEW GUINEA_

Sandalwood—The Sea-Slug—Copra and Cocoa-Nut—Coffee—Cocoa—Chillies—

Rubber—Stock-Raising—Gold—Tobacco—Imports—German Enterprise—Our Lost

Coaling Station.

CHAPTER XVII

A NOTE ON BRITISH TRADE PROSPECTS IN

NEW GUINEA

The intelligent observer of New Guinea cannot fail to recognise that the

country presents a vast unopened field for the development of British

trade. Many sources of wealth are as yet absolutely untouched, but

experiments that have recently been made in coffee, tobacco, cocoa, and

rubber, yield the richest promise. The geographical configuration of the

coast will greatly aid the enterprising trader, for many centres of

industry can easily be approached by water at such inlets as Hall Sound,

and the cost of transport from the interior would consequently be a mere

bagatelle.

One of the chief industries is sandalwood cutting. The sandalwood is

found in arid, elevated regions, and the particular spots where the

trees grow in any quantity are known to the trade as patches. These

patches, however, do not signify that the trees grow closely together.

One tree might be found here and another might not occur for a hundred

yards or so; but still there is an area of sandalwood growth

sufficiently definite to justify the title “patch.” For any one who

understands the intricacies of the situation, and the proper method of

going to work, there is something to be made; but at present the

development of the trade is beset with difficulties which can only be

surmounted by one who is thoroughly familiar with the country and the

conditions.

A rich source of income, still only little worked, is the trade in

_béche-de-mer_, the sea-slug, which is an indispensable article of

seasoning in every Chinese kitchen. This commands £70 a ton in the China

market, and the variety known as the “black fish” fetches as much as

£100 a ton. It is used for thickening gravies and soups. These molluscs

are about 9 inches long and 3 inches thick, and are to be found adhering

to the corals. The Papuans dive for them, and when they have secured

them they are split open, dried in the sun, and packed in boxes. This

trade could be made very profitable to any capable operator who cared to

embark a moderate capital in its development. Divers can be had for a

little tobacco or a few shells, a knife or an axe, but the chief expense

is the preparation and preservation for the market. As a matter of fact,

an enterprising Brisbane firm has lately introduced the tinning system

for this mollusc, but the China market is supplied with the dried

commodity untinned.

There is also much to be done in copra and in cocoanut products

generally. Large cocoanut plantations pay well, as every part of the

tree can be utilised, and there is no doubt that a great deal of

business can be done with Java, which at present cannot produce enough

cocoanut fibre for its mat industry, and actually brings consignments

all the way from Ceylon. The copra is in great demand amongst

soap-makers, and one large firm has prospectors at work in the interior

of the islands with a view to increasing the supply. To my own knowledge

efforts are being made to extend this trade, by several Europeans, east

and west of Hall Sound, but there is plenty of room for others without

in any way damaging the prosperity of the industry.

[Illustration:

HAULING UP A LOG FOR BUILDING THE CAMP AT DINAWA

]

New Guinea is favourable to the production of coffee, although the plant

is not indigenous to the island. A fine quality is grown at Wariratti.

The plantations are flourishing, but here again the enterprise is still

young. The trade is so new that the experimental stage is hardly passed.

It cannot be doubted that Australia offers a vast and lucrative market

to the future coffee grower of New Guinea.

Cocoa and chillies thrive in the Mekeo region, and this district is also

very rich in fruit. The Government at Port Moresby often sends down a

sailing vessel to bring back large consignments of fruit for the

convicts in Port Moresby jail. The fruit-farmer might find in the Mekeo

region a richer California.

In about the same condition as the coffee is the rubber trade. Trees are

found throughout the possession, and the natives have some understanding

of the method of collecting the sap. Their operations are, however, very

crude and rough. I question whether the New Guinea rubber would ever

rival in excellence the South American variety (_hevea Braziliensis_),

which is undoubtedly the finest in the market, although Ceylon is just

commencing to send rubber which may run it hard.

To the stock-raiser New Guinea offers a tempting field. At the Mission

of the Sacred Heart on Yule Island I saw remarkably fine cattle—cows and

oxen—which had doubtless been introduced from Australia. Not only the

headquarters of the Mission, but the outlying stations, were plentifully

supplied with milk and butter, and, at the time I was there, they hoped

to be in a position to kill a beast a week, an important consideration,

for fresh meat is valuable in New Guinea. I did not see sheep in New

Guinea at all, but goats were met with at Hall Sound, although they are

not raised in any great numbers. On Yule Island the pasturage is

splendid, and drought, that terror of the Australian squatter, is by no

means frequent.

Turning to the mineral wealth, for the past five years gold workings

have been carried on at the Yodda Fields, on the Mombare River, in the

north-east portion of the island. The gold is alluvial. Although I

cannot give the exact figures of the output, some idea of the

productiveness of the region may be obtained from the fact that, for the

last five years, 150 miners have been able to live on these fields. When

it is remembered that the price of provisions at the Yodda Camp is

prohibitive, it is not an extravagant assumption to compute that each

man must be turning out at least three ounces of gold per week to make

it worth his while to remain. There are other workings in the Woodlark

Islands, and there are certainly evidences of gold everywhere in the

streams of New Guinea. It does not seem likely that the miners are

turning their earnings to the best account at the present time. The

local stores, of course, consume a great deal of their dust, and when a

man has got a fair pile together he not infrequently goes down to

Samarai, and has what he calls “a good time,” returning with empty

pockets to begin his labour over again. I believe the Government is now

making a road to the Yodda Fields, and when this is completed, the

longer route will be abandoned, and provisions on the fields will be

cheaper.

As regards imports for commerce with the natives, the chief desiderata

are the articles technically known as “trade,” with which the labour to

be used for developing the exports is remunerated. The native generally

desires to receive from the white man knives, axes, tobacco, Jews’

harps, beads, dogs’ teeth, and red calico; but it is to the exports that

the enterprising trader has to look in the future.

The finest field for enterprise in New Guinea—and one which I have

therefore left to the last to be dealt with—is tobacco. The district of

Mekeo produces a magnificent leaf, of which the seed has been imported

from Cuba. The syndicate that imported the leaf applied to the

Government for 100,000 acres of land in the central division of British

New Guinea, but this request was opposed by the New South Wales

Government, without reason vouchsafed to the Government of the

possession, whose officials in a recent report described this action as

“a very serious blow to the immediate development of the country by

Australian capitalists of high standing.” The same report, while

deploring this misfortune, remarks that the tobacco should do very well

if the leaf is properly treated for the market, as the soil appears to

be very rich. Very different was the action of the German authorities in

the Kaiser’s New Guinea possessions. With their usual indefatigable

enterprise, the Teutons have financed a large tobacco undertaking, and

are exporting the leaf in great quantities. Their syndicate has so far

introduced methods of civilised trade that they have struck and issued

their own coinage (which bears the image of a bird of paradise), and

their five-mark, two-mark, and one-mark pieces are accepted by the

natives instead of trade. These pieces are, of course, spent by the

natives in the German stores. Not without reason did the Prince of Wales

advise Great Britain to wake up.

With all these extraordinary opportunities, it is a curious fact that,

as regards shipping, the island is in a worse position for trade than it

was twenty years ago. Even as recently as 1902, the _Moresby_ was

calling every five weeks at Port Moresby, but now her route has been

changed, and she sails from Sydney to Singapore, calling at Port Moresby

only once every two and a half months. In the interval goods and mails

are carried in an erratic manner by a little steamer called the _Parua_,

by the _Merrie England_ (a Government survey boat), or by the _St.

Andrew_, the Sacred Heart Mission boat. Two small sailing vessels, it is

true, sail between Cook Town and Samarai, but this does not improve the

communication with Port Moresby, the seat of Government, as these

vessels make no call there. It is almost incredible that the second

largest island in the world—the “Pearl of the East,” probably the

richest region in proportion to its size that Great Britain has the

option of developing—is thus left hermit-like in the midst of the

eastern seas. It is the more surprising when it is remembered that New

Guinea lies directly on the trade route between Sydney and the great

commercial centres of China and Japan. We might have had a magnificent

coaling station on the east coast of the island, in the Dampier Strait,

but for the action of Lord Derby, when he permitted the Germans to

extend their possessions so as to occupy almost a quarter of the eastern

peninsula of the island. As matters stand now, a coaling station could

only be established at such a point on the south-eastern coast that

vessels coming and going from Sydney would have to double the south-east

cape, thus making an awkward and almost impossible détour in these days

when time is more than ever the essence of every shipping contract.

CHAPTER XVIII

_NOTES ON SOME BIRDS OF NEW GUINEA_

The Birds of Paradise—Remarkable Species observed—Native Names—

Play-Places—Curious Habits—The Bower-Bird: Artist, Architect, and

Gardener.

CHAPTER XVIII

NOTES ON SOME BIRDS OF NEW GUINEA

New Guinea is remarkable for its paucity of mammals and its richness in

birds. As we have already noted, at least 770 different species of birds

are known, and to these doubtless many more will be added as the

explorer ventures farther into the interior. The chief haunts of the

blue bird of paradise, the _Paradisornis Rudolphi_, are in Central

British New Guinea, at an altitude of from 4000 to 6000 feet. There are

about a dozen species of the bird of paradise, and at Mafulu we obtained

the following, of which I give, where possible, the native name:—

Lophorina atra Wagoda.

Epimachus magnus Yawvee.

Astrapia stephaniæ Beebee.

Parotia Lawsii Aliga.

Diphyllodis speciosa Kellolo.

Ptiloris magnifica ——

Besides these we found two species of bower-bird—

Amblyornis subalaris.

Laurea lori.

The limit of the king bird (_Cicinnurus Regius_) was at an elevation of

about 1500 feet. It has a brilliant crimson back, the throat crimson,

with a green band edged with another narrow band of crimson. The breast

is white, the beak blue, two big tail feathers curve gracefully

outwards, and end in spatulæ of brilliant green on the upper side. There

are also shortish plumes on each side ending in a band of green.

At Ekeikei and Dinawa, but chiefly at Dinawa, were the playgrounds of

the _Diphyllodis magnifica_. These were very remarkable. The bird

chooses a fairly clear space among saplings ten or fifteen feet high.

These it clears of leaves, and also the ground between, making all

beautifully clean and level. There it dances, leaping from tree to tree,

running along the ground for a little, and then taking to the branches

again. Every movement is extraordinarily rapid. If any leaves are thrown

into the enclosure the bird gets very angry, and flings them out again

immediately.

Sam told me that on the Kebea he had observed the play-place of the

_Parotia Lawsii_, which is even more singular. The bird digs a hole, at

least a foot in diameter, and over it places cross-sticks. Above these

again it strews leaves and other vegetable refuse, and on the top of

that it dances. Its playtime is the morning, but during the day it

haunts the tops of the highest trees, and is consequently very difficult

to come by.

I was fortunate enough to be able to observe one of the latest and most

wonderful discoveries among the birds of paradise, the _Paradisornis

Rudolphi_, familiarly known as the blue bird of paradise. It feeds on

the larvæ of beetles found in the umbrella head of the mountain

pandanus. This tree has adventitious roots which spring clear of the

ground to a height of sixty feet, and then throw out flag leaves in the

shape of an umbrella. From the umbrella top hang fine clusters of

scarlet fruit. The decomposition of the vegetable matter at the point

where the leaves stretch out gives refuge to the pupæ of beetles of many

diverse species, and these prove a great attraction to the blue bird of

paradise, who finds them excellent eating. The bird is about the size of

a jay, and is very gorgeous. The upper part of its wings is a sky blue;

the side plumes are in gradations of brilliant greenish blue and

ultramarine; when the plumes are spread there is also a band of brown

feathers. The head resembles that of the common crow, but is smaller.

From the upper part of the tail spring two elongated feathers with two

light-blue spatulæ at the tips. In the same pandanus tree lives also the

_Astrapia stephaniæ_, remarkable for its long tail, with two violet

feathers and a white shaft. The upper part of this bird’s breast is a

most brilliant green, with a band of copper below. In one light it

appears shaded with violet. The back of the head is violet with gold

iridescence. The whole length of the bird is 2 feet 6 inches.

Equally wonderful is the bower-bird, at once gardener, architect, and

artist. Not only does it build the most extraordinary nest known to

naturalists—a long, tunnel-like bower framed like a delicate Gothic

arch, but it actually lays out a garden. I have myself seen the

creature’s marvellous achievement. It has definite colour-sense, for it

picks the blossoms of orchids, and arranges them in alternate lines of

mauve and white. The whole impulse is, of course, the universal one of

love, for among its rows of flowers it dances to its mate. This was

probably the prettiest and most fascinating of all the sights provided

by nature in New Guinea, that land of surprises.

APPENDICES

APPENDIX I

NEW LEPIDOPTERA DISCOVERED DURING THE EXPEDITION

┌───────────────────────┬──────────────────────┬──────────────────────┐

│ SPECIES. │ PLACE. │ SEASON. │

├───────────────────────┼──────────────────────┼──────────────────────┤

│Dicalleneura ekeikei, │Ekeikei │March and April │

│ spec. nov. │ │ │

│Gunda kebea, spec. nov.│Mount Kebea │March to April │

│Pseudodreata strigata, │Dinawa │.... │

│ spec. nov. │ │ │

│Tarsolepis sommeri │Dinawa │.... │

│ dinawensis, sub-spec.│ │ │

│ nov. │ │ │

│Pseudogargetta diversa,│Dinawa │May and June │

│ spec. nov. │ │ │

│Osica turneri, spec. │Dinawa; Ekeikei │August and September; │

│ nov. │ │ January and February│

│Cascera bella, spec. │Dinawa and Mount │.... │

│ nov. │ Kebea; Ekeikei │ │

│Hirsutopalpis fasciata,│Ekeikei; Dinawa │January and February; │

│ spec. nov. │ │ August │

│Omichlis hampsoni, │Dinawa │May and June │

│ spec. nov. │ │ │

│Omichlis dinawa, spec. │Dinawa │September │

│ nov. │ │ │

│Omichlis ochracea, │Ekeikei and Mount │.... │

│ spec. nov. │ Kebea │ │

│Omichlis griseola, │Ekeikei │January and February │

│ spec. nov. │ │ │

│Omichlis pratti, spec. │Ekeikei │January and February │

│ nov. │ │ │

│Omichlis rufofasciata, │Mount Kebea │March or April │

│ spec. nov. │ │ │

│Stauropus viridissimus,│Dinawa; Ekeikei │March and April │

│ spec. nov. │ │ │

│Stauropus kebeæ, spec. │Mount Kebea │March and April │

│ nov. │ │ │

│Stauropus dubiosus, │Mount Kebea; Ekeikei │A series taken in │

│ spec. nov. │ │ March and April; │

│ │ │ January to March │

│Stauropus bella, spec. │Ekeikei │January and February │

│ nov. │ │ │

│Stauropus dinawa, spec.│Dinawa │.... │

│ nov. │ │ │

│Stauropus pratti, spec.│Ekeikei │.... │

│ nov. │ │ │

│Notodonta irrorati │Dinawa │May and June │

│ viridis, spec. nov. │ │ │

│Cerura multipunctata, │Dinawa │May and June │

│ spec. nov. │ │ │

│Thyatira dinawa │Dinawa │September │

│Thyatira ekeikei, spec.│Ekeikei │January and February │

│ nov. │ │ │

│Parazeuzera celæna, │Dinawa │August │

│ spec. nov. │ │ │

│Parazeuzera aurea, │Dinawa │September │

│ spec. nov. │ │ │

│Scopelodes dinawa, │Dinawa │August │

│ spec. nov. │ │ │

│Scopelodes nitens, │Dinawa │.... │

│ spec. nov. │ │ │

│Birthama dinawa, spec. │Dinawa │.... │

│ nov. │ │ │

│Contheyla pratti, spec.│Dinawa │August │

│ nov. │ │ │

│Contheyla ekeikei, │Ekeikei │March and April │

│ spec. nov. │ │ │

│Contheyla birthama, │Ekeikei │January and February │

│ spec. nov. │ │ │

│Dinawa rufa, spec. nov.│Dinawa │July and September │

│Dinawa nigricans, spec.│Dinawa │August and September │

│ nov. │ │ │

│Pygmæomorpha modesta, │Dinawa │August │

│ spec. nov. │ │ │

│Pygmseomorpha brunnea, │Dinawa │August │

│ spec. nov. │ │ │

│Lasiolimacos pratti, │Dinawa; Ekeikei │August and September; │

│ spec. nov. │ │ January and February│

│Lasiolimacos kenricki, │Dinawa │.... │

│ spec. nov. │ │ │

│Lasiolimacos │Ekeikei │January to February │

│ ferruginea, spec. │ │ │

│ nov. │ │ │

│Euproctis rubroradiata,│Dinawa │August and March │

│ spec. nov. │ │ │

│Euproctis pratti, spec.│Dinawa │August │

│ nov. │ │ │

│Euproctis irregularis, │Dinawa; Aroa River │September │

│ spec. nov. │ │ │

│Euproctis albociliata, │Ekeikei │January │

│ spec. nov. │ │ │

│Euproctis │Ekeikei; Mount Kebea │.... │

│ novaguinensis, spec. │ │ │

│ nov. │ │ │

│Euproctis sublutea, │Dinawa; Mount Kebea │June and July; March │

│ spec. nov. │ │ and April │

│Diversosexus bicolor, │Dinawa │.... │

│ spec. nov. │ │ │

│Anthela ekeikei, spec. │Ekeikei │.... │

│ nov. │ │ │

│Dasychira subnigra, │Dinawa │August │

│ spec. nov. │ │ │

│Dasychira │Dinawa │September │

│ subnigropunctata, │ │ │

│ spec. nov. │ │ │

│Dasychira brunnea, │Dinawa │August │

│ spec. nov. │ │ │

│Dasychira minor, spec. │Dinawa │August │

│ nov. │ │ │

│Dasychira kenricki │Dinawa │June to August │

│Dasychiroides obsoleta,│Owen Stanley range │.... │

│ spec. nov. │ │ │

│Dasychiroides │Dinawa and generally │.... │

│ nigrostrigata, spec. │ distributed │ │

│ nov. │ │ │

│Dasychiroides pratti, │Dinawa; Ekeikei │July and August; │

│ spec. nov. │ │ January and February│

│Dasychiroides bicolora,│Dinawa; Mount Kebea │ │

│ spec. nov. │ │ │

│Dasychiroides │Dinawa │.... │

│ brunneostrigata, │ │ │

│ spec. nov. │ │ │

│Lymantria ekeikei, │Ekeikei │January and February │

│ spec. nov. │ │ │

│Lymantria kebea, spec. │Mount Kebea │.... │

│ nov. │ │ │

│Imaus niveus, spec. │Ekeikei and Mount │March and April │

│ nov. │ Kebea │ │

│Imaus spodea, spec. │Dinawa; Ekeikei and │August; March and │

│ nov. │ Mount Kebea │ April │

│Imaus aroa, spec. nov │Aroa River │January │

│Nervicompressa │Dinawa │July to September │

│ unistrigata, spec. │ │ │

│ nov. │ │ │

│Nervicompressa lunulata│Dinawa │August │

│Nervicompressa │Dinawa │August │

│ albomaculata, spec. │ │ │

│ nov. │ │ │

│Nervicompressa dubia, │Dinawa │September │

│ spec. nov. │ │ │

│Nervicompressa kebea, │Kebea │March and April │

│ spec. nov. │ │ │

│Nervicompressa aroa, │Aroa River │..... │

│ spec. nov. │ │ │

│Lasiochra pulchra, │Dinawa │August and September │

│ spec. nov. │ │ │

│Squamosala │Dinawa │August │

│ nigrostigmata, spec. │ │ │

│ nov. │ │ │

│Taragama dinawa, spec. │Dinawa │Taken in May and June,│

│ nov. │ │ and again in August │

│ │ │ and September │

│Taragama rubiginea, │Dinawa │August │

│ spec. nov. │ │ │

│Taragama proserpina, │Dinawa │August │

│ spec. nov. │ │ │

│Arguda pratti, spec. │Ekeikei │January │

│ nov. │ │ │

│Isostigena bicellata, │Dinawa │Taken in May and again│

│ spec. nov. │ │ in August │

│Sporostigena uniformis,│Dinawa │..... │

│ spec. nov. │ │ │

│Odonestis │Dinawa │August │

│ centralistrigata, │ │ │

│ spec. nov. │ │ │

│Caviria dinawa, spec. │Dinawa │September │

│ nov. │ │ │

│Porthesia ekeikei, │Ekeikei │March to April │

│ spec. nov. │ │ │

│Euproctis swinhœi, │Mount Kebea │March to April │

│ spec. nov. │ │ │

│Euproctis virginea, │Ekeikei │January to April │

│ spec. nov. │ │ │

│Euproctis parallelaria,│Dinawa │August and September │

│ spec. nov. │ │ │

│Euproctis kebea, spec. │Mount Kebea │March │

│ nov. │ │ │

│Euproctis dinawa, spec.│Dinawa │..... │

│ nov. │ │ │

│Euproctis yulei, spec. │Dinawa │August │

│ nov. │ │ │

│Imaus pratti, spec. │Dinawa │August and September │

│ nov. │ │ │

│Deilemera kebea, spec. │Mount Kebea │March and April │

│ nov. │ │ │

│Deilemera dinawa, spec.│Dinawa │August and September │

│ nov. │ │ │

│Deilemera pratti, spec.│Owen Stanley range │September and March │

│ nov. │ │ and April │

│Mænas punctatostrigata,│Mount Kebea; Dinawa │August and March and │

│ spec. nov. │ │ April │

│Diacrisia pratti, spec.│Mount Kebea; Dinawa │March and April; │

│ nov. │ │ August │

│Diacrisia dinawa, spec.│Dinawa │August │

│ nov. │ │ │

│Diacrisia kebea, spec. │Kebea │March and April │

│ nov. │ │ │

│Celama fuscibasis, │Dinawa │August │

│ spec. nov. │ │ │

│Celama aroa, spec. nov.│Dinawa; Aroa River │January and February │

│Acatapaustus basifusca,│Dinawa │September and January │

│ spec. nov. │ │ │

│Acatapaustus ekeikei, │Ekeikei │March │

│ spec. nov. │ │ │

│Scoliacma hampsoni, │Dinawa │September │

│ spec. nov. │ │ │

│Nishada melanopa, spec.│Dinawa │June to July │

│ nov. │ │ │

│Acco bicolora, spec. │Dinawa │August and February │

│ nov. │ │ │

│Pseudilema dinawa, │Dinawa │August and September │

│ spec. nov. │ │ │

│Ilema ekeikei, spec. │Ekeikei │January and February │

│ nov. │ │ │

│Ilema dinawa, spec. │Dinawa │August and September │

│ nov. │ │ │

│Ilema costistrigata, │Ekeikei │August and September │

│ spec. nov. │ │ │

│Ilema unicolora, spec. │Dinawa │August │

│ nov. │ │ │

│Ilema hades, spec. nov.│Dinawa │.... │

│Ilema nivea, spec. nov.│Dinawa │September │

│Chrysæglia bipunctata, │Mount Kebea; type, │March and April; │

│ spec. nov. │ Dinawa │ August │

│Œonistis bicolora, │Dinawa │May to June │

│ spec. nov. │ │ │

│Macaduma bipunctata, │Dinawa, type; Ekeikei │August │

│ spec. nov. │ │ │

│Halone flavopunctata, │Dinawa │August │

│ spec. nov. │ │ │

│Chionæma dinawa, spec. │Dinawa │August │

│ nov. │ │ │

│Chionæma charybdis, │Dinawa │September │

│ spec. nov. │ │ │

│Cleolosia aroa, spec. │Dinawa │September │

│ nov. │ │ │

│Asura ochreomaculata, │Dinawa │August │

│ spec. nov. │ │ │

│Asura flaveola, spec. │Dinawa │September │

│ nov. │ │ │

│Asura brunneofasciata, │Dinawa │August and September │

│ spec. nov. │ │ │

│Asura unicolora, spec. │Dinawa │September │

│ nov. │ │ │

│Asura sagittaria, spec.│Dinawa │August │

│ nov. │ │ │

│Asura rosacea, spec. │Dinawa │August │

│ nov. │ │ │

│Asura dinawa, spec. │Dinawa │August │

│ nov. │ │ │

│Eugoa tricolora, spec. │Dinawa │August │

│ nov. │ │ │

│Eugoa conflua, spec. │Dinawa │August and September │

│ nov. │ │ │

│Amphoraceras │Dinawa │August │

│ rothschildi │ │ │

│Parabasis pratti, spec.│Dinawa │August │

│ nov. │ │ │

│Collusa ekeikei, spec. │Ekeikei; Mount Kebea │January and February; │

│ nov. │ │ March and April │

└───────────────────────┴──────────────────────┴──────────────────────┘

APPENDIX II

A NEW REPTILE FROM DINAWA

_Toxicocalamus Stanleyanus_

Rostral much broader than deep, just visible from above; internasals

nearly as long as the præfrontals, which are in contact with the second

upper labial and with the eye; frontal small, slightly broader than the

supraocular, once and three-fourths as long as broad, as long as its

distance from the end of the snout, a little shorter than the parietals;

one postocular; temporals, one plus two; five upper labials, second and

third entering the eye; three lower labials in contact with the anterior

chin-shields, which are larger than the posterior. Scales in fifteen

rows. Ventrals, 261; anal entire; subcaudals, twenty-five pairs; tail

ending in a compressed, obtusely pointed scute, which is obtusely keeled

above. Blackish-brown above; traces of a yellowish nuchal collar; upper

lip white; two outer rows of scales white, each scale with a blackish

central spot; ventrals and subcaudals white, with a black spot on each

side, some of the ventrals with an interrupted blackish border.

Total length, 610 millimetres; tail, 40.

APPENDIX III

A NEW FISH DISCOVERED BY THE EXPEDITION

_Rhiacichthys Novæ Guineæ_

Depth of body nearly equal to length of head, five to six times in total

length. Diameter of eye six or seven times in length of head,

interorbital width three times; snout but very slightly longer than

postocular part of head. Dorsals VII., I. 8–9; longest spine, ¾; longest

soft ray ⅘ length of head. Anal I. 8–9; longest ray as long as head.

Pectoral about 1½ length of head; ventral as long as head, or a little

longer. Caudal feebly emarginate. Caudal peduncle 2½ as long as deep.

Scales strongly ciliated, 37 to 39 in a longitudinal series on each

side, 14 or 16 round caudal peduncle. Dark olive above, whitish beneath.

Total length, 225 millimetres.

Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO.

Edinburgh & London

[Illustration: PART OF SOUTH-WESTERN NEW GUINEA Showing Mr. PRATT’S

Routes.]

------------------------------------------------------------------------

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES

1. Silently corrected obvious typographical errors and variations in

spelling.

2. Retained archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings as printed.

3. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.