The new Governor was a man as different from Sir William MacGregor as
chalk from cheese. Mr. Le Hunte (as he was then) was a pleasant, genial
Irishman; greeting each one of his officers, as if he were the very man
he most wanted to see; ever being painfully anxious to avoid hurting
any one’s feelings, or being obliged to censure them. He certainly was
a man who inspired great liking and affection in his subordinates; but
he would sooner cajole a slack man into doing his work, by increasing
his pay or easing his duties, than spur him on with a caustic reprimand
or a little additional work.
The Governor brought with him Captain Barton, late West India Regiment,
and the Honble. C. G. Murray, as private secretary and assistant
private secretary respectively--the latter without pay. One of these
men, at the present time of writing, is First Minister to the Sultan of
Zanzibar, and the other, Administrator of St. Vincent; whilst in New
Guinea they each received appointments in the Service.
At Nivani, after I had handed over the Station to Campbell, the
Governor desired me to accompany his party in the _Merrie England_,
on her round voyage of inspection among the islands, and back to Port
Moresby, where another appointment would be found for me. Devoutly
hoping that the new billet would not have anything to do with Customs
or Treasury, or be in the Gulf of Papua, I thankfully accepted
the offer, and promptly attached myself to Judge Winter as unpaid
associate. The _Merrie England_ visited Sudest, St. Aignan, Rossel, and
Woodlark Islands, where nothing of interest or moment took place; from
thence she went to the Trobriands.
Here the Governor decided that he would walk across the island, through
old Enamakala’s village; as the track was good and the country flat all
the way, the journey could very easily be accomplished in two days. Sir
George and his staff, being new to the country and utterly ignorant
of local conditions, consulted me as to the method of procedure. A
little friction occurred at the beginning of this journey: for I found
that, from something that Moreton had told him, his Excellency thought
it inadvisable to carry arms or to take more than a few police. The
Commandant and the travelling patrol were accordingly to be sent round
the island in the _Merrie England_, to await us on the other side; the
shore party was to consist of the Governor, the Judge, Barton, Murray,
and myself, with the Governor’s boat’s crew and a score of local
carriers. I, of course, had now no police of my own. Finding what the
arrangements were to be, I went to my cabin, buckled on my revolver,
and borrowed a Winchester rifle from the Chief Officer of the _Merrie
England_. Then I went to Captain Barton, and unbosomed myself in this
way. “We have already learnt in New Guinea the folly of proceedings
such as this: you might walk unarmed across the island a score of
times, and nothing happen; or you might be attacked the very first
time, and wiped out.”
Captain Barton and I then went together to the Governor, who was
talking to Judge Winter, and Barton told him about my protest. “I
have been assured by Mr. Moreton, that he walked across the island
with nothing but his walking stick,” said his Excellency. I groaned.
“Moreton has been guilty of that folly, sir; but Moreton is known to
the people, and what he can do another cannot; also he only risked his
own life, and not the lives of the Governor and the Chief Justice.”
“You really think it unsafe to cross unarmed, Monckton?” asked
Judge Winter. “If we do it, sir, I consider that we shall incur an
unnecessary and very grave risk,” I replied. The Judge turned round,
walked to his cabin, and returned wearing a heavy revolver at his belt.
The Governor turned his shoulder to me pettishly; but when we got into
the boats, I noticed that both Barton and Murray were wearing their
revolvers. As soon as we got on shore, Barton told me to take command
of the police. “Then first detail two men to keep the Governor in sight
all the time,” I said. Mr. Le Hunte carried a butterfly net, was a
very slow walker, and kept perpetually crashing off into the scrub in
pursuit of butterflies.
We halted for lunch in a village: the chiefs were presented to the
Governor, a large crowd of natives assembled, and the personal servants
of the Governor, the Judge and Murray, began trading with them for
curios and betel-nut. Suddenly, there arose an angry clamour among
the local natives, and we heard the voice of the Governor raised
in anger. I yelled to the police to stand to their arms, and--with
Barton--rushed off to Mr. Le Hunte, whose orderly we found holding a
native by the arm, whilst a large number of others chattered angrily.
It appeared that the Governor’s boy had paid a native for a large bunch
of betel-nut, the native had then tried to bolt with both betel-nut and
payment; the boy complained to Mr. Le Hunte, who promptly commanded
his orderly to seize the man and demand return of either the betel-nut
or the payment--hence the row. The affair was soon arranged. “Well,
sir,” I whispered to Judge Winter, “you see how easily friction can
arise, out of nothing; what sort of fools should we have looked, ten
minutes ago, without our revolvers?” “His Excellency seems to be very
impulsive,” remarked the Judge. Sir George Le Hunte (as he afterwards
became) certainly was very impulsive, and it was made worse by an
entire lack of fear of consequences. I remember once, at a later
period, visiting a village on the Fly River with him, and getting a bad
fright, through that same trait in his character.
I was returning from leave, and joined the _Merrie England_ at Thursday
Island. Barton was then Commandant, and there had been a fuss on the
Fly River, brought about in this way. A native Mission teacher had
gone up the river to an enormous Dobu, _i.e._ a huge tribal house,
divided by partitions into family quarters, meeting halls, etc., in
which there was a sacred place, where the natives kept some sort of
god. The fool of a Mission teacher had torn down their god, and had
just managed to escape, but it was in the midst of a storm of arrows.
He then complained to another fool--a Government officer--who proceeded
to the spot and burned down the Dobu: destroying not only the building
that sheltered about five hundred people, but also the whole of their
personal belongings and property with it. The homeless natives,
suffering under a sense of injustice, became as venomous as a lot of
scorched snakes. Sir George dismissed the officer responsible, and was
proceeding there to restore friendly relations, and to compensate the
natives for their loss.
The site of the Dobu was in a narrow mangrove-fringed creek, running
into the Fly River, and afforded excellent cover for archers. Barton
and myself were in the constabulary boat, which was filled with
keen-eyed men, who were prepared to fight at a moment’s notice. Sir
George was in his own gig, manned only by her crew, who of course all
had their backs towards the direction in which they were going, and
who would have had to drop their oars in order to seize their rifles.
The proper course, and the course adopted by us--with the Governor’s
consent--was, that the fighting boat should be in advance. Imagine,
therefore, our disgust and dismay when, just as we were well within
comfortable arrow range of the mangroves ahead, Sir George suddenly
stood up, and commanded us to fall to the rear. “What shall I do?”
said Barton. “Don’t hear him,” I said; “if he is killed, we shall be
blamed.” A very angry and imperative bellow now came from behind us,
to which Barton was forced to pay attention, and very reluctantly we
dropped to the rear. By a lucky chance the natives did not see us
coming, so we were able to land before being discovered by them and
then to make peaceful overtures; but a more unreasonable, impulsive,
and dangerous action than that of Sir George I have never known; for
he not only exposed his own bulky form to the risk of arrows, but the
backs also of his defenceless crew, and our crowded boat as well; since
we should not have been able to come into action, for fear of killing
him.
Sir George Le Hunte was a most kindly man and, as a rule, very
considerate to his officers; but these impulsive actions of his were
absolutely damnable. If he had been killed (as well he might have
been), how could his officers have explained why the Governor, with a
helpless crew, came to be in the position of danger? He would not have
been there to exculpate us, and the result would have been that we--for
the remainder of our lives--would have suffered under the stigma of
leaving him in the lurch.
We completed our journey across the island without any further incident
worthy of note, old Enamakala being very friendly. Then we sailed for
Goodenough Island; there, Satadeai collected some natives, and gave
an eye-opening exhibition of sling-stone throwing. “I never before
realized, what a poor chance Goliath had against David,” remarked
Judge Winter, after he had watched the slingmen for a few minutes.
At Wedau, on the north-east coast, the Governor and Judge went up to
the Mission Station, while Barton, Murray and I went shooting: as I
noticed the state of the tide in the streams the idea occurred to me
that my friends might like to witness a peculiar method of catching
fish. “Would you like to see a fishing even stranger than the Dobu kite
fishers?” I asked. They would most certainly: so I took them to the
mouth of a small stream, where a row of four or five women stood in
it, holding shallow scoop nets in their hands and attentively watching
the water. Presently, first one and then another in succession leant
forward and milked her breasts into the water; then very carefully and
quietly she inserted her net under the surface, and brought it up full
of tiny little fish; after which she emptied her basket, and resumed
her watch.
“Ugh! disgusting!” said Murray. “No doubt,” I replied; “but you will
see more disgusting things than that before you leave. Why, one of
those very women and her daughter dug up a corpse and ate it, because
they wanted to be with child; some sorcerer or witch having told them
that it was the best way to ensure it.” “What happened then?” asked the
shuddering Murray. “Judge Winter gave them six months for desecrating
a sepulchre; there is no law against cannibalism,” I told him. Native
tradition on the north-east coast tells how a fearful epidemic swept
through the island many years ago; it must undoubtedly have been
small-pox, as several old men still showed pitted faces caused by the
disease. It was followed by a year of famine, during which the women
exchanged their children with each other for culinary purposes, and
every one went in fear of being knocked on the head and eaten by his
neighbour. The people from East Cape to Bartle Bay are a miserable,
decadent lot.
A great portion of the coast is hilly grass land, carrying excellent
pasture for cattle, but containing also a nasty spear-grass, the seed
of which will work its barbed way through one’s clothes, and in the
case of sheep right into the carcase. The Bishop of New Guinea once
bought a flock of sheep, intending to breed from them, and turned them
out on the hills. I came along some months later, and noticed the sheep
wanted shearing very badly. Bishop Stone-Wigg then told me that he had
got shears, but no one in the Mission knew how to shear; so accordingly
I volunteered to do it. The police rounded up and caught the sheep, and
I set to work. I made two discoveries: one was that the breeding flock
consisted mainly of wethers, the other, that their skins and flesh were
literally stuck full of spear-grass seed, the skins feeling like a very
worn-out horse-hair sofa. When I had concluded my shearing operations,
I went to the Mission house, where I found that the natives, who had
been lost in amazement at the performance, had sent to ask the Bishop,
“What the poor sheep had done, to cause the magistrate and police to
cut off all their hair?”
From Wedau, the _Merrie England_ went on to Samarai, and thence to Port
Moresby.
Upon our arrival at Port Moresby, I accompanied the Governor to
Government House, there to await an appointment; in the meantime I
assisted Barton in engaging native servants, and also in other things
which were strange to a new-comer. There was at that time a European
market gardener, named Weaver, living alone some miles out of Port
Moresby (he was, by the way, afterwards murdered). He was remarkable
for two things: the moroseness of his temper, and the size of his
feet. He got his boots by special order through Burns, Philp and
Co.; and on one occasion, the bootmaker to whom the size was sent,
forwarded children’s boots, thinking that it could not possibly mean
size thirteen in men’s boots. Weaver came in with a horse-load of
vegetables, and went to Burns Philp for his boots, where he was given
the parcel containing the children’s boots. When he had opened it and
had seen what it contained, he nearly went mad--thinking a joke had
been played upon him. At last, after he had half wrecked the store and
frightened the unfortunate clerks into fits, he was made to understand
that there were no other boots for him; he then seized his horse
and brought it over to Government House, where I began to buy his
vegetables.
While so engaged, Murray came out and said “good-morning” to Weaver, a
salutation that was received with a glare and a grunt. Then Murray--who
still possessed the finicking airs and graces of the exquisite of the
Bachelors’ Club--took out a dainty little cigarette case, and proffered
a cigarette to the clay pipe and strongest of tobacco smoking Weaver.
Weaver thought it was another insult of the small boot variety, and
before his stream of lurid blasphemy, Murray fled indoors. I soothed
him, and went on buying cabbages. Out then came the Governor, asked
me who Weaver was, and in his genial way shook his hand and asked
after his health. “Another blanker!” groaned Weaver. “None the blanky
better for your asking,” said that courteous person; and his Excellency
fled. “There appear to be some very peculiar people in this country,
Monckton,” remarked the Governor at breakfast. “Very true,” I said,
“and when you, sir, have completed your term of service here, you will
think, as I do, that the whole country is a weird compound of comic
opera and tragedy, with a very narrow margin between them. I have been
buying cabbages for you this morning; Heaven only knows where you will
send me, or what I shall be doing next week.”
When we first arrived at Port Moresby, we found that Ballantine was
away in the hills with a relief expedition for H. Stuart-Russell, who
had been sent to survey a road over the Owen Stanley Range to the Yodda
valley gold-field in the north-east; a gold-field that, at the time,
could only be reached by ascending the Kumusi River to Bogi, and then
doing a ten days’ march inland. Stuart-Russell had sent out word that
he was in hostile country, and had run out of supplies.
One morning, the Governor called me to his room and said, “Ballantine
has returned, having failed to connect with Russell: I am getting very
anxious about him, and intend to dispatch another relief expedition
with you in command. The Government Secretary has been instructed
to make all arrangements, and you should be able to leave to-morrow
morning: here are your minutes of instructions.” I glanced at my
orders, and my heart sank: first of all, Muzzy to organize the
expedition: as well have a well-meaning hen-wife; then, when I did find
Russell, I was to place myself under his orders; Russell, whom I knew
to be a surveyor, and ignorant of anything else. Wending my way to the
Commandant, I worried him about the personnel of the constabulary I was
to take, and at last got him to include Keke and Ade in the lot; he
had been detailing for me all the rotters and recruits in barracks. My
next interview was with Mr. Musgrave, who I found had provided a most
elaborate equipment of stores, etc.--a collection that would take about
six hundred men to carry--and had engaged the Hanuabada natives and a
mule team to carry it to the Laloki River, which was about seven miles
distant.
The Hanuabada (Port Moresby) carriers were the most pampered lot of
lying, lazy loafers in New Guinea; they were to receive in pay one
shilling per day, the ordinary Government pay was twopence, and a heavy
ration of rice, meat, biscuit, tea, sugar, etc.; as well as to be
equipped with blankets, tents, cooking utensils, and all the rest of
it, for this one night’s camp at the Laloki; and this, too, on a warm
tropical night. When I looked into the arrangements made by Muzzy, I
felt inclined to sit down and cry. First, I had the awful Hanuabadas
as far as the Laloki; then in some mysterious way I was supposed to
transport my stores to the Brown River--Heaven only knows how. Muzzy,
however, suggested I should bribe the Hanuabadas, by double pay, to go
on there; then, I was to pick up Russell’s time-expired and worn-out
carriers, and “induce” them to return with me to the Main Range. Muzzy
had had a flat-bottomed, square-ended, bull-nosed brute of a punt
built, and placed upon the Brown River: a thing calculated by him to
carry about five tons, which I was instructed to take to the head of
the Brown; this was by him fondly supposed to solve the transport
difficulties.
“Look here, sir,” I said to Mr. Musgrave, once I had grasped the full
beauty of his arrangements. “I understand speed is the very essence of
this expedition. Let me chuck all arrangements at present made; give me
twenty constabulary, forty fresh and strong carriers, allow me to spend
twenty pounds in meat extract, pea flour and cocoa, and follow my own
road; then I will guarantee to fetch Russell out in a fortnight.” “Mr.
Monckton,” said the Government Secretary, “Mr. Chester, Mr. Giulianetti
and I, have given a great deal of thought to this expedition, and our
arrangements are perfect; you are to carry them out.” I did not dare
tell Muzzy what I thought about it all. “Supposing, Mr. Musgrave,” I
said, “Russell’s carriers refuse to return with me, or that they are
sick and exhausted, what am I to do?” “I have made the most elaborate
arrangements,” said Muzzy, “it is for you to carry them out.”
Accordingly I sought out the driver of the mule team, and led him to
the pub; after I had loaded him up with whisky, I asked, “Could you
get that team of yours on as far as the Brown River?” “Yes,” was the
reply. “Could you and the team work for twenty-four hours at a stretch,
if necessary?” “Yes, if it’s made worth my while, and the mules are
fed,” he said. I then saw my way out of the difficulty of getting from
the Laloki River to the Brown; accordingly I told the driver I would
give him half my month’s pay, and steal the Hanuabadas’ rice for his
mules. “Put it there,” he said, spitting on his hand and holding it
out for me to shake. “I won’t take your pay, it’s poor enough; take a
bottle or two of rum with you, and I will work my blanky mules until
their eye-balls start from their heads and play marbles along their
back-bones.”
In the early morning, accordingly, I made my start; and half a mile
from Port Moresby abandoned the biscuits, blankets and sugar of the
Hanuabadas. From the Laloki, the carriers returned to Port, and I went
on to the Brown River accompanied by my police and the mule team: there
I at once stationed a picket to catch Russell’s returning carriers,
who were drifting down in threes, fives, and tens. The police and I
then loaded the punt with stores, ready for the ascent of the river,
which is a rapid mountain stream, full of whirlpools, rocks, snags,
and rapids. From here, I sent back the mules to bring up another
load of stores, and sat down to await their return. One day passed,
two days passed, still no sign of the mules; I sent some police off
in search of them, and then--with such carriers as had by now come
down from Russell’s party--I began to haul that infernal punt up the
river. The punt at once started to go to pieces: it was built of the
heaviest timber, fastened together with trumpery flimsy wire nails;
the planking of the bottom, instead of running lengthways, ran across,
and therefore, whenever we began to haul her over a rapid, the edges
caught on the sharp rocks of the bottom and opened up--making the thing
leak like a basket. A ring had been fixed on one end, with a rope tied
on it for hauling on; this ring was attached to a plate fastened by
two one-inch screws, which were fondly supposed, by its architect, to
withstand the strain of large numbers of men hauling a dead weight
of five tons up a rapid. After one hour’s experience of this ark, we
dragged it ashore, plaited vines all round it to keep it together,
caulked it with strips of blanket, and made a rope cradle all round to
haul on. Then we went on again.
[Illustration: THE LALOKI FALLS]
The carriers, I was now using, were men recruited from Mekeo; their
time had expired, and they were keenly anxious to return to their
homes. It was only by a vigorous use of cleaning rod that we could
“induce” them to work, and we had to keep them under perpetual guard,
lest they should desert; also they could not swim, so that when we
came to a deep crossing we had to haul them through on a rope, and,
in addition, forcibly tie them to the rope, as the procedure was not
one they relished. Mile by mile we fought our way up that awful river;
the constabulary and I stripped naked, hauling, sweating, swimming,
and swearing, until at last we came to a whirlpool under a rapid. The
police were swimming alongside the punt, the carriers hauling on the
rope, I was steering the ark by a rough paddle, when suddenly a swirl
of the current carried her into the whirlpool. I yelled at the carriers
to slack the rope, but they lost their heads and pulled harder: punt,
stores and I, accordingly disappeared into the swirl, and then those
mutton-headed carriers let go the rope altogether. I am a bad swimmer
at the best, and was about done in the swirl: the police were doing
their best to stem the current and get to me. At last Keke managed to
crawl out on a bank and, running along, dived from a rock, caught me
round the waist as he swept past, and carried me to a sharp-edged rock,
upon which he tore his feet badly in climbing out. I lay on a rock,
and coughed up about half the Brown River. Rifles, stores, clothes,
all were gone; mother-naked stood the constabulary and I, with the
exception of one flannel police shirt which had washed ashore, and
which I promptly annexed. Nothing now remained for us but to return to
our first camp, get fresh stores, and start again.
A melancholy procession returned to that camp, even my shirt failing
to add dignity to our march. I then heard that the mule driver had
contrived to let his mules stray on the night of his departure, and was
still engaged in hunting for them. I sent a letter to Captain Barton,
conveying a blistering curse concerning all punts, and asses who drove
mules; and asking him to forward me some fresh rifles and clothing
for the police, as well as some clothes and boots for myself. Whilst
awaiting their arrival, I met with afresh misfortune; for in moving
about the camp, I jumped with my bare foot upon a rusty nail, fixed in
a piece of board belonging to an old meat case left by Russell, and ran
it clean through my foot. I feared tetanus; but hunting in a medicine
chest at the camp, I found sticks of lunar caustic, and decided to
cauterize the wound with it. Calling Keke, I showed him how to poke a
probe through the puncture; and when he apparently understood, I took
a small piece of caustic and shoved it into the hole. “Now then, Keke,
shove it through,” I said, as I lay on my stomach and elevated the sole
of my foot in the air. Keke gave a gentle push, and then--as I gave a
howl--stopped, the stuff burning like hell fire. “Shove it through, you
blank blank idiot!” I yelled. “Oh, master, I hurt you too much, I am
frightened,” said Keke. My howls, however, attracted Ade, who, grasping
the situation and my foot at the same time, rammed the caustic through
with the probe. “Keke,” I remarked, as I cooled my injured foot in a
bucket of water, “if you had not hauled me out of the river, I’d break
your thick head.” “I am a lance-corporal, not a doctor,” said that
injured individual; “if there is any more of this, Ade can be doctor.”
A few days later my rifles and clothes arrived, also the missing mules:
again we took that awful punt up the river, this time successfully,
though the amount of labour we expended upon it would have transported
the stores three times over.
The day after we quitted the river to strike over the mountains,
Lario, a Malay, who had been in charge of a log fort for Russell
higher up, came in with a large number of time-expired and more or
less worn-out carriers. Howls of dismay went up from these unfortunate
natives when they learnt that they were to turn round and go back
with me. Much “moral” suasion had to be used by the police before
they would “volunteer”; some did succeed in sneaking away and making
a bolt for the coast, but our watch was so strict that few of the
volunteers escaped. Lario was a splendid chap, loyal, brave, and full
of resource; and I was more than pleased when he, though time-expired,
consented to turn round and accompany me as second in command. I
went carefully through all the carriers with Lario, in order to cast
out--for return to the coast--all those who were unfit for service:
very, very sorry I felt for the poor wretches (though I did not dare
show it), as man by man they were examined; some happy ones being
cast for return, to the open envy of their companions. They were all
Mission boys from the Mekeo district, flat country men, non-swimming,
and singularly ill-adapted for the work in which they were engaged.
That night--through Lario--they asked my permission to hold a prayer
meeting; afterwards Lario told me that they prayed that the hearts of
myself, Lario and the police, would be softened towards them.
Day after day of climbing over awful country passed, we following a
line cut or blazed through the bush by Russell; at intervals we came to
log huts or forts, containing a couple of police and a few carriers:
these I added to the expedition, both for purposes of speed and also in
order to bring the biggest possible force to Russell. On one occasion,
while following the blazed line along the top of a razor-backed spur,
we came to where it narrowed to a crumbling knife-edged track, with a
sheer drop on one side, looking down upon clouds, and on the other,
the dull murmur of a river could be heard a thousand feet below. I
am a fearful man, and I hate heights; my head always whirls on them,
and my muscles become as flaccid as those of a pampered lap-dog. I
gazed at that spot, and then said to Lario, “Surely Mr. Russell is
not a tight-rope walker, or fool enough to go over there.” “I don’t
know,” said Lario; “the blazes lead to it, but I’ve not been here
before.” The carriers swore that Russell had not been that way, but
I did not believe them, as they were always full of reasons why we
should turn back. As for the police, so long as I went over, they would
follow--even into the nethermost pit. Fine men, were the old New Guinea
constabulary.
“It is no good looking at it, Lario,” I said at last, “I am
half-paralysed with funk, but here goes.” Then, afraid to look down,
I walked as far as I could, with the cold sweat of fear streaming
from me; then I sat, straddled that fearsome spur with my legs, and
slowly--leap-frog fashion--began to work my way across the thirty feet
of the worst part, the stones and dirt I dislodged falling so far that
their impact sent up no sound. Half-way across, my thin cotton khaki
breeches began to tear badly with the stones; as I went, I suddenly
felt as if ten thousand red-hot pincers were tearing at the portion
of my anatomy exposed by the torn garments; I stood the agony for a
second, then--unable to bear it any longer--leapt to my feet, and ran
like a tight-rope walker across that narrow crumbling ridge. Reaching
safety and a wider part of the spur, I sat down and tore a score of
bull-dog ants from my skin; I had worked my way clean over a nest of
the malignant little beasts. Then I turned and looked at Lario; his
teeth were chattering and his knees knocking together. “Oh, my God,
sir,” he wailed, “you did frighten me.” “Come on, Lario,” I replied;
“if I spend the remainder of my life in the mountains, nothing will
take me over that place again.” Lario set his teeth, walked as far as I
had done, then sat down and started my leap-frog method of progression:
suddenly he stopped, his eyes bulged, and he jumped to his feet and
ran to where I was standing, when he also began to tear those infernal
little pests from his person. Curiously enough, though the carriers
were flat country men, they did not mind heights nor did they suffer
from vertigo; and after one of the police had walked out, and swept the
ants into eternity with a leafy branch, they marched steadily across.
When I met Russell afterwards, I asked him what on earth took him over
such a place, and how he expected it ever to become a road across the
island. Then I found that he had not crossed it; he had cut his line
up to the bad spot, then, retracing his steps some miles, had found a
good road down a side spur, which we had missed, and had ascended again
further on. There are many sorts of funk: some men fear sickness, some
fighting, some spooks, some drowning, and some cats; every man has his
own particular abhorrence; but the worst kind of helpless fear is the
sort I suffer from--fear of a height.
At last our journey ended. One afternoon we marched into a large
clearing, in which stood a log hut, surrounded by a ring of natives
camped at a safe distance from Russell’s men in the hut, but closely
investing it; it was the last post Russell had placed, before
disappearing across to the Yodda. We soon swept away the surrounding
natives, who had been patiently waiting until the men in the hut were
starved into the open. As the rattle of our rifle fire died away,
in marched Russell from the other side, covered on his rear by a
wide-flung patrol of mine. Russell had been having a very rough time:
he had by degrees broken up his force, leaving them in log huts to
guard his line of communication, in order to ensure the safety of his
sick and returning carriers; eventually he and Macdonald (head gaoler)
had penetrated into the Yodda, so weak in force that they were easily
driven out by hostile natives. When I came up, he was falling back upon
a weak camp surrounded by hordes of savages; his stores were exhausted,
and most of his ammunition spent. Replenished with fresh police, stores
and ammunition, I left him, taking with me all the sick and exhausted
carriers and worn-out police back to Port Moresby. Russell remained for
a week, to complete some survey work. I took my sick by easy stages,
and at the Laloki camped for three days; spending the time in shooting
game of all sorts, and gorging my charges on meat, until they were a
happy and contented lot of men.
A lagoon at the Laloki, which simply teemed with duck, was also
inhabited by an enormous alligator, which had recently seized a
Government horse by the nose, while drinking, and dragged it off.
The Government offered a reward of five pounds for the destruction
of the reptile. Whilst I was camped there, the lagoon happened to be
very low: Lario was engaged stalking a flock of ducks, when he came
suddenly upon the alligator; it opened its mouth, and he promptly
emptied both barrels of his gun down its throat, whereupon it rushed
into the lagoon. Lario yelled his discovery to the camp, and police,
carriers and I rushed down; we could locate the beast on the bottom
in three or four feet of water and about thirty feet distant from the
bank, by the bubbles and discoloration caused by the reptile’s uneasy
movements. “Oh, for some dynamite!” I sighed; but dynamite there was
none. The police, however, and a large number of carriers, rose to
the occasion: cutting poles about nine feet long, they sharpened them
at the end, waded out and formed a semicircle on the far side of the
alligator. Then cautiously walking up to the bubbles, half a dozen men
struck suddenly and savagely at the spot; the immediate response was
the appearance of a head and pair of snapping jaws. I promptly sent a
Snider bullet through the head, and it disappeared again, while the
men crowded together watching keenly the track of the bubbles. Once
more they stirred up the beast, whilst I shot him again; half a dozen
Snider bullets I must have put into various parts of its anatomy before
it apparently gave up the ghost and remained quiescent under the stabs
of the police. Then a man stood on the carcase, whilst others went to
cut vines with which to haul it ashore. There still, however, was a
remaining flicker of life in the beast; for the standing man gave a
yell of fright and vanished under water, as the alligator rolled over
on its side, dead at last.
The beast having been hauled ashore, I was surprised to find embedded
in its skull, six inches of the point of a heavy spear, which had
rotted, and round which the bone had grown. The carriers ate the brute:
by New Guinea hunting custom, however, the carcase--or in this case
the reward--belonged to the man who had inflicted the first wound, or
“first spear” as it is called, no matter how many men might have taken
part in the actual killing. Lario did not get the reward, though I told
him to apply to the Treasury, and afterwards had a fuss with Ballantine
about it, as Ballantine held that he was a Government servant and
killed the alligator in the course of his duty. Stories about the
toughness of an alligator’s hide are all bosh. A bullet from a common
fowling piece will penetrate them anywhere; but they are wonderfully
tenacious of life, and, however badly hit, usually manage to wriggle
into deep water. I have never seen one killed instantly by a single
shot, though doubtless the reptile would afterwards die from the
effects of it.
I left that abominable punt at the head of the Brown River, never
wanting to see the beast again. Russell and Macdonald, on their return
journey, tried to descend the river in it, and lost all their personal
effects as well as being half drowned, whereupon they abandoned the
thing. Later Mr. Musgrave, who had an affection for the child of his
brain, wanted it recovered for future use; but Sir George Le Hunte
said, that as it had already nearly cost the lives of two of his
officers and the head gaoler, he thought it was better left where it
was.
Upon my return to Port Moresby and having reported myself to the Acting
Administrator, Sir Francis Winter, I was told that the Government
Secretary had a minute from the Governor for me; Sir George was away
in Brisbane at the time. I went to Mr. Musgrave, and was handed a
minute to this effect. “Certain deserting carriers from the Russell
relief expedition have complained about being beaten with sticks by
Mr. Monckton and his police. Mr. Monckton to report.” “Well, I’m
damned!” I thought, “the whole of this expedition has been a mess and a
muddle from the beginning; a scapegoat is wanted, and I’m to fill that
rôle!” Then in a fury of rage I went for Muzzy. “I told you from the
beginning, sir, that the relief expedition was badly arranged; I begged
you to give me twenty constabulary, forty good carriers, and to let me
go my own way. Instead of which, I was compelled to carry out the most
asinine arrangements, and to ‘induce’ a lot of disgusted and worn-out
carriers to do work for which they were utterly unfitted. Hold your
inquiry. I myself never hit a carrier; and the police certainly did not
hit the beggars with sticks when they tried to bolt, they used steel
cleaning rods.” Muzzy held up his hand. “Mr. Monckton, will you be
quiet? You say you did not hit any man with a stick?” “Yes, sir,” was
my answer. “And also that your police did not hit them with sticks?”
“They did not,” I said, “they had no time to cut sticks; they hit the
carriers, when they gave trouble, with their cleaning rods.” “I don’t
want to know anything about that,” said Muzzy. “You deny absolutely
that any carrier was beaten, either by yourself or your police, with
_sticks_?” “Yes, sir, I do,” was my reply. “Call up the carriers I have
brought back, and ask them whether they are not contented men.” Muzzy
called up my meat-gorged men, who were then pleasantly anticipating
their pay; of course they swore that I and my police were the best of
good people. I then thanked my stars that on the way back I had stopped
and hunted to fill the bellies of those carriers, otherwise a different
tale would have been told.
Later, when I knew the complete details of Russell’s expedition and of
Ballantine’s failure to relieve him, I learnt that the whole muddle
was really due to Russell, having disobeyed orders, thereby throwing
out all arrangements. Sir George Le Hunte had directed him to proceed
to the summit of the Owen Stanley Range, but no further. Russell,
however, being a keen hydrographer, had, at the imminent risk of his
own and his men’s lives, descended upon the opposite side, and got
into difficulties; the magnificent work he did saved him from censure
or blame; but, as a matter of fact, he richly deserved the sack for
attempting it. Russell afterwards showed me a letter from Sir George Le
Hunte which began, “You dear disobedient person, I should be very angry
with you, but instead, I can only feel pleased.” I made but one remark
to Russell, and that was, “You thank your stars you are dealing with
Sir George instead of Sir William MacGregor: for if you had disobeyed
him, you would have had something to remember!”
I then received a note from Captain Barton asking me to take up my
quarters at Government House, until the return of the Governor from
Australia; he also told me that it had been decided by Council that the
untouched part of the north-east coast of New Guinea was to be taken in
hand, and that I was to be sent there as the first Resident Magistrate.
“You will be glad,” naïvely remarked Captain Barton, “to have settled
and permanent work.”
[Illustration: TWO MOTUAN GIRLS]