Two Years Among New Guinea Cannibals / A Naturalist's Sojourn Among the Aborigines of Unexplored New Guinea

by A. E. Pratt

Foula Village

Just before the entrance to Foula village we noticed the evidences of a great land-slide, which had left the ridge of rock, along which our path lay, as clean as a piece of china. The path had thus been rendered perilous, but the natives had had the sense to put up a light bamboo rail on each side, and this was extremely fortunate, for there was hardly room for the foot, and a slip would have certainly meant disaster, for the descent was sheer on each side for several hundred feet.

Foula is one of the sweetest villages imaginable. There are really two villages—the upper and the lower. The upper one contains about fifteen to twenty houses arranged in a circle, and the approach to it is through an avenue of beautiful crotons planted by the natives. To reach the lower village one had to descend for about ten minutes. This other hamlet, which is picturesquely situated close to a fine waterfall, is divided into two parts, a narrow ridge connecting the two. The houses in this village stand in a line, and are very substantially built. Past them runs what looks like a road of well-trodden red clay, which seemed as if it had been rolled, and the whole place had the appearance of being beautifully kept.

The Foula people were of a Jewish type of feature. Their language differs considerably from the dialects we had heard.

CHAPTER XII
THE UNEXPLORED: AMONG PAPUAN PEAKS

Still Higher in the Owen Stanley Range—The Road to Mafulu—Beauties of the Forest—The Hill Step—Curious Habit of Walking acquired in Abrupt Ground—Cold at High Altitudes—A New Camp built—Alpine Signs in Insects and Flowers—Routine Work—Food runs low again—Native Thieves—Followers discontented—They fear the Hostile Mafulu People—Daily Threats of Desertion—Strict Watch—My Rule for Night Visitors—Compulsory Carrying of Torches and Disarming—Weirdly Picturesque Night Scenes—Further Privations—Bird of Paradise Soup—Ugh!—Decide to depart—Natives burn down Camp to ensure our going.

CHAPTER XII

THE UNEXPLORED: AMONG PAPUAN PEAKS

From the Kebea to Mafulu it was a five days’ journey along the most rugged, toilsome, and difficult path. At one point one has to traverse a ridge which turns in a half-circle, and at the very top it is scarcely more than 6 inches wide, sheer precipice running down on each side. The dangers of the road were, however, somewhat compensated for by the magnificent view which one could enjoy from that point, and a butterfly-collector had also something to reward him. As we rested there, after having passed the most dangerous part of the ridge, along which we had to crawl on our hands and knees, I saw some of the rarer Papilios in fairly large numbers. Unfortunately, they were all rather worn specimens and of no value for the collecting box, and I was sorry that I was not there earlier, so as to have captured these butterflies when they had freshly emerged from the chrysalis. They measure about 3 inches across from wing to wing, and are of a most brilliant pea-green, shot with a lovely mauve sheen on the under wings. The descent was very, very steep, especially the last portion of the road, where it descended abruptly to the creek. We had to hold on by roots and vegetation and to look most carefully after our footing, for a false step might have sent us down a precipice, falling sheer for 800 feet. But for the support of the growing things we could not have made the descent at all, and the marvel was how our carriers managed it with their heavy loads. They seemed, however, quite unconcerned, and took no notice of the dangers besetting them. They would never think of lightening or setting down their loads, but moved on in a zig-zag, catching hold of the creepers as they went, without effort. The bed of the creek, when we reached it, we found to be full of boulders. While my men took a bath, I examined the gravel in the river bed, for it looked tempting for the mineral prospector. By way of experiment, and to pass the time, I washed out a panful or so of gravel, and noticed a few colours in the sand that indicated the presence of gold. It is not improbable that the prospector who worked that creek would find considerable trace of mineral wealth. Here I saw the indigenous breadfruit, about the size of a cricket ball, and full of kernels smaller than a chestnut, only with a thinner rind and of a chocolate rather than a red-brown colour. The natives boil it, and we found it floury and very palatable, though slightly bitter. The Papuans are very fond of this fruit when they can get it.

ONE OF OUR CAMPS IN THE OWEN STANLEY RANGE.
Note the line of mist across the picture just below the summits.

We ascended, by way of one of the two villages known as Foula, for four hours, the climb being all the way through dense forest soaking with the humidity of the atmosphere. Even the hot sun seemed scarcely to affect the prevailing damp. The rocks which beset our path were covered with lovely-shaded begonias, ferns, and trailing creepers, intermingled in richest profusion of golden tints. In the early morning the forest is alive with bird-life. The trees are of strange magnificence, particularly the mountain Pandanus, with its aërial roots, which cover an immense space and all converge into one stem 60 feet above the ground, whence the trunk runs up perfectly straight. Around us everywhere were also tree ferns, some of them rising to 30 feet in height, and besides these there were the enormous Lycopodiums with leaves 10 feet long. These luxuriant forms of vegetation were thickly clustered upon the trees, and some of the masses must have been of enormous weight. They displayed a glorious profusion of scarlet, which had taken full possession of its supporting tree, for far above the domed mass of this superb parasite one could see occasionally large clusters of brilliant blossom here and there. More humble, but still very beautiful, was a little fern, similar to our Parsley Fern, which was distinguished by an exquisite iridescent blue all over the upper side of the leaf, while on the under side those fronds that were in seed showed a most brilliant golden yellow. Parrots great and small flashed about us, and now and then we caught a glimpse of the white cockatoo with the yellow crest that is found all over New Guinea. As we passed among the feathered colony, all these birds set up a tremendous screeching. The cockatoo, as I had occasion to know at a later period, can, when wounded, bite most cruelly. Of animals we saw little, for the inhabitants of this region are mostly arboreal and nocturnal. There are several species of the smaller animals, including the tree kangaroo, of which I wished I could have secured some specimens. These are born very imperfect, and are placed in the pouch; when they are once there the mother squeezes the milk into their mouths.

We found the village of Mafulu very small and the people extremely shy. One or two men were about, and the women were at work in their gardens. We sent on some of our men to discover the best possible camping-place, a work of considerable difficulty, for there are no plateaux in the Owen Stanley range, and the contour of the ground, as I have already indicated, is terribly abrupt. In fact, when one has travelled for some weeks in these regions, a peculiar habit of walking is acquired, which is somewhat equivalent to a sailor’s sea-legs. This acquisition the traveller does not find out until he returns to low, flat ground, when he suddenly realises that he is stumbling at every step, and some practice is required to recover the ordinary method of locomotion, and he has to break himself of the habit of lifting his knees almost to his nose. About an hour’s march from the village the men discovered a fairly level spot, and by the time we came up they had, with axes and knives, begun to cut a clearing of the undergrowth to enable us to pitch our camp. We set up our own fly-tent and the natives’ two tents and built a large fire, for it was very cold and the boys were beginning to feel the climate of that high elevation. Indeed, during our whole stay at Mafulu we felt the stress of the climate severely. That first night was very chilly, and it was necessary to serve out blankets to the natives in order to enable them to withstand the cold. They slung their hammocks on sticks or trees, sometimes one above the other, and close to these they built large fires and kept them going during the night. The sky at night was clear and starlit, but the morning brought clouds, and mists enveloped the forest, often accompanied by heavy rain that made the place most depressing. The view was entirely shut out; everything was dripping; our clothes were very soon saturated, and the whole situation was most uncomfortable.

The humidity of that region was proved by the fact that the under side of the leaves of various plants was covered with moss.

The day after our arrival we began the building of a proper camp. We felled trees, erected a stockade and also a platform some little distance above the ground; over this last we threw the fly-tent, making a floor to it of split bamboo. Inside the tent we arranged to have a fire in the native manner. We put down a wooden frame, inside which we laid earth closely patted down to form a hearth in the Papuan style. After building our abode we had to discover another spot where we could carry on our work at night. When this was found, a further task awaited us, for the forest came so close that we had to open up a space to enable our lamp to shine out and thus attract the moths. To do this we had to fell more trees, and the precipitous nature of the ground rendered our task all the harder, for once when we had allowed a large newly-felled trunk to slide, it got out of hand and careered three or four hundred yards down the precipice, taking other trees with it. Finally, however, we managed to open up a gap towards the camp, which left us an excellent clearing for scientific purposes. Here we built our collecting verandah, and thither we repaired every night, a little journey requiring some self-sacrifice, for as we went those dreadful leeches I have already described attacked our feet and legs unmercifully.

We had to do a good deal of our work unassisted, for our natives were not willing to accompany us, as they feared the Mafulu people. We knew perfectly well there was some risk, and never went up to the verandah without taking our revolvers. As we worked there through the small hours, our position was brilliantly lighted up by our lamp, so that, had the Mafulu people wished to do so, they would have had every opportunity of taking a good aim at us. Fortunately, however, they did not realise that while our lamp made us very visible to them, it rendered them entirely invisible to us, and although we sometimes felt rather uneasy, we never received any unpleasant reminder in the shape of a hurtling spear. Had they known, however, how entirely we were at their mercy, we might not have escaped.

As we pursued our collecting here, it was interesting to note the Alpine signs in insects and flowers. On the trees grew a very fragrant rhododendron. Moths were plentiful, but butterflies were not, for everything in this dense forest was struggling for light, and the butterflies had accordingly retired to the tops of the trees. Here I counted at least twelve different species of paradise birds.

SOME UNKNOWN SPECIES DISCOVERED BY THE AUTHOR IN NEW GUINEA.
1.—A new Reptile—Lygosama Pratti.      2.—Another new Reptile—Toxicolamus Stanleyanus.      3.—A new fish of the Gobiid Genus Rhiacichthys.
By permission of the Zoological Society of London.

We had not been long at Mafulu when we were faced with another trouble. Our food supply began to run low. We found that the tinned provisions had been tampered with, and suspected native thieves; our suspicions one day being confirmed, when our dog Yule brought in from the forest two empty meat tins which had been broken open with the axe. This evidence was incontestable, for we ourselves always used the tin-opener. Of course, when we taxed our Papuans they were ignorant of the whole affair. This theft did not improve our larder; meat ran out, we had very little tea and no sugar, only a scanty supply of flour, and, worst of all, no salt. We were accordingly dependent upon sweet potatoes and yams, which we purchased from the Mafulu people, and occasionally a few bananas were obtainable. The boys soon began to grumble about the cold and lack of food, but the real reason of their discontent was, of course, fear of the Mafulu people. Every day deputations waited on Sam and myself and threatened to leave. It was evident that the discontent was stirred up by two ringleaders, so we found out who these were and talked to them very severely, telling them they might go; but two men would not dare to venture back to their own village through a hostile country, so, of course, our permission to leave was not taken. These troubles were very annoying, for we wanted to remain as long as we could, as we were getting admirable specimens, but about the fourteenth day of our stay matters had come to such a pass that we had to give the men a definite promise that we would leave in a week.

With such a state of things constant vigilance became necessary, and we had to divide the nights into watches. Sam would take three hours and then I would take three hours, and some of the natives were always awake for fear of other natives. It was very lonely in camp, but we passed the time smoking and watching a few sweet potatoes baking in the embers. As our own fellows were disaffected, it was necessary also to keep them under constant observation. From the tent we could watch their quarters, and Sam made a bamboo bed in the men’s shelter. They, poor fellows, had rather a rough time of it, apart from their fears and discontent, for one night a tremendous deluge of rain swamped their quarters. Next day they went into the forest and cut a large quantity of bamboo leaves, with which they made a splendid rain-tight roof about 6 inches thick. As it would have been a pity to have left without doing our best to get specimens of the paradise bird, we sent all our shooting boys away and allowed them to take a tent with them. The long-tail paradise birds frequent the Pandanus trees when they are in seed, and when the shooters found a tree in that condition they would camp near it and lie in wait for the birds. While this little expedition was out, Sam, Harry, myself, and a boy remained alone in considerable anxiety, for while the guns were away none of us had any sleep.

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.

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.

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:—

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.