CHAPTER IV
WE STRIKE INLAND
We left Yule Island at 10 A.M. in a small boat, accompanied by two Mission Fathers. Our baggage came on with us at the same time in a rough boat. We reached the mouth of the river at noon, and found some natives there fishing. They were very friendly and gave us some fish. At that point the entrance to the river was about half a mile broad, but across it there was a big bar. At 2 P.M. we had entered the Bioto Creek, where we suffered tremendously from mosquitoes. Here, in fact, they are quite a terror, and this is believed to be the very worst place for mosquitoes in all New Guinea. During the first night that we halted there I had not fixed my net properly, so I slept very little owing to the annoyance of these insects. It is an unhealthy spot, and fever rages. The village is very small, containing only nineteen houses for the regular inhabitants, and two houses, one at each end, for visitors. This provision for the stranger within their gates is a general custom in every Papuan village. Despite this form of hospitality, however, the Bioto people are not very amiable, and I found them extremely greedy. The region is a perfect one for game, especially for duck and pigeon. Every evening one sees clouds of pigeons flying over the sea from the mainland to Pigeon Island. In the morning they return. This migration is to secure safety, as Pigeon Island is uninhabited, and in its mangrove swamps the birds know that they can sleep unmolested. After a night’s rest, such as it was, we prepared to start again, but found the natives somewhat unwilling to go on. At length they agreed to take us by canoe as far as the path to Epa, about ten miles from the Bioto Creek, and from that place they would take us five miles by road to Jack’s camp, which was six miles distant from Epa. For this journey they demanded an absurd price—each carrier wanted a 16–inch knife, a tomahawk, or a pearl-shell—and in this extravagant rating of their services they showed themselves typical coast natives. The mountain people would have done the same work for one stick of tobacco. Before we had come to terms the day had worn away, and it was necessary to remain another night at Bioto. Next morning we were up early, and by the time we had breakfasted, the carriers, fifteen in all, who had come from their gardens the night before, were ready to take up their burdens. The number available was still inadequate, but as no more were to be had we had to make up our minds to a double journey. We stayed the night at Jack’s camp, sending on a messenger to Epa to ask the chief Mavai to bring his people down the next day. By ten o’clock the next morning Mavai had not arrived, so we decided to walk to Epa and see him, at the same time hoping that we might meet him by the way. We took Sam (my Cingalese servant) with us, and as there were two tracks, he took one and I the other, each arranging to fire a gun if either should meet Mavai. As it happened we met Mavai most opportunely just where the two tracks met, and Sam, who had only gone a few yards, was with us in a minute. Mavai explained that, as it was already late in the day, he would not call his people together, but would make arrangements for them to carry for us on the following day.
EPA VILLAGE, MAVAI’S CAPITAL.
Mavai, the chief of Epa, is a magnificent autocrat, and is proud to be the white man’s friend. He was credited with powers of sorcery—hence his extraordinary influence. He overshadowed me with his favour, and commanded his entire village to “carry for Parki”—the Epan attempt to pronounce my name. Thus I obtained the force I required to take me onwards, and I went, one might almost say, on the shoulders of Epa—men, women, and children. The chief himself shouldered a load, without loss of dignity, and with great advantage to his royal pocket.
My princely benefactor was no ordinary man. He stood about six feet high. His features were of Roman type, his bearing active and alert, his frame strong and wiry. Keen eyes looked out of a dark copper-coloured visage, which gained by contrast with a scarlet coat—a discarded British uniform, his only ceremonial garment, donned on occasions of great gravity. Such an occasion was the issuing of his command to carry for me. With due ceremony he mounted a platform erected near his house, and assuming the red coat he addressed his assembled people with magnificent oratory, emphasising his speech by actions. Mavai is a strict disciplinarian, and I have seen him administer personal chastisement to recalcitrant villagers. He is a mighty hunter, a fact attested by his crushed right hand, which was maimed by a bite from a wild pig. Our friend is a great polygamist, and formerly had fifteen wives. When we were there at Epa he possessed only five, to whom he was extremely kind, although he made them work pretty hard. One of them was specially appointed to wait upon her lord at his meals. On the death of another he was deeply affected, and cut off his mop of hair. He kept up considerable state, and at meal times sat in his house in a different apartment from that in which he slept. He was not above taking food with us, and used to ask for tobacco in a very lordly way. He smoked a European pipe, of which he was particularly proud, and when it was between his lips he used to touch the bowl consequentially and say, “Parki,” thus signifying to me that he was no small beer. He would pay the deepest attention throughout a long story, looking steadily at you, and when you had finished he would tell you what he thought, giving elaborate reasons. In the centre of his house hung a hurricane lamp, which he had got from Jack Exton, the sandalwood trader. He understood the working of the lamp quite well, and kept a supply of kerosene in the house in a tin. He was also indebted to Mr. Exton for a further adjunct of civilisation, viz. a pair of trousers very unfashionably big at the knee. His Highness used European spoons, forks, and knives.
Mavai had adopted a coloured orphan, whom he kept under very strict discipline. This youth refused to go with Sam to Oo-fa-fa, and when the chief found out that his express orders had been disobeyed, he cut off a stick and thrashed the boy indoors for all he was worth. The boy received ten cuts, but neither moved nor howled, although the women of the village set up a dolorous wailing while the punishment was going on. As soon as the castigation was finished, Mavai seemed to be seized with sudden shamefacedness, for he ran at top speed to his sago plantation, and remained in retirement for a considerable time.
At Epa the native houses begin to be beautifully constructed. They are on a raised platform, and look like inverted boats, the roof being formed by bending over long sticks, so as to form an arch that is thatched with sago leaf. The floor is particularly good, and at Epa there is an admirable guest-house, with a fine level floor of split sago, the pieces being 1¼ inches wide, neatly laid and bound together.
Mavai’s guest-house, which adjoined his dwelling-house, was open at both ends. The house poles are very substantial, for they are driven into the iron ground, which is very stony, and radiated great heat, so that one could not go comfortably without boots, although in this respect the natives seem to be pachydermatous.