We at once set about selecting a piece of ground for our camp, and found a level, grassy space, which required only the cutting of a few trees to make it clear enough for our purpose. There was, however, very little brushwood to cut. Pending the building of a more permanent home, we pitched our tent and settled down for the first night at our base of operations. Dinawa village was fifty yards away, and the native men came timidly out to look at us. They were very suspicious, and their womenkind so shy that it was a considerable time before they would venture to approach our camp.
The day after our arrival the carriers went back, and it was to the Papuans of the vicinity that we had to look for the labour that was to build our house. My Cingalese servant, Sam, spoke the language, and he made the overtures to our dusky neighbours. We were careful to let them get some inkling of the “trade” we carried, and this seemed to encourage them to greater boldness. Occasionally we would open a box in front of our visitors and show them an axe or a knife, whereat they would say “lo-pi-ang,” that is, “good,” the first word, probably, that a European would hear from the lips of a Papuan. A little present of tobacco would help matters greatly, and in return for this the beneficiary would say with the ingratiating guilelessness of a child, “Parki lo-pi-ang” (good Pratt). In time the neighbouring villages, hearing of the vast wealth that had arrived at Dinawa, came in too, and I was able to engage a force of workers, whose numbers varied from ten to fifteen, and who commenced immediately to build my house. These were to be paid when the house was finished; but during the ten days that the building was going on they were given occasional supplies of tobacco as a gratuity. The average wage per day was three sticks of tobacco, or one rami, which would mean about 1¼ yards of scarlet calico. At the end of the time each man was to receive a large 18–inch knife, or an axe, and a certain number of sticks of tobacco.
HILL NATIVES AT DINAWA.
For our house, we first drove into the ground two stout poles 18 feet apart. These carried the main beam of the roof. At a distance of 6 feet on each side of these poles we placed the corner supports of the house, each 12 feet high. The framework was then joined up with poles of unsplit bamboo tied with split cane, and the framework of the walls consisted of upright pieces of split bamboo set in the ground 1 foot apart. We then wattled these uprights with smaller pieces of split bamboo, the sides and gables of the house forming a complete basket-work. From the ridge-pole we dropped bamboo rafters extending far beyond the walls, so as to give very wide eaves, and throw the drip of the rain as far out as possible. We were now ready to thatch the roof, and for this we required large quantities of grass. The natives by this time had gained sufficient confidence in us to allow their women to work for us, and accordingly I employed ten women as grass-cutters, and kept them for several days at work cutting with 6–inch knives, which we supplied. They had no distance to go to find sufficient grass for our purpose, but the procuring of heavier poles and bamboo was a different matter. The wood had to be cut at a point some distance down the hill, and it took quite three hours to bring up each of the heavier logs. When the roof was on we nailed down our floor, which was made of bamboo fixed to cross-pieces 6 inches off the ground. The material was not ideal, for the joints were never closed, and small articles used to fall down into the cracks. We made our door frame of axed wood and covered it with thick canvas.
We had also to build our collecting verandah, which we placed on the edge of a precipice not far from the house. It had a 20–foot frontage, and was 12 feet wide, with a division down the centre at the ridge-pole of the roof, which made it, properly speaking, two verandahs placed back to back, so that when the wind was unfavourable on one side, we could find shelter on the other. The whole of the structure was raised off the ground on poles, and the boys had their quarters beneath.
Such was our establishment at Dinawa. When we had finished it we began to settle down, and were able to organise the camp for work. A native boy called Doboi, from near Dinawa village, was engaged as cook, and we had also a water-boy, Matu, whose duty was to go down the hill, a tramp of three-quarters of an hour, to a beautiful spring whence we derived our supply. It was lovely water, for the declivity gave no opportunity for decomposing vegetable matter to collect. The well always ran clear, and, even at the worst part of the drought, did not fail us altogether, although its trickle had sunk to the size of an ordinary lead-pencil, and the boy had to wait quite a long time before he could fill the billies.
We built our fire outside the house in the open space, gipsy fashion, and hung the billy, in which we did all our cooking, on a stick resting on two forked upright sticks. Gradually our working day fell into a regular routine. We awoke with the dawn, but had always to trust to ourselves to make the first start, as your Papuan will not wake a sleeping man. He has indeed a superstitious awe of the slumberer. If one must be awakened, it must not be by a shake, and when Doboi had advanced far enough to bring us a cup of tea in the morning, he would tread very warily.
When we were fairly astir, we found Doboi already about and the fire going. Then he would make tea while Harry or I baked cakes. The bread rises easily in New Guinea owing to the temperature, and we were never at a loss for yeast; for I had brought with me a small quantity of hops, and we kept our supply going by keeping back a piece of dough from every batch. This fragment, no bigger than a pocket matchbox, we placed in an ordinary pound tin, and by noon it had swelled right over the edges. We breakfasted on bread and dripping of pig, when we had been able to buy one from the natives, and sometimes we substituted coffee for tea. By seven o’clock breakfast was finished, the boys having had theirs under the verandah. It was then time for them to be off to their collecting, but they were difficult to move. They wanted to sit and smoke. Once off, they might do a day’s work, but on the other hand there was just the chance that they would waste their employer’s time in the forest, smoking and telling stories; or, if they had killed and caught anything, they would immediately sit down and cook it. If this happened they would come home empty-handed, quite shamelessly, saying “awpapoo achi” (no butterflies).
Each boy was supplied with a large butterfly net and collecting box. In every box we stuck a certain number of pins, and told the boy that if he filled his box with good specimens he would receive a stick of tobacco. Bad specimens I always discarded in the culprit’s presence, so that his iniquity might come home to him. I had, of course, to undertake the training of the collectors myself, although Sam helped to explain the method.