At first our visitors did not ask for anything, but talked in a desultory way through Ow-bow, who knew their language. Later in the afternoon, however, they proffered a request for some tobacco. Here was my opportunity. These admirable fellows, who had come from a region where there was no famine and were in the pink of condition, were just the very material I wanted for my journey. Accordingly, I said that they should receive tobacco on condition that, on their being called by wireless telegraphy, they would return and carry me to Ekeikei. They gave me their word, and I took the risk of their keeping it. They received their tobacco, but were in no apparent hurry to depart. In fact, they stayed two whole days, got over their first shyness, and cheered us up wonderfully—indeed, it was “roaring camp!” Growing bolder, they pried into everything, and the house was always full. There was great coming and going with the Dinawa people, with whom the Ibala people were related by marriage, and the nights were musical with unceasing mountain choruses.
Nothing would content them but they must see everything that the white men possessed, and it was very amusing to watch the men calling the women’s attention to anything that particularly attracted them. They felt our clothes and looked with curiosity at our photographs. In their power of appreciating and understanding a picture, one could realise how much higher in the social scale they were than their neighbours, the Australian aborigines, to whom drawing was unintelligible. They would pick out the portraits of Dinawa characters, and exclaim with great delight, “Ow-bow—Doboi—Martu,” as the case might be. I gave some additional tobacco to each man who would consent to stand for his photograph, but they never quite got over their shyness of the camera. Sometimes, when I had got everything fixed and ready, my sitter would get up and walk slowly away; some of the women faced the lens, but even when doing so, they would often cover their faces. Our visitors did not understand guns, so we took care not to frighten them with firearms.
On the third day, about ten in the morning, they announced that they were going. They got together the bags in which a Papuan carries his effects, packed up their new acquisitions, and did a little business with the Dinawa people in small articles I had traded with the villagers, such as matches, tobacco, or an axe, the greatest of treasures—for “trade,” in the Papuan sense, had not reached Ibala. I myself made a few purchases from them, chiefly of clubs, for which I gave in exchange some small knives. To the Dinawa people they gave some sugar-cane, which was greedily snapped up by our destitute neighbours. Then they formed up, shook hands most cordially with us all, took the route, and disappeared into the forest, a party of men in front, the women in the centre carrying the loads, and another party of braves bringing up the rear. For a long time their shouts came echoing back to us through the trees. It was a most pleasant interlude, and when these cheerful fellows were gone we felt the camp almost painfully quiet.
One or two incidents occurred to break the monotony of the remaining days. While I was collecting, close to the Aculama, I heard the missionary dog barking in great excitement, and discovered that he had seen a tremendous snake. This I shot in the head and brought into camp, where, on measuring it, I found it to be 18 feet long and 4 inches in diameter. It was of a non-poisonous variety—one of those snakes that live on the small arboreal mammals. I still retain the skin and skeleton as trophies. Even minor incidents of these dull days seemed worthy of setting down, and I note in my diary that one day one of my native carriers, who was going off to the river, demanded a gun. When I explained to him that he could not have one, he remarked with great nonchalance, “Maw-mo-na yow valeo dorka”—“Enough, I understand very well,” and he went off contentedly without firearms.
I must not conclude my account of Dinawa without mentioning what was perhaps the greatest of its natural attractions—the almost overpowering magnificence of its sunsets. From the ridge I have watched every variety of colour, ranging from amber, gold, and orange, through purple and violet, to delicate shades of mauve, green, and pink—in fact, every hue of the prismatic spectrum was flung in magnificent profusion across the sky from horizon to zenith. On certain nights the whole landscape would be bathed in a glow of reflected crimson. It seemed as if the world were on fire. Even the vegetation was dyed a vivid red, and as the rim of the sun gradually disappeared, the tints melted to paler shades before they vanished. A brief period of starless twilight succeeded, and then the firmament was gemmed with a million sparkling points, and the tropic night reigned serene in its marvel and mystery. Many and many a time I have sat in rapt enjoyment of that gorgeous spectacle, watching the constellations wheel westward until the dawn overtook and hid them.
VEGETATION AT DINAWA.
Some of the tree ferns grow to a height of 40 feet.
The day for our departure now began to draw very near. All the specimens were safely packed, but the question of transport pressed more and more heavily. From the Dinawa people, as I have noted, little help was to be expected. The fittest of the men were abroad in the forest on foraging expeditions, and when we asked the women to carry for us, they replied that they could not come while their husbands were away. We sent out our boys to see what they could do in the surrounding country, but they invariably came back to report that they could recruit very few men. We ourselves, after a great deal of wearisome tramping from village to village, managed to enlist a meagre band of five fairly able-bodied assistants, but our party was still very inadequate. This was on September 22. A few days earlier, in pursuance of the compact the Ibala people had made with me, I had set the telegraph in motion, and told Fa-lo-foida to call up Kea-ka-mana, Kea-ka-mana to call up Tapua, and so on stage by stage to the distant home of my picturesque mountaineers, to tell them that the time had come to redeem their promise and earn the tobacco advanced on personal security alone. The calling accordingly began, and in less than ten minutes Ibala of the five days’ journey had received my summons. During the afternoon the answer arrived. Ibala was willing and would come. Accordingly, close to the time fixed for our departure—September 23—we were cheered by the return of our merry friends, who came like the honourable gentlemen they were to discharge their obligation.
Even with this reinforcement we were still undermanned, and decided to start with only half the baggage, leaving Gaberio behind to see to the despatch of the other half when the bearers should be sent back. On September 23, at 9 A.M., we started for Ekeikei. At twelve we halted at Madui, where the natives wished to sleep; but this, of course, was out of the question, so we pushed on. As far as Madui the drought still prevailed. After that point it was damp, but not wet. In one way the drought had served us well, for all the leeches had died and we were saved from that pest; but the scrub-itch was worse than ever, especially after we passed Ekeikei. We reached the Bamboo Camp after a hard march at 7 P.M., and both we and our followers were thoroughly tired out. Next day we went by way of Ekeikei to Epa, when our friends from Ibala went back, having performed their undertaking. We found Epa terribly parched, and it presented a very different aspect to that which we had seen three months earlier. Thence we proceeded to Oo-fa-fa, where our old acquaintance Mavai saw us through with our impedimenta. We travelled by boat to Pokama, where we got on board a small cutter and set sail for Port Moresby. Unfortunately, we encountered very heavy weather, and had to beat up to our destination under a lashing south-east monsoon. We shipped many seas, and thus lost our fine herbarium, all the plants in which were blackened by salt water. This was an irreparable misfortune, and most disheartening after the tremendous trouble we had taken in collecting and drying our specimens of Papuan flora.