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

by A. E. Pratt

Fifty years ago, schoolboys, looking at their map of Africa, blessed the Dark Continent for an easy place to learn. A few names fringed the coast: inland nearly all was comprehended under the cheerful word “unexplored.” Such in great measure is the case with New Guinea to-day. Its 300,000 square miles of territory, held by Great Britain, Germany, and the Netherlands, and now lying fallow, are destined in the course of the next half-century to enrich the worlds of commerce and of science to a degree that may to some extent be forecast by what is already known of very restricted areas. What New Guinea may become to the trader is outlined later in the present volume, merely, be it noted, from the outside observer’s point of view, but this of course has in it a large measure of uncertainty, contingent on conditions of

“Labour and the changing mart and all the framework of the land.”

Be this as it may, one thing remains sure, the extraordinary value of Papua to the man of science, particularly to the entomologist and the ornithologist. In the department of ornithology alone, we already know of 770 different species of birds inhabiting the mainland and the islands, which places it in this respect far above Australia, which, with a superficial area nine times greater, possesses less than 500 species in all.

LAKATOIS PREPARING TO SAIL.

The ethnologist, too, has in Papua a happy hunting ground; for the tribes on the fringe of exploration present wonderful varieties of type, and as the mountain fastnesses of the interior are gradually opened up, there can be no doubt that rich material for the propounding of new problems and perhaps the solution of old ones will come to light. Language is curiously diversified: here you meet a tribe with a distinct speech, and camping near them for a time you learn the common currency of their tongue; a few miles further on appears another people, perhaps not greatly differing in type, but with another language altogether. Thus at Dinawa, where we were encamped for five months on the foot-hills of the Owen Stanley range, the native phrase for “Make up the fire” was “Aloba di”; while at Foula, only eighteen miles away as the crow flies, but far further on foot, the phrase ran “Aukida pute.” It is in the statement “far further on foot,” of course, that the main reason of this linguistic variation is chiefly to be found; for travel in the Papuan highlands is extraordinarily toilsome, owing to the exceeding abruptness of the configuration, and the endless succession of almost razor-like ridges. Thus the tribes are confined to narrow areas. Long rough ascents and descents and devious windings are the portion of the wayfarer who wishes to reach some spot that may even be visible from his last halting-place. This experience, and our entire dependence on native carriers to transport our heavy baggage, with the various contretemps and difficulties besetting the conduct of such a caravan, tempted me at one time to call this book “Ups and Downs in Papua,” as being at once literally and metaphorically true and descriptive.

Despite the difficulty of migration, however, it is certain that had our mission been one of exploration pure and simple we could, during our two years’ sojourn, have traversed a far more extensive region than we did. But our first concern was the examination of the butterflies, moths, and birds of the Owen Stanley range, and that within particular and somewhat restricted areas, so that our work necessitated encamping sometimes for months at a time at one particular spot, in order that the collection and preservation of our specimens might be carried on under the most advantageous conditions possible in such a wilderness. To this end we built two permanent camps, one at Dinawa, and the other at Ekeikei, at altitudes of 3600 and 1500 feet respectively. From these bases we made short expeditions in various directions, and established temporary camps on the St. Joseph River, Mount Kebea, and finally at Mafalu, our highest point of attainment, 6000 feet above the level of the sea among the fastnesses of the Owen Stanley range. But even that altitude is comparatively insignificant in the magnificent highlands of Papua. The higher we rose it was only to catch sight of still loftier ranges that piled peak on peak as far as the eye could reach. The only one of these that has as yet been trodden by the white man is Mount Victoria, which rises to a height of 13,000 feet. This was made the objective of a special expedition by Sir William Macgregor, who recently crossed British New Guinea, a journey which took him fifty-one days to accomplish. Sir William has also explored the Fly River tentatively, and D’Albertis followed its course for 600 or 700 miles; but when these achievements are mentioned, one has exhausted nearly all the serious efforts that have been made in Papuan exploration. Within the last year the Netherlands officials have issued a map that makes many valuable additions to our knowledge of the topography of the coast-line of their territory.

It may make for clearness in following my journeys if the reader will at this point submit for a moment to the drudgery of a brief examination of the map, for my trail exhibits various doublings backwards and forwards, and consequently exposes the narrative to the risk of confusion, unless the main outline of the itinerary be followed. It had been my intention to work first in Dutch New Guinea, but various accidents, and the hostility of a warlike tribe, brought these plans to an untimely end, and I had to spend the greater part of my time within the borders of the British possession. Port Moresby, the British Government station, consequently became my main base of operations, and it was in a north-westerly and south-easterly direction from that settlement that my journeyings lay. On the first of these I went by sea from Port Moresby north-west to Yule Island, separated from the mainland by Hall Sound, and then I struck up the Ethel River as far as Oo-fa-fa, where we began our march into the interior. The chief points of the route as noted on the map were Epa and Ekeikei, Madui, and then on to Dinawa, where we established our first camp, and settled down for five months’ work, which included a short expedition to the St. Joseph River. Returning to Port Moresby, and having some time to spare, I and my son went down the coast 75 miles to the south-east, partly on foot, partly by boat, by way of Tupeselae, Kappa-kappa, Kalo, and Kerapuna, as far as Hood’s Bay, a journey rather of observation than of exploration, for the region is within the sphere of missionary enterprise, and cannot be regarded as altogether unknown, although the geographer has not yet by any means had his last word upon it. Reaching Port Moresby by a reversal of the same route, we returned once more to Yule Island, and struck inland by way of Mekeo and Epa to Ekeikei, where we built our second and most elaborate camp, which served us as the base for our furthest journey to Mount Kebea, and thence inland by way of Googoolee, Cooloo-coolu, Babooni, Amana, Foula, and Avola, to Mafalu, our highest point.

It may be worth while noting that as soon as we had passed Bioto Creek on the Ethel River, existing maps ceased to be of use to us, and with the exception of a few vaguely indicated mountains, presented a complete blank. Such outlines of topography as we have filled in give in every case the native name of the place. The fashion of rechristening localities, although often complimentary to European explorers and their friends, pastors, masters, and disciples, and probably commemorative of a discovery, seems to me always to sever an interesting link with the country under examination. For this reason I prefer the melodious native name Papua to its western supplanter New Guinea.