There are many theories as to the causation of pearls in the pearl shell; the most common is the particularly idiotic one of a grain of sand, or other foreign body, inserting itself within the shell and setting up an irritation which causes the oyster to build round the intruder a smooth coat of pearly matter. This theory is senseless on the face of it. From its natural habitat every pearl oyster must have thousands of grains of sand or other bodies lodged against its lips in each tide. The lips of a pearl oyster consist of a curious vascular membrane tapering to a slimy filmy substance at the outer edge; assuming a small speck of sand came it would adhere to the slimy edge, if a larger body the lips would close. Granted that a foreign article passed the lips, the outer skin of the fish is a very tough thing, and it would be almost impossible for the grain of sand, or other matter, to penetrate to where lie the glands which secrete the substance forming the pearly lining of the shell. A fact which shows the fallacy of the theory is this: that though one may remove the multitudinous skins of the pearl until whittled down to nothing, it is impossible ever to discover in the centre of the pearl as a core a grain of sand, or anything differing from the pure composition of the pearl. If, in one chance out of ten millions, a grain of sand passed the lips of the shell and lodged on the skin of the fish, the next tide would wash it away again. No! Plainly, from the small percentage of pearl-bearing oysters, the pearl is a disease, and, I hold, not due to extraneous causes. Just as uric acid produces stone or gravel in humans, so does some similar irritant produce the pearl in the oyster. I leave it to other and wiser heads to say what the origin of the pearl is; I only say emphatically what it is not.
In Dawson Straits we remained some days prospecting the bottom without luck, and meanwhile discovered a passage behind the island of Wagipa to a secure anchorage for small vessels. Here the Mizpah lay for some days while the luggers continued prospecting, and here I had my first experience of hostile natives. The natives of Goodenough Island at this time enjoyed a most unenviable reputation, being generally regarded by traders as hostile and treacherous in the extreme. Until the day of which I now write, we had not come into contact with them, save a few canoes manned by vegetable-vending natives.
On this day, being tired of sticky salt-water baths, I landed with three or four of my crew, and followed a small stream inland to where a waterfall occurred in a gully. Here the falling water had scooped out a hole about three or four feet deep. Sending my boys back to the mouth of the gully I stripped and, standing in the hole, indulged in a shower bath under the fall. Whilst I was so engaged, revolver and rifle lying on my clothes some few feet away, a native walked out from the bush, suddenly caught sight of me and, giving a loud screech, promptly hurled his spear at me and then fled. I jumped from the water hole as the spear flew, and instead of catching me in the chest it caught me just above the knee, fortunately just as my knee was jerking upwards in my jump, the spear therefore turning to one side, and merely tearing a slit in my flesh and skin, the scar of which, however, I carry to this day. My yells brought up my boys, who running straight into the flying native, caught and held him. As soon as my bleeding was staunched, we hauled him off on board the Mizpah, where we found that he had a slight knowledge of Dobuan, a language with which one of my crew was acquainted. After we had soothed down his funk a little (for he fully expected to be immediately killed and eaten, as the Goodenough Islanders were themselves cannibals), he was asked what he meant by hurling his spear at me. His explanation was that he was returning from an expedition inland, that he had never seen a white man before, and when he saw me disporting in the water he had taken me for a devil, and flung his spear with the laudable intention of killing a devil before turning to flee from the uncanny thing.
Satadeai was the name of my new acquaintance, a man whose friendship I was to enjoy for many years afterwards; in fact, when later I became Resident Magistrate of the Eastern Division, I appointed him village constable for his tribe, a dignity which I believe he still enjoys. After we had soothed the feelings of Saturday, as I now called him, I presented him with some beads and a tomahawk and landed him again; telling him at the same time what our quest in the vicinity was, and offering him safe conduct at any time he or his people liked to come with vegetables for our little fleet. From this time Saturday became a regular visitor to the Mizpah, bringing fresh yams, taro, curios, etc., for sale; and also bringing me men to assist in working the air pumps of the diving plant, a manual labour of the heaviest description when divers are in deep water.
On one occasion he brought me as a present a curious, almost circular, tusk, a tusk so old that the outer covering of enamel had worn off and antiquity had tinged it a pale yellow. The tusk was mounted in native money, small circular disks formed from the hinges of a rare shell, and hung on a sling to be worn round the neck. I thought the thing was an ordinary boar’s tusk of unusual shape and size; Saturday, however, told me the following amazing yarn. He said that at the summit of Goodenough Island, or Moratau, as the natives called it, there lived an enormous snake with curious long and curved teeth, a snake so large and powerful that it was beyond the power of man to capture or destroy it. Goodenough Island, I might remark in passing, is the highest island of its size in the world; Mount York, its highest peak, being over 8000 feet. Well, some generations before, there had lived on Goodenough a mighty hunter of Saturday’s tribe and family, and on one occasion the hunter had ascended the mountain with the intention of killing the snake. Finding, however, that it was beyond the powers of mortal man to slay, he had surrounded its lair with sharp-pointed stakes driven firmly into the ground. When the snake emerged again, it had entangled or caught one of its curved tusks on a stake, and in its struggles to escape tore away the tusk, which Saturday now presented to me.
Afterwards in New Zealand I showed the tooth to Sir James Hector, who pronounced it to be a tusk of the Sus Barbirusa, a hog deer; an inhabitant of the East India Islands and an animal not known to exist in New Guinea. This tusk I afterwards gave to a friend of mine, Richard Burton of Longner Hall, Shrewsbury, in whose possession it now is; a gift that later caused me to be severely dealt with by Professor Haddon of anthropological fame, the professor holding that I should have presented it either to the Royal Anthropological Institute or the British Museum. I am now of opinion that this tusk was wrongly assigned by Sir James Hector to the Barbirusa, but rightfully belongs to an animal not then known to science, though many years later reported by me as existing on the Owen Stanley Range, at a height of about 12,000 feet, on the mainland of New Guinea. The discovery of this animal and its description, however, occurs at a later stage of my life in New Guinea.
When we sailed from Wagipa, Saturday accompanied me on the Mizpah to the north-east coast of Goodenough Island, where he acted as interpreter for us. And being by this time fully acquainted with the object of our search, he induced the natives to guide us to a large patch of “saddle back” shell, which he and they assured us contained large quantities of the “stones” we valued. He was right in his statement, the shell was there in large quantities, and the shells held—a most unusual thing—large numbers of perfect-looking pearls. But, alas! the shell, for some unknown reason, was so soft as to be valueless, one could crush it between the hands; and the pearls, though beautiful to look upon when first obtained, lost their lustre in a single day and could be readily scratched with the finger nail. Saturday was the only New Guinea native that I ever knew who was anxious to go down in a diving dress, a wish on his part to which I sternly refused to accede.
The Goodenough Islanders are a somewhat remarkable race; of small physique, they speak a language peculiar to themselves; the men are liars, treacherous and subtle, but at the same time brave and capable of great attachment to any person for whom they have a regard. Some time after I first saw them, the small wiry men from Goodenough Island proved to be the best porters that New Guinea could furnish for the deadly work of carrying for the Northern Division. The common arms of the men were half a dozen light throwing spears, made from the black palm and having an effective throwing range of some thirty yards, a short triangular-bladed spear for use at close quarters, and a sling and stones. As a general rule ordinary pebbles of about the size of a billiard ball were hurled from the slings; but the slinger usually carried a couple of carefully hand-wrought stones resembling a pullet’s egg in shape but pointed at both ends, which he flung from his sling on special occasions; that is, at times when he had a good clear opportunity of hitting his enemy, and wished to make no mistake about it. The effective range of these slings was up to two hundred yards on the level. They had an extraordinary habit of attaching a tail or cracker to the pouch of the sling, which, upon the stone leaving the pouch, made a sharp noise not unlike the crack of a rifle.
In their hill villages, usually placed upon commanding points or spurs, they build round stone towers covering all approaches. The purpose of the towers was this. A man when using a sling on the level could only use it at such a length as to reach, when whirled, from the bent arm to the ground. If standing on a flat-sided tower, however, the limit of the length of sling he could use was only decided by his strength and the weight of the missile he meant to hurl; and the greater the length of the sling and weight of projectile, the greater the effective range. Therefore a village possessing stone towers was, to all intents and purposes, a fortified position, as its slingmen could outrange, and assail with heavier missiles, any attacking force armed with the sling. Stones from a pound to a pound and a half in weight were hurled from the giant slings plied by the slingers on the towers. Goodenough Islanders, therefore, provided with the towers, were really, at the time of which I write, impregnable against any force unarmed with rifles. They also had a most extraordinary system of yam cultivation. Instead of making their yam gardens on the flat in good alluvial soil, they built circular stone walls beneath their villages on the slopes; and then laboriously carried earth in baskets and filled up the walls behind, until they formed a succession of artificial terraces on which they grew their yams. Certainly the yams there grown were larger and better than any others I have seen, but the labour in the first instance must have been appalling. The gardens also had the advantage of being covered by sling fire from the village towers, and therefore, I suppose, were held to be safe from raiders. Lunacy, from what I could learn, was very common among these islanders; I believe due to in-breeding for many years. Totemism, the great preventive against in-breeding, apparently did not exist among them.
South from Wagipa, on the northern shores of Ferguson Island, lies Seymour Bay, a short distance inland from which there exists a country of great volcanic and thermal action. There, a hot stream flows to the sea; and there also exists a lake containing, according to an analysis I had made of its waters, a huge quantity of the gouty man’s friend, lithium; whilst, surrounding its waters, there are acres and acres, feet deep, of pure yellow sulphur.