I do not learn whether it was accident or information which led him to the little island Davao on his second visit, in 1883. He may have sailed thither on chance, for a traveller is absolutely certain of finding new plants on an untrodden shore in those seas. Anyhow Roebelin knew the quest was over, the riddle solved triumphantly, before landing.
The half-breed Chinaman, Sam Choon, was personally conducting him on this occasion also; he found the vessel (a native prau, of course), boatmen, provisions, and the rest. Everything was at the collector’s disposal; but Sam Choon took a cargo of ‘notions’ on his own account, to trade when opportunity arose.
Davao lies, I understand, some sixty miles from Mindanao. Its inhabitants are Papuan thorough-bred, of the brown variety. Roebelin was deeply struck with the appearance of the warriors who swarmed to the beach when his intention of landing was understood. A body of men so tall and stalwart can scarcely be found elsewhere, and for graceful carriage or activity they could not be surpassed. A red clout was their only wear, besides ornaments and weapons. They had the kinkled hair of the race (not wool), bleached with lime, and dyed yellow. Very strange and pleasing is the effect of these golden mops, lustrous if not clean, decked with plumes and fresh flowers. But admiration came afterwards. When Roebelin saw the big fellows mustering in haste, armed with spears and bows, stoneheaded maces which the European soldier could scarcely wield, great swords set with sharks’ teeth, and outlandish tools of every sort for smashing and tearing, he regarded the spectacle from another point of view. They ran and leapt, brandishing their weapons, halloed and roared and sang, with Papuan vivacity. The vessel approaching was too small to alarm them. Laughter predominated in the uproar. But this was no comfort. Men are cheerful with a feast in view.
Sam Choon, however, kept up his spirits. ‘Them chaps make rumpus all time,’ he said. ‘We see.’ He held up a green bough shipped for the purpose. It was all laughter now and gesticulation. Every Papuan tore a branch from the shrubs around and waved it boisterously. ‘Them no hurt,’ said Sam Choon. ‘Good trade.’ The Chinaman was as careful of his person as one need be, and experienced in the ways of such people. Roebelin took courage. As they neared the surf, the whole body of islanders rushed towards them, splashed through the shallows whooping, dived beneath the wave, and came up at the vessel’s side. Ropes were tossed to them, and they swam back again. But the first yellow head popped up just where Roebelin was seated. Among the feathers twisted in it, draggled now, he saw a spray—surely an Aerides! but bluish-red, unlike any species known. The savage grinned and shouted, whirling the hair like an aureole around his glistening face, threw one brawny arm into the air, and at a stroke reached the bows. Another shot up; another. The sea was peopled in an instant, all grinning and shouting breathlessly, all whirling their golden locks. Among the flowers with which every head was decked, Roebelin saw many Phalaenopsis. And most of them were ruddy!
Sam Choon lay to whilst the islanders swam ashore and formed a chain; then, at a word, they ran up the beach full speed—making a noise, says Roebelin, which reminded him of the earthquake he had lately felt. Simultaneously the crew paddled their hardest, also yelling in the shrill Chinese way. The prau sped like a flash, but half full of water. Beyond the surf a mob seized and carried it ashore.
Papuans have no acquaintance with ceremony. Paying little attention to their chiefs, they are not apt to discriminate among strangers. All alike seized one of these new friends—who brought trade!—-slapped him about the body, and hugged him. Roebelin had been subjected to merciless shampooing occasionally in Indian hammams; but he never felt the like of that welcome. It was massage by machinery.
The women had come on the scene now. Though they took no part, they mingled with the warriors, and showed quite as much assurance as is becoming. But they are not by any means such fine creatures as the men, and they do not allow themselves—or they are not allowed—the curious attraction of yellow hair. Roebelin noticed a few, however, worthy to be helpmates of those superb animals; one girl in especial, nearly six feet high, whose figure was a model, face pleasing and expressive, full of character.
These people live in trees like the Subanos of Mindanao. As soon as his baggage had been taken to the public hall, Roebelin got out beads, wire, and Brummagem jewellery. The glimpse of that Aerides and the assurance of a red Phalaenopsis made him impatient. But even Sam Choon found difficulty in identifying the chiefs, to whom of course presents must be made before business can open. However, the point interesting to Roebelin was settled in an instant. The Phalaenopsis, they said, abounded within a few hundred yards, and the Aerides was common enough. The white man wanted them for medicine? He might have as many as he liked—on due payment. To-morrow the chief would show him, and then a price must be fixed.
He slept in the hall, and at dawn he was more than ready. But early rising is not a virtue of savages. To explore without permission would be dangerous. Gradually the village woke to life. Men descended from their quarters high in air, bathed, made their toilettes, and lounged about, waiting for breakfast. Girls came down for water and returned, whilst their mothers tidied the house. Smoke arose. In due time the men mounted, ate, climbed down, and gathered in the public hall, where Sam Choon was setting out a sample of his wares. Hours passed. But the chief’s door remained shut. No one passed out or in.
Roebelin saw people glance upwards with a grave air; but they showed no surprise. He consulted Sam Choon, who had been too busy to notice.