Chapter 13

CHAPTER IVWE STRIKE INLAND

CHAPTER IV

WE STRIKE INLAND

We left Yule Island at 10A.M.in a small boat, accompanied by two Mission Fathers. Our baggage came on with us at the same time in a rough boat. We reached the mouth of the river at noon, and found some natives there fishing. They were very friendly and gave us some fish. At that point the entrance to the river was about half a mile broad, but across it there was a big bar. At 2P.M.we had entered the Bioto Creek, where we suffered tremendously from mosquitoes. Here, in fact, they are quite a terror, and this is believed to be the very worst place for mosquitoes in all New Guinea. During the first night that we halted there I had not fixed my net properly, so I slept very little owing to the annoyance of these insects. It is an unhealthy spot, and fever rages. The village is very small, containing only nineteen houses for the regular inhabitants, and two houses, one at each end, for visitors. This provision for the stranger within their gates is a general custom in every Papuan village. Despite this form of hospitality, however, the Bioto people are not very amiable, and I found them extremely greedy. The region is a perfect one for game, especially for duck and pigeon. Every evening one sees clouds of pigeons flying over the sea from the mainland toPigeon Island. In the morning they return. This migration is to secure safety, as Pigeon Island is uninhabited, and in its mangrove swamps the birds know that they can sleep unmolested. After a night’s rest, such as it was, we prepared to start again, but found the natives somewhat unwilling to go on. At length they agreed to take us by canoe as far as the path to Epa, about ten miles from the Bioto Creek, and from that place they would take us five miles by road to Jack’s camp, which was six miles distant from Epa. For this journey they demanded an absurd price—each carrier wanted a 16–inch knife, a tomahawk, or a pearl-shell—and in this extravagant rating of their services they showed themselves typical coast natives. The mountain people would have done the same work for one stick of tobacco. Before we had come to terms the day had worn away, and it was necessary to remain another night at Bioto. Next morning we were up early, and by the time we had breakfasted, the carriers, fifteen in all, who had come from their gardens the night before, were ready to take up their burdens. The number available was still inadequate, but as no more were to be had we had to make up our minds to a double journey. We stayed the night at Jack’s camp, sending on a messenger to Epa to ask the chief Mavai to bring his people down the next day. By ten o’clock the next morning Mavai had not arrived, so we decided to walk to Epa and see him, at the same time hoping that we might meet him by the way. We took Sam (my Cingalese servant) with us, and as there were two tracks, he took one and I the other, each arranging to fire a gun if either should meet Mavai. As it happened we met Mavai most opportunely just where the two tracks met, and Sam, who had only gone a few yards, was with us in a minute. Mavai explained that, as it was already late in the day, he would not call his people together, but would make arrangements for them to carry for us on the following day.

EPA VILLAGE, MAVAI’S CAPITAL.

Mavai, the chief of Epa, is a magnificent autocrat, and is proud to be the white man’s friend. He was credited with powers of sorcery—hence his extraordinary influence. He overshadowed me with his favour, and commanded his entire village to “carry for Parki”—the Epan attempt to pronounce my name. Thus I obtained the force I required to take me onwards, and I went, one might almost say, on the shoulders of Epa—men, women, and children. The chief himself shouldered a load, without loss of dignity, and with great advantage to his royal pocket.

My princely benefactor was no ordinary man. He stood about six feet high. His features were of Roman type, his bearing active and alert, his frame strong and wiry. Keen eyes looked out of a dark copper-coloured visage, which gained by contrast with a scarlet coat—a discarded British uniform, his only ceremonial garment, donned on occasions of great gravity. Such an occasion was the issuing of his command to carry for me. With due ceremony he mounted a platform erected near his house, and assuming the red coat he addressed his assembled people with magnificent oratory, emphasising his speech by actions. Mavai is a strict disciplinarian,and I have seen him administer personal chastisement to recalcitrant villagers. He is a mighty hunter, a fact attested by his crushed right hand, which was maimed by a bite from a wild pig. Our friend is a great polygamist, and formerly had fifteen wives. When we were there at Epa he possessed only five, to whom he was extremely kind, although he made them work pretty hard. One of them was specially appointed to wait upon her lord at his meals. On the death of another he was deeply affected, and cut off his mop of hair. He kept up considerable state, and at meal times sat in his house in a different apartment from that in which he slept. He was not above taking food with us, and used to ask for tobacco in a very lordly way. He smoked a European pipe, of which he was particularly proud, and when it was between his lips he used to touch the bowl consequentially and say, “Parki,” thus signifying to me that he was no small beer. He would pay the deepest attention throughout a long story, looking steadily at you, and when you had finished he would tell you what he thought, giving elaborate reasons. In the centre of his house hung a hurricane lamp, which he had got from Jack Exton, the sandalwood trader. He understood the working of the lamp quite well, and kept a supply of kerosene in the house in a tin. He was also indebted to Mr. Exton for a further adjunct of civilisation, viz. a pair of trousers very unfashionably big at the knee. His Highness used European spoons, forks, and knives.

Mavai had adopted a coloured orphan, whom hekept under very strict discipline. This youth refused to go with Sam to Oo-fa-fa, and when the chief found out that his express orders had been disobeyed, he cut off a stick and thrashed the boy indoors for all he was worth. The boy received ten cuts, but neither moved nor howled, although the women of the village set up a dolorous wailing while the punishment was going on. As soon as the castigation was finished, Mavai seemed to be seized with sudden shamefacedness, for he ran at top speed to his sago plantation, and remained in retirement for a considerable time.

At Epa the native houses begin to be beautifully constructed. They are on a raised platform, and look like inverted boats, the roof being formed by bending over long sticks, so as to form an arch that is thatched with sago leaf. The floor is particularly good, and at Epa there is an admirable guest-house, with a fine level floor of split sago, the pieces being 1¼ inches wide, neatly laid and bound together.

Mavai’s guest-house, which adjoined his dwelling-house, was open at both ends. The house poles are very substantial, for they are driven into the iron ground, which is very stony, and radiated great heat, so that one could not go comfortably without boots, although in this respect the natives seem to be pachydermatous.

We saw Mavai’s son build a house, neither asking nor requiring assistance. Single-handed he brought up his poles, peeled off the bark, and drove them in.

One evening during our stay there was a terrific wind storm, a heavy north-wester, which tried the architecture of Epa severely. One slender housebegan to heel over, and it was accordingly tied to a tree with strands of cane, and a large gang of men held these stays until the worst of the storm was passed. Even Mavai’s substantial house gave way a little under the tempest.

It was about 9.50 when we started on our journey from Epa to Ekeikei. We sent twenty-five carriers on with their loads, and we ourselves followed with the remainder of the baggage. Of course we could not carry everything on this trip, and it was my intention, when we finally reached our destination at Dinawa, to send back mountain men to bring the rest of the material up the forty miles’ tramp from Epa.

At first the path led downwards, and very soon we came to a small river, over which—as the existing bamboo bridge was unsafe owing to a freshet—we had to be carried by the natives. We always took great care to avoid, as far as possible, getting our clothes wet, as this accident renders the European traveller particularly liable to fever. In this case, however, this precaution proved futile, owing to the oncoming of a downpour of rain—the last we were to see for nine months.

EKEIKEI NATIVES.

At times the brushwood was very dense, and we had to cut our way, but where the forest was closely matted above, forming a thick canopy which excluded the light, nothing, of course, could grow beneath. At points where the light penetrated, the undergrowth was immediately thick again. The path, such as it was, was stony and hard. As we trudged along in the wet, we made the acquaintance of a new discomfort. This manifested itself in the presence of a leech, a little creature about ¾–inch long, with a slender body, very much smaller than the European variety, but inflicting the same sort of three-cornered bite. The native carriers offer the easiest victims, for the leeches fasten upon their bare heels in great numbers, and they had constantly to stop and brush them off with little switches which they carried in their hands. Sometimes, when the leeches had bitten very deep, the carriers had to lay down their loads and pull them off with their fingers. They would endure them until they became too bad, say, when a dozen or so had adhered to each foot. At this time we did not suffer much, but later on, in the journey from Faula to Mafulu, they got over the tops of our boots and socks and attacked our ankles. The bite was not actually painful, and the presence of our enemy was not revealed until we realised that our feet were wet with blood. The chief haunts of the leech are wet stones and moss and low herbage.

Another discomfort which we experienced at this point of our journey was the abominable attack of the scrub-itch, a nasty little parasite that the wayfarer brushes from the low herbage as he moves along. This hateful microscopic creature, which is of a bright red colour, gets under the skin and causes terrible irritation. The affection spreads, and if one is so unwise as to scratch the place, there is no hope of relief for at least three weeks. The only satisfactory remedy is to bathe the part in warm salt and water. Scrub-itch, leeches, and mosquitoes at times render life in the forest anythingbut blissful, yet Nature, according to her law, offers her compensations, even in the primeval forest.

About the elevation that we were traversing there grows a particular kind of palm, peculiarly grateful to the native when he is hungry—a not infrequent occurrence—and at such moments of stress they discard their loads, search out this palm and cut it down. At the top, just below the crown of the palm, the last shoot, about six feet long, remains green. It is opened lengthways, and is peeled until the inside layers are reached. These layers are straw-coloured, like asparagus, and to the taste are sweet, slightly dashed with acid. Europeans, as well as natives, can eat great quantities of this wholesome and enjoyable food with impunity. It is excellent also for quenching thirst, for which it is often most convenient, as it grows in waterless regions.

The gloom of the forest was diversified by the colours of its extraordinary orchids. One of these (grammatophyllum speciosum), which had made its home on a lofty tree, was of almost incredible luxuriance, and could the whole plant have been secured, it would not have weighed less than half a ton. I despatched one of my native boys to climb the tree to see if he could secure a specimen. He went about his task in the native fashion. The climber stands with his face to the trunk, which, as well as his body, is encircled with a hoop of rattan cane. This hoop he holds in each hand, and his ankles are tied together. First, he leans back until his body has purchase on the hoop, and then at that moment, by the leverage of his ankles, he makes an upwardmovement of about a foot. Then, falling backwards against the hoop, and pressing his feet against the trunk, he is supported for the next spring. This operation is repeated with marvellous dexterity and rapidity, and with this contrivance the youth makes his way to the top. There is no tree in New Guinea that a native cannot climb thus.

In the present instance, my man was not destined to have any luck, for the network of roots round the tree formed such a wide-spreading dome that he could not make his way over to the crown to secure a specimen of the orchid, and the attempt had accordingly to be abandoned.

We pressed on along the rough track, which was everywhere beset with precipices and ravines that compelled us to take the greatest care. The road was fairly practicable, however, for transit, and there were no very serious obstructions at this stage of the journey. My people were in good spirits, and we plodded on as gaily as might be, occasionally stopping and giving the men a smoke. Despite the toils of the road, these halts in the forest were perfectly delightful, for we had in the improvement of the air a foretaste of the pleasant freshness that was to make life in the mountains of New Guinea so tolerable and even attractive.

After five hours’ march we arrived at Ekeikei, rather tired and ready for slumber, but here, alas! there was no rest for us. The native carriers had to lodge, some in our hut, some under it, and their method of spending the night was not favourable to repose. Their idea is to sleep for half-an-hour, andthen light their pipes and spin yarns, which, to judge by their uproarious laughter, must have been extremely diverting. After the story-telling, they obliged us with songs, and the music wooed them again to a brief period of slumber. It did not woo us, for the coast natives have no ear, and their music is very unlike the soft and flowing song of the mountaineers. This performance went on until daybreak, when we rose. In order to make a satisfactory day’s journey it was necessary to start at 5A.M.We had to prepare our own breakfast and give the natives theirs, and then we set out for Madui.

Again, the path wound past high precipices and deep ravines until we came to our first resting-place, Bamboo Camp, so called from a clump of bamboo that formed a natural shelter. Here the forest trees were so high and thick that scarcely any sun or light could penetrate. It was gloomy in the extreme, and very depressing, the silence broken only by the drip, drip of the rain, and the only sound of life was the “wauk,” “wauk” of the bird of paradise.

For two hours the track skirted the Deeanay precipice, and our way led under enormous overhanging boulders which would reach out some distance overhead. These were the more impressive in that they seemed to have no hold, and the imagination made teasing suggestions as to what would happen if one of them were to topple over. From the crevices little springs issued, and in these damp nooks there was a luxuriant growth of lichens and begonias in flower. While accomplishing the long circumvention of the crags, it was impossible to obtain a view of the Deeanay, but as we broke out into more open forest, close to Madui, one could form some idea of its rocky magnificence.

THE CAMP AT EKEIKEI.

Close to the Deeanay precipice we noted an extraordinary sight. Under a large tree that rose to a height of some 150 feet, were huge mounds, quite five feet high, of veritable sawdust, that seemed to proclaim the presence of man. On a nearer approach the wonder became greater, for the heaps were being continually augmented by a constant rain of sawdust of different grains, some finer than others. No human sawyer, of course, was there, but the tree, to a height of at least 100 feet, was riddled by coleopterous larvæ. Several families of these were represented. The tree, which was about five feet in diameter, and had a thin bark, was, as might be expected, dying. It must have possessed some strange attraction, for it was most unusual in New Guinea to find beetles thus congregated. The distribution is usually very scattered. The holes were probably made at first by small beetles of various families, but chiefly anobiadæ, followed as a rule by brenthidæ, later probably by longicorniæ. One species follows the other into the same hole, each succeeding species bigger than its predecessor. Sometimes the lepidoptera make borings, but this sawdust was much finer. Only a few living branches remained on the tree, which was a mere shell. It was, however, so well protected from winds that it still stood. Close by we saw a native hut, uninhabited, of very rude construction. This point of our journeyings is otherwise memorable, for it was here, near a creek, that we found some of our finest butterflies—lycenidæ,papiliosidæ, satyridæ, and ornithoptera primus.

We were glad to continue the ascent to Madui, where once more we emerged into the welcome light of the sun. When we were two hours’ distance from Madui, one of our carriers struck work and refused to go any farther. There was only one way of persuasion, to which I was greatly averse, but his comrades considered it necessary, and their method, which was, after all, not very harsh, had the desired effect. The other carriers picked the leaves of a gigantic nettle, and with these they gently whipped the reluctant one until he was fain to “jog on the footpath way, and merrily hent the stile a’.” A little later, he tried to desert, but his comrades brought him back, and when we halted he was kept in the centre of the camp under strict surveillance. When he had had a good rest and a hearty meal, however, he went on as cheerfully as the others.

We reached the foot of Madui Hill at 3.30P.M., and a climb of half-an-hour brought us to the summit, which commands a fine view. On a clear day Hall Sound is visible on the coast side, and inland there is a grand prospect of mountain scenery. All the way up it had rained incessantly, and we were drenched to the skin. Our journey over rocks and precipices, watercourses and ravines, had completely tired us out, and, fortunately, the natives were too fatigued to sing. Accordingly, we contrived to get a good night’s rest, and did not leave Madui until 9.25A.M.next day.

THE RETURN OF MY COLLECTORS WITH BIRDS OF PARADISE AFTER A FEW HOURS’ SHOOTING AT EKEIKEI.

Getting under weigh again, we descended from Madui into a ravine, where we passed a delightful waterfall, far away up on the precipices of the river Aculama, which we were to know better during our stay in New Guinea. The waterfall was on one of the tributaries of a little river, which we could see far below us rushing over its rocky bed in small cataracts that alternated with still blue pools. The trees in the ravine were loaded with lycopodiums and ferns, and, in their season, a few rhododendrons. The cluster of flowers was like a golden ball the size of a man’s head. On a later journey I secured the root, but it died before I could get it down to the coast for shipment. These rhododendrons did not grow alone, but attached themselves to tree trunks.

Another curiosity of the Aculama was a large fresh-water prawn, of which I got wind from the natives’ talk. As soon as I heard it mentioned, I told my boys that if they could bring me a specimen I would pay well for it, and also for examples of the fish of the Aculama. They accordingly went in quest of the crustacean, and before long they brought me a specimen. The prawn haunts the eddies under the large boulders, around which the natives draw their net so as to lie close to the shape of the stone. They then pull it out of the water gradually, and occasionally find that they have caught one or two specimens. The variety is about 5 inches long, of a transparent brown when caught, very much like our British prawns, and when cooked of a rich red. The pincers and legs are longer than those of the marine species. They make delightful morsels, and are a welcome addition to the explorer’s larder, which provides changes none too many.

In the waters of the Aculama I had also the good fortune to discover an entirely new fish, therhiacichthys Novæ Guineæ, which has been described by Mr. Boulenger, and I am permitted to print his account in the Appendix.

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