CHAPTER VIVICISSITUDES AND A DIGRESSION
CHAPTER VIVICISSITUDES AND A DIGRESSION
CHAPTER VIVICISSITUDES AND A DIGRESSION
CHAPTER VI
VICISSITUDES AND A DIGRESSION
As the days went on at Dinawa, there was no sign of any breaking up of the great drought, which began seriously to affect the success of our work. Butterflies grew scarce, and daily the catch fell off, for the vegetation was getting very dry. Lycopodiums were dropping off the trees, and often we could see, in the lower grounds, great forest fires, which consumed the undergrowth throughout large tracts of country, miles and miles being left blackened and burnt up. In these conflagrations, millions of low-feeding and high-feeding larvæ must have been destroyed, and there was a corresponding decrease in the insect life of the district. Seeing that, for a time, there was not much more to be done, we decided to quit our camp at Dinawa and descend to the St. Joseph River; so, on July 22, we set out with thirty carriers, and went down into a deep valley, whence we climbed a ridge which brought us to a native village so strongly stockaded that we knew that the tribes must be at war—village against village—and this unsettled state of affairs made it very difficult to persuade the natives to pass with us through the open country that lay between the hamlets.
At this place we changed carriers, and, accompanied by the chief of the village, we descended by an extremely rough native path to the St. Joseph River,which we reached at 4P.M., after a march of about six hours. We found the river very low but beautifully limpid and very rapid. For our camp we immediately chose a small patch of sand close to the stream, the only clear space we could find; for the river bed and the gorge itself were filled with enormous boulders piled one upon the other in the wildest confusion.
Our temporary dwellings were of the simplest. Harry and I occupied an ordinary fly-tent, and another was pitched for our native followers. On the day after our arrival we set about constructing a rough bridge for our own convenience. This we did by felling a tree on one side of the stream and letting it fall across the river bed as far as it would go. We repeated the operation with a thinner tree, which we let fall from the opposite bank, and the branches of the two intertwining in the middle, gave the structure some sort of continuity. Along the two trunks we could scramble without any very great difficulty. Our feat of engineering, however, was as nothing compared to the one achieved by our savage neighbours, for at a little distance up the stream the Papuans had spanned the gorge with a most wonderful suspension bridge. Across the ravine they had swung four main chains of bamboo. These were fastened at each end to a rigid horizontal cross-piece, and this again was braced on one side of the river to two trees, of no very great thickness, but of tremendous sustaining power, while on the other the chains were laid over the top of an enormous crag, then across a little depression in the ground behind it, and so were made fast to trees at the height of a few feet from the ground. The fourmain chains were under-girt with loops of bamboo, forming a cradle, along the bottom of which single bamboos were laid on end, affording a precarious footway. The total length of the span was at least 150 feet, and it swung clear of the tree-tops on the wooded sides of the gorge. At its greatest dip the bridge must have been 70 feet above the river. The elasticity and swing were tremendous, and I confess that the passage of the bridge was no joke to one unaccustomed to its giddy eccentricities. On this veritable tight-rope custom is everything, for I have seen fifteen native carriers at one time dancing carelessly across it, regardless of their heavy loads and of the tremendous increase in the oscillation that their numbers caused.
I crossed with some natives of the district, and having descended the right bank of the St. Joseph for about a mile, we came to the mouth of a small tributary, the bed of which we ascended for a distance of half a mile. It was a toilsome ascent owing to the enormous boulders, to which I have already alluded, and I found that the safest way was to take off my shoes and stockings and clamber along bare-foot. At intervals among these boulders occurred calm pools of exquisite deep blue water, and these the natives choose as their fishing grounds. They favour the pools with the narrowest outlets, and dam with leaves the little waterfalls, or natural weirs over which the water rushes from one clear expanse to another.
My native companions, being very agreeable and obliging fellows, were kind enough to send to their villages for the great fishing-nets, 30 yards long and6 or 7 feet wide. When the nets arrived, the natives collected stones about the size of an orange, wrapped palm leaves round them, and then tied them to the edge of the net, until it was evenly weighted all along, at intervals of about 6 inches. They then lowered their net into the water, so arranging it as to form a half-moon, and, scrambling along the sides of the watercourse, they gradually drew the mesh towards them, until they reached the upper end of the pool, where natives, standing breast-high in the water, landed the fish, as they were pressed towards the bank, in large dip nets. Some of the fish jumped over the net, and some escaped down stream, and even managed to plunge over the weir, for they were strong enough to take a leap of 6 feet. We caught eight beauties, none under 2 lbs. in weight, and some up to 4 lbs. They were, as far as I could make out, a species of fresh-water mullet, and in the main stream of the St. Joseph similar fish, weighing as much as 15 lbs., are no uncommon catch.
These fish are wonderfully provided by Nature with an appliance which helps them to combat the extraordinary current. At one moment you will see them being swept down resistlessly, but suddenly they shoot off into the quieter water and attach themselves to the rocks by a strong sucker near the mouth. There they hang just outside the current, their tails moving gently with the eddy; and when they have recovered their strength, they make another dash through the swifter waters, coming to anchor again when baffled—otherwise it would be impossible for them to stem the stream. The fish we caught that day made a most welcome addition to our larder, as they are delicious eating.
FISHING WITH HAND-NET ON THE UPPER WATERS OF THE ST. JOSEPH RIVER.
FISHING WITH HAND-NET ON THE UPPER WATERS OF THE ST. JOSEPH RIVER.
FISHING WITH HAND-NET ON THE UPPER WATERS OF THE ST. JOSEPH RIVER.
From a scientific point of view we did not gain much by our expedition to the St. Joseph River. Every day the skies were leaden, and during the whole time of our stay we saw no sun. Butterflies were scarcely more plentiful than they had been at Dinawa, and once, after a whole morning’s work, Harry had only secured two—fine specimens, no doubt, but even at that an insufficient reward for the time spent. Every night we kept the lamp going, but the moths were very scarce, although our camp was in the heart of the forest.
Our life at St. Joseph River, however, was not to be all tranquillity. Once we had an alarm which fortunately degenerated into an incident of pure comedy, although it might have been very serious. At nightfall, one evening, a native boy, who had gone out shooting, had not returned, and we began to grow very anxious about him. At eight o’clock, however, he came into camp in a state of considerable agitation and bringing a strange tale of a pig. He had shot a tusker with No. 9 shot, but had only wounded it, and the animal charged him, whereupon he had thrown away his gun and run up a tree. Then the pig sat down over against him and laid siege to him, and our poor friend abode in the tree for several hours. Finally, however, the pig’s wound, which was over his eye, so blinded him with blood that he raised the siege in disgust and made off to his fastnesses.
As time went on the rumours of war increased, and one day three natives came in from the village ofMi-Mi, six hours’ journey higher up the mountains, on the top of a ridge. They came from the chief of Baw-boi, a fierce warrior, who kept all the small villages round him in abject terror. His emissaries conveyed to me a most agreeable message, that if we and our followers should honour him with a visit at Mi-Mi, he would kill my men, and have the pleasure of cooking and eating our heads—a compliment, presumably, to the superiority of European brains. I had fully intended to visit him, but after this token of cordiality I refrained, so that the menu of the chief of Baw-boi’s regal banquet has not yet included the tempting item, “braised brains of Pratt.” After the chief’s intimation I kept fires going all night at both ends of the camp, but it was not necessary to post a stricter watch than usual, for three or four of my men always kept awake in their hammocks during the dark hours. This precaution is, in fact, so natural to savages that they never need to be reminded of its necessity. We heard that the chief of Baw-boi had placed his village in a complete state of defence, had excavated a trench 18 feet wide all round, and had erected a stockade. The effect of these hostile preparations on the weaker villages round we were to learn later from Sam, who was, at this time, a day’s journey higher up the river carrying on collecting work for me.
The days seemed very long from lack of occupation, and the nights also, for we could not sleep for the roar of the St. Joseph River. Occasionally there were amusing incidents. One of my men, Gaberio, had a brilliant inspiration. He thought he wouldshoot fish with a rifle, and was allowed to go and try; but not only were they too quick for him, but, of course, the water deflected the ball, and the refraction of light through water makes a true aim impossible. Gaberio, who had no knowledge of natural science, covered his defeat by another excuse—“Water too deep,” said Gaberio.
We found here some indication of rudimentary game laws existing among the Papuans. Round this region dwelt certain chiefs, in whose territory grew the play-trees of theraggianaor red bird of paradise. These gentlemen intimated to us that any one who came to shoot theraggianamust pay them a fee, as the birds, by virtue of their coming to play in their trees, were their property.
As the natives had little to do in camp, they used to sit round Harry, watching him with the greatest interest while he posted his diary, and exclaiming at intervals, “mallelee lo-pi-ang” (good writing). It is most singular that they should have had a word for writing, for I found no trace among them even of picture writing, if we except the markings on the “bau-bau” or pipe; but it is probable that they had some means of communication by scratching on bark, otherwise the existence of the term seems to be inexplicable.
At length I saw that a further stay at the St. Joseph was impracticable. A flood came down and washed away our bridge, and it was with no great reluctance that we struck our camp and returned to Dinawa. On the way we repassed the village of Fa-lo-foida, which stands on the top of a conical hill surroundedby precipices. It was strongly stockaded, and we had a stiff clamber to get to the top. To enter the stockade we had to pass through the outer native house before gaining access to the centre of the village, a sort of compound. The stockade was closely built, only a few bars being left loose for ingress and egress, and the entrance could easily be shut in case of attack.
A march lasting from 6A.M.till 12.30P.M.brought us back to Dinawa, where we found all well and in good order, except our plants and one of the birds. A “magnificent,” a really beautiful specimen of that species of paradise bird, which one of my boys had brought in, and which we had hoped to keep in a cage, had died, probably because when its captor brought it into camp he slung it head downwards from a pole, and kept it in that position several hours. We were heartily sorry to lose so fine an example of thekellelo, as the Papuans call that variety.
Two days after our return to Dinawa camp, Sam rejoined us. He had much to tell, for the times had been rather stirring with him. My head-man as well as I had received the polite attentions of the Baw-boi chieftain, who had sent in to say that he was not afraid of Sam and his gun, and that he would cut off his head and eat him. After this overture Sam was careful to camp at the bottom of the hill, but our adversary did not give up hopes of a Cingalese dinner. A message came from another village that if Sam would go there he would be presented with a pig; but he knew the Papuan too well. He replied to the messengers that if they had a pig they should bring it into camp. Of course no pig came.
A ROUGH BRIDGE WE MADE AT THE ST. JOSEPH RIVER.
A ROUGH BRIDGE WE MADE AT THE ST. JOSEPH RIVER.
A ROUGH BRIDGE WE MADE AT THE ST. JOSEPH RIVER.
From Sam we learned further that the Fa-lo-foida people, through fear of the Baw-boi people, had cut the suspension bridge, and that the natives farther up the St. Joseph River, on hearing of the tyrant’s warlike preparations, had left their villages and had settled on the site of the camp I had just quitted. Their object was, of course, to be near friendly Fa-lo-foida, which would in time of stress be to them as a fenced city. This incident led to the formation of quite a new township, and before I left Dinawa for good my old camp on the St. Joseph had become a considerable village. It was a curious example of the way in which political necessity affected thelocaleof village communities.