Chapter 7

TWO YEARS AMONG NEW GUINEA CANNIBALS

CHAPTER IBREAKING THE GROUND

CHAPTER I

BREAKING THE GROUND

In the course of thirty years of almost continuous journeyings in both hemispheres, it has been my fortune to stray far from the beaten tracks and to know something of the spell and mystery of the earth’s solitudes. My work in quest of additions to the great natural history collections, both public and private, of England, and to a less extent of France, has led me to the Rocky Mountains, the Amazons, the Republic of Colombia, the Yangtse gorges, and the snows of Tibet; but it is safe to say that none of these has aroused my interest and curiosity in so great a degree as the scene of my latest and my next expedition, the still almost unexplored Papua, second largest of the world’s islands, and almost the last to guard its secrets from the geographer, the naturalist, and the anthropologist.

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 thecase 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 variouscontretempsand 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 somewhatrestricted 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 notyet 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.

A FEATHERED ARTIST, THE BOWER-BIRD, WITH HIS HOUSE AND GARDEN.He distinguishes between colours, lays out his garden in alternate rows of white and mauve flowers.

Our chief movements inland may comprehensively be taken to lie within a region bounded by a radius of 50 miles around Delana on Hall Sound. On entering the unexplored region we found ourselves at first in a flat, swampy country, intersected by a few tiny creeks, some not more than two feet wide, running through grass. We next passed the eucalyptus belt and then came the forest proper, in which the trees were at first set in isolated patches. Undergrowth there was, but it did not attain any density, and at intervals we could trace the trails of the sandalwood cutter. Not long after leaving Oo-fa-fa we found a rocky eminence, from which we enjoyed a lovely view of the entire Bioto Creek winding between a dense border of mangroves, the vivid green of which marked the course of the inlet, even when the shimmer of the water in the sunlight was entirely veiled by the overhanging vegetation. Beyond lay the broader waters of Hall Sound, bounded by the wooded shores of Yule Island, and to the west we could descry Nicora, a small village on a hill of red clay. The vista was closed by the sea, and in the clear atmosphere the picture was one to be remembered. We then entered a flat tract, an apparent plateau, at a height of 1000 feet, and for a time travelling was over comparatively easy ground, but at Epa the forest and our difficulties began in earnest. Henceforward we had to depend on one or two trails very difficult to follow, and hills and valleys became continuous. Fifteen miles inland lay before us a line of rugged peaks, whither we were bound, but many more miles than fifteen would have to be covered before we reached them. Further off still towered Mount Yule, our first glimpse of the Papuan Alps. Passing Ekeikei we entered the region of ridges, often scarcely twelve inches wide, and affording only the most precarious foothold. The path as we rose became still more rugged, and was crossed by numerous creeks. Then the character of the forest changed, and we traversed damp and gloomy tracts, where the thick vegetation excluded the sunlight. The track at this point skirted vast and threatening precipices. At Madui we encountered peaty andspongy ground, thickly interwoven with roots, which impeded our progress and made the advance peculiarly toilsome, and the last stage to Dinawa was a long dip and a longer ascent. Once there, however, we were rewarded by a delightfully bracing climate and a glorious panorama of mountain scenery, a delight we often longed for at Mafalu, our furthest and highest point, where all view, save through an opening we ourselves cut in the trees, was denied us. Even that was generally obscured, so incessant was the rain and wetting mist. At favourable moments, however, we would see through our clearing the sunlight in the valley far below us, although we ourselves, dwelling as we did among the clouds, were denied that boon.

Such then, in brief outline, were the changes of scenery through which we passed. The alternations of climate were not less varied. In Dutch New Guinea it was very hot and humid, often 150° F. in the sun and 110° in the shade. On “cool” nights we had temperatures varying from 75° to 80°. At Port Moresby 160° was no uncommon temperature, and this was rendered worse by the lack of shade and the stony, arid country. The great heat begins to be felt about 11A.M., and lasts until 3P.M.during the season of the N.W. monsoon. The atmosphere is, however, fairly dry at times, and the highest temperature is not nearly so unendurable as I have found 90° in the shade at Manaos, at the confluence of the Amazon and the Rio Negro, where the air is saturated, and one sits mopping oneself continually and praying for sunset, although even that brings but slight relief. This never happens at Port Moresby, where there issometimes a pleasantly cool evening. Towards nightfall the S.E. monsoon dies away, and the same holds good for Yule Island and Hood’s Bay. For some distance inland these conditions prevail, but after Ekeikei (1500 feet) there is a decided change. Considerable humidity prevails in the forest, and although at midday the heat is scarcely less oppressive than on the coast, yet the traveller is sustained by the prospect of relief, for the evenings are deliciously cool. The average day, too, was not unbearably hot at these higher altitudes. In the neighbourhood of the Deeanay precipice, owing to the dense forest and the plentiful streams, it is quite cool all day, and at Dinawa (3600 feet), although we have recorded noon temperatures of 120° in the sun, the average at 4A.M.was from 63° to 65°. Winds were infrequent, but at night there was a brief land breeze from the higher mountains.

On the Kebea the climatic conditions are very similar, but there is more mist, and in the morning the valleys are filled with great masses of white rolling cloud, which rise and disappear as the sun gains power. These vapours sometimes assume a perfectly level surface, so that they resemble an ocean or a vast plain of snow, through which the higher peaks rise like islands. At Mafalu the average temperature was down to 59° F. at nights, and highest in day 80° under the leafage of the forest, and mist and rain were almost continual from 11A.M.to 3P.M.As the sun sank the heavens would clear, and the mist floated past in thin wreaths, or lay still in long, ghostly trails if no wind blew. The nights were often cold,and these altered conditions were not without their visible effect on animated nature, for at Mafalu the insects changed, and we secured a fine selection of Lepidoptera we had not met with before.

This brief sketch of the configuration and conditions of the country through which we travelled may, I trust, serve as a key to the more detailed account of our journey, and with the directions and altitudes thus succinctly placed before him, the reader may possibly find it easier to follow us up hill and down dale. There is one more point I would venture to impress upon him, a point which will recur again and again—he may fancyad nauseam—the difficulties of transport in Papua. But that was the main crux of our experience, and its importance can hardly be realised by one who has not undergone similar troubles. You are entirely in the hands of the natives, without whom you cannot stir a foot. All your impedimenta, your food, stores, scientific implements, and “trade” (material for barter, the equivalent of ready money) must go on the backs of your cannibal friends, a people without organisation, who are hard to collect and hard to persuade to follow you. It is necessary to rely on yourself to secure followers, though here and there a chief may aid you. One such, the greatest “character” we encountered in Papua, will be introduced to the reader at the proper place. On the march continual apprehension besets the traveller lest his carriers bolt, for if this happened in the interior he would be done for, and he would have a terrible business to get out of the country, if indeed he got out at all. Hence the reason why I have dwelt on our perpetually recurring difficulties with carriers, for the natives were veritably our staff and scrip; and had these failed us at a crucial moment, our expedition would have broken down utterly, to the great loss of those who had risked much on the undertaking.

GUARDING THE WORKERS.Cultivated ground is generally some distance from the villages. It is tilled by young women, who are guarded by young natives armed with spears.

On the commission of several friends, all scientific enthusiasts, whom I have named elsewhere, I and my son Harry, a lad of sixteen, left England in January 1901, and sailed eastward on board theDuke of Sutherlandto Thursday Island, whence we proceeded on board the Netherlands gunboatNeasto Dutch New Guinea. My brief stay there, and the disappointments that led to my seeking a different field of operations, form the subject of the following chapter.

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