Map illustrating Author's route in New Guinea.

TWO YEARS AMONG

THE

SAVAGES OF NEW GUINEA.

WITH INTRODUCTORY NOTES

ON

NORTH QUEENSLAND.

BY

W. D. PITCAIRN,

Fellow of the Royal Geographical Society and Associate Member of the Manchester Geographical Society.

With a Map.

LONDON:
WARD & DOWNEY
12, YORK STREET, COVENT GARDEN, W.C.

1891.

[All rights reserved.]

PRINTED BY
KELLY AND CO., GATE STREET, LINCOLN'S INN FIELDS,
AND KINGSTON-ON-THAMES.

To my Friend

OSCAR SOELBERG,

WITH WHOM I HAVE SPENT MANY HAPPY DAYS

IN NEW GUINEA,

I DEDICATE THIS BOOK.

PREFACE.

As every Bill has a preamble, so, I suppose, every book should have a preface. At any rate, such appears to be the universal custom, and I, being of an orthodox turn of mind, am not going to depart from the general rule. Some months ago I mentioned to an acquaintance of mine, a gentleman of considerable literary attainments, that I purposed writing a book on New Guinea, describing my experiences, etc. He replied "Why, the subject is thrashed out, and writings on New Guinea are overdone." I may state that, as the said gentleman had never been in that country, I was not biassed by his opinion.

Had he said that the few writers on New Guinea were thrashed out, he would have been nearer to the mark, as the subject of a country so vast, and the civilised settlement of which is in its infancy, will not be thrashed out for many years to come. We do not all wear the same pair of spectacles. I have endeavoured to describe places and people as they appeared to me. Whether the results as set forth in this work will be found satisfactory or otherwise must be decided by its readers.

W. D. Pitcairn.

The Vicarage, Eccles, June, 1890.

CONTENTS.

TWO YEARS AMONG

THE

SAVAGES OF NEW GUINEA.

[ ]

INTRODUCTION.

NORTH QUEENSLAND.

About seven years ago, when living in South Queensland, I happened to come across a small book on New Guinea, which I devoured with great appetite; so much so that I determined, some time or another, to visit that little-known country, with its interesting savage inhabitants.

Two years afterwards I found my way up to Cooktown, North Queensland, which is situated immediately opposite the shores of New Guinea.

I remained in the Cook district for two years, previous to embarking for the home of the Papuans.

Before taking the reader over with me, let me introduce him to Cooktown, which is a fair type of a Northern Colonial Township.

Cooktown is situated on the Endeavour River in lat. 15° 30′ south, and long. 145° east.

It derives its name from the immortal Captain Cook, who visited the site on which it stands in or about the year 1770, and beached his vessel, named the Endeavour, on the north shore, which is on the opposite side of the harbour to the town.

The vessel had sprung a leak, so Captain Cook chose a suitable spot where there was little surf, in order to make the necessary repairs.

How different was its appearance from that of the present time. Then, everything was in its primeval state. Crowds of savages lined the north shore, and interfered with Captain Cook's men in their work. The sailors had often to keep them back by force of arms.

Even at the present day, blacks are living there, but their numbers are sadly reduced.

Occasionally the monotony of their existence is varied by fights with the Normanby River blacks, who are more warlike and numerous, and who periodically make raids on them. Spears are then to be seen flying in all directions, and after several days' severe fighting, in which one or two are killed, and maybe one or two wounded, peace is once more restored, and the belligerent party returns to its river haunts.

The blacks of North Queensland are, without exception, the lowest type of humanity on the face of the earth.

They are almost on a level with the brute creation. They are naturally very lazy, and it is only the pangs of hunger that induce them to make any exertion to procure food.

They are treacherous in the extreme; their principal occupation appears to consist in spearing the white man's cattle, and, when possible, the white man himself.

They are as dangerous as snakes in the grass, and, like them, should be trodden under foot.

They practise no cultivation of the soil, and are even too lazy to build houses to shelter them from the winds and heavy rains.

They just throw two or three branches of trees together, and crawl underneath.

Like the pestilential fever before the advance of settlement and civilization, they have to retire. They are fast approaching extinction, and in a century hence, one of the race will be an admired curiosity, if his existence is not already a memory.

The Endeavour is a tortuous river, and navigable for vessels of three or four feet draught for over 20 miles, after which it becomes a narrow, shallow stream.

The banks are lined with mangrove trees; beyond is a beautiful scrub, backed by mountains, with the Pacific Ocean glistening in the distance.

It is a pretty river. Every few miles you come upon a settler's homestead smiling with cultivated fields and orchards, where all kinds of tropical fruits are grown, such as the mangot, granddilla, banana, pine-apple, lemons, oranges, pomegranates, paw-paws, etc. Small herds of cattle are to be seen grazing in the bush, and there is the lovely tropical bush itself, with its variegated colours, whose silence is broken only by the mournful cry of the curlew or the peculiar weird note of the mopawk.

When sunset approaches, the beauty and tranquillity of the scene are enhanced by the exquisite tints thrown on mountain, scrub and sea. There is no twilight here. It is dark immediately after the sun has set, so there is little time to drink in the glories of the departing day.

To a stranger, the township has a peculiar appearance. It consists mainly of one long straggling street, viz., Charlotte Street, and all the houses are wooden, with roofs of corrugated iron. This, to my mind, gives to the buildings a very ugly appearance, to say nothing of the great heat engendered thereby. The shops, or "stores" as they are called, are tumble-down poky affairs. The principal and best buildings are the hotels and public-houses, of which there are many—about one to every 100 inhabitants.

The town has a municipality and Mayor, who is elected once a year.

There is a police magistrate, who presides at the court, and who is generally looked upon as the leading man of the place, a police inspector and the usual Government officials, C. P. S., land agent, etc.

There are good wharves, under the control of the municipality, also a very good harbour; the channel is well-marked by buoys and two leading lights, as there are many sandbanks, and occasionally the sand silts up in the channel, but a few months' dredging soon puts things to rights.

Vessels drawing 16 feet, moor alongside the wharves, and as Cooktown is the principal port of call for the north, and for English and China mail steamers, the shipping is of considerable importance; in fact, take the shipping away from the place, and little remains.

The town came into existence in 1873, only 17 years ago, and so short a life explains its present condition.

Large gold discoveries were made in the Palmer district, about 150 miles up country, to which flocked thousands of miners, and from which millions of ounces of gold were extracted.

This gave birth to Cooktown, as it was the nearest port to the diggings.

At that time there were only two or three tents in the place, but the Palmer diggings soon altered this state of affairs.

Wooden and iron buildings were hastily thrown up, teams of bullocks and pack-horses were all day long leaving for the Palmer district with heavy loadings of provisions, etc.

The rates of carriage were enormous, as much as £30 a ton being charged.

At times flour was dearer than gold.

This great activity and bustle gave to the town a tremendous impetus, the effects of which are still visible.

The Palmer diggings are now deserted, as they are said to be unworkable.

Of course many made their fortunes at the time of the great rush, and many likewise spent a fortune. Naturally, as in all great gold-fields, numbers were disappointed, lost what little they had, were unsuccessful, and left the place disgusted, swearing they would never attempt digging again.

Talking of the vicissitudes of gold-digging, reminds me of the strange career of Frank Stubley, whom I met in Queensland.

He was one of fortune's favourites. He was a hardworking miner in a gold claim at Gympie, one of the most permanent reefing fields in Queensland. He was working on wages, receiving about £3 10s. per week, that being the usual rate of pay. He saved a few pounds and invested them in a small interest in the claim in which he worked, and in one or two adjoining. Fortune smiled on him. Everything he put into turned out trumps. His shares rose tremendously in value, and in a short time he developed from a working man into one of the wealthiest capitalists of the colony.

He, by pure luck, found himself possessed of the immense sum of a quarter of a million pounds sterling.

This, judiciously invested in Australia, meant an income of £20,000 per annum for life.

What did he do with his wealth? Did he invest it judiciously? Nothing of the kind. He determined to become a large landed proprietor, bought two or three great estates, turned squatter, and purchased a number of race-horses. He invited all his friends and old mates to champagne suppers, took unto himself a wife of extravagant habits, who was a great help to him in spending money, went before the electors of the district as a candidate for parliamentary honours, and was returned as member by an overwhelming majority. He took his seat in the house of representatives at Brisbane, where, of course, his expenses were still further increased. Everything for a time went merrily as a marriage bell, but the day of reckoning was drawing near, and in the short period of four years he had wasted his substance.

His land, race-horses, etc., were sold to pay his debts, and, from a large capitalist, he once more became a working man.

Some friends subscribed sufficient funds to carry him to the Croydon gold-field, which had recently "broken out" (1885).

There he determined once more to woo the fickle goddess of Fortune and, with his proverbial good luck, retrieve his lost fortunes. But fate decreed otherwise. I saw him on the day he left Cooktown by steamer for Normanton, en route to Croydon, wished him good-bye and good luck.

He arrived safely in Normanton, stayed there a couple of days, and with two or three of his mates started on the tramp to Croydon, 100 miles distant.

Poor Frank Stubley, however, never reached his destination, as, before he got half-way, he suddenly dropped down dead on the road, partly from the terrible heat of the sun and partly, no doubt, from drinking too heavily in Normanton.

Such was the sad end of a man who, owing to his many sterling qualities, was a general favourite. To him good fortune proved a curse instead of a blessing. "Requiescat in Pace."

The production of gold in Queensland during the last five years has been greater than ever. This is owing partly to the discovery of new rich fields, partly to the better working of old ones, to which machinery has been applied, as, from the extension of railways, the rates of carriage have been considerably reduced.

The Croydon Gold Field "broke out" in 1885, and from all appearances is likely to prove permanent.

By far the most important mine yet discovered in Australia is the celebrated Mount Morgan, a few miles from Rockhampton.

It might well be called the mountain of gold. It is the richest gold mine in Australasia, and its resources are unlimited. It derives its name from the original discoverer, Mr. William Morgan of Rockhampton.

It would not be out of place here to give a short account of its origin.

A few years ago Mr. Morgan, a prospector, who was roaming over the country in search of minerals, happened to be travelling through a small selection of 640 acres owned by a workingman, who just managed to eke out a living on it, the land being very poor. The selector, an uneducated man and ignorant of geology, was busy carting stone in his wheelbarrow. Mr. Morgan, being of an observant nature, took up one or two pieces of it, examined them, and asked the owner where he had obtained them, and of what use the stuff was. He pointed out to him a hill where there were tons of the same material, and told him he was building a fence with it. After a few more inquiries, Mr. Morgan went on his way, taking with him a few specimens of the stone, which he sent for assay, and shortly afterwards wrote to the selector asking him what he would take for his property. He was only too glad to get rid of it, worthless as the land seemed.

So the upshot of it was that Mr. Morgan bought the holding for about £600. Had this man been an intelligent mineralogist he would not have parted with it for £60,000, as the sequel will prove. The stone, which he thought only fit for building walls, was very rich quartz. The hill, or mountain, was in fact a golden one.

The transfer was duly made, and Mr. Hall, the manager of the Queensland National Bank, Rockhampton, advanced the money required to carry on the mining works, in consideration of a share or interest, and at the present time both he and Mr. Morgan, together with several others interested, are millionaires. The mine is practically inexhaustible and the output returns are enormous. The further down they go, the richer the ore proves. The mine is now worked by a large and powerful company, the value of each £1 share being about £10. Whether Mr. Morgan and his partners made the poor selector a handsome present I cannot say, but I believe they did, if not they ought to have done so. Of course such a rich prize provoked litigation, but Morgan's claim was too strong to be overthrown. The total value of the mine may be stated at £10,000,000.

It is without doubt the most extraordinary mine in all Australasia.

The country for miles round Cooktown is stanniferous. From the Annan River, four miles beyond Cooktown, as far as Herberton, the strata are continuous, with breaks here and there. The principal tin claims are at Mount Romeo and the Tableland, some 40 miles distant, and also in the Bloomfield. About three years ago I visited several of the claims at Mount Romeo, many of which were doing very well, turning out several tons a week. The tin assayed from 70 to 75 per cent. of pure ore, and at that time was worth about 18s. a unit. The standard is 70 per cent., and for every unit above 70 per cent. the value is threehalfpence per unit more, that is to say, the price of the standard being 18s. per unit, if it assays 71 per cent. it is worth 18s. 1½d. per unit, and so on. Some time after, owing to a syndicate in Paris having monopolized the supply and obtained control of the market, tin rose to an abnormal value. Whilst this fictitious value held, the tin miners made a little fortune, but suddenly the syndicate burst, tin dropped 50 per cent., and many were ruined. By degrees, however, it regained its normal value or thereabouts, and at the present time, with slight fluctuations, it stands at about £90 per ton of pure ore. The supply, too, of late (within the Cook district at least) has fallen considerably, though to make up for this several new lodes have been discovered and, if systematically worked, will no doubt turn out satisfactory to the promoters. Herberton is the principal tin-mining centre in Queensland, as it has many permanent lodes, whereas in the Cook district the claims are for the most part alluvial. A rich tin claim is quite as valuable as a rich gold claim. The "stream tin" is found in the beds or banks of streams or creeks, at a depth varying from a few inches to several feet. Box drains are placed in the creek, and the dirt is placed in them. A good sluice of water is constantly brought to bear on it, and a fork or spade is continually at work stamping it, to get rid of the loose stones and dirt. The heavy matter of course remains at the bottom of the sluice box, and is afterwards cleaned and put through two sieves and dried in the sun. It is then put in sacks, after which it is packed in flour bags ready for the packer and his mules to take away to the port of Cooktown, whence it is shipped by steamer to Sydney for sale. Of course a great quantity is sold on the field to the merchants and storekeepers of the town, who, in some instances, send their own teams of pack-horses to cart it away. They also supply the miners with provisions and all requisites, such as tools, and by their stores, erected on the field, often make a rattling good thing out of the tin-miner. The latter is proverbially a hard worker, and when he has made "a big cheque" he goes into town with his mates for a spell, and spends it "like a man," which means that he never sees daylight until all his hard-won earnings are in the till of the publican. He then returns to his claim a poorer, but seldom a wiser, man, as he will, in all probability, repeat the debauch a few months afterwards. It is no use talking to him about the virtue of thrift, and the follies of a spendthrift, as it is his idea of "life," and he would enjoy no other. He prefers to live modestly, and work hard for six months, and then to come into town and live at the rate of £1,000 a year for a fortnight. "Chacun à son goût." It pleases him and hurts no one else, so why carp at him? Take him as a whole, he is a genial, good-hearted man, hail fellow, well met, rough in exterior, but true at heart. Though he knows how to swear and to drink, he is free from mean vices, and we must remember that he has never known refinement of manners or thought. I like his rough ways and his honest character, and I take him just as he is, with all his faults, which in many instances are but the cloak of hidden virtues.

Sugar growing has always been an important industry in Queensland, and was most profitable, but if the Government carry out their present intention of prohibiting the importation of Kanaka labour, the above industry will be crushed, and the immense capital sunk in mills and machinery will be irretrievably lost. In North Queensland the climate is very hot, and it is impossible for white men to work in the fields, cutting the cane, also the high rate of wages that would have to be paid them would take away most of the planter's profits. It must be borne in mind that the capital necessary to erect a sugar mill and plant, and to work a plantation properly, is very great, and naturally the planters expect to receive a fair return for their enormous outlay. Taking these facts into consideration, I consider the policy of the Government in prohibiting black labour to be suicidal and foolish. In the Cook District there are only two sugar plantations, the Weary Bay Company's and Messrs. Hislops' of Wyalla, both in the Bloomfield District. The Weary Bay has turned out some very high-class sugar, but has been unfortunate in its management. Twelve months ago it was closed, owing to some financial difficulty, but I heard that it was intended to work it again. The scenery on the Bloomfield River is superb. It is thoroughly tropical. Dense scrubs reach close to the bank's edge, and the bush is filled with the most beautiful orchids, which, when in full flower, is a sight never to be forgotten. The ferns, too, are many, and of varied species, and the clearings are covered with the succulent cane, and circling the plain stand precipitous mountains, notably Stuckey's Gap; whilst from a gentle rise can be seen, over the tops of the dense scrub, the broad and undulating bosom of the Pacific Ocean. These scrubs are rather dangerous in wet weather, as then the numerous creeks become flooded and are unfordable, and sometimes the traveller is unwillingly made a prisoner, or has to run the risk of crossing a swollen stream. Another danger is that of getting lost in the bush, which is a very simple matter, but a very difficult one to get out of. Many a good bushman even has been lost in the trackless forest, where his bones have suggested a terrible story of death by hunger or thirst. The bush has, indeed, furnished many a sad tale of woe. In some instances men have gone mad from despair, having given up all hope of extricating themselves from the trap.

Some years ago a great friend of mine, Bob S——n, went through some terrible experiences. He was a thoroughly experienced bushman and a well-educated man, and to listen to his thrilling yarns of peril and adventure by sea and by land was a never-ending source of pleasure. Of all the good fellows I have ever met, he was, without doubt, one of the most entertaining and pleasant of companions. The particular story to be related is this. He started with a small party of men, equipped with tents and all the necessary supplies of provisions, which were carried on pack-horses, on an expedition for the purpose of finding new country that would be suitable for carrying stock, i.e. cattle. They travelled about 400 miles west from Cooktown, pitched their camp and were fortunate in finding some good-looking country. Bob S——n went some distance away from the camp, and on returning in the evening, to his great astonishment found his friends had struck their tents and left. He now realized that he was deserted 400 miles from civilization, alone in the pathless bush, the home of wild and treacherous blacks, with nothing to protect him but a revolver, and without a morsel of food.

Fortunately he was an experienced bushman, and a plucky fellow to boot, or he would never have survived the awful ordeal. There was nothing else for it but to face the inevitable, so he started on his weary journey, often suffering the fearful pangs of hunger. Now and then he managed to get a few berries to eat, and water to drink, and so day after day, weak from privation, without a covering at night, save the trees overhead, he wearily jogged along. One morning at sunrise as he was descending a rise, to his dismay, about 50 yards beneath him, he saw a large camp of blacks. One of them had just risen, and was stretching himself immediately facing him. The black fellow was equally taken aback, but before he could recover from his surprise, Bob S——n, with two or three piercing shouts, rushed into the camp, firing his revolver. The blacks, evidently thinking that there was a large force behind, took to ignominious flight across the river. This plucky conduct saved him.

Some more days' suffering, and, on the eleventh day out, he sank to the ground faint and exhausted, unable to move. He was, although he knew it not, within a short distance of a cattle station, where, luckily, one of the stockmen, who was out riding, stumbled across him, brought him to the homestead, where he received every care and attention, and eventually quite recovered his health and strength.

Had he not been a strong and hardy man he would assuredly have perished.

On one occasion I, together with five others, left the port of Cooktown in a small cutter at midnight, for the purpose of fishing at D Reef. The night was fine, a fresh breeze had sprung up, and the boat sped merrily on her way. Three of the party, however, succumbed to seasickness, which interfered greatly with the sport, and after remaining at anchor for some time without enticing any fish to leave their native element, we hoisted sail and ran for the harbour, about eight miles distant, to the great relief of the sick mariners. We then went for a cruise up the Endeavour River, landing on the right hand bank. The boat here grounded, and, as it would be impossible to get her off until the evening tide, I and two others of the party determined to leave the boat and work our way through the mangroves to St. Patrick's Creek, where we could hail a boat to ferry us across and take us on to Cooktown. But "L'homme propose et le Dieu dispose" was exemplified in this instance. We started without food or water, taking a single-barrelled gun in the event of meeting with any hostile or hungry natives. The fateful start was made at 1 p.m., and after tearing through the dense and sickly mangroves for some miles, with a burning sun overhead, and the miasma rising from the ground beneath, it was found impossible to break the barrier of mangroves which stood in front of us like a wall. After bruising our heads against the cruel trees, we retraced our steps, and after going some distance one of us ascended a tree to take bearings, when crash, crash, down came the tree with its living burden, who received a severe shaking, but was not much the worse for his mishap. After some more of this delightful travelling, with our hands and feet cut and bruised, and darkness beginning to creep round the horizon, we turned our backs on the fetid spot, and were fortunate in coming out upon a plain or flat, covered with grass and timber. Following this up we reached the river bank. Our thirst was burning. There was "water, water everywhere, but not a drop to drink." It was quite salt. There was nothing else for it, but to lie down on the grass and resign ourselves to our fate. The night was clear and cool, the heavens above studded with countless stars, and a light breeze played in the trees. Occasionally might be heard the splash of an alligator as he glided from his slimy bed into the cold and gruesome river.

The river at this point is full of these saurian monsters, seeking whom they may devour. We did not light a fire, fearing lest the blacks, who favour this camp, might pay us an evening call, as on these occasions they are apt to be rather brusque in their manners. However, we boasted one gun. There is always a day as well as a night, so at last dawn appeared, looking with astonishment at the three recumbent figures on the grass, as if wondering what on earth had brought us to this lonely place. After breakfast, consisting of salt water and grass, we followed the river up for a couple of miles thinking we should obtain fresh water, but were doomed to disappointment. It was quite brackish. Returning to our camp, with our thirst now raging, we held a consultation, the result of which was that we decided to construct a raft, capable of holding the three of us, on which we could drift down the river, and effect a landing on the opposite bank, where a settler named A—— lived. We had no appliances, so had to make the best shift we could. We humped some big logs, which we found on the flat, to the water's edge, placing them crosswise and lashing them together with our shirts and handkerchiefs torn into strips, and when finished the raft would only support one. D—— then bravely volunteered to navigate this craft down the river to A——'s, although, as I said before, the river here swarmed with alligators. We launched her a little after noon, wishing our comrade bon voyage. Some hours afterwards we heard a shot fired in the scrub some distance off, which we returned, and after numerous interchanges of shots, a sergeant of police, with a couple of black trackers, appeared on the scene, armed with a bottle of brandy in one hand, and a bottle of water in the other. We hastily emptied the contents of the latter, and did not neglect the former. We then accompanied the police through the mangroves, to the creek where they had moored their boat, and started for home. Our plucky mate had already reached his destination in safety, having had to walk barefoot six miles into town, had got a boat, and gone up the river to rescue us. We went up the river to overtake him if possible, and eventually we all met together at A——'s, where our jaded frames were regaled with a substantial supper, after which we steered for home, reaching town a little after 10 p.m., to the delight of our friends, lovers and acquaintances. I will conclude by saying that it will be some time before I again attempt to navigate my way through mangrove swamps, unless well provided with the necessaries of life.

[ ]

CHAPTER I.

THE VOYAGE.

In the year 1887, two months after the adventure spoken of in the previous pages, hearing that Captain Matheson was in port, and that he intended sailing for New Guinea in a few days, I went on board his schooner; and knowing him to be an able seaman and a jolly good fellow, I decided to go with him in his vessel, the Spitfire. The Spitfire is a strongly built "fore and aft" schooner of 35 tons net register. Besides this he had two small vessels, a cutter and a lugger, the former in charge of a South Sea Islander, and the latter in charge of a Queensland black. These comprised the entire fleet. The crew of the schooner was made up of the captain, the mate (a white man), a South Sea Islander, who acted as quartermaster, a cook (also a white man), about 20 Queensland blacks, including three women, and myself, the solitary passenger.

I put my traps—which were not many, as, like the Romans, I prefer to travel free of "impedimenta"—on board, as I expected to make a start on the following day. There was some delay, owing to the Customs authorities, so we had to remain another day in port. I occupied my spare time in bidding good-bye to many of my friends and comrades, and they took leave of me as if they would never see me in the flesh again, as so many had lately lost the number of their mess in New Guinea. At last, to my great relief, the partings were over, for saying good-bye in Northern Queensland is a very serious affair, as everyone is bent on drinking your health, so with a slight headache, in company with the skipper, I stepped into the dinghy which was in waiting for us at No. 1 wharf. We were rapidly rowed by two of the crew to the schooner, which was moored to the buoy off the Pilot Jetty, anxiously waiting to slip her cable.

Everything was made ready for a start, the "fore and aft" sails hoisted, when Mr. W——, a friend of mine, and the chief officer of Customs, boarded us, had a parting glass, wished us a safe voyage, and then left for the shore. Soon after their departure, a breeze having sprung up, the order was given to hoist the head sails, we cast off our moorings, took a last look at the town where I had spent many a happy day, and commenced our voyage to the land of cannibals and savages.

The clouds were dark and lowering, Mount Cook looked angry, and everything presaged a blow. The wind was dead ahead, but the expected blow did not come off. We were not long rounding Cape Bedford, twelve miles to the N.E., but, as the day was well advanced, we knew that with the present wind we should be unable to get through the great Barrier before dark. We therefore determined to anchor at a sandbank, for to attempt to make the passage through the "Lark" opening in the dark would be the height of madness, as the passage is very narrow, and from the sandbank to the Barrier is one mass of coral reefs. We managed to reach our anchorage by sundown, and enjoyed what sailors call a "Farmer's" night. We had no work to do, as our two small craft were safe at anchor close to us. We spent the evening at a quiet game of cards (there being just four of us, the skipper, mate, cook and I) and in spinning yarns. Then, after a nightcap of rum, we turned into our bunks until daylight should appear. The captain, a Scotchman, was one of the most generous-hearted, upright men that I have ever come across, and every inch a sailor. The mate, too, was a first-rate fellow, and had been to New Guinea on a fishing cruise some years before; the cook, who hailed from the land of the shamrock, was full of fun, and an excellent comic singer, but a little too fond of the rum bottle; whilst I had the distinction of being the only passenger. Captain Matheson had already made a trip to New Guinea.

On this occasion he left his mate with some of the crew—blacks of Queensland—on an island, to superintend the curing of fish (Bêche-de-mer) and went to an island further away. On his return he found that his mate had been cruelly murdered that very day, only a few hours previous to his arrival. He immediately went ashore, surrounded the men, and with some difficulty captured four of the ringleaders and brought them in his schooner to Cooktown, where they were afterwards tried and, I regret to say, discharged, notwithstanding that one of them openly declared that he had killed the murdered man.

We were upon deck at daylight, weighed anchor, and steered our course for the Barrier. After a good deal of tacking, the wind being still ahead, we entered the "Lark" passage, and after beating about for several hours, just managed to clear it before dark, otherwise we should have been obliged to "'bout" ship and anchor inside for the night.

The Great Queensland Barrier Reef is a wonderful sight. It extends for several hundred miles, with narrow openings here and there, and at low tide the upper part of it is quite bare.

From the deck of a vessel, with the sun shining on it the white coral sparkles like crystal, and you cannot but marvel at the wonderful industry and workmanship of the countless millions of insects that have built up this gigantic sea-wall. Numerous vessels come here for the purpose of obtaining the valuable Bêche-de-mer, whose habitat is on this Barrier. We were now properly out at sea, as we had entered the Pacific Ocean, with its long sweeping roll. The sea was not very rough, but being the first night out I felt a little qualmish. It soon passed away, however, and I settled down to a life on the ocean wave.

We made good way, steering a direct course for the S.E. end of the Osprey Reef, which lies in mid-ocean, about 80 miles from the Barrier. It is 15 miles long, and woe betide the vessel that is stranded there, as she would speedily break up. It is a most dangerous reef, and not very well surveyed. In the year 1886, the steamer Papua, belonging to the German New Guinea Company, and laden with a heavy cargo, ran foul of it on the N.E. end, and soon became a total wreck, but all the crew managed to escape in the whale boats, nothing being saved except a few compasses.

The next day, owing to the wind being unfavourable, our run was a very poor one. We took the sun at 8 a.m., and at 12 noon, when I spent some of my time in trying to work out our position. I covered several sheets of foolscap with figures, but even then I did not come out right. What with cards, spinning yarns, and taking a turn at steering, the time passed rapidly away, and ere I was aware of it, supper was announced. The weather being very mild, for we were getting into warmer latitudes, we had all our meals on deck. Having finished supper, comprising the inevitable dry hash, we filled our pipes, and under the soothing influence of a tropical night, free from all care and trouble, lent ourselves to the enjoyment of the hour. There is nothing to my mind more intoxicating than being on a well-found vessel, with a spanking breeze, surrounded by the boundless ocean, and enjoying the companionship of jovial fellows. I turned into my bunk after the customary nightcap of rum, and soon fell asleep. "To sleep, perchance to dream." Dream I did, and the dream with its attendant circumstances was one of the most curious coincidences that has ever happened to me.

I dreamt that I was on the top of a high cliff. I had an album with me, which I threw over the cliff to the ground beneath. I tried to find a good way to descend, and at one part I noticed a rudely-constructed ladder attached to the top of the cliff, and reaching nearly to the ground. I stepped on to the ladder, intending to descend, but, not liking the look of it, stepped back, walked a short distance along the cliff, when my dream came to an abrupt end. I still slept on, not awaking until 7 a.m., in time for my cup of coffee. The dream was vivid, and in the morning the impression of it was as clear as on the night before.

Now for the coincidence.

I afterwards learned that at 2 a.m., still asleep, I had risen from my bunk, gone up on deck, strode over a seaman's chest, and walked along the deck until I reached the ratlins, then stepped on to them and was about to jump into the sea. Something or other stopped me, I then walked along the deck the same way I had come, stepped down to the cabin and lay down on my bunk. The captain, who slept on deck, noticed me coming up, but never thought for a moment that I was asleep, or he would have followed me. I have never practised somnambulism before or since. It is very strange, but not the less true, that anyone walking in his sleep seldom comes to harm. How is this I wonder? We had a good laugh over my adventure, which I put down to the rum and a disordered stomach.

The following night, about 10 p.m., the moon shining bright, we calculated that we ought to be somewhere near the Osprey Reef, when suddenly the mate, who was forward, sung out, "Breakers ahead!" It is anything but a welcome cry. The captain, fearing that we might be out of our course and dangerously near the dreaded Osprey, flew to the tiller, quickly put the helm hard down, and put the ship about. It turned out to be an hallucination. The moon shining on the sea gave it the appearance of broken water. The scare was soon over, and we went on our way rejoicing. We did not sight the Osprey Reef, but must have passed about 10 miles to windward of it. We had several days' calms, the sun burning like fire. It was almost impossible to find a shady spot. Down below it was very close, and upon deck very hot. We had a succession of head winds, which greatly retarded our progress. So the days went by until, on the morning of the ninth day out, we sighted the shores of New Guinea. We were 40 miles from Orangerie Bay, with its mountains of Alpine height towering away in the distance. What a relief to sight land after tossing for days on the ocean! By evening we were within a stone's throw of the mainland. The coast here is most interesting, very bold and broken, range after range of mountains covered with scrub, and here and there picturesque grassy islands, making a pleasant contrast to the dark foliage of the mainland bush. We had a long beat before us, as we were a good deal to leeward of our destination. We kept well within sight of land the whole way from this point, of which I was very glad, as it gave me an opportunity of observing the coastal formation. Every now and then we hove the schooner to, in order to enable our convoy, the lugger, to come up with us, when we filled up their water-casks and replenished their stock of provisions. The cutter had disappeared, and we did not see her again until we came to our anchorage in China Straits. We were not very anxious about her, as the South Sea Islander in charge was an experienced hand in a boat, and was sure to turn up some time or other.

The next day we passed close to the Brumer Islands (native name "Banaroa"). We did not stop, although Capt. Matheson wanted to get a number of the natives to go with him on a fishing cruise to the East End. The cutter, however, touched there and was successful in obtaining about 15 natives. The Banaroa people are good workers and of a friendly disposition.

This group of islands lies about 10 miles from the mainland, and they are very beautiful. There are most fertile plantations of yams, bananas, and coco-nuts, with here and there a bright patch of green. I should think that these islands would be very healthy, as they are free from swamps and not too much covered with scrub.

I was very much pleased with their appearance, and should not object to a prolonged residence on them.

As darkness set in the Brumers had been left many miles astern. When within a few miles of Heath Island (Loger), which is a boundary of China Straits, to our disgust the wind entirely died away, and we were left to loll and roll about all night. We seemed destined never to reach port. This was the eleventh day of a voyage (in a straight course) of 430 miles.

The day previous we passed close to the schooner Harrier, in full sail with a fair wind, bound for Queensland. We saluted and exchanged compliments. Having passed a restless night, we once more steered for China Straits. When off the north-western point of Heath Island (Loger) we were boarded by two or three canoes, filled with natives, their faces painted in various colours, and all having large mops of hair on their heads. They wore no clothing save a banana leaf round the loins. This was my first introduction to the Papuan race, and I must confess that they had a most diabolical appearance. Several of them came on board, where they kept up an incessant chatter.

The passage between Heath Island and the mainland, known as the Western Passage, is rather narrow. Coral reefs extend a good distance out, so that it is necessary to hug the shore of Heath Island. The tide too is very swift here, rushing at the rate of five to six miles an hour, making it impossible to stem it without the aid of a strong breeze. Everything has an end, so at last we rounded the point of Heath Island and entered the charming and romantic harbour of China Straits.

We dropped our mud-hook just about sundown in ten fathoms of water on the lee side of the Island of Samarai, having been 12 long days on the voyage.

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CHAPTER II.

THE GOVERNMENT.

Before setting foot on Samarai I may as well give you some idea of the extent of New Guinea, and of how a portion of it became a British possession.

Looking upon Australia as a vast continent, New Guinea, or as it is sometimes called "Papua," is the largest island in the world, having a total length of 1,500 miles by 450 at its widest part. It has an area of 310,000 square miles or more than twice the size of the United Kingdom. The coast runs as nearly as possible W.N.W., and E.S.E.

Although New Guinea is in close proximity to Queensland, being only 400 miles distant from the port of Cooktown, until recently little was known about it, and even at the present time our information is very scanty.

It might well be called, the "Dark Continent," as no white man has, as yet, crossed it. The coast for a considerable distance is fairly, but not completely, well-known.

In 1873, Captain Moresby, in H.M.S. Basilisk, sailed round the islands and along part of the coast, naming numerous islands after the ship and her officers. He discovered the splendid harbours of China Straits on the South East, and Port Moresby ("Hanuabada") on the South Coast, which latter is at the present time the headquarters of the London Missionary Society and of the Government. He also made a flying survey, which was of necessity far from correct, but which proved of great service to later surveyors.

In the year 1883 Sir Thomas McIlwraith, then Premier of Queensland, on behalf of his Government, annexed the whole of New Guinea, thus hoping to exclude the Germans. He had previously urged the Home Government to do this, but they remained inactive. Upon learning what had been done, the Home authorities emphatically refused to sanction it, but in the following year, 1884, on their own behalf established a Protectorate over that portion extending from latitude 5 to 10½° S. and longitude 141 to 151° E., comprising 89,000 square miles, the Germans having occupied the territory to the North, containing 71,000 square miles, whilst the Dutch territory, which lies to the N.W., and has been held by them for upwards of 25 years, contains 150,000 square miles; an area equal to the British and German portions combined. The Proclamation took place on the 6th of November 1884, at Port Moresby, where the British flag was hoisted and the British men-of-war, five in number, saluted.

The formal declaration was then read in the following terms:—

"To all to whom these presents shall come greeting:—Whereas, it has become essential for the lives and properties of the native inhabitants of New Guinea, and for the purpose of preventing the occupation of portions of that country by persons whose proceedings, unsanctioned by any lawful authority, might tend to injustice, strife and bloodshed, and who, under the pretence of legitimate trade and intercourse might endanger the liberties, and possess themselves of the lands, of such native inhabitants, that a British protectorate should be established over a certain portion of such country, and the islands adjacent thereto; and whereas Her Majesty, having taken into her gracious consideration the urgent necessity of her protection to such inhabitants, has directed me to proclaim such protection in a formal manner, at this place, now I, James Elphinstone Erskine, Captain in the Royal Navy, and Commodore of the Australian Station, one of Her Majesty's naval âides-de-camp, do hereby, in the name of Her Most Gracious Majesty, declare and proclaim the establishment of such protectorate over such portions of the coast and the adjacent islands as are more particularly described in the schedule hereunto annexed, and I hereby proclaim and declare that no acquisition of land, whensoever or howsoever acquired, within the limits of the protectorate hereby established, will be recognized by Her Majesty; and I do hereby, on behalf of Her Majesty, command and enjoin all persons whom it may concern to take notice of this proclamation:

"Schedule.

"All that portion of the southern shores of New Guinea, commencing from the boundary of that portion of the country claimed by the Government of the Netherlands on the 141st meridian of east longitude to East Cape, with all the islands adjacent thereto south of East Cape to Kosmann Island inclusive, together with the islands in the Goschen Straits.

"Given on board Her Majesty's ship Nelson at the harbour of Port Moresby on the 6th day of November, 1884."

Sir Peter Scratchley, a distinguished military officer, was appointed special commissioner. He chartered the steamer Governor Blackall, and with a large staff visited his new district, travelling along the coast for a considerable distance, touching here and there and interviewing several of the native chiefs. His term of office was, however, fated to be a short one, as in three months after his appointment, when off Mitre Rock, which is the extreme northern boundary, he contracted the dreaded malaria. He immediately ordered the steamer to return to Queensland, and the day after the vessel left Cooktown, died on board. The Hon. John Douglas, resident magistrate of Thursday Island, was appointed his successor, and ruled quietly and unobtrusively for over three years.

The country, meanwhile, was not developed in any way; the expenses of the Protectorate were considerable, when, as luck would have it, payable gold was discovered in July, 1888, on Sud-Est, an island in the Louisiade Archipelago (British New Guinea). Hereby hangs a tale, of which I shall speak in another chapter.

This discovery caused the Home Government to create New Guinea a British possession, which was declared at Port Moresby on September 6th, 1888, and an administrator, now Sir Wm. Macgregor, was appointed. A high tariff was at once imposed on all imports, which revenue came as a godsend to the impoverished state of the New Guinea funds. Such is a brief outline of our early administration of the country.

Early the next morning, having said good-bye to the genial skipper of the Spitfire, I took myself and belongings on shore, as I intended to make Samarai my headquarters.

Samarai is a small but picturesque island containing about 60 acres, situated in China Straits, which is the loveliest and most romantic-looking harbour I have ever seen. The island has a beautiful grove of coco-nut trees, with curious-looking hills on the S.E. or weather side. They look as if they had at some period subsided, leaving their tops only visible.

There is a fine coral beach running along the north-west or lee side of the island and facing the mainland, one and a half miles distant. There is a swamp of seven acres in the middle, the home of malarial fever, thus making this island one of the most unhealthy spots in New Guinea. A government agent is located there and has charge of the customs. In the time of the Protectorate, a large wooden bungalow was built on the top of the highest hill by Rooney & Co., of Townsville, costing the sum of £900. About 60 natives lived on the island, which had been their home for many years. In August, 1888, just previous to the acquisition of New Guinea as a British possession, they were all driven away, or euphemistically got notice to quit. In lieu thereof, they were offered the island of "Quato," situated in China Straits, which had been purchased from the natives by the Protectorate some time previous. The natives were naturally incensed at being thus rudely driven from their island home, where they had lived for so many years, and refused to emigrate to "Quato." Some went to their friends at Heath Island (Loger), some to "Sariba," in China Straits. I consider their case a hard one, and the act of the Government unwarrantable. What on earth did the Government require "Samarai" as a station for when they had the choice of islands in the immediate vicinity, in the same harbour, islands far healthier, with good anchorages, well sheltered, and with no natives, or may be only one or two, living on them?

Why, for instance, did they not select "Quato," which belonged to them and is far healthier, or Coast Island, which is free from swamps and has an excellent anchorage, perfectly sheltered and close to the mainland? Verily the ways of a Government are inscrutable! As it is, they engender bitterness and hatred in the breasts of the evicted natives, the very thing they should study to avoid.

From conversations I have had with several of the natives on the subject, I find that they feel very sore on the matter. They will never forget it, and would retaliate, but know that they are powerless to act.

How would a European feel if he were suddenly driven away from his homestead, where his parents had died and his children been born, for no other reason than that some foreigner required it, and by way of compensation offered to him an alien piece of land, where he would have to rebuild his houses and make fresh plantations? It must not be forgotten that savages have as much love for their bit of ground as the proudest aristocrat in England has for his lordly acres. I will give an instance of this mistaken policy. Two months after these evictions, two friends of mine and I had occasion to go on a vessel to the adjoining island of Sariba, in order to get our water casks filled. We landed in the dinghy, taking with us a couple of casks, and requested the natives to take them to the creek and fill them. Before doing so, they had a talk amongst themselves, when we overheard them say, "Why should we do anything for the white men when we have been treated in such a shameful manner?" However, some of them said, "Well, these we have known some time, and they have always been friendly to us, have never done us any harm, let us not be ungrateful, but fill their water casks," and so they did. We made no remark, paid them in tobacco and got our casks on board, but it showed us very plainly the effect of the foolish policy of the Government. Had we not been on good terms with these natives, we should have had to go elsewhere for our water.

To represent the beauties of China Straits in keeping with its surroundings, requires the brush of an artist or the language of a poet. Although I am unable to do justice to it, I will attempt to bring the scene before the mind of the reader. There are four passages to the harbour, one on the east, west, south-east, and north-west respectively. The main coast is bold and rugged in outline, with a series of high ranges covered with dense scrub, with here and there the face of a hill cleared by the natives for yam cultivation. The shore is lined with coco-nut palms, native houses peeping between the trees. Between the steep and lofty mountains small creeks work their way. A coral reef extends some distance from the shore, making it impossible to anchor close in, as you have the full force of the south-east trade winds, save abreast of a creek opposite Coast Island, the mouth of which is almost hidden by mangrove bushes. On the western side the harbour is protected by the island of "Loger," a large island, thickly populated, running south-east and north-west, and extending to within a mile of the mainland. Close to "Loger" is the island of Quato of 200 acres, for the most part flat, but with rising ground to the south-east. There is a good channel between these islands where vessels of any tonnage could anchor, but a little exposed to the south-east winds. On the eastern side is the Island of Sariba, strikingly picturesque. On it rises a very high hill with a conical summit and covered with patches of long grass. There are numerous villages, and the natives living here are first-rate workers in clearing scrub and building houses. The south-eastern side is bounded by the Island of Samarai, so that the harbour is enclosed, as it were, by four walls. There is plenty of deep water all over the harbour, and vessels of any draught are able to anchor within a hundred yards of the shore. There is a small island in the middle of the harbour, known as Middle Island, and close to the coast is Coast Island, both covered with the coco palm and very fertile. In the far distance, to the north-east, 50 miles away, the lofty mountains of Normanby Island ("Duau") are visible, and on a clear day they appear quite close; when this is so, you may expect the wind from the north-east. Opposite Coast Island a creek runs for about a mile inland, where there is a small village. The creek is navigable for small boats only. The land beyond the village is thickly timbered and of good quality, and in my opinion would be suitable for cultivation. The rainfall, however, is very great, owing to the numerous ranges of hills in the neighbourhood. The harbour extends for five miles as far as South Foreland, after rounding which you enter the splendid bay named Milne Bay. I have seen the Harbour of Sydney and also of Cork, but whether its own beauty is considered or its environment of mountain, hill, dale and sea, dotted with the most romantic-looking coral isles, China Straits must take the palm. No artist could paint it in nature's colours. The scene is ideal. The purple haze of the distant mountains, the delicate blendings of colour in the tropical bush, the bright coral sparkling in the sun, the sombre colour of the natives, all are in perfect harmony, and notwithstanding the rugged appearance of the coast the whole scene inspires a deep sense of rest. I have so often, in company with my pipe, sat on my verandah in the silvery moonlight and gazed on that picture of tropical peace and plenty, that the impressions of it are indelibly imprinted on my memory.

I took up my abode with a trader named K——, who had been settled in the district nearly two years. As the house in which we lived was very hot, and by no means healthy, the idea suggested itself to us to build a native house in the sea. In some parts of New Guinea, as at "Hula," for instance, on the south coast, the whole town is built in the sea as a safeguard against their enemies, the bush tribes, of whom the coastal natives are in mortal dread. Having decided to emulate their example, we interviewed two chiefs of Sariba, Peter and Silliweddo.

We told them that we required a native house built in the sea, instructed them to get plenty of natives and start the work at once. Before going further we had to settle the price that was to be paid. The house, I may say, cost about £4 10s., paid for in articles of "trade." The two chiefs received a little more than the labourers and did not work, merely superintending the erection, that is to say, smoked clay pipes and chewed betel-nuts. As a proof of the native intelligence, the following facts will speak for themselves:

I drew on the beach a rough ground-plan of the house, showing the length and breadth, the divisions of rooms and the two verandahs. Peter, the native chief of Sariba, who was present, measured the plan with a piece of cane, marking the length and breadth, rolled it up and put it in his "pocket"—I mean in his "dilly-bag"—for of course natives are not provided with pockets. He went home to his island, and in a few days came back with several large canoes with all the necessary logs, timber, &c., lashed to them, also the sago palm-leaves for the roofing, cane for splitting into laths, and when the house was finished there was very little material left. How he managed to calculate it so nicely I cannot say, but of course he had had considerable experience in building native houses. The roof of our house was loftier than the ordinary native one, but built of the same material. There was not a single nail used in the building. It was built in the sea in about four feet of water at low tide on the sea side, and on the shore side connected with the beach by a gangway. They have a curious way of driving the piles. We gave them a rope, which they fixed round the head of the pile, leaving two ends dangling. Several natives get hold of one end and several of the other, pulling alternately, until the pile is worked down to the required depth. The piles are made of white mangrove—a strong wood, and not too heavy. In order to prevent the ravages of the cobra insect, which in salt water will work its way into blood-wood even, it is best to tar the piles well, and better still—though very expensive—to copper them all over. The flooring is made of "matu," a kind of cane which is plentiful on the mainland, the walls of the bark or skin of the palm, and the roof of the leaves of the sago palm, which have to be put on separately, the leaves over-lapping a little, and on the outside some branches of the coco-nut palm are placed. A house of this kind is quite rain-proof, and if well-constructed will keep in good condition for at least two years. For health and coolness, a house built of native material cannot be beaten, and it has the additional advantage of cheapness.

[ ]

CHAPTER III.

NATIVE CUSTOMS.

There are three types of natives, Malay, Papuan, and Polynesian, each more or less mixed with the others. The word "Papuan" is derived from the Malay "Pua-Pua," or "Papuas," which, translated, means frizzle-haired. The distinguishing characteristic of the true "Papuan" is his frizzled hair, which, strange to say, grows naturally in small tufts. So far as I am aware no other race has this strange peculiarity. The "Papuan" is also much darker and fiercer than the others, and has thickish lips and rather a broad, flat nose. The "Polynesian" is by far the most intelligent of the three races. He has, moreover, fine, clear-cut, aquiline features, and is more amenable to the influences of civilization.

Now it is a very difficult matter to determine whence the Papuans of New Guinea originally came. If I may hazard the opinion, I should say they originally hailed from the continent of Asia. My reasons for thinking so are, firstly, tribes of the Papuan or Oriental Negro are found in the interior or mountain fastnesses of the Philippine Islands, in the islands of Flores and Borneo (Malay Archipelago), in the Malay Peninsula (at the foot of Siam), in the Andaman Islands (Bay of Bengal), and also in Cochin China; secondly, during several months of the year the wind blows from the north-west, and under the influence of these winds the current would flow in a direction by which it would be quite feasible for numbers of Papuans to travel in canoes by way of the Malay Archipelago as far as New Guinea.

In the strict sense of the term the Papuans are without any form of religion, but at the same time have certain beliefs in the supernatural. When one of their tribe dies they believe that his spirit tenants his former home, and if he be a "Taubada," that is to say a person of importance, a neat fence is erected round his grave. Quantities of yams, taro, betel-nut, and sometimes his native tomahawks, shield, &c., are then placed within the enclosure, which is held sacred or "Tabu." Should he perchance die in Queensland, his spirit will not return to his birthplace, but will, according to their belief, be lost; the natives therefore will be wild, and will in all probability kill the first white man they come across, as an equivalent. If, however, payment be made to the relatives of the deceased the natives will be satisfied, and nothing more will be heard of it.

They do not possess any temples of worship, but have wooden idols or gods with which they decorate their houses; however, I have never seen them fall down and worship them, nor, as far as I know, is it their practice to do so. They believe in all sorts of "Devils" whom it is necessary to propitiate, but strange to say they have no idea of any beneficent spirits working for their good. I was present at several funerals or wakes, all of them being of women. When a woman dies beautiful wreaths of wild flowers are placed on the corpse, which is laid on the knees of two of her nearest relatives in the house. Her friends gather round, and weep and wail all night long, making the darkness hideous with their groans, but some of them feel real grief at their loss. At sunrise a canoe is in waiting, which conveys the body to her native place, which may be an island a few miles away. There it is decently interred, with more weeping, and all is over. Their method of going into mourning is very similar to our own. We wear black clothes, whilst they paint themselves black all over like Christy Minstrels, so that it is difficult to recognize them, their natural colour being a nutty brown. The period of mourning generally lasts about two months, and it looks very comical when the mourning is getting washed out. In some parts of New Guinea the women wear a net over their shoulders and breasts as a token of mourning, but the general custom is to dye themselves black. With all their savagery their different customs resemble many of our civilized ones.

Marriage.—They have no priests to perform this ceremony. When a man has reached a marriageable age, say twenty, he looks out for a wife. He selects a girl to his fancy, but has invariably to wait a long time before the marriage takes place, and it is very often a difficult matter for a young man to obtain a wife at all. When the day of the marriage has arrived the young couple retire to the house which has been prepared for them, and are thenceforth looked upon by their relatives as man and wife.

They keep the marriage state as inviolate as Europeans do. On the wedding day they give a banquet to their friends, consisting of yams, bananas, betel-nut and the fatted pig, also presents to the bride's family, and, let us hope, live happily ever afterwards.

As a rule the natives have only one wife, but in some instances two.

The men do not talk much to the women, as they look upon themselves as warriors and the women as labourers. It must not be understood from this that the women are ill-treated by them, on the contrary they have a large voice in domestic affairs, and occasionally lord it over their masters. It is not only in domestic affairs, but also in the affairs of state that their influence is felt. It is often the women who incite the men to war, or to deeds of murder, rapine and plunder, and should they hesitate, they rush wildly into their midst, fling their arms about, and harangue them in the following fashion: "What, you are afraid to do this and yet you call yourselves men and warriors! Out upon you, you have not the hearts of men, you are more like a pack of old women; you ought to put on the grass petticoat, stop at home and do the cooking." The men thus wrought upon must needs obey, or quietly submit to the taunt of cowardice flung in their faces.

The above shows the position held by Papuan women to be anything but that of degraded slaves, as is so often the case in other savage countries. No, the women of New Guinea are determined to have their little say, and take very good care they are listened to.

The children are bright, cheerful, happier and more contented-looking than any I have ever seen. They are always at play, using the spear in sham warfare, with a piece of wood for a shield, or they busy themselves in fishing and swimming. Both men and women are always joking and laughing. Life seems to them one long holiday. All their wants, which are not many, are supplied by Dame Nature, their food, clothing, houses and weapons. One stick makes a man a spear, two sticks rubbed together a fire, fifty sticks tied together a house.

The boys are particularly bright and quick at learning anything, some of them picking up English readily, although they prefer speaking their own language.

All the women wear a grass petticoat, sometimes two, made from the palm, having two shades, intermixed brown and a whitish-yellow. It looks most picturesque. They also wear a black band, about three inches deep, round the arm just below the shoulder, and it is so tightly put on that when they wish to remove it they are obliged to cut it, which leaves an ugly mark in the flesh. The men wear simply a leaf of the coco-nut palm round the loins, with leglets, armlets and streamers or "wings" from the shoulders, if they wish to look extra well. They cultivate a tremendous shock of hair on their heads, combing it out and dressing it with coco-nut oil several times a day. The combs are of their own manufacture, which, after using, they stick in their hair in much the same way as European ladies wear a comb. All the men have the lobe of the ear pierced, on the outer rim of which they string small shells like rings, also the cartilage of the nose is perforated, through which they thrust a long shell, well polished, and fined down to a sharp point, giving it at a distance the appearance of a moustache. Like the heathen Chinee, they are as beardless as boys. The women as a rule wear their hair straight and cut short, the part over the forehead a little frizzy. The married women tattoo themselves from head to foot in an ornamental and conventional design. The girls and men do not practise the art.

They live in villages, all the houses standing in a regular line, well built on blocks, 5 to 6 feet from the ground, the walls made of the sago palm, the leaves of which are put on separately and slightly overlapping one another. The floor is made of "matu" or cane, the face of the roof in the form of a triangle. They keep the ground in front of the houses very tidy, generally sweeping it once a day. The houses are surrounded by numbers of coco-nut trees, and by a curious and happy law of nature the nuts fall principally at night time; were it otherwise it would be very dangerous, as the coco-nut is anything but soft.

The women are employed in the yam and taro gardens, also in cooking and carrying firewood, besides looking after their babies.

The land is held by a family or tribe, and is divided and sub-divided, each household having a part portioned off, so that many natives are interested in one piece or parcel of land. Such land cannot be sold or parted with without the consent of all the principal owners. This system of land tenure works well until the family or tribe becomes so numerous that the different portions or lots are reduced to a very small area, causing some of the members to seek fresh districts.

Their national food consists of yams, taro, bananas, sago, coco-nuts, fish, birds, pigs, and occasionally human beings. Of course in some districts food is scarce, in others, there is a superabundance.

They commence digging up the yams about the end of April, and in May hold a great yam feast or festival, at which hundreds of natives are present, each of whom contributes pigs, yams, or something else. They think nothing of killing over 100 pigs on one day, and there are cart loads of yams and other food on the ground. They have a very curious method of dealing out the different parts of the pig. They cut up twine (which they make themselves) into various lengths, giving to each representative a length. Each length entitles the holder to a certain part of the pig, say, a holder of a short length receives the head, and so on.

All the girls are dressed in their best, which means a clean grass petticoat, with beautiful garlands of wild flowers round their heads and a necklace of beads encircling their throats. It looks lovely. The men paint their faces in the most gorgeous style, using different pigments, and vieing with each other as to who can look the ugliest. They are also decorated with bands and streamers, and in their own opinion are dressed in the height of fashion. After gorging themselves with food and coco-nut milk, the musicians strike up, using the "tom-tom" a kind of drum, and singing a New Guinea carol; the maidens dance round for hours in a ring, speeches are made by some of the leading men, and the amusement extends far into the night, only to begin again the next day. A feast of this description often lasts from a week to ten days, during which time business is at a stand-still, as they will not work at making "copra" or anything else until the feast is over. It is very similar in idea to our harvest feast in England. Should the yam season fail, which is not often, the natives suffer want, and have to live on sago and coco-nuts. As in most annual feasts the amount of food wasted is great. There is one very good quality about the yams, if stored in a house they will keep good for two years. They grow sometimes to a length of 4 to 5 feet and weigh very heavy.

The language is not unlike that of the Maories of New Zealand, and, like it, is made up of numerous dialects. When you reach the "Motu" district, say Port Moresby, the language decidedly changes and differs entirely from that of the south-east or east end.

It is not very difficult to acquire. If you mix with the natives, and take some interest in your task, you ought to be fairly proficient in twelve months, at least, this is true of the language spoken on the south-east coast, with which I am conversant. Like Italian, every word ends with a vowel. The vowels are pronounced, ah, eh, e, o, oo, ai as i, au as ow, and r at the beginning of a word, as L.

Their musical instruments are very primitive, but their singing is good, as they keep capital time, and have very fair voices. They are very fond of singing, their songs generally being an account of a canoe's journey, of how they got on, or about some fight that took place years ago, and occasionally about the only girl they ever loved.

They make incantations to the wind, as it is believed the winds are influenced thereby.

The natives living on the south coast manufacture different kinds of pottery, such as cooking-pots, dishes, bowls, water-jugs, and the like. They are also very clever at making fishing-nets, mats, baskets, lime-bottles, and last, but not least, canoes. As we have our shipwrights, so they have special men who understand canoe-building. It is astonishing how well they make them, considering the rude tools they have to work with. They manufacture large quantities of sago. They do not, however, make it in a granulated form, but bake it into cakes, covering them with a frame of woven leaves, this being the handiest form for carrying it about with them in their canoes. When it is required for the "table" it is made up into small dumplings, placed in the pot and boiled. The process of manufacture is as follows:

They cut down the sago palm, and remove the crown with its huge fronds. A tall tree with a smooth white bark is selected, the bark split in a straight line from top to bottom, and stripped off in one piece. They then spread out the piece of bark flat on the ground along-side the sago trunk, covering it with the large green leaves of the wild plantain. The bark of the sago-palm is split into three or four long strips, reaching from end to end of the trunk, and the white pith is exposed the whole length of the tree. A number of women sit in front of the tree, each with an adze-shaped weapon made of bamboo, with which they chip out the pith, which falls in white flakes on the clean plantain leaves.

The pith is carried away in baskets made of plaited coco-nut leaves to the river or sea, as the case may be, where it is to be washed. It is then shot into a bin about six feet square, built of logs and lined with plantain leaves. A staging of poles is erected in the water and troughs made of the leaf stalks of the sago palm are fixed upon it. They are placed in a sloping position upon the staging, the larger ends uppermost. The sago pith is now put into the trough, into which is fixed a strainer made of that delicate textile that envelopes the unexpanded fronds of the coco-nut palm. It is washed with water and kneaded with the hands, while the water runs away in a milky stream, and the woody fibre and other solid particles are arrested by the strainer. The water runs out of the bottom of the trough, and is caught in a deep receptacle where the heavy sago sinks to the bottom in a form resembling white clay. Sago, manufactured in this way, will keep good for a considerable time.

When yams are scarce, the natives have to depend almost entirely on sago and coco-nuts.

[ ]

CHAPTER IV.

A STORMY TRIP.

A Christmas under a burning tropical sun, such as I spent in 1887, seems unnatural. What a contrast to a Christmas in England!

"Outside fall the snowflakes lightly,

Through the night loud raves the storm,

In my room the fire glows brightly,

And 'tis cosy, silent, warm.

"Musing sit I on the settle,

By the firelight's cheerful blaze,

Listening to the busy kettle

Humming long-forgotten lays."

In New Guinea you eat your Christmas dinner in the open air, with the thermometer at over 100° in the shade. All nature seems weighed down by the oppressive atmosphere. One feels too enervated for any exertion, beyond imbibing cool drinks or smoking a cigar in a cane lounge.

About this time a fleet of pearl-shelling boats had come to New Guinea from Torres Strait, and were working in the Louisiade Archipelago. The water was rather too deep for them, as they had been accustomed to eight to ten fathoms. One or two of their divers were paralysed, and the whole of their fleet in a few months left for their old quarters, evidently having had enough of New Guinea waters. Not long after their departure one or two good patches of pearl-shell were found, which the New Guinea pearl divers took advantage of. It was fortunate for them, the Torres Strait fleet had already left the scene.

Just before Christmas Day, some of the Torres Strait boats had anchored in China Straits, remaining until after Christmas, so that we had a good muster of white men.

We held our Christmas festivities on the Island of Samarai. The dinner was tastefully laid out on rudely-constructed tables, set in the open air, under the canopy of Heaven. The tables were decorated with beautiful bouquets of wild flowers.

The bill of fare was exhaustive of the delicacies procurable, and was as follows:

• Soup—Real Turtle.
• Fish—Kingfish.
• Joints—Roast Lamb & Peas (Kid).
• Joints—Roast Pork.
• Joints—Cold Corned Beef.
• Entrées—Turtle & Scalloped Oysters.
• Sweets—Omelette, Fruit Pie.
• Vegetables—Yams, Taro, Spinach.
• Cheese.
• Dessert—Bananas, Pineapples, Mangots, Paw-paws, Coco-nuts, Oranges, etc.
• Wine & Spirits—Lager Beer, Whisky, Sherry, Port.

We had quite a representative gathering, consisting of captains, mates, traders, fishermen and divers—fifteen in all.

Several New Guinea natives, clad in their native garments, waited at table, and first-class waiters they are. Captain Runcie, of the S.S. Gympie, an old habitué of New Guinea, took the chair. Runcie Creek in the Island of St. Aignan was discovered by him.

After justice had been done to the different viands, speeches were made, some of unique character. Songs were then called for, and woe betide him who refused to sing. All the different nationalities were represented. We had Greek, English, Russian, Scotch, German, and New Guinea songs. The excitement was kept up until the small hours of the morning. Some of the feasters had some difficulty in the morning in finding their respective vessels. I must not forget to mention that we had a Chinese song by one "Ah Gim," a worthy member of that race, and a most respectable man. He has been engaged in the Bêche-de-mer fisheries, New Guinea, for the past ten years, and has had several hair-breadth escapes. I am not a lover of the Chinese race, but I must make an exception in favour of "Ah Gim." He is a first-rate fellow. I have known him for several years, and can testify to his upright and straightforward character. His headquarters are at Su-au (South Cape).

At the end of January, 1888, I started in a small lugger, intending to go first to the Island of Wari (Teste), and then to Kitai (Basilaki Islands). I had four New Guinea natives and one South Sea Islander on board. The breeze was light, and before we got clear of the Eastern Passage it entirely died away. We were bemoaning our fate, when a light air sprang up, and I was congratulating myself on the prospect of reaching Wari (35 miles distant) that evening, when the wind, which was blowing from the south, increased to a gale. Our dinghy was being towed astern, and in our haste to get it on board, and from the force of the wind, the tow-rope somehow or other got adrift, and away went the dinghy, which was soon lost to sight. Our little craft was headed for Wari, but owing to the strength of the gale she was unable to face it, so we had to run before the wind under the jib only, steering our course for Kitai. After tearing along for several hours at racing speed, we dropped anchor off Kitai a little before dark, the wind still howling like an enraged beast. We soon turned into our bunks, glad to be safely secured from the tempest.

"Basilaki" is a large island about 15 miles from the main coast. The natives living on it are a bad lot. They have committed many murders both of natives and white men, and are the terror of the adjoining islands. In the morning a number of large canoes came alongside of us with a quantity of bags of copra, which I took on board. At noon, the sun shining fiercely, I determined to go on shore, so jumping into one of their big canoes, and taking my Winchester rifle, loaded with 13 rounds, and with a few spare cartridges in my pocket for I knew the treacherous nature of the natives in this part, I was duly landed on the beach.

A crowd of natives soon gathered round me, evidently taking a keen interest in my appearance. I was alone. I went a short distance into the bush, keeping a firm hold of my rifle. I then sat down and distributed a few small pieces of tobacco to the assembled multitude. Not liking the look of the people, and wishing to avoid an encounter, I thought it prudent to return to my little vessel. I jumped into one of their canoes and was soon on board, telling them at the same time that I purposed returning in a month or two, when I hoped they would have plenty of copra for me. The next day, the wind still blowing furiously, I decided to remain at anchor. I was successful in obtaining a few more bags of copra, and on the following morning left en route for Wari. The wind was blowing fresh from the south-east, and after a long beat through the lagoon, where we had anchored, to the open sea, we found the wind coming direct from Wari and dead in our teeth.

Had I been a native of New Guinea I should have accounted for the unfortunate circumstance by the interference of some evil spirit who had purposely and with malicious intent caused an unfavourable wind. Not, however, believing that I was the plaything of devils, I determined to make an effort by way of a dead beat to windward. The boat would not sail close to the wind. The tides here are terribly strong, running at the rate of five to six knots an hour. So that whatever progress we made in six hours we lost in the next six.

However it is a long lane that has no turning, so, after beating about for three days, a distance of only 20 miles, we made the north-west passage of the island.

Our troubles were by no means at an end. The night was pitch dark, so we were obliged to stand off and on until the rising of the moon, which did not appear until nearly midnight. It then shone brightly, and the island of Wari, a few hundred yards distant, stood out in bold relief, with Bell Rock on our right, so called from its likeness to a bell. It is a perpendicular rock, several hundred feet high, most precipitous, bare of cultivation, with the sea ceaselessly dashing against its serried side. The passage between Bell Rock and the island is a very narrow and intricate one, and most dangerous to navigate.

There is a large coral reef on either side, also several sunken rocks. I placed one of the natives, a boy belonging to Wari, who knew the locality, in the bows of the boat to act as pilot, and keep a sharp look-out. With the silvery moon lighting up our path, and a strong breeze from the south-east, we made the attempt, anxiously peering over the side with the unpleasant expectation of striking on a reef. Presently the boy who was keeping a look-out forward sang out, "'Bout ship," the helm was put hard down, and the next moment we were on the reef.

Oars were at once got out, but it was of no avail. Our vessel would not budge an inch. I sent a couple of natives to the island. They had to cross the reef, and by dint of swimming and wading reached the beach.

Numerous fires were blazing in the distance surrounded by numbers of the islanders. The boys were instructed to bring as many natives as they could muster, as I hoped by our united efforts we should be enabled to get the vessel off. About a dozen natives appeared on the scene, who evidently did not relish turning out at such an unearthly hour. We all worked with a will, and after a number of spasmodic efforts we got clear of the reef, only to get on another one a few minutes later. I suspended the certificate of the pilot for the next 12 months, and I am afraid to write the language which, on the occasion, seemed to me appropriate. There was nothing else for it but to drop the anchor on the reef and wait patiently until the morning. The sun rose in full splendour, showing us distinctly our unfortunate position. Here we were, within a mile or so of our anchorage, imprisoned between the reefs like a rat in a trap.

The wind had by this time increased, and the sea had got up. Our little craft was in considerable danger, as with a heavy wind and her sides beating against the hard coral, she stood a very good chance of breaking up, or having a hole knocked in her bottom. The wind blowing straight in our teeth, I determined to get the anchor on board, crowd all canvas, turn tail, and run, trusting by this means to get free of the reef.

I could then go to leeward of the island, and rounding the north-east end, pick up my anchorage in the passage which is on the south east or weather side.

This was a roundabout way, but the only possible one. The anchorage is sheltered by a large coral reef which extends a long distance to windward.

Our anchor was safely stowed on board, all the sails set (a strong south-easter blowing astern), and the vessel gave a heave and got clear of the reef.

The start was made. No sooner, however, had we got away, and in deep water, than crack went the mainsail, blown into a thousand ribbons. Luckily we had a spare mainsail on board, belonging to another boat. We managed to set it in a fashion, and after many difficulties, circumnavigated the island and came to an anchorage on the other side just abreast of the Mission House, tired out with our unfortunate journey.

"Wari," or Teste Island, is situated about 35 miles to the south-east of Milne Bay, and as the trade wind blows from that quarter, it means a dead beat all the way.

The island is from two to three miles long by half a mile broad. It is most fertile, and from its position very healthy.

There are numerous plantations of yams and bananas; also orange and lemon groves. There is unfortunately a scarcity of good water. A ridge of hills runs right through its centre from E.N.E. to W.S.W. There are three villages close together, having a population of about 400. The natives here are most intelligent, and make capital sailors.

One of them, by name "Dim-Dim," can sail a cutter as well as any white man, and what is still better, can be thoroughly trusted. The word "Dim-Dim" means "a white man," and as the native in question has all the good qualities of one he was so christened.

At the time of my visit to Wari I was the only white man on the island. The day after I landed I had an attack of fever, and what with sickness and the gale still holding, I had perforce to remain here for a week.

All the natives are passionately fond of chewing the betel-nut; they take with it lime, which they make by burning coral and then crushing it into a fine powder. It is carried in boxes made of coco-nut and beautifully carved. They also eat with it a leaf which is rather peppery but pleasant to the taste. The betel-nut grows luxuriantly in some districts, whilst in others there is none. Of course the constant chewing of it blackens the teeth, but that is fashionable and considered no blemish.

I visited the natives in their several villages, and was in every instance treated with the greatest hospitality.

Upon entering their houses a clean "dam" or mat was placed on the floor for me, betel-nut was brought which I had, nolens volens, to chew, though I must confess I do not relish the operation, and lastly the "bau-bau," a family pipe, was produced, at which I was supposed to take a draw or two, not forgetting to supply the ammunition for it from my stock of tobacco.

It is best to fall in with their ways as far as practicable, and by your acts to show them that you appreciate their demonstration of hospitality. It is in this way that you are able to gain their friendship and confidence.

Most of the natives living on the coast have acquired the habit of smoking, and very soon become inveterate at it. They would sell their souls for tobacco.

There are islands to the north of the mainland where tobacco is entirely unknown, but before many years are over it will reach them also.

The women are not heavy smokers, and are never to be seen with a clay pipe in their mouths. They prefer smoking the "bau-bau," a family pipe made of bamboo. It is a hollow piece of wood, three or four feet long, circular, with a big hole at one end and a small hole at the other. The tobacco is rolled in a pan-danus leaf in the form of a cigarette, placed in the small hole and lighted, the smoke is then blown into the pipe and the tobacco removed. The first smoker, holding the pipe in both hands, takes two draws and passes it on to the next. The tobacco must then be inserted again and the process repeated.

When smoking the "bau-bau" they seat themselves in a circle. The pipe is always artistically carved, and is a great favourite with the women.

Having lost our only dinghy, I purchased from the natives a canoe with an outrigger attached, capable of holding two persons. I had to pay one American hatchet for it. It came in very handy, as without it I should have been dependent on the natives for going ashore.

Some of their canoes here are very large, carrying a big mat sail made from the palm-tree, the seams well caulked and tarred. It is surprising how quickly they can travel, and how close to the wind they can go. They go out with them in all sorts of weather, and it is very seldom they get upset. The leading man in the canoe sits in the stern sheets and acts as helmsman.

He also gives the word of command. When it is time to make sail, he sings out in a loud voice, "Wai-wai, Wai-wai," and when the great sail has been hoisted to the peak, he calls out, "Besi" (that will do), the halyards and sheets are belayed, the sail is canted over, and away she scuds before the breeze.

The prows of their canoes are decorated with numbers of the white egg-shaped cowrie shell, and, like our own vessels, each canoe has a particular name.

The natives trade a good deal amongst themselves, in some instances taking sago in their large canoes a distance of 300 miles, bringing back in exchange yams, betel-nut, etc.

Having obtained several bags of Bêche-de-mer and copra, and stowed them safely on board, I took advantage of a light favourable wind and left for Samarai (China Straits).

After an uneventful passage of 18 hours I dropped the anchor a little after midnight.

[ ]

CHAPTER V.

A GOLDEN PROSPECT.

When not engaged in trading operations I occasionally made excursions on the mainland, and at different times prospected several creeks, hoping to obtain traces of gold, but such hopes were not fulfilled. One of the creeks I followed had a formation identical with those on Sud-Est, where payable gold was found. The bed of this creek was composed of slate, with slate bars here and there. The banks sloped on either side. With more time to prosecute the search possibly the result would have been different.

Mr. Andrew Goldie, who has been in New Guinea about 14 years, is said to have discovered traces of gold many years ago, but nothing came of it.

Everyone held more or less the belief that gold existed in the country, but, strange to say, no one had taken much trouble to prove it.

One evening, towards the end of May, 1888, I was quietly reclining on a lounge, smoking my pipe and enjoying the beauties of a tropical night, when suddenly the door of my room was opened and eight stalwart men appeared out of the blackness of the night. I was taken quite by surprise, as I had not heard any vessel let go her anchor.

It turned out, however, that the cutter Juanita from Cooktown, with a party of eight diggers or prospectors, had arrived, with Mr. Whyte as leader. I knew Whyte and one or two of the others. Water diluted with a little whisky was at once produced, when numerous questions were eagerly asked and answered.

In answer to my query what was their object in coming to New Guinea, Mr. Whyte said that the party was organised by himself under the authority of the Hon. John Douglas, at that time "Special Commissioner" for British New Guinea under the "Protectorate."

Mr. Douglas had given them special powers and privileges to prospect for gold and other minerals over the whole of the territory under British protection. I may as well here state the causes that led to this sudden action on the part of Mr. Douglas.

Two months previously, David Whyte, who was engaged on a pearl-shelling boat in the Louisiade Archipelago (which is part and parcel of British New Guinea territory), and who, by the bye, was hard up at the time, informed Mr. Douglas that he had discovered an auriferous reef on Johannet Island, situated in the above named group, showing him specimens therefrom.

This information resulted in Mr. Douglas purchasing the Juanita, a cutter of seven to nine tons burthen, and provisioning it for a three months' cruise. Mr. Whyte found eight practical miners who were willing to go with him although they were well aware that he was not a miner. The adventurous party, who were loudly cheered on their departure from Cooktown, set sail on May 23rd, and arrived, as I have already stated, off the Island of Samarai on the evening of May 28th, 1888. The party stayed on the island for a couple of days in order to take in a fresh supply of wood and water before proceeding on their journey.

Johannet Island lies 140 miles to the eastward of China Straits, which necessitates beating to windward nearly the whole of the distance. At the time of their arrival H—— and I were the only white men on Samarai, whilst there were as many as 250 natives, most of them visitors from different parts, some from Milne Bay, others from Tube-Tube (Engineer group), Basilaki, and various places. The resident natives only numbered about 50.

On May 31st I was strolling round the island with two or three of the "diggers," pointing out some of its beauties, when, near a large group of natives, I heard a buzz of angry voices. I immediately hastened to the spot anxious to find out the cause of the disturbance. Numbers of large canoes belonging to the native visitors were drawn up in regimental line on the beach. Hard by, in an open grove of beautiful coco-palms, about 100 natives belonging to Wagga-Wagga (Milne Bay) were drawn up in review order, opposite to them were 50 natives from Tube-Tube, one of the islands of the Engineer Group, ranged in double ranks in the position known as "ready to receive cavalry." A few moments before not an arm, not a spear, was to be seen. Now they appeared to have sprung from the ground, as all the warriors were suddenly armed with them. The spears had, in fact, been hidden in the canoes a few yards away.

Matters began to wear a serious aspect. Both parties had worked themselves into a most excited state. The attacking party, viz., the men from Wagga-Wagga, intent on crushing their foes, gradually drew nearer, each with his long and deadly spear poised, ready to lunge it in the breast of his antagonist, until they had advanced to within a few yards of their opponents. I expected every moment to see the spears, held in itching hands, hurled. I could not but admire the cool courage with which the Tube-Tube men awaited the onslaught, nothwithstanding the disparity of numbers. Each belligerent party hesitated.

However, I could plainly see that it was merely a question of time. In a few minutes, maybe, their feelings would get the better of their judgment and blood be spilt. Not knowing what evil consequences might not result from such an ending, there being nearly 300 savages on the island, I hastily despatched a native boy named "Ginger" to a house a short distance away, telling him to bring back three or four Winchester rifles duly loaded. He returned in a few minutes with them. We armed ourselves and forced the Wagga-Wagga natives to retire, and leave the island in their canoes, thus averting unnecessary bloodshed. Had we not acted promptly, goodness knows where the fight would have ended. There was great excitement in the place for several hours afterwards, the wives and sweethearts of the men taking a lively interest in the events of the day. War was averted.

It seems, according to the Wagga-Wagga version, that one of the Tube-Tube men had stolen something from a Wagga-Wagga man. This the Tube-Tube natives denied, but it was evident that the two tribes were natural enemies, and that the quarrel was only got up through their hatred of one another.

The weapons used in this part are the spear, stone hatchet, club, shield, and a small spear something like a dart. To the westward they have the spear, club, tomahawk, and bow and arrows.

They are wonderfully expert with the latter, being dead shots at a distance of 80 yards, the bow and arrow being much more dangerous to my mind than the spear. The bows are very large, strong, and beautifully made. They have also a horrible, murderous-looking weapon, called a man-catcher, which is used by them in their nefarious head-hunting expeditions. It is a large loop of rattan with a long handle of bamboo; at the bottom or foot of the loop a sharp spike about four inches in length is inserted. The loop is thrown over the head of the retreating victim, the sudden jerk causing the spike to enter the base of the skull, producing instant death; the head is then severed from the body and kept as an article of barter. You will often come across a number of skulls stuck in a ghastly row outside the houses. This, of course, is direct evidence of the wealth of the proprietor, as with them he can purchase anything he desires.

Having taken in a fresh supply of wood and water, the prospecting party left in the Juanita for Johannet Island, which they reached on June 10th.

Whyte was asked by the "diggers" to point out the golden reef that he had discovered. He showed them a "buck reef" (by which is meant a quartz reef not bearing gold), which never had carried gold and never would. In fact there was no trace of gold on the whole island. The outraged feelings of the diggers may be imagined; they were simply furious.

Fortunately, however, there was a larger island seven miles distant, viz., Sud-Est.

They went there, and on the second day after landing discovered traces of gold. Their spirits rose at once. They diligently followed them up, and in a little over two months obtained 150 ounces, of the value of £550. Mr. Douglas had stipulated that at the end of three months the boat was to be returned to the British New Guinea Government, which was accordingly done. I saw the members of the party in China Straits upon their return from Sud-Est. They reported that they had worked the field out and that it was very patchy. This report speedily reached Cooktown, setting it on fire, everyone believing that there were millions of ounces of the precious metal awaiting their grasp. A party of 26 diggers left Cooktown on August 14th, in the schooner Griffin, other sailing vessels following at short intervals.

This discovery caused the Home Government to create British New Guinea a "British Possession," which was declared at Port Moresby on September 6th, 1888, and an Administrator, now Sir William Macgregor, was appointed.

A high customs tariff was at once imposed on all imports, which revenue came as a relief to the impoverished state of the New Guinea funds.

Six or seven weeks after the above events, the cutter "S——l," 12 tons register, owned by a friend of mine, arrived from Cooktown. As my friend purposed going on to the Sud-Est Goldfield, I decided to go with him in his cutter.

They had a large cargo on board of dutiable goods, such as tobacco, general stores, etc.

Up to this time (September 30th, 1888) no word of the declaration had reached us from Port Moresby, nor any schedule of the tariff, which we took for granted would be imposed. The Government schooner Hygeia, with the Administrator on board, was hourly expected from the above-named port.

As most of the goods on board the "S——l" were under bond, we were anxious to reach Sud-Est before the arrival of the Government and get rid of a quantity before duties could be levied.

Having got everything ship-shape and still no sign of the Hygeia, Captain S——g went to the Government Agent at Samarai, Mr. Edelfelt, an ignorant foreigner, and asked him for his clearance for Sud-Est. The agent very impolitely refused to grant it, stating that, as the Hygeia was expected every moment, it would be necessary for us to pay duty on everything before we could obtain a clearance.

What an absurdity! Fancy paying duty before knowing what the duties were, or having had any official intimation of them! We distinctly refused to grant this request, and demanded our clearance, as our sails were all unfurled and everything ready for a start. We then went on board our cutter, telling the agent we would give him an hour to reconsider his decision.

In about an hour and a half we received a letter from him, in which he defied us to leave without a clearance, and stating that if we did so we should have to take the consequences. Seeing that nothing was to be gained by arguing with such a man, [ [1] ] orders were at once given to let go; the sails were hoisted and away we went without the coveted clearance, as we had lost quite enough time as it was. We touched at Sariba to take in water and left the same evening for Sud-Est. No sooner had we got abreast of the Island of Doini (Blanchard), six miles distant, than the Hygeia, from Port Moresby, hove in sight, bound for Samarai.

She only stayed two hours in port, when she hurriedly left for Sud-Est. As she was a smart sailer, and of 60 to 70 tons burthen, she passed us during the following night, reaching Sud-Est two days in advance of us. The Administrator had, of course, been duly informed by the agent, Mr. Edelfelt, of our reprehensible conduct in leaving without his august sanction.

The trip to Sud-Est was most enjoyable, the weather being everything that could be desired. We kept inside the Long Reef, passing Teste Island on our right. We were never more than half a day out of sight of land.

We had to pass through a perfect network of reefs and islands—islands of tropical beauty, covered with succulent grasses, and smiling groves of palms bending beneath the weight of their luscious fruit.

Every now and then a large canoe, filled with dusky forms, would shoot out from an adjacent island and pay us a flying visit.

We had a tow line astern with a hook covered with a piece of red and white calico, and every day we hauled up a couple of splendid fish, sometimes a king fish, at other times a sea salmon. We ate what we could and dried the remainder, cutting them into strips and hanging them in the rigging.

After passing Brooker Island, we entered the Sud-Est Barrier, and the next night anchored off Grassy Island, as just here the reefs are very numerous, making it unsafe to travel at night.

At daylight in the morning we were off again, and in the afternoon, when only three miles from the anchorage of Sud-Est, we grounded on a coral patch. We tried to get her off, but she would not budge; however, the tide was making, so we had nothing to fear. Whilst in this position, a boat from H.M.S. Swinger, containing the chief lieutenant and half-a-dozen Jack tars, boarded us. The lieutenant, who was most courteous, informed us that Sir Wm. Macgregor was very wroth at our behaviour and had a good mind to seize our vessel. We received this news with wonderful calmness and fortitude, as for the life of us we could see no reason for seizure. By the kind help of the lieutenant and his men, we were enabled to get clear of the reef, and proceeded to our anchorage, which we reached just before dark. At the request of the Administrator, on the following morning Captain S——g went on board the Hygeia. The governor, who was in anything but a good humour, asked him why his vessel should not be seized? Captain S——g explained all the circumstances of the case, not forgetting to dwell on the stupidity of the Government Agent at Samarai.

The governor then said:

"Well, you will have to pay duty on all your goods before landing a package," to which my friend answered:

"I have no intention of doing anything of the kind, nor have I the necessary funds for the purpose. I am quite prepared to pay duty on such goods as I may require for immediate sale, and the balance of them you can put in the Government Bond until such time as I may require to clear them."

The governor had evidently imagined that he had an ignorant fool to deal with, and was consequently disagreeably surprised. He foolishly lost his temper, telling S——g "that he ought to know perfectly well that the Government had not any bonded stores on Sud-Est yet." But, in the name of common-sense, how does that give the Government a right to exact from people the duty on the whole of their goods? However, the result was, the governor had to give in. My friend only paid about £8 in duties, the balance of the bonded goods having to be sealed down under hatches. So we won the day.

The next morning I went ashore. The landing, which is at Griffin Point, is very bad. You have to wade through mangrove mud, the stench of which is enough to breed fever, and then climb a very steep ascent to the first camp.

Here there are numbers of canvas tents pitched on a grassy flat, and it is no easy task carrying heavy packages and tools up to it. About 400 men were on the ground. Some were doing well, others making good wages, whilst many were not making "tucker." Others again were lying in the tents sick with fever.

The field only lasted twelve months, during which time dozens of diggers died from malaria, and, although several thousands of ounces of gold were obtained from the islands, it cost a lot of money to get them. It was all alluvial digging from six inches to two feet wash, no reef carrying gold having been found.

Sud-Est is a large island 40 miles in length and eight miles broad. The coast runs east and west, and is surrounded by a fringe of mangroves, with a coral reef extending some distance from its shores. It has high land, the principal mountain, Mount Rattlesnake, which is on the south-east coast, having an altitude of over 3,000 feet. There are hundreds of deep gullies running north and south, with bold hills, covered with good grass, separating them. These hills would make excellent pasturage for cattle, and after a time for sheep also, the grass at present being a little too rank. The deep gullies on all sides would act as natural fences. There is also an inexhaustible supply of good water. There are hundreds of native foot-paths leading along these hills and across the gullies throughout the length and breadth of the island. The gullies are very steep and densely wooded. The rivers and creeks, whose name is legion, run north and south, with gullies, for the most part dry, meeting them at right angles.

The greater part of the gold was found on the western side of the island. Strange to say, there was no indication of any leaders or reefs bearing gold, although, occasionally, nuggets weighing four ounces were obtained. At the same time there are many barren quartz reefs here and there. In my opinion, Sud-Est is one of the healthiest spots in New Guinea. The great sickness amongst the diggers was caused by turning up the virgin soil in the workings and so releasing the malarial germs. When the unwholesome food and change in the climate is further considered, one cannot wonder at the result. Such is nearly always the case in new gold-fields.

All the native houses on Sud-Est are built on the summit of the highest hills or mountains. I should estimate the total population to be from 3,000 to 4,000.

The natives I saw are smaller than those living on the mainland, in fact, as far as I could judge, they seemed to be half-starved. The coco-nut trees are very few and far between, and yams anything but plentiful. I believe the real reason for this barrenness is to be traced to the fear of their enemies. This is undoubtedly the reason why they build their houses in such inaccessible places, invisible until you are close to them. The natives of Brooker Island constantly make expeditions to Sud-Est in their large war canoes for the express purpose of obtaining heads, and as they are more powerful than their opponents, seldom leave without a number of these ghastly trophies. No wonder the natives of Sud-Est live in mortal dread of them.

Whilst I was on the island, a deputation of miners waited on the warden (Mr. Cameron), requesting him to interview the governor with respect to taking a party of diggers in the Hygeia for prospecting Rossel and other large islands, as the number of men on Sud-Est was too great for the amount of gold procurable.

Mr. Cameron spoke to the governor, who consented to act on the suggestion on the understanding that the number must not exceed 15, and that those brought their own "tucker." A committee was formed of seven, of which I was one, and the ballot for the 15 took place in one of the tents. The names of those elected were posted up outside.

The party left the next morning, arriving at Rossel Island the following day. Rossel is the last and easternmost island in the Louisiades. It is not so large as Sud-Est, being only about 25 miles long. The eastern end is thickly inhabited. The natives here have a very bad character, and up to the present time white men have been unable to trade with them. It is said that many years ago a large vessel, [ [2] ] with 350 Chinamen on board, got driven out of her course through stress of weather and ran ashore on the island. The natives, who were very numerous, surrounded her, and succeeded in capturing all the Chinamen. They made prisoners of them, fattened them up, and killed and ate them whenever their stocks ran short.

It is a curious and also a fortunate fact that the natives much prefer a Chinaman, or one of their own race, to a European. The reason they give is, that a European is not a good-feeding animal; he eats too much meat and not enough vegetables.

The above facts may be of some use to the advocates of vegetarianism.

Cannibalism is still rampant in some districts, but in others has died out. A man who has died a natural death is never eaten. Human flesh is deemed far superior to pig, of which animal they have plenty, and, strange to say, cannibalism is just as rife in districts where other food is abundant as in those where it is scarce. The natives have no European prejudices regarding the human body, and eat it with as good a conscience and as much gusto as we do butcher's meat. To a civilized person, this is of course repugnant, but we must remember "different countries have different customs."

The Hygeia party spent three days on Rossel, but did not succeed in finding paying gold, only bare "colours" of the precious metal. What else could they expect for a three days' prospect? They then went to Messima (St. Aignan), a large island 40 miles to the north, spent a couple of days on shore finding nothing but "colours," never attempting to follow them up. They afterwards visited Normanby, Ferguson, and Goodenough, all large islands lying to the north of East Cape, and on to China Straits, where they disembarked, having failed in their search.

A few weeks later, a number of "diggers" left Sud-Est on their own behalf, journeying to St. Aignan. They spent several weeks in prospecting, at the end of which they had the satisfaction of discovering two large gullies bearing paying gold. The news of the "find" soon reached Sud-Est, and in a short time 100 men found their way to the new "rush."