Читать книгу Across Papua - Colonel Kenneth Mackay - Страница 5

Table of Contents

Port Moresby—Papua’s First Explorers—Sir Thomas McIlwraith’s Annexation—Murderers as Porters—“George”—A Unique Gaol—Two Native Villages—The Sago Lakatois—Where One Who Deserved a Better Fate Died—Among the Villages—The First Convert—In Front of the Camera—The Legend of “The Great and Gracious Tree”—Our Fiery Steeds—Matrimonial Disabilities—A Native Dandy—A Painting from Nature’s Gallery—A Papuan Sunset.

RIDING at anchor, we had a distant view of Government House, a most unpretentious bungalow, more suggestive of an early squatter’s home than the one time official head-quarters of a proconsul, such as Sir William McGregor was; and yet, when later I got to know the man through those who served under him, just the sort of house I would expect him to live in, for one, so austerely simple on his expeditions, and so indifferent to, or contemptuous of, official state as to face a Brisbane garden party in blue sand shoes and a frock coat, could have little use for more than four walls and a roof. On one flank of Government House, and nearer the shore, the Mission showed over a huddled-up native village, but except for this village, and a few cocoa-nut and banana trees, little else suggested tropical surroundings. Port Moresby itself, built on the right hand slopes of the hills as the harbour is entered, and now beginning to grow out towards the gaol, over on to the flats that fringe Ela Beach, consists of a small collection of official offices and dwellings, two stores, and one public house, and is in no sense architecturally beautiful.

Once ashore, we took up our quarters in a house set on the side of a hill about a mile from the town, and facing the open sea. Sitting on the verandah, I watched the waves flowing slowly on a strip of sandy shore, while out beyond a line of light marked the course of the reefs; and thanking God for deliverance from the Malaita fell to thinking on the past of this island, which at present so little known, is yet marked out alike by geographical position and natural richness to play no inconsiderable part in Australia’s future destiny.

Men, other than English, first sailed Papuan seas, and to-day various islands and bays bear the names of some of these intrepid navigators.

First came Don Jorge de Menesis, who in 1526 was driven to the island by foul weather, stayed on it for a few weeks, and named it Papua, which, according to some, means “curled”; to others, “black hair.” Then came another Portuguese, Alvarez de Saavedra, who christened it “Isla del Oro,” and I believe that the near future will prove the correctness of his supposition. In 1545 a Spaniard, Ynigo Ortiz de Retez, sailed along its northern coast, and, thinking it resembled the Guinea Coast of Africa, dubbed the island Neuva Guinea. In 1606 Inis Vaez de Torres sailed on its eastern coasts, and in 1616 a Dutchman named Schouten discovered “burning mountains.” Then came Abel Tasman, who explored some of the coast in 1643, while during 1699 Dampier sailed clear round it. Carteret visited the island in 1767, and in 1768 M. de Bougainville, in command of two French ships, sailed the south and east coasts. In 1770 came Cook, confirming the statement that Papua was separate from New Holland (Australia). Captain Edwards touched its shores in 1791, losing the Pandora on the Barrier Reef just after. D’Entrecastreau followed in 1792, and in 1793 the East India Company, like the grand old land grabbers they were, annexed Papua, and an island in Geelvink Bay was occupied by soldiers belonging to their service. The occupation was, however, not approved by the English Government. During 1795 Bampton, and in 1804 M. Constance, visited New Guinea, while during 1828 Captain Steenboom took possession of part in the name of the Dutch Government; but after a few years the settlement had to be abandoned owing to its unhealthy nature. In 1845 Captain Blackwood discovered the Fly River, naming it after his ship. During 1846-50 Captain Owen Stanley made a survey of the coast and marked off many of the more important mountains of the range which now bears his name. In 1858 came the Dutch warship, Etna, exploring and surveying, followed by other Dutch expeditions led by Van der Crab, Teysman, Correngei, Langeweldt, Hemert, and Swann.

It is worthy of more than passing note that almost without exception these practical, and in many cases cultured, navigators speak of the natural possibilities of Papua with enthusiasm, comparing it to some of the richest of the then known tropical islands.

In 1871 the London Missionary Society founded a station on Darnley Island in Torres Straits. From there they established stations between the Baxter and Fly Rivers, at Redscar Bay, and Port Moresby, where in 1874 the veteran missionary leader, Dr. Lawes, took command. So that the whole honour of being the pioneer missioners of Papua justly belongs to this society, though I believe the Jesuits started a mission on Woodlark Island at an earlier date; but, for some reason unknown to me, it has long ago disappeared.

In 1893 Captain Moresby discovered and gave a name to the present capital; nor do I think I need further trace the course of events which led down to the taking over of Papua by the Commonwealth, for they belong to a period well within the recollection of most men, and are easy of discovery by every schoolboy.

Still, as I consider that every Australian should fully realise Sir Thomas McIlwraith’s statesmanlike effort on behalf of the safety of our future race, an effort unfortunately rendered largely futile through the hostility of the British Government of that day, I will quote his reasons given for undertaking to annex Papua to Queensland in 1883.

“1. That its possession would be of value to the Empire, and conduce especially to the peace and safety of Australia, the development of Australian trade, and the prevention and punishment of crime throughout the Pacific.

“2. That the establishment of a foreign Power in the neighbourhood of Australia would be injurious to British, and more particularly to Australian, interests.”

In July of the same year Lord Derby declined to confirm the act of annexation, and in December, 1884, Germany hoisted her flag over the north coast of Papua, and in the Admiralty, Hermit, Anchorite, New Britain, and New Ireland Groups. So to-day and for all time a great military and naval power is established within easy striking distance of Australia’s most vulnerable points, in spite of Sir Thomas McIlwraith’s patriotic action, and, indeed, I am inclined to think, largely as the result of a desire on the part of the Colonial Office to snub that far-seeing statesman.

Then I was waked out of the past with its quaint old ships and picturesque sea captains, and my musings on what might have been had my Lord Derby’s digestive organs only been working smoothly, by a clank, clank, that could only come from hobbled horses, or a chain gang, and looking down I saw twenty or more prisoners, most of them shambling in leg-irons, carrying our belongings, and sundry articles of furniture. A majority were not of the best physique, were varied as regards shades of colour, and wore immense mops of hair. I was told that a fair proportion of them were waiting trial for the brutal murder of the only vegetable grower in the place; but they seemed perfectly indifferent alike to their fate, and the outrage they had committed on the people generally, and indeed chatted and laughed as if fresh vegetables were neither here nor there in their scheme of life.

Mr. Musgrave, the Government Secretary, who came on board as representative for Captain Barton, not only found us a house for which we paid rent to a Bishop, but also “George,” and as George was by way of being chef, major-domo, interpreter, medicine man, and Encyclopedia Papuanica, I think that it is only fair to deal with him in detail. Son of a High Chief of Samoa and an Irish woman, at one time a dweller on our Hunter River, then in our pilot service, he drifted to New Guinea, was a digger, a carrier of goods from Buna Bay to the Yodda, and one of Sir William MacGregor’s most trusted men, ascended with him the Fly River to the 600 mile camp, and was one of the four to climb with Sir William the summit of Mount Victoria. Save that his skin was darker, he would have passed for a twin brother of Bill Beach, and while he kept at times our livers active, he was, taking him all in all, a continual feast, and I will ever look back to the weeks we spent together with genuine pleasure.

The gaol at Port Moresby, viewed from a European standpoint, has no more reality about it than the baseless fabric of a dream, for any properly educated criminal could break cells when he liked, for to leave the yard called for nothing more difficult than stepping through a wire fence. Still Head-Gaoler Macdonald told us his children seldom left him, and that when one did the natives almost invariably gave him away, the prisoner being usually from another district; and indeed they would be fools to escape from a man who is in the best sense a firm but kindly father to them all. A majority of the prisoners were doing time for manslaughter, which seems to be a popular form of local crime, and those with skin disease—apparently a majority—were being treated by being steamed in a sulphur box.

Having occasion to visit one of the local stores we found natives lounging under the verandah, indeed in the building itself, and a fair proportion with skin disease. We then rode round the harbour shore to visit the two villages that lie side by side below the Queensland Mission Society Station. These provide a striking illustration alike of Papuan custom and the multiplicity of dialects which there obtain, for though it is difficult to determine where one village begins and the other ends, yet their people speak two languages and follow different occupations, one tribe being fishermen and the other agriculturists.

The view over the bay, with ranges rising in the distance, the harbour entrance guarded by an island, and the thatched-roofed villages and cocoa-nut and plaintain groves, backed by treeless sharp-cut hills, made up a picture still only semi-tropical but possessing a rare charm of its own. The village houses were all built on poles rising out of the water, with floors about ten feet above the ground, their roofs and walls being of thatch, and obviously whole families slept in practically the one room. They mark a clear stage of development as compared to the primitive mia-mias of our Australian aborigines, but in no sense compare with the well-built and scrupulously clean kraals of many of the Rhodesian and other uncontaminated African tribes. Each house was hung about with charms, and the women and men, whether making earthen pots, mending fishing-gear, or playing cat’s-cradle, seemed listless and inert, and just about as superstitious, and probably more dirty than before the white man came. It is only fair, however, to point out that these villages, being beside a seaport, have probably been demoralised by frequent contact with some of the scum of the earth.

We were amused with the swagger of the young women, many of whom were pretty, with light, well-rounded limbs, and a splendid carriage. They walked with a wriggle, amazingly like that affected by some of our ‘Arriets, and were, I should say, born coquettes. Like most tropical races, they mature and fade with hot-house rapidity, all traces of beauty generally disappearing after the birth of their second child, and old age claiming them before thirty. The single bucks seeking wives are great dandies, with frizzed-out hair, many ornaments, and flowers set in hair, ears, and armlets—just young blades all the world over, but with fewer clothes than most. The old men and women were miserable wrecks, skinny and ugly, while all were, I am sadly afraid, ignorant of cleanly habits as we understand the term.

When we arrived, all the local natives were short of food, partly no doubt owing to the somewhat barren soil, and want of rain, but principally, I fear, to cultivated laziness, and primitive methods. All the sea-board villages were also preparing lakatois in which to sail away down the coast as far as two hundred and fifty miles westward, to obtain sago in exchange for dogs’ teeth, and earthen pots which the women make. These trading craft consist of four canoes, each about thirty feet long, lashed together and surrounded by reed bulwarks, platforms being built on stem and stern. The lakatois are provided with deck houses to keep out rain, and one or two fibre sails of singularly picturesque shape, and carry from thirty to forty men.

Before starting on an expedition, which lasts from three to four months—as they can only sail with the wind, and so go out on one trade, and come back on another—the voyagers deck their masts with charms and sail and pole about the bay with young girls dancing at the prow of each rude galleon; and so the old gods still laugh at the Mission house standing at the village gates.

We rode up past a great deep-foliaged rubber tree to Government House. It faces the Bay entrance and the Coral Sea, and here, one morning as dawn was breaking, a young man marched from under the flag that floats from a knoll on its front, out over “the great divide,” just because he had no friend to hearten him, and stood in this supreme hour of his travail deserted, and alone. That he was too young for the position of responsibility thrust upon him is probable, but that, having accepted it, he strained every nerve to carry out his work is amply proved by the brief records of those days, and I absolutely believe that the events which ended so tragically for him were the direct result of over anxiety on his part to do his duty. For a moment he lost his head, as greater men have done before and will do again, and then the hysteria of well-intentioned men, and the cold aloofness of others who by every law of loyalty and comradeship should have rallied round him, turned an admittedly most regrettable mistake on his part into a tragedy totally unwarranted by any blunder he may have made.

When one calls to mind the “purple patches” smeared on the face of Papua by some of her most experienced officials, dubbed, and I take it generally justly so, regrettable but necessary incidents, and when one takes the trouble to think how often the innocent must have suffered not only with, but for, the guilty, the attitude taken up which culminated in the sacrifice of this young man seems all the more inexplicable. That he was both energetic and courageous the magistrate who was with him during an expedition in the Northern Division has given me ample proof, that the people as a whole respected and believed in him the testimony of many has convinced me, while the diggers in the north, during my visit, were talking of erecting a monument to his memory; and diggers, if rough, know a man when they meet one.

Later we visited the villages of Korabada, Pari, Kira-Kira, and Vapagori. These were all some distance from the port, and their people seemed better in every way than the natives we had so far met, while three out of the four were clean and well-kept, largely due, I understand, to the resident magistrate, Mr. Bramell, insisting on the carrying out of an ordinance dealing with village sanitation.

At Pari we met Maulai, said to be the first Papuan convert to Christianity, and now a native teacher. He seemed a sensible old fellow, and when I asked him (through George, for he was ignorant of English, although a Christian of over twenty years standing) “where he would have gone after death if he had remained a heathen?” he replied, “God alone can tell that,”—which seemed good, horse sense. He and his wife, both ludicrous in European clothes, entertained us in their native house which was beautifully clean and fragrant with ropes of frangipanni flowers hung on the walls. I often wonder why Easterns and native tribes possess such perverted taste as to discard willingly their graceful national costumes for our hideous clothes. That we should encourage them to do so is an outrage on all hygienic and artistic conceptions.

The younger women were very fine in kilts made of fibre, and when Harris produced his camera, at once drew up in line, being evidently no strangers to the photographic fiend. But this vexed the artistic soul of our secretary, who posed them on and around the village Dubu or sacred temple. This consisted of a platform supported on round posts about six feet high, on one of which an alligator was carved. Above the platform rose four poles from which, in the old days, doubtless many a head had helplessly grinned.

As we were told that Pari was a Christian village I am not clear as to why the Dubu still remained. Anyway Harris was grateful that no earnest iconoclast had chopped it up for firewood.

We found well-built churches at each village, all the work being done by the native teachers and the inhabitants, and we were told that one village had subscribed over £100 to build their church. It seems that every May the missionaries work up an enthusiastic rivalry among the different villages, with substantial results, which seems to prove that all the world over the easiest way to make men give freely is to “sule” them on to beat the other fellow.

As we rode back, George told me of one of the native conceptions of a future state, which struck me as very beautiful. Up on the Astrolabe Range there blooms, invisible to mortal eye, a great and gracious tree, in and around which dwell forever free from care and happy, all those who have lived good lives ere death claimed them. There lovers and loved relations will be re-united, while those already dwellers beneath its shade may and do come back to watch over the living, so that each soul yet on earth has an unseen but ever present loving guide and helper. The wicked have to pass through sickness, pain and trouble before they reach the tree, but eventually they, too, are gathered beneath its branches. The natives of the Astrolabe District say they know this sacred idyll is true because those they loved and have lost have come back to them and told them so.

I give the tale as it was told to me; and when one remembers how old the Papuan is, how he has lived on through all the ages that have died, and the upheavals that have made and unmade worlds since the continent of “Lemuria” sank engulfed for ever beneath the waters of the Indian Ocean, it is not hard to understand that he still possesses dim memories of faiths learnt from lost peoples of higher development when the world was younger and perhaps nearer its Creator than it is to-day.

At 2.30 that night we had a shock of earthquake, but I slept through it. Probably I was awake, but just did not notice it, for I had been riding a Papuan horse all the day before, and our horses and saddles were unique. The Commission mounted was a fearful and wonderful procession. Okeden rode the best looking, but it was a thoroughly demoralised brute. Herbert bestrode a grey and angular mare, while my animal kicked me on the heel whenever I applied the spur. Okeden suggested that he was trying to scratch his ear. Maybe he was, only when he tried to do it to both ears at once I had a troublous time.

In this happy land woman is only man’s equal in one sense, and in that she is his superior, namely, as a worker. About Port Moresby she appears to monopolise this privilege, and I doubt if she will ever have any difficulty in retaining it. But as a man has to pay his prospective father-in-law so much on betrothal, and a further sum on marriage, or to be more exact, agree to do so when he can, with the result that he as a rule never seems to get out of debt to the old gentleman, he cannot be expected to become an enthusiastic worker.

A young chief we met at Pari came to the house and was photographed in full native dress. He had a coronet of red feathers with yellow tips in his hair. Under this a band of dogs’ teeth, and then a garland of frangipanni blossoms, more blossoms in his ears, and two great mother-of-pearl half-moon ornaments about his neck, shells on his breast, armlets with flowers stuck in them, and nothing else on worth mentioning. He was a handsome lad, and looked most picturesque.

The natives, who all seemed to love flowers, make a very pretty use of their fibre armlets by placing scented blossoms in them on which the lady of their choice may rest her head, the while she listens to love’s “old sweet song.”

While we were on the wharf one day the sago fleet sailed by, the platforms full of girls, some dancing in a ring with clasped hands, others standing higher, and all whirling their fibre ramis like skirt dancers, some of their motions being more primal than are usual in our ballets. The men decked in armlets, neck and chest ornaments, and with bird-of-paradise, and other head-dresses, swaying to and fro and chanting to the roll of their drums. It was a glowing picture out of Nature’s gallery, set in the changing colours of the coral bay, and framed by the soft brown hills.

That afternoon as we rode back to our home by the sea, we heard that the Merrie England was ready to start for Samarai in the morning, and as we sat and smoked, looking out on the sea, the day began to die. Great clouds floated half round our world, cold and leaden hued, its other half a mighty sheet of flame. Out of the still depths of the sea an island rose, clear cut as a cameo, stretching along the sky line, with sharp peaks, fold upon fold, fading into dim distances. And then the clouds became pillars of fire, flushed with rose light and radiant with the gold of the sun god’s very heart, then sea, earth, and sky, rock-face, and rugged peak merged into one glorious picture of gloom and glory—and then the night.