Читать книгу The Solomon Islands and Their Natives - H. B. Guppy - Страница 5

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Those who have never been tempted “to seek strange truths in undiscovered lands,” will perhaps find it difficult to appreciate the disappointments, inconveniences, and petty difficulties which beset the traveller, however favourably circumstanced he may be. Patience and perseverance enable him finally to disregard these lesser hindrances and to devote his undisturbed attention to the principal objects he has in view: and thus, when writing at some future time the narrative of his experiences, he gives but little prominence to matters which affected very materially at the moment both his personal comfort and his chances of success.

Amongst the Solomon Islands the student of nature may be compared to a man who, having found a mine of great wealth, is only allowed to carry away just so much of the precious ore as he can bear about his person. For there can be no region of the world where he experiences more tantalisation. Day after day he skirts the shores of islands of which science has no “ken.” Month after month, he may scan, as I have done, lofty mountain-masses never yet explored, whose peaks rise through the clouds to heights of from 7,000 to 10,000 feet above the sea. He may discern on the mountain-slopes the columns of blue smoke which mark the abodes of men who have never beheld the white man. But he cannot land except accompanied by a strong party; and he has therefore to be content usually with viewing such scenes from the deck of his vessel. Fortunately, however, there are some parts of the Solomon Group where the hostility of the natives has been to a great extent overcome by the influence of the missionaries and of the traders; but the interiors of the larger islands are almost without exception inhabited by fierce and treacherous tribes who forbid all approach.

In this chapter I have endeavoured to give some idea of my experiences during my rambles in different islands of the group. When geologising in these islands, one labours under the very serious disadvantage of being unable to get any view or form any idea of the surroundings, on account of the dense forest-growth clothing both the slopes and summits of the hills, which is often impassable except by the rude native tracks that are completely hemmed in by trees on either side. Bush walking, where there is no native track, is a very tedious process and requires the constant use of the compass. In districts of coral limestone, such traverses are equally trying to the soles of one’s boots and to the measure of one’s temper. After being provokingly entangled in a thicket for some minutes, the persevering traveller walks briskly along through a comparatively clear space, when a creeper suddenly trips up his feet and over he goes to the ground. Picking himself up, he no sooner starts again when he finds his face in the middle of a strong web which some huge-bodied spider has been laboriously constructing. However, clearing away the web from his features, he struggles along until coming to the fallen trunk of some giant of the forest which obstructs his path, he with all confidence plants his foot firmly on it and sinks knee-deep into rotten wood. With resignation he lifts his foot out of the mess and proceeds on his way, when he feels an uncomfortable sensation inside his helmet, in which, on leisurely removing it from his head, he finds his old friend the spider, with body as big as a filbert, quite at its ease. Shaking it out in a hurry, he hastens along with his composure of mind somewhat ruffled. Going down a steep slope, he clasps a stout-looking areca palm to prevent himself falling, when down comes the rotten palm, and the long-suffering traveller finds himself once more on the ground. To these inconveniences must be added the peculiarly oppressive heat of a tropical forest, the continual perspiration in which the skin is bathed, and the frequent difficulty of getting water. There are therefore many drawbacks to the enjoyment of such excursions undertaken without an aim. But let there be some object to be gained, and it is astonishing how small a success amply repays the naturalist for all the toil. As an example of the tedious nature of bush walking in these regions, I may state that crossing the small island of Santa Anna from south to north—a distance of 2¹⁄₂ miles—occupied on one occasion five hours. For nearly the whole distance my path lay either through a dense forest-growth which had never been cleared since this little island first rose as a coral-atoll above the waves, or amongst tangled undergrowth which often succeeded effectually in barring the way. Rarely could I obtain a glimpse of my surroundings, and in consequence it was on my pocket-compass that I entirely depended. Coral-rock honeycombed into sharp tearing edges covered the slopes, my way lying between the large masses of this rock that lay about in strange confusion, the smaller blocks swaying about under my weight as if eager to rid themselves of their unusual burden. At one place the coral-limestone over a space of about a hundred yards was perforated like a sieve by numerous holes two to three feet across and five to ten feet deep: but now and then a deep fissure appeared at the bottom of one of these cavities—leading Heaven knows where—in all probability the swallow-hole of some stream that once became engulphed in the solid rock. The spreading roots of trees, together with ferns and shrubs, often nearly concealed these man-traps from my view; and I found it necessary to clear the way for every step, a very tedious process at the close of a tiresome day’s excursion.

In many places that I visited, the ascent of the stream-courses afforded the only opportunity of learning anything of the geological structure on account of the thick forest and the depth of the soil on the hill-slopes. Only at times are the sun’s rays able to penetrate the dusky ravines through which the streams flow, being usually intercepted by the matted foliage overhead. Even in the hottest day, such a walk is pleasantly cool, since the necessity of wading waist-deep and sometimes of swimming is not unfrequent in the deeper parts of the stream. However, I found on more than one occasion, after having been wading for several hours along one of the streams in the cool damp air of the ravine, that I experienced a sudden sensation of chilliness accompanied by lassitude and nausea, the thermometer at the time registering 80° in the shade. Probably the depressing effects of the gloom and damp air of the ravine, and the wading for several hours under these conditions, may explain these symptoms.

I should have before referred to another very frequent inconvenience which, in more senses than one, dampened the ardour with which I set out on many of my excursions amongst these islands. The annual rainfall in these regions is probably about five times as much as the average annual rainfall in England. The showers themselves are usually very heavy, and often rain falls at the rate of an inch in the hour, which means a thorough wetting in less than a minute. When in the eastern part of the group, I rarely used to return on board without having had half-an-inch, or an inch, of rain distributed over my person. Such wettings, however, do but little harm as long as a flannel suit is worn, since the weather generally clears up after each shower and the powerful rays of the sun dry the clothes in a very few minutes without there being the necessity of stopping to take them off.

In spite of the numerous drawbacks, my excursions never lost their interest. Although accustomed to traverse districts which have been upheaved in recent times to elevations of several hundred feet above the sea, the finding of an ancient coral-reef high up a densely-wooded hill-slope, or the picking up of sand and recent sea shells in the interior of an island now supporting a luxuriant vegetation, always excited the same feelings of wonder and interest that I experienced on first landing on one of the recently upheaved islands of the Solomon Group. My thirst, fatigue, and bruises, were forgotten, as whilst contemplating my surroundings over a pipe I attempted to picture to myself the stages in the history of the island on which I was standing, and reflected on the unwritten past of the natives sitting smoking on the ground around me.

I was rarely unaccompanied in my excursions, since with the prospect of getting tobacco and pipes at the close of the day, natives were always found eager to accompany me. Frequently the boys and lads of the village were only too glad to assist me in carrying my bags. The young imps were always full of fun and frolic, making themselves useful in all kinds of ways, and enlivening the time by their singing, laughing, and continual chattering. Many were the speculations made concerning the nature of my pursuits, and many were the questions to which I had to give some reply. Gorai, the chief of the Shortland Islands, was very desirous to know what I made with the rocks I collected; but I found it somewhat difficult to give him an explanation which he could understand. On one occasion I was the cause of much amusement and perplexity to the natives of the village of Sinasoro in Bougainville Straits. Hitherto I had been known to them chiefly on account of my rock-breaking propensities, but during that particular visit I was making a collection of plants. The chief men of the village received me very civilly, made me sit down, and began at once to speculate on the nature of my new pursuit, the botanical line being a new object for wonder with them. “Patu, he finish?” (patu meaning stone) was the question put to me by more than one of their number; and on my telling them that I was going to turn my attention to “bulu-bulu”—their general name for plants they have no name for—I had to explain to further inquirers that a particular fern, named “sinimi” in the native tongue (a species of Gleichenia), which flourished on the higher slopes of their island, was one of the objects of my excursion.

My usual plan on arriving at a village, which I had never visited before, was to distribute a little tobacco amongst the curious throng that pressed around, and then to light my pipe and look pleasant whilst my guides were endeavouring to explain the character of my pursuits. A white man without tobacco in these islands is worse off than a man without any money in his purse in London: for very little is given for nothing by these natives, and the acceptance of a gift binds you to give an equivalent in return. I remember once when landing on the beach of a village where the natives seemed a little uncertain as to what kind of reception they should give me, what a rapid transformation was produced by the gift of a little tobacco to the chief. Where there had been scowls and sullen looks a few moments before, smiles and laughter now prevailed. The chief led me into his house, introduced me to his principal wife, and in another minute I was dangling his little son of about two years old upon my knee. This pleasing transformation had been effected by the expenditure of a halfpennyworth of tobacco; and I could not resist framing at the time the following doggrel rhyme, the excuse for which must be the occasion that gave rise to it.

Shade of Exeter Hall! emerge from thy pall,

Learn the token of union ’twixt white man and black:

Not a brisk cannonade, nor the attractions of trade,

But the mysterious influence of the fragrant tambak.[4]

[4] This is the manner of pronouncing “tobacco” amongst these islanders. In the Malay Archipelago it is pronounced “tambaku.” (“Crawfurd’s Malay Grammar and Dictionary.”)

Although I was rarely absent from the ship more than a couple of days at a time, my excursions had occasionally, as regards the number of my attendants, somewhat of an imposing appearance. Being anxious to visit a district named Komalia, on the north-west side of Alu, the principal of the Shortland Islands, that being the locality from which the natives obtained their slabs of a hard, crystalline diorite, upon which they used to sharpen their knives and axes, Gorai, the chief, volunteered to take me there. Accordingly, he appeared alongside the ship the next morning in a large war-canoe, fifty feet long, and manned by eighteen paddle-men. We started, twenty-four all told, including Gorai, three of his sons, and myself. The chief and I sat beside each other, on the second bow thwart, the post, I believe, which is usually occupied by a chief. Leaving the Onua anchorage shortly before ten A.M., we proceeded easily along at about three miles an hour, coasting the north side of Alu and passing numerous islets on the way. The day was fine but very hot, and there was no protection from the glare of the sun on the water. About half-past one, we reached the north-west point of Alu, where we put into a small cove to get water. Here we saw the tracks of a crocodile on the sand; and on proceeding on our way we saw another on the beach, which, however, soon dived into the sea. Shortly after this, two-thirds of the crew of the canoe jumped overboard after a small turtle, which managed to evade them. The men in the water disturbed another crocodile, which rushed boldly through the line of swimmers, and, diving under our canoe, soon disappeared. Three dugongs came up to the surface close to us; and the old chief fired a shot with his snider at one of them, but without much apparent effect. About half-past two, we reached our destination, and we at once proceeded in search of the volcanic rocks, which we soon succeeded in finding. There was not the slightest reason to question on what errand we were employed, and I doubt if there was ever a more odd-looking party of geologists. The old chief, distinguished from the rest of his men by a shirt, his only article of apparel, led the way; and I followed with about a dozen of his natives. Taking the cue from me, the whole party immediately began breaking up the rocks, and I was in a very short time supplied with an abundance of material to select from. Courtesy, however, compelled me to take all the chief brought to me, which was somewhat inconvenient since the old man displayed much energy in using my geological hammer. On returning to the beach where the canoe had been drawn up, we found that some of the natives had captured a wild boar by the aid of their dogs and spears. The animal was already disembowelled and was being quartered. Whilst we were preparing our evening meal, some of the men made temporary couches for the chief, his three sons, and myself, these couches being merely a layer of poles resting at their ends on two logs and raised about six inches above the ground, the materials being quickly obtained in the adjoining wood. As night fell, we lay down on our couches and smoked, whilst the natives, who had lit about half-a-dozen fires, were waiting for their roast pig, the quarters of which had been placed on a large pile of burning logs, built up in layers to a height of three feet, with three poles placed like a tripod over the pile to draw the fire up. When it was quite dark, the numerous fires lit up the wood around, whilst the natives made the place resound with their singing and laughter. Over our pipes, Gorai and I had some conversation on his ideas of a future state, which he summed up concisely in the phrase “go ground.” In the middle of the night heavy rain came on; and since there was no shelter, I had simply to lie still and let it come down. My companions, however, used their pandanus mats to cover themselves from head to foot, and did not appear to be, in the slightest degree, inconvenienced by the wet.

On another occasion, I spent a night on the summit of Treasury Island, in the company of four natives, one of whom, named Erosini, knew a little English. Leaving the anchorage in the early morning, a three hours’ tramp brought us to the large stream named Tella-tella, on the north-east side of the island. Another four hours were occupied in wading up the stream, when we commenced to ascend the hill-slopes, arriving at the summit late in the afternoon. From here we could see, at a distance of about sixty miles, the lofty peaks of Bougainville, and midway between us lay the white beaches of the Shortland Islands. As it was getting dusk, we began to look around for what Erosini had described to me as a house where we might pass the night. It turned out, however, to be a very dilapidated “lean-to,” which had been temporarily occupied by a native who had come up to look after his sago palms a year or more before. My men immediately set to work to make it habitable for the night, and then they began to prepare their evening meal, consisting of a two-pound tin of beef, three opossums, and a large fresh-water eel which had been captured during the day. With the night-fall, the concert of frogs, lizards, and insects began. One could readily distinguish amongst the notes of the various contributors in the evening chorus, the “kooroo” of the lizard, and the “appa-appa” of the frog, sounds from which the native names for these creatures are derived, viz., “kurru-rupu” and “appa-appa.” Numerous fire-flies lit up the recesses of the forest, as if to disclose the hiding-places of the performers in the general discord, but to no purpose; and soon, rather fatigued by our day’s exertions, we fell asleep. So little had my companions been used to wander over their island, that I found three out of the four had never been in that locality before.

Not unfrequently, after having carefully chosen my guides, I have found it necessary to lead instead of to follow; but as a rule my men have been very willing to trust to the directions of the compass, which I have found absolutely necessary in crossing the smaller islands with no track to guide the course. Some of my pleasantest memories are associated with my traverses across these smaller islands. After forcing my way during some hours through a tangled forest, irritated by the numerous obstructions in my course and sweltering under the oppressive heat, I have suddenly emerged from the trees on the weather coast of the island, where the invigorating blast of the trade in a few moments restores the equilibrium of mind and body as one drinks in the healthful breeze. After such an experience, I have found myself with my native companions standing on the brink of a bold line of coral-limestone cliff with the surf breaking below us, which even in the calmest weather sends up one continued roar, whilst away to seaward, across the blue expanse of water, extended the horizon unbroken by any distant land. On the edge of the cliff the pandanus and the cycad competed with each other for the possession of the seaward margin of the island. The scene was peculiarly Pacific; and as we sat alone on the brink of the cliffs enjoying a smoke and contemplating the scene spread out below us, I fancied even the minds of my natives shared with me that feeling of awe with which one views the grander of nature’s forces in actual operation. … . Equally pleasant are my recollections of numerous tramps during fine weather along the sandy beaches on the windward coasts of coral islands. On such occasions the sea itself seemed to revel in the glory of the day. Wave after wave, white-tipped with foam and reflecting the brightest of the sun’s rays, pursued each other merrily over the surface of its unfathomable blue. Against the edge of the reef broke the surf unceasingly, sending its whitened spray high into the air, and joining its hoarse bass with the hum of insect life from the neighbouring wood.

During the greater portion of our sojourn in the Solomon Islands, I had a small Rob Roy canoe made for me by Mr. Oliver, boat-builder of Auckland, N.Z. It was built of kauri pine, and measured 8¹⁄₂ feet in length and 3 feet in beam, being intended to combine compactness with stability. This little craft turned out a great success and was extremely handy, as I could haul it up on the beach with ease, and its stowage capability was something surprising. Numerous and varied were my experiences in this small canoe, but the most enjoyable were those when in the loveliest of weather I paddled gently along from one coral islet to another, admiring the variety in form and colour of the groves of coral over which my little craft smoothly glided. At other times in the sleepy hours of the afternoon I would tie up my canoe to the overhanging branch of a tree, and would land to enjoy a cocoa-nut, a pipe, and perhaps a nap. When lazy, I would get a tow from my native companions in their larger canoe; and in this manner I was towed for more than a mile up one of the large streams that empty into Choiseul Bay. I used to penetrate into all kinds of solitary inlets, now disturbing the siesta of some unsuspecting crocodile as I paddled through the dismal tract of the mangrove swamp, or surprising a turtle in the shallow water of the lagoons inside the coral-reefs. In the deeper water I have passed through a shoal of clumsy porpoises, some of which I could have touched with my paddle; whilst occasionally some huge shark, twice the length of my canoe, would come almost within reach, and then, after satisfying its curiosity, dive down into the depths again. Now and then my little craft would be borne on the shoulders of natives to some inland lakelet which I was anxious to explore. In its lightness I found this great advantage, that I could sometimes considerably shorten my journey by what I may describe as terrestrial navigation. On more than one occasion I have crossed the weather edge of a coral-reef, watching for my chance between the breakers, and keeping warily clear of the numerous coral nobs, any one of which would have upset the canoe and its contents; but these are experiments which I should not care to repeat. I was only twice upset, and on both occasions my canoe displayed two other serviceable qualities, shipping but little water and losing none of its contents although bottom upwards. One of these upsets was rather ludicrous. I was crossing Alu harbour in tow of a large native canoe, setting out on a two days’ excursion with all my stores on board, when my scientific zeal induced me to lean over to pick up a piece of floating pumice. At that moment the large canoe gave a sudden tug and I found myself in the water with my canoe bottom upwards beside me. The men in the other canoe turned her over on her keel, and I got in over the bow, finding very little water inside, but quite sufficient to soak our store of biscuit. However, nothing was lost, although my watch stopped half-an-hour afterwards and refused duty during the rest of the season, and my aneroid was never of any use again, both these articles having been carried in my belt.

On the weather coasts of cliff-girt islands exposed to the continuous trade-swell, much caution is needed in skirting the shore, as every ten minutes or more a huge roller suddenly rushes in, exposing rocks covered usually by three or four fathoms of water, and rising up the face of the cliffs to a height twice as high as the usual level reached by the breakers. From my foolhardy disregard of this circumstance, I very nearly lost my life in July, 1884, on the weather coast of Stirling Island. Having stood for some moments on the edge of the cliff admiring the magnificent breakers that broke at the foot, there having been a strong south-easterly gale during the two preceding days, I commenced to clamber down the face of the cliff to reach a ledge that rose about twenty feet above the usual level of the breakers. Whilst I was pausing in the descent to examine the numerous embedded corals in the cliff-face, a huge wave rose over the ledge, swept up the face of the cliff over my head, and carried me off as if I had been a feather. I thought my last moments had come, knowing that if swept off the ledge into the breakers below, I should be dashed by the next roller against the base of the cliff. As I was being carried off, I clutched a projecting point of coral-rock with all my energy, and in a few moments the wave had left me lying flat on my face on the ledge within two yards of its brink. The next roller was fortunately of much smaller size, and in less than a minute I had clambered up the face of the cliff again to a position of safety, pretty well bruised and scratched about the arms and legs, but otherwise none the worse. My compass and other things had fallen out of the pouches in my belt, showing that I had described a somersault during the immersion. Whilst waiting to dry my clothes in the sun, I noticed that another ten minutes elapsed before a breaker of similar size rolled in.

I will conclude this chapter with some observations on the nature of the work performed by the officers of the survey. The usual experiences of a nautical surveyor, when detached from his ship for periods varying from a few days to a fortnight or more, are little known outside the circle of those more immediately interested in the work of the Hydrographic Department of the Admiralty. They would afford, as I have often thought, materials for an interesting volume, the perusal of which would give the general reader some idea of what nautical surveying really is. It is a work often hazardous and tedious to those engaged in the boats, and frequently full of anxiety for the commander who has to direct the survey.

The work in the Solomon Islands had its peculiar, and none the less trying, features. To be detached in a boat for a week off a coast, on which it was not considered prudent to land, except on particular points selected for the establishment of theodolite-stations, was a not uncommon experience with the surveying parties. The alternation of heavy rain and scorching heat served to vary the experience, but not to increase the comfort of those employed from sunrise to sunset in mapping the intricacies of an unsurveyed coast; and the kindheartedness of the surveying officer was often sorely tried, when, after a tedious day’s work under these conditions, he had to tell off his men to keep a look-out for canoes, and a sharp eye on the land, to see that the boat did not drag. There were, of course, other occasions when the detached parties were engaged in surveying islands, the natives of which were friendly disposed; and then, if the weather favoured them, the week’s absence from the ship partook almost of the nature of a pleasant picnic. In the Solomon Islands, however, a considerable experience of the inhabitants of an island is required before a boat can be sent away with the certain assurance that its occupants will meet with no mishap. The unfortunate massacre of Lieutenant Bower of H.M.S. “Sandfly,” and of most of his boat’s crew in 1880, whilst employed in the survey of the Florida Islands in this group, is but an example of the uncertainty that there always will be in dealing with these races. Although similar disasters have been recently almost of monthly occurrence in these islands, during our intercourse of 21 months with the natives we did not fire a single shot in anger, and in our turn we never witnessed a spear hurled or an arrow discharged except in sport.

The navigation of a sailing ship, such as H.M.S. “Lark,” whilst engaged in the survey of a passage dotted with unknown, sunken coral-reefs, and skirted by islands inhabited by a race of savages who have obtained a notorious reputation on account of the ferocity they display to the white man, cannot but tax to the uttermost the capacity and nerve of the officer in command. I can recall more than one anxious moment, and probably there were others known only to those concerned in the navigation of the ship, when on our suddenly getting soundings in the middle of the night in a place where we expected to find “a hundred fathoms and no bottom,” I set about putting my journals together in order not to lose what I had been at so much pains to obtain. Towards the completion of the survey, however, it was ascertained by Lieutenant Oldham that the ship might have sailed without danger over any of the isolated reefs which were not indicated at the surface by either a sand-key or an islet; but this was a character of the reefs that was only ascertained by a process more pleasing to talk about than to undergo.

Before quitting this subject, I should refer to an apparent injustice which exists in the apportioning of no extra pay to the men employed in detached boat-work in the surveying service. With the exception of an issue of clothing, gratis, the boats’ crews receive little or nothing in the form of a reward. I am strongly inclined to believe that the recognition, even in a slight degree, of the arduous character of their work, which is of quite an exceptional character as compared with the routine-employment on board the ordinary man-of-war, would do much towards increasing the interest usually displayed by the men employed in such a service.