This is a modern-English version of Pygmies & Papuans: The Stone Age To-day in Dutch New Guinea, originally written by Wollaston, A. F. R. (Alexander Frederick Richmond).
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A TAPIRO PYGMY.
A pygmy tapir.
[Frontispiece.
[Cover page.
PYGMIES & PAPUANS
THE STONE AGE TO-DAY
IN DUTCH NEW GUINEA
BY
A. F. R. WOLLASTON
AUTHOR OF “FROM RUWENZORI TO THE CONGO”
WITH APPENDICES BY
W. R. OGILVIE-GRANT, A. C. HADDON, F.R.S.
AND SIDNEY H. RAY
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS AND MAPS
NEW YORK
STURGIS & WALTON
COMPANY
1912
BY
A. F. R. WOLLASTON
AUTHOR OF “FROM RUWENZORI TO THE CONGO”
WITH APPENDICES BY
W. R. OGILVIE-GRANT, A. C. HADDON, F.R.S.
AND SIDNEY H. RAY
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS AND MAPS
NEW YORK
STURGIS & WALTON
COMPANY
1912
PRINTED BY
WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED
LONDON AND BECCLES
PRINTED BY
WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED
LONDON AND BECCLES
TO
ALFRED RUSSEL WALLACE, O.M.
THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED
TO
ALFRED RUSSEL WALLACE, O.M.
THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED
PREFACE
The Committee who organised the late expedition to Dutch New Guinea, paid me the high compliment of inviting me to write an account of our doings in that country. The fact that it is, in a sense, the official account of the expedition has precluded me—greatly to the advantage of the reader—from offering my own views on the things that we saw and on things in general. The country that we visited was quite unknown to Europeans, and the native races with whom we came in contact were living in so primitive a state that the second title of this book is literally true. The pygmies are indeed one of the most primitive peoples now in existence.
The committee that organized the recent expedition to Dutch New Guinea honored me by inviting me to write a recount of our experiences in that country. Since this account is, in a way, the official record of the expedition, I am unable—much to the benefit of the reader—to share my personal opinions on what we saw and on other matters. The area we explored was largely unknown to Europeans, and the native communities we encountered were living in such a primitive state that the book’s second title is literally accurate. The pygmies truly are among the most primitive peoples still in existence.
Should any find this account lacking in thrilling adventure, I will quote the words of a famous navigator, who visited the coasts of New Guinea more than two hundred years ago:—“It has been Objected against me by some, that my Accounts and Descriptions of Things are dry and jejune, not filled with variety of pleasant Matter, to divert and gratify the Curious Reader. How far this is true, I must leave to the World to judge. But if I have been exactly and strictly careful to give only True Relations and Descriptions of Things (as Iviii am sure I have;) and if my Descriptions be such as may be of use not only to myself, but also to others in future Voyages; and likewise to such readers at home as are desirous of a Plain and Just Account of the true Nature and State of the Things described, than of a Polite and Rhetorical Narrative: I hope all the Defects in my Stile will meet with an easy and ready Pardon.”
Should anyone find this story lacking in exciting adventure, I’ll quote a famous navigator who visited the shores of New Guinea over two hundred years ago:—“Some have criticized me for having accounts and descriptions that are dull and uninteresting, lacking the variety of engaging material to entertain and satisfy the curious reader. How accurate this claim is, I’ll leave for the world to decide. But if I have been very careful to provide only True accounts and descriptions of things (as I’m certain I have); and if my descriptions are useful not just for me but also for others on future voyages; and to readers at home who are looking for a straightforward and accurate account of the true nature and condition of the things described, rather than a polished and rhetorical narrative: I hope all the flaws in my style will be easily and readily forgiven.”
To Dr. Alfred Russel Wallace, who has allowed me to inscribe this volume to him as a small token of admiration for the first and greatest of the Naturalists who visited New Guinea, my most sincere thanks are due.
To Dr. Alfred Russel Wallace, who has allowed me to dedicate this book to him as a small gesture of admiration for the first and greatest of the Naturalists who explored New Guinea, I extend my heartfelt thanks.
To Mr. W. R. Ogilvie-Grant, Dr. A. C. Haddon, and Mr. Sidney Ray, who have not only assisted me with advice but have contributed the three most valuable articles at the end of this volume, I can only repeat my thanks, which have been expressed elsewhere.
To Mr. W. R. Ogilvie-Grant, Dr. A. C. Haddon, and Mr. Sidney Ray, who have not only helped me with guidance but have also contributed the three most valuable articles at the end of this volume, I can only say thanks again, which I have expressed in other places.
To my fellow-members of the expedition I would like to wish further voyages in more propitious climates.
To my fellow members of the expedition, I want to wish you all more successful journeys in better climates.
A.F.R.W.
A.F.R.W.
London,
May, 1912.
London,
May 1912.
CONTENTS
| PAGE | |
| Introduction | vii |
| Intro | xix |
| CHAPTER I | |
The British Ornithologists’ Union—Members of the Expedition—Voyage to Java—Choice of Rivers—Prosperity of Java—Half-castes—Obsequious Javanese—The Rijst-tafel—Customs of the Dutch—Buitenzorg Garden—Garoet The British Ornithologists’ Union—Members of the Expedition—Voyage to Java—Choice of Rivers—Prosperity of Java—Mixed-race individuals—Submissive Javanese—The Rijst-tafel—Dutch Customs—Buitenzorg Garden—Garoet | 1 |
| CHAPTER II | |
Expedition leaves Java—The “Nias”—Escort—Macassar—Raja of Goa—Amboina—Corals and Fishes—Ambonese Christians—Dutch Clubs—Dobo Expedition leaves Java—The “Nias”—Escort—Macassar—Raja of Goa—Amboina—Corals and Fish—Ambonese Christians—Dutch Clubs—Dobo | 13 |
| CHAPTER III | |
New Guinea—Its Position and Extent—Territorial Divisions—Mountain Ranges—Numerous Rivers—The Papuans—The Discovery of New Guinea—Early Voyagers—Spanish and Dutch—Jan Carstensz—First Discovery of the Snow Mountains—William Dampier in the “Roebuck”—Captain Cook in the “Endeavour”—Naturalists and later Explorers New Guinea—Its Location and Size—Geographical Divisions—Mountain Ranges—Many Rivers—The Papuans—The Discovery of New Guinea—Early Explorers—Spanish and Dutch—Jan Carstensz—First Discovery of the Snow Mountains—William Dampier in the “Roebuck”—Captain Cook in the “Endeavour”—Naturalists and Later Explorers | 21 |
| CHAPTER IV | |
Sail from the Aru Islands—Sight New Guinea—Distant Mountains—Signal Fires—Natives in Canoes—A British Flag—Natives on Board—Their Behaviour—Arrival at Mimika River—Reception at Wakatimi—Dancing and Weeping—Landing Stores—View of the Country—Snow Mountains—Shark-fishing—Making the Camp—Death of W. Stalker Sailing from the Aru Islands—Seeing New Guinea—Mountains in the Distance—Signal Fires—Locals in Canoes—A British Flag—Locals Onboard—Their Actions—Arriving at Mimika River—Welcoming at Wakatimi—Dancing and Crying—Unloading Supplies—Scenery of the Area—Snowy Mountains—Shark Fishing—Setting Up Camp—Death of W. Stalker | 35 |
| xCHAPTER V | |
Arrival of our Ambonese—Coolie Considerations—Canoes of the Natives—Making Canoes—Preliminary Exploration of the Mimika—Variable Tides—Completing the Camp—A Plague of Flies—Also of Crickets—Making “Atap”—Trading with the Natives—Trade Goods Arrival of our Ambonese—Worker Considerations—Canoes of the Natives—Building Canoes—Initial Exploration of the Mimika—Changing Tides—Finishing the Camp—A Swarm of Flies—Also of Crickets—Making “Atap”—Trading with the Natives—Trade Goods | 50 |
| CHAPTER VI | |
Difficulties of Food—Coolies’ Rations—Choice of Provisions—Transporting Supplies up the Mimika—Description of the River—A Day’s Work—Monotonous Scenery—Crowned Pigeons—Birds of Paradise and Others—Snakes, Bees, and other Creatures—Rapids and Clear Water—The Seasons—Wind—Rain—Thunderstorms—Halley’s Comet Difficulties of Food—Coolies’ Rations—Choice of Provisions—Transporting Supplies up the Mimika—Description of the River—A Day’s Work—Monotonous Scenery—Crowned Pigeons—Birds of Paradise and Others—Snakes, Bees, and other Creatures—Rapids and Clear Water—The Seasons—Wind—Rain—Thunderstorms—Halley’s Comet | 65 |
| CHAPTER VII | |
Exploration of the Kapare River—Obota—Native Geography—River Obstructions—Hornbills and Tree Ducks—Gifts of Stones—Importance of Steam Launch—Cultivation of Tobacco—Sago Swamps—Manufacture of Sago—Cooking of Sago—The Dutch Use of Convict Labour Exploring the Kapare River—Obota—Local Geography—River Obstacles—Hornbills and Tree Ducks—Stone Gifts—Significance of Steam Launches—Tobacco Farming—Sago Swamps—Making Sago—Cooking Sago—The Dutch Use of Prison Labor | 82 |
| CHAPTER VIII | |
Description of Wakatimi—The Papuan House—Coconut Palms—The Sugar Palm—Drunkenness of the Natives—Drunken Vagaries—Other Cultivation—The Native Language—No Interpreters—The Numerals—Difficulties of Understanding—Names of Places—Local Differences of Pronunciation Description of Wakatimi—The Papuan House—Coconut Palms—The Sugar Palm—Drunkenness of the Natives—Drunken Vagaries—Other Cultivation—The Native Language—No Interpreters—The Numerals—Difficulties of Understanding—Names of Places—Local Differences of Pronunciation | 95 |
| CHAPTER IX | |
The Papuans of Wakatimi—Colour—Hair—Eyes—Nose—Tattooing—Height—Dress—Widows’ Bonnets—Growth of Children—Preponderancexi of Men—Number of Wives—Childhood—Swimming and other Games—Imitativeness of Children—The Search for Food—Women as Workers—Fishing Nets—Other Methods of Fishing—An Extract from Dampier The Papuans of Wakatimi—Color—Hair—Eyes—Nose—Tattooing—Height—Clothing—Widows’ Bonnets—Children’s Growth—Dominancexi of Men—Number of Wives—Childhood—Swimming and Other Games—Children’s Imitativeness—Food Gathering—Women as Workers—Fishing Nets—Other Fishing Methods—An Extract from Dampier | 109 |
| CHAPTER X | |
Food of the Papuans—Cassowaries—The Native Dog—Question of Cannibalism—Village Headman—The Social System of the Papuans—The Family—Treatment of Women—Religion—Weather Superstitions—Ceremony to avert a Flood—The Pig—A Village Festival—Wailing at Deaths—Methods of Disposal of the Dead—No Reverence for the Remains—Purchasing Skulls Food of the Papuans—Cassowaries—The Native Dog—Question of Cannibalism—Village Headman—The Social System of the Papuans—The Family—Treatment of Women—Religion—Weather Superstitions—Ceremony to Prevent a Flood—The Pig—A Village Festival—Wailing at Deaths—Methods of Disposing of the Dead—No Respect for the Remains—Buying Skulls | 124 |
| CHAPTER XI | |
Papuans’ Love of Music—Their Concerts—A Dancing House—Carving—Papuans as Artists—Cat’s Cradle—Village Squabbles—The Part of the Women—Wooden and Stone Clubs—Shell Knives and Stone Axes—Bows and Arrows—Papuan Marksmen—Spears—A most Primitive People—Disease—Prospects of their Civilisation Papuans' Love of Music—Their Concerts—A Dancing House—Carving—Papuans as Artists—Cat’s Cradle—Village Conflicts—The Role of Women—Wood and Stone Clubs—Shell Knives and Stone Axes—Bows and Arrows—Papuan Marksmanship—Spears—A Very Primitive People—Disease—Prospects for Their Civilization | 141 |
| CHAPTER XII | |
The Camp at Parimau—A Plague of Beetles—First Discovery of the Tapiro Pygmies—Papuans as Carriers—We visit the Clearing of the Tapiro—Remarkable Clothing of Tapiro—Our Relations with the Natives—System of Payment—Their Confidence in Us—Occasional Thefts—A Customary Peace-offering—Papuans as Naturalists The Camp at Parimau—A Swarm of Beetles—First Encounter with the Tapiro Pygmies—Papuans as Transporters—We Explore the Clearing of the Tapiro—Unique Clothing of Tapiro—Our Interactions with the Locals—Payment Methods—Their Trust in Us—Occasional Thefts—A Traditional Peace Offering—Papuans as Naturalists | 155 |
| CHAPTER XIII | |
Visit of Mr. Lorentz—Arrival of Steam Launch—A Sailor Drowned—Our Second Batch of Coolies—Health of the Gurkhas—Dayaks the Best Coolies—Sickness—Arrival of Motor Boat—Camp under Water—Expedition moves to Parimau—Explorations beyond the Mimika—Leeches—Floods on the Tuaba River—Overflowing Rivers—The Wataikwa—Cutting a Track Visit from Mr. Lorentz—Arrival of Steam Launch—A Sailor Drowned—Our Second Group of Coolies—Health of the Gurkhas—Dayaks the Best Coolies—Sickness—Arrival of Motor Boat—Camp Under Water—Expedition Moves to Parimau—Explorations Beyond the Mimika—Leeches—Floods on the Tuaba River—Overflowing Rivers—The Wataikwa—Cutting a Trail | 169 |
| xiiCHAPTER XIV | |
The Camp at the Wataikwa River—Malay Coolies—“Amok”—A Double Murder—A View of the Snow Mountains—Felling Trees—Floods—Village washed Away—The Wettest Season—The Effects of Floods—Beri-beri—Arrival of C. Grant—Departure of W. Goodfellow The Camp at the Wataikwa River—Malay Workers—“Amok”—A Double Murder—A View of the Snow Mountains—Cutting Down Trees—Floods—Village Washed Away—The Wettest Season—The Effects of Floods—Beri-beri—Arrival of C. Grant—Departure of W. Goodfellow | 184 |
| CHAPTER XV | |
Pygmies visit Parimau—Description of Tapiro Pygmies—Colour—Hair—Clothing—Ornaments—Netted Bags—Flint Knives—Bone Daggers—Sleeping Mats—Fire Stick—Method of making Fire—Cultivation of Tobacco—Manner of Smoking—Bows and Arrows—Village of the Pygmies—Terraced Ground—Houses on Piles—Village Headman—Our Efforts to see the Women—Language and Voices—Their Intelligence—Counting—Their Geographical Distribution Pygmies visit Parimau—Description of Tapiro Pygmies—Color—Hair—Clothing—Ornaments—Netted Bags—Flint Knives—Bone Daggers—Sleeping Mats—Fire Stick—How to Make Fire—Growing Tobacco—How They Smoke—Bows and Arrows—Village of the Pygmies—Terraced Land—Houses on Stilts—Village Leader—Our Attempts to Meet the Women—Language and Voices—Their Intelligence—Counting—Their Geographic Distribution | 196 |
| CHAPTER XVI | |
Communication with Amboina and Merauke—Sail in the “Valk” to the Utakwa River—Removal of the Dutch Expedition—View of Mount Carstensz—Dugongs—Crowded Ship—Dayaks and Live Stock—Sea-Snakes—Excitable Convicts—The Island River—Its Great Size—Another Dutch Expedition—Their Achievements—Houses in the Trees—Large Village—Barn-like Houses—Naked People—Shooting Lime—Their Skill in Paddling—Through the Marianne Straits—An Extract from Carstensz—Merauke—Trade in Copra—Botanic Station—The Mission—The Ké Island Boat-builders—The Natives of Merauke described—Arrival of our Third Batch of Coolies—The Feast of St. Nicholas—Return to Mimika Communication with Amboina and Merauke—Sail in the “Valk” to the Utakwa River—Removal of the Dutch Expedition—View of Mount Carstensz—Dugongs—Crowded Ship—Dayaks and Livestock—Sea Snakes—Excitable Convicts—The Island River—Its Great Size—Another Dutch Expedition—Their Achievements—Houses in the Trees—Large Village—Barn-like Houses—Naked People—Shooting Lime—Their Skill in Paddling—Through the Marianne Straits—An Extract from Carstensz—Merauke—Trade in Copra—Botanic Station—The Mission—The Ké Island Boat-builders—The Natives of Merauke described—Arrival of our Third Batch of Coolies—The Feast of St. Nicholas—Return to Mimika | 209 |
| CHAPTER XVII | |
Difficulty of Cross-country Travel—Expedition moves towards the Mountains—Arrival at the Iwaka River—Changing Scenery—The Impassable Iwaka—A Plucky Gurkha—Building a xiii Bridge—We start into the Mountains—Fording Rivers—Flowers—Lack of Water on Hillside—Curious Vegetation—Our highest Point—A wide View—Rare Birds—Coal—Uninhabitable Country—Dreary Jungle—Rarely any Beauty—Remarkable Trees—Occasional Compensations Challenges of Traveling Cross-Country—The Expedition Heads Toward the Mountains—Reaching the Iwaka River—Changing Landscapes—The Uncrossable Iwaka—A Brave Gurkha—Building a xiii Bridge—We Begin Our Ascent into the Mountains—Crossing Rivers—Wildflowers—Water Scarcity on the Hillside—Interesting Plant Life—Our Highest Elevation—A Panoramic View—Uncommon Birds—Coal Deposits—Inhospitable Terrain—Dismal Jungle—Often Lacking Beauty—Notable Trees—Occasional Highlights | 229 |
| CHAPTER XVIII | |
Departure from Parimau—Parting Gifts—Mock Lamentation—Rawling explores Kamura River—Start for the Wania—Lose the Propeller—A Perilous Anchorage—Unpleasant Night—Leave the Motor Boat—Village of Nimé—Arrival of “Zwaan” with Dayaks—Their Departure—Waiting for the Ship—Taking Leave of the People of Wakatimi—Sail from New Guinea—Ké Islands—Banda—Hospitality of the Netherlands Government—Lieutenant Cramer—Sumbawa—Bali—Return to Singapore and England—One or two Reflexions Leaving Parimau—Goodbye Gifts—Mock Sadness—Rawling checks out the Kamura River—Heading to the Wania—Lost the Propeller—Dangerous Anchorage—Rough Night—Abandon the Motorboat—Village of Nimé—Arrival of “Zwaan” with Dayaks—Their Departure—Waiting for the Ship—Saying Goodbye to the People of Wakatimi—Depart from New Guinea—Ké Islands—Banda—Hospitality of the Netherlands Government—Lieutenant Cramer—Sumbawa—Bali—Return to Singapore and England—A Few Reflections | 246 |
| APPENDIX A | |
Notes on the Birds collected by the B.O.U Expedition to Dutch New Guinea. By W. R. Ogilvie-Grant Notes on the Birds collected by the B.O.U Expedition to Dutch New Guinea. By W. R. Ogilvie-Grant | 263 |
| APPENDIX B | |
The Pygmy Question. By Dr. A. C. Haddon, F.R.S. The Pygmy Question. By Dr. A. C. Haddon, F.R.S. | 303 |
| APPENDIX C | |
Notes on Languages in the East of Netherlands New Guinea. By Sidney H. Ray, M.A. Notes on Languages in the East of Netherlands New Guinea. By Sidney H. Ray, M.A. | 322 |
Index Index | 347 |
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
(Except where it is otherwise stated, the illustrations are from photographs by the Author.)
(Unless stated otherwise, the illustrations are from photographs taken by the Author.)
A Tapiro Pygmy A Pygmy Tapir | Frontispiece |
| FACING PAGE | |
Near the Mouth of the Mimika River Near the entrance of the Mimika River | 4 |
A Convict Cooly of the Dutch Escort A Convict Coolie of the Dutch Escort | 12 |
A Malay Cooly from Buton A Malay worker from Buton | 12 |
Dobo, Aru Islands Dobo, Aru Islands | 20 |
Camp of the Expedition at Wakatimi (Photo by C. G. Rawling and E. S. Marshall) Expedition Camp at Wakatimi (Photo by C.G. Rawling and E.S. Marshall) | 48 |
A House for Ceremonies, Mimika (Photo by C. G. Rawling and E. S. Marshall) A Venue for Ceremonies, Mimika (Photo by C.G. Rawling and E.S. Marshall) | 48 |
Making Canoes Building Canoes | 50 |
Canoes, Finished and Unfinished Canoes, Completed and Incomplete | 54 |
Making “Atap” for Roofing Making "Atap" for Roofing | 60 |
Papuan Woman Canoeing up the Mimika Papuan Woman Kayaking Up the Mimika | 64 |
Jangbir and Herkajit, (Photo by C. G. Rawling and E. S. Marshall) Jangbir and Herkajit, (Photo by C.G. Rawling and E.S. Marshall) | 68 |
Hauling Canoes up the Mimika Transporting Canoes up the Mimika | 70 |
Typical Papuans of Mimika Typical Papuans in Mimika | 74 |
Upper Waters of the Kapare River Upper Waters of the Kapare River | 82 |
Vegetation on the Banks of the Kapare River Plant Life along the Kapare River | 86 |
Papuan Woman carrying Wooden Bowl of Sago Papuan woman carrying a wooden bowl of sago. | 90 |
Papuan Houses on the Mimika Papuan Homes in Mimika | 96 |
Papuan of the Mimika Mimika Papuan | 100 |
Papuan of the Mimika Mimika Papuan | 100 |
xviA Papuan Mother and Child A Papuan Mom and Child | 106 |
Cicatrization (Photo by C. G. Rawling and E. S. Marshall) Healing (Photo by C.G. Rawling and E.S. Marshall) | 112 |
Papuan with Face Whitened with Sago Powder Papuan with a face painted white using sago powder | 112 |
Women of Wakatimi Women of Wakatimi | 114 |
Papuan Woman and Child Papuan Woman and Child | 120 |
A Papuan of Mimika A person from Mimika | 128 |
A Papuan of Mimika A Papuan from Mimika | 134 |
Disposal of the Dead: A Coffin on Trestles Handling the Dead: A Coffin on Stands | 139 |
Splitting Wood with Stone Axe, (Photo by C. G. Rawling and Splitting Wood with a Stone Axe, (Photo by C.G. Rawling and | 148 |
A Tributary Stream of the Kapare River A Side Stream of the Kapare River | 159 |
Typical Jungle, Mimika River Typical Jungle, Mimika River | 178 |
At the Edge of the Jungle At the Jungle's Edge | 182 |
Camp of the Expedition at Parimau Expedition Camp at Parimau | 184 |
The Camp at Parimau: A Precaution against Floods The Camp at Parimau: A Flood Prevention Measure | 188 |
The Mimika at Parimau: Low Water The Mimika at Parimau: Low Water | 190 |
The same in Flood The same in Flood | 190 |
A Tapiro Pygmy A Pygmy Tapir | 196 |
Making Fire (1) Starting a Fire (1) | 200 |
Making Fire (2) Starting a Fire (2) | 202 |
Wamberi Merbiri Wamberi Merbiri | 204 |
A House of the Tapiro A House of the Tapiro | 206 |
Mount Tapiro from the Village of the Pygmies Mount Tapiro from the Pygmy Village | 208 |
Types of Tapiro Pygmies Types of Pygmy Tapirs | 212 |
A Papuan with Two Tapiro A Papuan with Two Tapirs | 216 |
Natives of Merauke Merauke locals | 226 |
Looking up the Mimika from Parimau Looking up the Mimika from Parimau | 232 |
Bridge made by the Expedition across the Iwaka River Bridge constructed by the Expedition over the Iwaka River | 234 |
Looking West from above the Iwaka (Photo by C. H. B. Grant) Looking west from above the Iwaka (Photo by C.H.B. Grant) | 238 |
Cockscomb Mountain seen from Mt. Godman (Photo by C. G. Cockscomb Mountain seen from Mt. Godman (Photo by C. G. Rawling and E.S. Marshall) | 238 |
Supports of a Pandanus Pandanus Supports | 242 |
Buttressed Trees Supported Trees | 246 |
Screw Pines (Pandanus) Screw Pines (Pandanus) | 250 |
xvii At Sumbawa Pesar At Sumbawa Pesar | 252 |
Near Buleling Close to Buleling | 256 |
COLOURED ILLUSTRATIONS
(from Drawings by G. C. Shortridge)
(from Drawings by G. C. Shortridge)
Carved Wooden Clubs and Stone Clubs Carved Wooden Clubs and Stone Clubs | 36 |
Head-Dresses, Worn at Ceremonies Ceremonial Headwear | 78 |
Stone Axe, Head-Rests and Drums Stone Axe, Headrests, and Drums | 142 |
Blades of Paddles, and Bamboo Penis-Cases Paddle Blades and Bamboo Covers | 144 |
Bow, Arrows and Spears Bows, Arrows, and Spears | 150 |
Ornaments of Papuans Papuans' Ornaments | 222 |
MAPS
A Language Map of Netherlands New Guinea A Language Map of Netherlands New Guinea | 342 |
Map of the District Visited by the Expedition Map of the District Explored by the Expedition | at End |
INTRODUCTION
The wonderful fauna of New Guinea, especially the marvellous forms of Bird- and Insect-life to be found there, have long attracted the attention of naturalists in all parts of the world. The exploration of this vast island during recent years has brought to light many extraordinary and hitherto unknown forms, more particularly new Birds of Paradise and Gardener Bower-Birds; but until recently the central portion was still entirely unexplored, though no part of the globe promised to yield such an abundance of zoological treasures to those prepared to face the difficulties of penetrating to the great ranges of the interior.
The amazing wildlife of New Guinea, especially the incredible varieties of birds and insects found there, has long caught the interest of naturalists from around the world. Recent explorations of this vast island have uncovered many extraordinary and previously unknown species, particularly new Birds of Paradise and Gardener Bower-Birds. However, until recently, the central part of the island remained completely unexplored, even though no other place on Earth seemed to offer such a wealth of zoological treasures for those willing to tackle the challenges of reaching the great mountain ranges of the interior.
The B.O.U. Expedition, of which the present work is the official record, originated in the following manner. For many years past I had been trying to organise an exploration of the Snow Mountains, but the reported hostility of the natives in the southern part of Dutch New Guinea and the risks attending such an undertaking, rendered the chances of success too small to justify the attempt.
The B.O.U. Expedition, which this work documents, started in the following way. For many years, I had been trying to plan an exploration of the Snow Mountains, but the alleged hostility of the locals in the southern part of Dutch New Guinea and the dangers involved in such an endeavor made the chances of success too slim to warrant the effort.
It was in 1907 that Mr. Walter Goodfellow, well-known as an experienced traveller and an accomplished naturalist, informed me that he believed a properlyxx equipped expedition might meet with success, and I entered into an arrangement with him to lead a small zoological expedition to explore the Snow Mountains. It so happened, however, that by the time our arrangements had been completed in December, 1908, the members of the British Ornithologists’ Union, founded in 1858, were celebrating their Jubilee, and it seemed fitting that they should mark so memorable an occasion by undertaking some great zoological exploration. I therefore laid my scheme for exploring the Snow Mountains before the meeting, and suggested that it should be known as the Jubilee Expedition of the B.O.U., a proposal which was received with enthusiasm. A Committee was formed, consisting of Mr. F. du Cane Godman, F.R.S. (President of the B.O.U.), Dr. P. L. Sclater, F.R.S. (Editor of the Ibis), Mr. E. G. B. Meade-Waldo, Mr. W. R. Ogilvie-Grant (Secretary), and Mr. C. E. Fagan (Treasurer). At the request of the Royal Geographical Society it was decided that their interests should also be represented, and that a surveyor and an assistant-surveyor, to be selected by the Committee, should be added, the Society undertaking to contribute funds for that purpose. The expedition thus became a much larger one than had been originally contemplated and included:—
It was in 1907 that Mr. Walter Goodfellow, known as an experienced traveler and skilled naturalist, told me he believed a well-equipped expedition could succeed. I then agreed to have him lead a small zoological expedition to explore the Snow Mountains. However, by the time we finalized our plans in December 1908, the members of the British Ornithologists’ Union, founded in 1858, were celebrating their Jubilee, and it felt appropriate for them to commemorate this significant occasion with a major zoological exploration. I presented my idea for exploring the Snow Mountains at the meeting and suggested it be called the Jubilee Expedition of the B.O.U., a proposal that was met with enthusiasm. A Committee was formed that included Mr. F. du Cane Godman, F.R.S. (President of the B.O.U.), Dr. P. L. Sclater, F.R.S. (Editor of the Ibis), Mr. E. G. B. Meade-Waldo, Mr. W. R. Ogilvie-Grant (Secretary), and Mr. C. E. Fagan (Treasurer). At the request of the Royal Geographical Society, it was decided to also represent their interests by adding a surveyor and an assistant-surveyor, to be chosen by the Committee, with the Society agreeing to provide funds for this purpose. As a result, the expedition became much larger than we had initially planned and included:—
Mr. Walter Goodfellow (Leader),
Mr. Walter Goodfellow (Leader),
Mr. Wilfred Stalker and Mr. Guy C. Shortridge (Collectors of Mammals, Birds, Reptiles, etc.),
Mr. Wilfred Stalker and Mr. Guy C. Shortridge (collectors of mammals, birds, reptiles, and more),
Mr. A. F. R. Wollaston (Medical Officer to the Expedition, Entomologist, and Botanist),
Mr. A. F. R. Wollaston (Medical Officer for the Expedition, Entomologist, and Botanist),
Capt. C. G. Rawling, C.I.E. (Surveyor),
Capt. C. G. Rawling, C.I.E. (Surveyor),
Dr. Eric Marshall (Assistant-Surveyor and Surgeon).
Dr. Eric Marshall (Assistant Surveyor and Surgeon).
To meet the cost of keeping such an expedition in the field for at least a year it was necessary to raise a large sum of money, and this I was eventually able to do, thanks chiefly to a liberal grant from His Majesty’s Government, and to the generosity of a number of private subscribers, many of whom were members of the B.O.U. The total sum raised amounted to over £9000, and though it is impossible to give here the names of all those who contributed, I would especially mention the following:—
To cover the expenses of maintaining such an expedition for at least a year, it was essential to raise a significant amount of money, which I eventually managed to do, largely due to a generous grant from the government and the kindness of several private donors, many of whom were members of the B.O.U. The total amount raised was over £9000, and although I can't list everyone who contributed here, I would like to specifically mention the following:—
| S. G. Asher, | Mrs. H. A. Powell, |
| E. J. Brook, | H. C. Robinson, |
| J. Stewart Clark, | Lord Rothschild, |
| Col. Stephenson Clarke, | Hon. L. Walter Rothschild, |
| Sir Jeremiah Colman, | Hon. N. Charles Rothschild, |
| H. J. Elwes, | Baron and Baroness James A. de Rothschild, Baron and Baroness James A. de Rothschild, |
| F. du Cane Godman, | P. L. Sclater, |
| Sir Edward Grey, | P. K. Stothert, |
| J. H. Gurney, | Oldfield Thomas, |
| Sir William Ingram, | E. G. B. Meade-Waldo, |
| Lord Iveagh, | Rowland Ward, |
| Mrs. Charles Jenkinson, | The Proprietors of Country Life, |
| E. J. Johnstone, | The Royal Society, |
| Campbell D. Mackellar, | The Royal Geographical Society, |
| G. A. Macmillan, | The Zoological Society of London. |
The organization and equipment of this large expedition caused considerable delay and it was not until September, 1909, that the members sailed from England for the East. Meanwhile the necessary steps were taken toxxii obtain the consent of the Netherlands Government to allow the proposed expedition to travel in Dutch New Guinea and to carry out the scheme of exploration. Not only was this permission granted, thanks to the kindly help of Sir Edward Grey and the British Minister at the Hague, but the Government of Holland showed itself animated with such readiness to assist the expedition that it supplied not only an armed guard at its own expense, but placed a gunboat at the disposal of the Committee to convey the party from Batavia to New Guinea.
The organization and equipment for this large expedition caused significant delays, and it wasn't until September 1909 that the team set sail from England for the East. In the meantime, necessary steps were taken toxxii get permission from the Netherlands Government for the proposed expedition to travel in Dutch New Guinea and carry out the exploration plan. Not only was this permission granted, thanks to the generous assistance of Sir Edward Grey and the British Minister in The Hague, but the Dutch Government also showed great willingness to support the expedition. They provided an armed guard at their own expense and made a gunboat available to the Committee to transport the group from Batavia to New Guinea.
On behalf of the Committee I would again take this opportunity of publicly expressing their most grateful thanks to the Netherlands Government for these and many other substantial acts of kindness, which were shown to the members of the expedition. The Peninsular and Oriental Steam Navigation Company did all in their power to further the interests of the expedition, and to them the Committee is very specially indebted. To the proprietors of Country Life the thanks of the Committee are also due for the interest and sympathy they have displayed towards the expedition and for the assistance they have given in helping to raise funds to carry on the work in the field.
On behalf of the Committee, I want to take this opportunity to publicly express our heartfelt thanks to the Netherlands Government for their substantial acts of kindness shown to the members of the expedition. The Peninsular and Oriental Steam Navigation Company did everything they could to support the expedition's interests, and the Committee is especially grateful to them. We also want to thank the owners of Country Life for their interest, sympathy, and the help they've provided in raising funds to continue our work in the field.
In various numbers of Country Life, issued between the 16th of April, 1910, and the 20th of May, 1911, a series of ten articles will be found in which I contributed a general account of New Guinea, and mentioned some of the more important discoveries made by the members of the expedition during their attempts to penetrate to the Snow Mountains.
In different issues of Country Life, published from April 16, 1910, to May 20, 1911, there’s a series of ten articles where I provided an overview of New Guinea and highlighted some of the significant discoveries made by the expedition members as they tried to reach the Snow Mountains.
In Appendix A to the present volume will be found a general account of the ornithological results. A detailed report will appear elsewhere, as also, it is hoped, a complete account of the zoological work done by the expedition.
In Appendix A of this volume, you'll find a general overview of the ornithological results. A detailed report will be published separately, and it is also hoped that a comprehensive account of the zoological work conducted by the expedition will be available.
As the reader will learn from Mr. Wollaston’s book, the great physical difficulties of this unexplored part of New Guinea and other unforeseen circumstances rendered the work of the B.O.U. Expedition quite exceptionally arduous; and if the results of their exploration are not all that had been hoped, it must be remembered that they did all that was humanly possible to carry out the dangerous task with which they had been entrusted. Their work has added vastly to our knowledge of this part of New Guinea, and though little collecting was done above 4000 feet, quite a number of new, and, in many cases, remarkably interesting forms were obtained.
As readers will discover from Mr. Wollaston’s book, the significant physical challenges of this uncharted region of New Guinea and other unexpected circumstances made the work of the B.O.U. Expedition exceptionally tough. Even if their exploration results aren't everything that was hoped for, it's important to note that they did everything possible to carry out the dangerous task they were assigned. Their efforts have greatly expanded our knowledge of this area of New Guinea, and although not much collecting was done above 4000 feet, a number of new and, in many cases, extremely interesting species were gathered.
There can be no doubt that when the higher ranges between 5000 and 10,000 feet are explored, many other novelties will be discovered and for this reason it has been thought advisable to postpone the publication of the scientific results of the B.O.U. Expedition until such time as the second expedition under Mr. Wollaston has returned in 1913.
There’s no doubt that when we explore the higher ranges between 5,000 and 10,000 feet, many new discoveries will be made. Because of this, we think it’s best to delay publishing the scientific results of the B.O.U. Expedition until the second expedition led by Mr. Wollaston returns in 1913.
The death of Mr. Wilfred Stalker at a very early period of the expedition was a sad misfortune and his services could ill be spared; his place was, however, very ably filled by Mr. Claude H. B. Grant, who arrived in New Guinea some six months later.
The death of Mr. Wilfred Stalker early in the expedition was a tragic loss, and his contributions were greatly missed; however, Mr. Claude H. B. Grant stepped in very skillfully to take his place when he arrived in New Guinea about six months later.
As all those who have served on committees mustxxiv know, most of the work falls on one or two individuals, and I should like here to express the thanks which we owe to our Treasurer, Mr. C. E. Fagan, for the admirable way in which he has carried out his very difficult task.
As everyone who has served on committees knows, most of the work falls on one or two people, and I want to take a moment to thank our Treasurer, Mr. C. E. Fagan, for the excellent way he has handled his challenging job.
W. R. OGILVIE-GRANT.
W. R. Ogilvie-Grant.
PYGMIES AND PAPUANS
Pygmies and Papuans
PYGMIES AND PAPUANS
Pygmies and Papuans
CHAPTER I
The British Ornithologists’ Union—Members of the Expedition—Voyage to Java—Choice of Rivers—Prosperity of Java—Half-castes—Obsequious Javanese—The Rijst-tafel—Customs of the Dutch—Buitenzorg Garden—Garoet.
The British Ornithologists' Union—Members of the Expedition—Trip to Java—Selection of Rivers—Wealth of Java—Mixed-race People—Submissive Javanese—The Rice Table—Dutch Customs—Buitenzorg Garden—Garoet.
In the autumn of 1858 a small party of naturalists, most of them members of the University of Cambridge and their friends and all of them interested in the study of ornithology, met in the rooms of the late Professor Alfred Newton at Magdalene College, Cambridge, and agreed to found a society with the principal object of producing a quarterly Journal of general ornithology. The Journal was called “The Ibis,” and the Society adopted the name of British Ornithologists’ Union, the number of members being originally limited to twenty.
In the fall of 1858, a small group of naturalists, mostly from the University of Cambridge along with their friends, all interested in studying birds, gathered in the rooms of the late Professor Alfred Newton at Magdalene College, Cambridge. They agreed to start a society aimed primarily at creating a quarterly Journal focused on general ornithology. The Journal was named “The Ibis,” and the Society took on the name British Ornithologists’ Union, initially limiting membership to twenty people.
In the autumn of 1908 the Society, which by that time counted four hundred and seventy members, adopted the suggestion, made by Mr. W. R. Ogilvie-Grant, of celebrating its jubilee by sending an expedition to explore, chiefly from an ornithological point of view, the unknown range of Snow Mountains in Dutch New Guinea. A Committee, whose Chairman was Mr. F. D. Godman, F.R.S., President and one of the surviving original members of the Society, was appointed to organise the expedition, and subscriptions were obtained from2 members and their friends. The remote destination of the expedition aroused a good deal of public interest. The Royal Geographical Society expressed a desire to share in the enterprise, and it soon became evident that it would be a mistake to limit the object of the expedition to the pursuit of birds only. Mr. Walter Goodfellow, a naturalist who had several times travelled in New Guinea as well as in other parts of the world, was appointed leader of the expedition. Mr. W. Stalker and Mr. G. C. Shortridge, both of whom had had wide experience of collecting in the East, were appointed naturalists. Capt. C. G. Rawling, C.I.E., 13th Somersetshire Light Infantry, who had travelled widely in Tibet and mapped a large area of unknown territory in that region, was appointed surveyor, with Mr. E. S. Marshall, M.R.C.S., L.R.C.P., who had just returned from the “Furthest South” with Sir E. H. Shackleton, as assistant surveyor and surgeon; and the present writer, who had been medical officer, botanist, and entomologist on the Ruwenzori Expedition of 1906-7, undertook the same duties as before.
In the fall of 1908, the Society, which by then had four hundred and seventy members, accepted the proposal made by Mr. W. R. Ogilvie-Grant to celebrate its jubilee by sending an expedition to explore, mainly from an ornithological perspective, the unknown range of the Snow Mountains in Dutch New Guinea. A Committee, chaired by Mr. F. D. Godman, F.R.S., President and one of the surviving original members of the Society, was formed to organize the expedition, and donations were collected from2 members and their friends. The remote destination of the expedition sparked considerable public interest. The Royal Geographical Society expressed a desire to participate in the venture, and it quickly became clear that it would be a mistake to limit the expedition's goals solely to bird watching. Mr. Walter Goodfellow, a naturalist who had traveled multiple times in New Guinea as well as in other parts of the world, was appointed leader of the expedition. Mr. W. Stalker and Mr. G. C. Shortridge, both with extensive experience collecting in the East, were hired as naturalists. Capt. C. G. Rawling, C.I.E., of the 13th Somersetshire Light Infantry, who had traveled widely in Tibet and mapped a large area of uncharted territory there, was named surveyor, along with Mr. E. S. Marshall, M.R.C.S., L.R.C.P., who had just returned from the “Furthest South” with Sir E. H. Shackleton, as assistant surveyor and surgeon; and I, who had previously served as medical officer, botanist, and entomologist on the Ruwenzori Expedition of 1906-7, took on those same responsibilities again.
Prolonged correspondence between the Foreign Office and the Dutch Government resulted, thanks largely to the personal interest of Sir Edward Grey and Lord Acton, British Chargé d’Affaires at the Hague, in permission being granted to the expedition to land in Dutch New Guinea on or after January 1, 1910. The date of landing was postponed by the Government until January in order that there might be no interference with the expedition of Mr. H. A. Lorentz, who it was hoped would be the first to reach the snow in New Guinea by way of the Noord River, a project which he3 successfully accomplished in the month of November, 1909.
Extended discussions between the Foreign Office and the Dutch Government led to permission being granted for the expedition to land in Dutch New Guinea on or after January 1, 1910, thanks largely to the personal interest of Sir Edward Grey and Lord Acton, the British Chargé d’Affaires in The Hague. The Government delayed the landing date to January to avoid interfering with Mr. H. A. Lorentz's expedition, which aimed to be the first to reach the snow in New Guinea via the Noord River. He successfully achieved this in November 1909.
On October 29th four of us sailed from Marseilles in the P. & O. S.S. Marmora. Mr. Stalker and Mr. Shortridge, who had already proceeded to the East, joined us later at Batavia and Amboina respectively. At Singapore we found the ten Gurkhas, ex-military police, who had been engaged for the expedition by the recruiting officer at Darjiling; though some of these men were useless for the work they had to do, the others did invaluable service as will be seen later. We left Singapore on November 26th, and as we passed through the narrow Riou Straits we saw the remains of the French mail steamer La Seyne, which had been wrecked there with appalling loss of life a few days earlier. It was believed that scores of persons were devoured by sharks within a few minutes of the accident happening. Two days’ steaming in the Dutch packet brought us to Batavia in Java, the city of the Government of the Netherlands East Indies.
On October 29th, four of us departed from Marseilles on the P. & O. S.S. Marmora. Mr. Stalker and Mr. Shortridge, who had already traveled to the East, met up with us later in Batavia and Amboina, respectively. In Singapore, we found the ten Gurkhas, former military police, who had been recruited for the expedition by the officer in Darjiling. Although some of these men were not fit for the tasks ahead, the others provided invaluable assistance, as will be detailed later. We left Singapore on November 26th, and while passing through the narrow Riou Straits, we saw the wreckage of the French mail steamer La Seyne, which had sunk there with a devastating loss of life just days before. It was reported that many people were attacked by sharks within minutes of the accident. After two days of steaming in the Dutch packet, we arrived in Batavia, Java, the capital of the Netherlands East Indies.
We had hoped that our ten Gurkhas would be sufficient escort for the expedition and that we could do without the escort of native soldiers offered to us by the Dutch Government, but the local authorities decided that the escort was necessary and they appointed to command it Lieutenant H. A. Cramer of the Infantry, a probationer on the Staff of the Dutch East Indian Army. The Government also undertook to transport the whole expedition, men, stores, and equipment, from Java to New Guinea. The undertaking was a most generous one as the voyage from Batavia by mail steamer4 to Dobo in the Aru Islands would have been most costly, and from there we should have been obliged to charter a special steamer to convey the expedition to the shores of New Guinea.
We hoped that our ten Gurkhas would be enough to escort the expedition and that we could manage without the native soldiers offered by the Dutch Government. However, the local authorities decided that an escort was necessary, and they assigned Lieutenant H. A. Cramer of the Infantry, a trainee on the Staff of the Dutch East Indian Army, to lead it. The Government also agreed to transport the entire expedition—men, supplies, and equipment—from Java to New Guinea. This was a very generous offer because the journey from Batavia by mail steamer4 to Dobo in the Aru Islands would have been quite expensive, and from there we would have had to hire a special steamer to take the expedition to the shores of New Guinea.
When we left England we had the intention of approaching the Snow Mountains by way of the Utakwa River, which was the only river shown by the maps obtainable at that time approaching the mountains. After a consultation with the Military and Geographical Departments at Batavia it was decided that, owing to the bad accounts which had been received of the Utakwa River and the comparatively favourable reports of the Mimika River, the latter should be chosen as the point of our entry into the country. This decision, though we little suspected it at the time, effectually put an end to our chance of reaching the Snow Mountains.
When we left England, we planned to get to the Snow Mountains via the Utakwa River, which was the only river marked on the maps available back then that led to the mountains. After discussing with the Military and Geographical Departments in Batavia, it was decided that, due to the negative reports about the Utakwa River and the relatively positive feedback on the Mimika River, we should go with the Mimika River as our entry point into the area. This choice, though we didn't realize it at the time, effectively ended our chances of reaching the Snow Mountains.
During the month of December, while stores were being accumulated, and the steamer was being prepared for our use, we had leisure to visit, and in the case of some of us to revisit, some of the most interesting places in Java. A large German ship filled with fourteen hundred American tourists arrived at Batavia whilst we were there, and the passengers “did” Java, apparently to their satisfaction, in forty-eight hours. But a tourist with more time could find occupation for as many days and still leave much to be seen. Germans and Americans outnumber English visitors by nearly fifty to one, and it is to be deplored that Englishmen do not go there in larger numbers, for they would see in Java, not to mention the beauty of its scenery, perhaps the most successful tropical dependency in the world, a vast monument to the genius of Sir Stamford Raffles, who laid the foundation of its prosperity less than one hundred years ago.
During December, while stores were being stocked up and the steamer was being prepared for our use, we had the time to visit, and for some of us, revisit, some of the most fascinating places in Java. A large German ship carrying fourteen hundred American tourists arrived in Batavia while we were there, and the passengers explored Java, seemingly satisfied, in just forty-eight hours. However, a tourist with more time could easily fill many days and still not see everything. Germans and Americans outnumber English visitors by nearly fifty to one, and it's unfortunate that more English people don't travel there, as they would see in Java, aside from its beautiful scenery, perhaps the most successful tropical territory in the world, a vast testament to the genius of Sir Stamford Raffles, who laid the groundwork for its prosperity less than a hundred years ago.
NEAR THE MOUTH OF THE MIMIKA RIVER.
NEAR THE MOUTH OF THE MIMIKA RIVER.
Some idea of the progress which has been made may be learnt from the fact that, whereas at the beginning of the last century the population numbered about four millions, there are to-day nearly ten times that number. Wherever you go you see excellent roads, clean, and well-ordered villages and a swarming peasant population, quiet and industrious and apparently contented with their lot.
Some idea of the progress that has been made can be seen in the fact that, while at the beginning of the last century the population was around four million, today it is nearly ten times that. Wherever you go, you see excellent roads, clean and well-kept villages, and a bustling peasant population that is quiet, hardworking, and seemingly satisfied with their lives.
There are between thirty and forty volcanoes in the island, many of them active, and the soil is extraordinarily rich and productive, three crops in the rice districts being harvested in rather less than two years. So fertile is the land that in many places the steepest slopes of the hills have been brought under cultivation by an ingenious system of terracing and irrigation in such a way that the higher valleys present the appearance of great amphitheatres rising tier above tier of brilliantly green young rice plants or of drooping yellow heads of ripening grain. The tea plantations and the fields of sugar-cane in Central Java not less than the rice-growing districts impress one with the unceasing industry of the people and the inexhaustible wealth of the island.
There are between thirty and forty volcanoes on the island, many of which are active, and the soil is incredibly rich and productive, with three crops being harvested in the rice-growing areas in just under two years. The land’s fertility is such that in many places, the steepest hillsides have been cultivated using a clever system of terracing and irrigation, creating higher valleys that look like massive amphitheaters filled with tiers of vibrant green rice plants or drooping yellow heads of ripening grain. The tea plantations and fields of sugar cane in Central Java, just like the rice-growing regions, highlight the hard work of the people and the endless wealth of the island.
One of the features of life in the Dutch East Indies, which first strikes the attention of an English visitor, is the difference in the relation between Europeans and natives from those which usually obtain in British possessions as shown by the enormous number of half-castes. Whilst we were still at Batavia the feast of the6 Eve of St. Nicholas, which takes the place of our Christmas, occurred. In the evening the entire “white” population indulged in a sort of carnival; the main streets and restaurants were crowded, bands played and carriages laden with parents and their children drove slowly through the throng. The spectacle, a sort of “trooping of the colours,” was a most interesting one to the onlooker, for one saw often in the same family children showing every degree of colour from the fairest Dutch hair and complexion to the darkest Javanese. It is easy to understand how this strong mixture of races has come about, when one learns that Dutchmen who come out to the East Indies, whether as civilian or military officials or as business men, almost invariably stay for ten years without returning to Europe. They become in that time more firmly attached to the country than is the case in colonies where people go home at shorter intervals, and it is not uncommon to meet Dutchmen who have not returned to Holland for thirty or forty years. It is not the custom to send children back to Europe when they reach the school age; there are excellent government schools in all the larger towns, and it often happens that men and women grow up and marry who have never been to Europe in their lives. Thus it can be seen how a large half-caste population is likely to be formed. The half-castes do not, as in British India, form a separate caste, but are regarded as Europeans, and there are many instances of men having more or less of native blood in their veins reaching the highest civilian and military rank.
One of the noticeable aspects of life in the Dutch East Indies that catches the eye of an English visitor is the different relationship between Europeans and locals compared to what is usually seen in British colonies, highlighted by the large number of mixed-race individuals. While we were still in Batavia, the feast of the6 Eve of St. Nicholas, which serves as a substitute for our Christmas, took place. In the evening, the entire “white” population participated in a sort of carnival; the main streets and restaurants were packed, bands played, and carriages filled with parents and their children moved slowly through the crowd. The scene, akin to a “trooping of the colours,” was fascinating for an observer, as it was common to see within the same family children showing varying degrees of skin tone, from the lightest Dutch features to the darkest Javanese. It’s easy to see how this strong mix of races has developed, considering that Dutch people who come to the East Indies, whether as civil or military officials or as businesspeople, almost always stay for ten years without returning to Europe. During that time, they become more attached to the region than those in colonies where people return home more frequently, and it’s not unusual to meet Dutch individuals who haven’t been back to Holland for thirty or forty years. It’s not standard practice to send children back to Europe once they reach school age; there are excellent government schools in all the larger towns, and it often happens that men and women grow up and marry without ever having visited Europe. This illustrates how a large mixed-race population is likely to form. Unlike in British India, mixed-race individuals do not form a separate caste but are considered Europeans, and there are numerous cases of individuals with varying degrees of native ancestry reaching top civilian and military positions.
One or two curious relics of former times, which the visitor to Java notices, are worth recording because they show the survival of a spirit that has almost completely disappeared from our own dominions. When a European walks, or as is more usual, drives along the country roads, the natives whom he meets remove their hats from their heads and their loads from their shoulders and crouch humbly by the roadside. Again, on the railways the ticket examiner approaches with a suppliant air and begs to see your ticket, while he holds out his right hand for it grasping his right wrist with his left hand. In former times when a man held out his right hand to give or take something from you his left hand was free to stab you with his kris. Nowadays only a very few privileged natives in Java are allowed to carry the kris.
One or two interesting remnants of the past that visitors to Java notice are worth mentioning because they reflect a spirit that has nearly vanished from our own lands. When a European walks, or more commonly drives, along the country roads, the locals they encounter take off their hats and set down their burdens, humbly kneeling by the roadside. Similarly, on the trains, the ticket inspector approaches with a pleading expression and asks to see your ticket while holding out his right hand, gripping his right wrist with his left hand. In the past, when a person extended their right hand to give or receive something, their left hand could be used to stab you with their kris. These days, only a small number of privileged locals in Java are permitted to carry the kris.
Another very noticeable feature of life in the Dutch East Indies, which immediately attracts the attention of a stranger, is the astonishing number of excessively corpulent Europeans. If you travel in the morning in the steam tramcar which runs from the residential part of Batavia to the business quarter of the town, you will see as many noticeably stout men as you will see in the City of London in a year, or, as I was credibly informed, as you will see in the city of Amsterdam in a month. It is fairly certain that this unhealthy state of body of a large number of Europeans may be attributed to the institution of the Rijst-tafel, the midday meal of a large majority of the Dutchmen in the East.
Another very noticeable aspect of life in the Dutch East Indies that immediately grabs the attention of a visitor is the astonishing number of extremely overweight Europeans. If you ride the steam tram from the residential area of Batavia to the business district, you’ll see as many notably stout men as you would in the City of London in a year, or, as I’ve been reliably told, as you’d see in Amsterdam in a month. It’s quite likely that this unhealthy condition affecting many Europeans can be linked to the practice of the Rijst-tafel, the midday meal enjoyed by most Dutch people in the East.
This custom is so remarkable that it is worth while to give a description of it. The foundation of the meal, as its name implies, is rice. You sit at table with a8 soup plate in front of you, a smaller flat plate beside it and a spoon, a knife and a fork. The first servant brings a large bowl of rice from which you help yourself liberally. The second brings a kind of vegetable stew which you pour over the heap of rice. Then follows a remarkable procession; I have myself seen at an hotel in Batavia fourteen different boys bringing as many different dishes, and I have seen stalwart Teutons taking samples from every dish. These boys bring fish of various sorts and of various cookeries, bones of chickens cooked in different ways and eggs of various ages, and last of all comes a boy bearing a large tray covered with many different kinds of chutneys and sauces from which the connoisseur chooses three or four. The more solid and bony portions find a space on the small flat plate, the others are piled in the soup plate upon the rice. As an experience once or twice the Rijst-tafel is interesting; but as a daily custom it is an abomination. Even when, as in private houses, the number of dishes is perhaps not more than three or four, the main foundation of the meal is a solid pile of rice, which is not at all a satisfactory diet for Europeans. The Rijst-tafel is not a traditional native custom but a modern innovation, and there is a tendency among the more active members of the community to replace it by a more rational meal.
This custom is so impressive that it deserves a description. The main component of the meal, as the name suggests, is rice. You sit at the table with a8 soup plate in front of you, a smaller flat plate beside it, and a spoon, knife, and fork. The first server brings a large bowl of rice from which you can help yourself generously. The second server brings a kind of vegetable stew that you pour over the mound of rice. Then follows an incredible procession; I’ve seen, at a hotel in Batavia, fourteen different boys bringing fourteen different dishes, and I’ve watched strong Germans sampling from every dish. These boys bring various types of fish prepared in different ways, chicken bones cooked in multiple styles, and eggs of different ages. Finally, a boy appears with a large tray filled with many types of chutneys and sauces from which you can choose three or four. The more substantial and bony parts go on the small flat plate, while the rest are piled in the soup plate on top of the rice. The Rijst-tafel is an interesting experience a couple of times, but as a daily custom, it’s quite unpleasant. Even when, in private homes, the number of dishes is only three or four, the main part of the meal is a hefty serving of rice, which isn't a satisfying diet for Europeans. The Rijst-tafel isn’t an ancient native custom but a modern idea, and there is a growing movement among the more proactive members of the community to replace it with a more reasonable meal.
The houses of the Europeans are of the bungalow type with high-pitched roofs of red tiles and surrounded by wide verandahs, which are actually the living rooms of the house. The Dutch are good gardeners and are particularly fond of trees, which they plant close about their houses and so ensure a pleasant shade, though9 they harbour rather more mosquitoes and other insects than is pleasant. In strange contrast with the scrupulous cleanliness of the houses and the tidiness of the streets, you will see in Batavia a state of things which it is hard to reconcile with the usual commonsense of the Dutch. Through the middle of the town runs a canalised river of red muddy water, partly sewer and partly bathing place and so on of the natives, and in it are washed all the clothes of the population, both native and European. Your clothes return to you white enough, but you put them on with certain qualms when you remember whence they came. The town has an excellent supply of pure water, and it is astonishing that the authorities do not put an end to this most insanitary practice.
The houses in Europe are typically bungalows with steep roofs covered in red tiles and surrounded by wide verandas, which essentially function as the living rooms of the home. The Dutch are skilled gardeners and have a special affection for trees, which they plant around their houses to provide pleasant shade. However, this also means there are more mosquitoes and other insects than is comfortable. In stark contrast to the scrupulous cleanliness of the houses and the tidiness of the streets, Batavia presents a situation that's difficult to reconcile with the usual practicality of the Dutch. A canalized river with red muddy water runs through the middle of the town, serving as part sewer and part bathing spot for the locals, where all the laundry of the residents, both native and European, is washed. Your clothes come back white enough, but you wear them with some hesitation when you think about their origins. The town has an excellent supply of clean water, making it surprising that the authorities haven't put a stop to this extremely unhealthy practice.
Dutch people in the East Indies have modified their habits, especially in the matter of clothing, to suit the requirements of the climate, and while they have to some extent sacrificed elegance to comfort, their costume is at all events more rational than that of many Englishmen in the East, who cling too affectionately to the fashions of Europe and often wear too much clothing. The men, who do the greater part of the day’s work between seven in the morning and one o’clock, wear a plain white suit of cotton or linen. The afternoon is spent in taking a siesta and at about five o’clock they go to their clubs or other amusements in the same sort of attire as in the morning. The ladies, except in the larger towns where European dress is the custom, appear in public during the greater part of the day in a curiously simple costume. The upper part of the body is clothed in a short white cotton jacket, below which the coloured10 native sarong extends midway down the leg. Low slippers are worn on bare feet, the hair hangs undressed down the back and the costume is usually completed by an umbrella. It must be admitted that the effect is not ornamental, but the costume is doubtless cool and comfortable, and it prevents any risk there might be of injury to the health from wearing an excessive amount of clothing. They appear more conventionally dressed about five o’clock, when the social business of the day begins. The ladies pay calls while the men meet at the club and play cards until an uncomfortably late dinner at about nine o’clock.
Dutch people in the East Indies have changed their habits, especially regarding clothing, to better fit the climate. While they may have sacrificed some elegance for comfort, their outfits are definitely more practical than those of many Englishmen in the East, who hold onto European fashions too tightly and often wear too much clothing. The men, who do most of their work from seven in the morning until one o’clock, wear simple white cotton or linen suits. The afternoons are spent napping, and around five o’clock they head to their clubs or other activities in the same attire they wore in the morning. The women, except in larger towns where European dress is common, appear in public for most of the day in a rather simple outfit. The upper part of the body is dressed in a short white cotton jacket, and below it, a colorful10 native sarong reaches midway down the leg. They wear low slippers on bare feet, their hair is left down, and the outfit is usually finished off with an umbrella. While it may not be particularly stylish, the outfit is surely cool and comfortable and avoids any health risks from wearing too many clothes. They dress more formally around five o’clock when the social activities for the day begin. The ladies visit friends while the men gather at the club to play cards until a late dinner around nine o’clock.
About an hour’s journey by railway from Batavia is the hill station of Buitenzorg. Although it is hardly more than eight hundred feet above the sea the climate is noticeably cooler (the mean annual temperature is 75°), and one feels immediately more vigorous than down in the low country. The palace of the Governor General, formerly the house of Sir Stamford Raffles, stands at the edge of the Botanic Garden, which alone, even if you saw nothing else, would justify a visit to Java. Plants from all the Tropics grow there in the best possible conditions, and you see them to advantage as you never can in their natural forest surroundings, where the trunks of the trees are obscured by a tangle of undergrowth. Every part of the garden is worth exploring, but one of the most curious and interesting sections is the collection of Screw-pines (Pandanus) and Cycads, which have a weirdly antediluvian appearance. Another very beautiful sight is the ponds of Water-lilies from different parts of the world. The11 native gardener in charge of them informed me that the different species have different and definite hours for the opening and closing of their flowers. I tested his statement in two instances and found the flowers almost exactly punctual. There was no cloud in the sky nor appearance of any change in the weather, and the reason for this behaviour is not easy to explain. At Sindanglaya in the mountains a few miles distant is an offshoot from the Buitenzorg garden, where plants of a more temperate climate flourish, and experiments are made on plants of economic value to the country.
About an hour's train ride from Batavia is the hill station of Buitenzorg. Although it's barely eight hundred feet above sea level, the climate is noticeably cooler (the average annual temperature is 75°), and you instantly feel more energized than in the lowlands. The Governor General's palace, which used to be Sir Stamford Raffles' house, sits at the edge of the Botanic Garden. Just visiting the garden alone would make a trip to Java worthwhile. It showcases plants from all over the Tropics thriving in ideal conditions, allowing you to see them better than in their natural forest habitats, where tree trunks are hidden by dense undergrowth. Every part of the garden is worth exploring, but one of the most intriguing sections is the collection of Screw-pines (Pandanus) and Cycads, which have an oddly ancient look. Another beautiful sight is the ponds filled with Water-lilies from various parts of the world. The native gardener in charge of them told me that different species have specific times for opening and closing their flowers. I tested his claim on a couple of occasions and found the flowers to be almost perfectly punctual. There wasn't a cloud in the sky or any signs of changing weather, and the reason for this behavior is not easy to explain. A few miles away in the mountains at Sindanglaya is a branch of the Buitenzorg garden, where plants from a more temperate climate thrive, and experiments are conducted on plants that are economically important to the country.
A few hours’ journey east from Buitenzorg is Garoet (2,300 feet above the sea), which lies in a beautiful fertile valley surrounded by forest-covered mountains. The climate is an almost ideal one, the nights are cool and the days are not too hot. A very remarkable feature of the country about Garoet is the great flocks, or rather droves, of ducks which you meet being driven along the roads from the villages to their pastures in the rice fields. These ducks differ from the ordinary domestic duck in their extraordinary erect attitude, from which they have been well called Penguin ducks. Whether their upright posture is due to their walking or not I do not know, but they are excellent walkers and are sometimes driven long distances to their feeding grounds. When a duck is tired and lags behind, the boy who herds them picks it up by the neck, and you may sometimes see him walking along with a bunch of two or three ducks in either hand.
A few hours' journey east from Buitenzorg is Garoet (2,300 feet above sea level), located in a beautiful, fertile valley surrounded by forest-covered mountains. The climate is nearly perfect; the nights are cool, and the days are comfortably warm. A standout feature of the area around Garoet is the large flocks, or rather herds, of ducks that you see being herded along the roads from the villages to their grazing spots in the rice fields. These ducks are different from regular domestic ducks due to their unusual upright stance, earning them the nickname Penguin ducks. I’m not sure if their upright posture comes from their walking, but they are great walkers and are sometimes driven long distances to their feeding areas. When a duck gets tired and falls behind, the boy herding them picks it up by the neck, and you might occasionally see him walking along with a handful of two or three ducks in each hand.
Others of our party visited Djokjakarta and the Buddhist Temples of Boro-Boder in Central Java and the12 mountain resort of Tosari in the volcanic region of Eastern Java. Tosari is more than five thousand feet above the sea, and is of great value to the Dutch as a sanatorium for soldiers and civilians from all parts of the Archipelago. The rainfall is comparatively scanty and the climate is like that of Southern Europe at its best.
Others in our group went to Djokjakarta and the Buddhist temples of Boro-Boder in Central Java, and the12 mountain resort of Tosari in the volcanic area of Eastern Java. Tosari is over five thousand feet above sea level and is very important to the Dutch as a health resort for soldiers and civilians from all over the Archipelago. The rainfall is relatively low, and the climate resembles the best of Southern Europe.
A CONVICT COOLY OF THE DUTCH ESCORT.
A Convict Coolie of the Dutch Escort.
A MALAY COOLY FROM BUTON.
A Malay laborer from Buton.
CHAPTER II
Expedition leaves Java—The “Nias”—Escort—Macassar—Raja of Goa—Amboina—Corals and Fishes—Ambonese Christians—Dutch Clubs—Dobo.
Expedition leaves Java—The “Nias”—Escort—Macassar—Ruler of Goa—Ambon—Coral Reefs and Fish—Ambonese Christians—Dutch Clubs—Dobo.
On December 21st we left Batavia, and on Christmas Day, 1909, we sailed from Soerabaja in the Government steamer Nias, Capt. Hondius van Herwerden. The Nias, a ship of about six hundred tons, formerly a gun-boat in the Netherlands Indies Marine, is now stripped of her two small guns and is used by the Government as a special service vessel. Her last commission before embarking us has been to transport Mr. Lorentz on his expedition to the Noord River in New Guinea three months earlier. Now she was full to the brim of stores and gear of all sorts and her decks were crowded with men. There were five of us and ten Gurkhas. The Dutch escort consisted of Lieutenant H. A. Cramer in command, two Dutch sergeants and one Dutch medical orderly, forty native Javanese soldiers and sixty convicts, most of them Javanese. The convicts were nearly all of them men with more or less long sentences of imprisonment and some of them were murderers in chains, which were knocked off them to their great relief the day after we left Soerabaja. One of the best of the convicts, a native of Bali, was a murderer (see illustration, page 12), who did14 admirable service to the expedition, and was subsequently promoted to be mandoer.1
On December 21st, we departed from Batavia, and on Christmas Day, 1909, we set sail from Soerabaja on the government steamer Nias, captained by Hondius van Herwerden. The Nias, weighing about six hundred tons and formerly a gunboat in the Netherlands Indies Marine, had been stripped of her two small guns and was now repurposed by the government as a special service vessel. Her last mission before taking us on board was to transport Mr. Lorentz during his expedition to the Noord River in New Guinea three months prior. Now, she was filled to capacity with supplies and equipment of all kinds, and her decks were packed with people. There were five of us and ten Gurkhas. The Dutch escort included Lieutenant H. A. Cramer in command, two Dutch sergeants, one Dutch medical orderly, forty native Javanese soldiers, and sixty convicts, predominantly Javanese. The convicts were mostly men serving relatively long sentences, and some were murderers in chains, which were removed the day after we left Soerabaja to their great relief. One of the more capable convicts, a native of Bali, was a murderer (see illustration, page 12) who provided outstanding service to the expedition and was later promoted to mandoer.1
At Macassar we stopped a few hours only to add to our already excessive deck cargo, and to hear a little of the gossip of Celebes. I was interested to learn that the power of the Raja of Goa, whom I had visited a few years before, had come to an end. That monarch was an interesting survivor of the old native princes of the island. His kingdom extended to within three miles of Macassar, and he was apparently not answerable to any law or authority but his own. The place became a refuge for criminals fleeing from justice, and it was a disagreeable thorn in the side of the Dutch authorities, who were at last compelled to send a small expedition to annex the country. The Raja himself, it was said, came to a very unpleasant end in a ditch.
At Macassar, we only stopped for a few hours to add to our already heavy deck cargo and to catch up on some local gossip from Celebes. I was interested to learn that the power of the Raja of Goa, whom I had visited a few years earlier, had ended. That ruler was a fascinating remnant of the old native princes of the island. His kingdom stretched to about three miles from Macassar, and he seemed to be subject only to his own laws. The place became a haven for criminals escaping justice, which was an annoying problem for the Dutch authorities, who eventually had to send a small expedition to take control of the area. It was said that the Raja himself met a very grim fate in a ditch.
There had also been a small war on the east side of the island, which resulted in the pacification of the large and prosperous district of Boni. Now the Island of Celebes, which only a few years ago was dominated by savage tribes and where it was unsafe for an European to travel, has been almost completely brought within the Dutch administration, and it seems likely that its enormous mineral and agricultural wealth will soon make it one of the most prosperous islands of the Archipelago.
There had also been a small conflict on the east side of the island, which led to the calming down of the large and thriving area of Boni. Now the Island of Celebes, which only a few years ago was controlled by fierce tribes and where it was unsafe for Europeans to travel, has mostly come under Dutch administration, and it seems likely that its vast mineral and agricultural wealth will soon make it one of the most prosperous islands in the Archipelago.
On December 30th we anchored in the harbour of Amboina, where we were joined by the last member of the expedition, Mr. W. Stalker, who had been for some months collecting birds in Ceram, and recently 15had been engaged in Amboina in recruiting coolies for the expedition. It had been expected that he would go to engage coolies in the Ké Islands, a group of islands about three hundred miles to the south-east of Amboina, where the natives are more sturdy and less sophisticated than the people of Amboina; but circumstances had prevented him from going there, and we had to put up with the very inferior Ambonese, a fact which at the outset seriously handicapped the expedition. We stayed for two days at Amboina, or, as the Dutch always call it, Ambon, buying necessary stores and making arrangements with the Dutch authorities, who agreed to send a steamer every two months, if the weather were favourable, to bring men and further supplies to us in New Guinea.
On December 30th, we anchored in the harbor of Amboina, where we were joined by the last member of the expedition, Mr. W. Stalker. He had spent several months collecting birds in Ceram and had recently been in Amboina recruiting laborers for the expedition. It was expected that he would go to hire workers in the Ké Islands, a group of islands about three hundred miles southeast of Amboina, where the locals are stronger and less refined than those in Amboina. However, circumstances prevented him from going there, and we had to make do with the much less capable Ambonese, which seriously hindered the expedition from the start. We stayed in Amboina, or as the Dutch always refer to it, Ambon, for two days, purchasing necessary supplies and making arrangements with the Dutch authorities. They agreed to send a steamer every two months, weather permitting, to bring us men and additional supplies in New Guinea.
Amboina is an exceedingly pretty place, and a very favourite station of the Dutch on account of its climate, which is remarkably equable, and its freedom from strong winds or excessive rain. There is a volcano at the north end of the island which has slumbered since 1824, and the place is very subject to earthquakes. A very serious one occurred as recently as 1902, which destroyed hundreds of lives and houses, whose walls may still be seen lying flat in the gardens, but as in other volcanic places the inhabitants have conveniently short memories, and the place has been re-built ready for another visitation.
Amboina is a really beautiful place and a favorite spot for the Dutch because of its mild climate and lack of strong winds or heavy rain. There's a volcano at the north end of the island that has been inactive since 1824, and the area is quite prone to earthquakes. A major one happened as recently as 1902, which claimed hundreds of lives and destroyed homes, many of whose walls can still be seen lying flat in the gardens. However, like in other volcanic regions, the locals have a pretty short memory, and the area has been rebuilt, ready for the next disaster.
Like most of the other Dutch settlements in the East, Amboina has been laid out on a rectangular plan, but the uniformity of the arrangement is saved from being monotonous by the tree-planting habits of the16 Dutch. The roads and open spaces are shaded by Kanari trees, which also produce a most delicious nut, and the gardens are hedged with flowering Hibiscus and Oleander and gaudy-leafed Crotons. Roses, as well as many other temperate plants, in addition to “hothouse” plants, flourish in the gardens, and the verandahs of the houses themselves are often decorated with orchids from Ceram and the Tenimber Islands. Birds are not common in the town itself except in captivity, and you see, especially in the gardens of the natives’ houses, parrots and lories, and pigeons from the Moluccas and New Guinea, and you may even hear the call of the Greater bird of paradise. Attracted by the many flowering plants are swarms of butterflies, some of them of great beauty. One of the most gorgeous of these is the large blue Papilio ulysses, which floats from flower to flower like a piece of living blue sky.
Like most other Dutch settlements in the East, Amboina is laid out in a rectangular layout, but the uniformity is made more interesting by the Dutch's habit of planting trees. The roads and open areas are shaded by Kanari trees, which also produce a delicious nut. The gardens are bordered with flowering Hibiscus and Oleander and colorful Crotons. Roses, along with many other temperate plants and greenhouse plants, thrive in the gardens, and the verandas of the houses are often adorned with orchids from Ceram and the Tenimber Islands. Birds aren’t common in the town itself except in captivity, but you can see parrots, lories, and pigeons from the Moluccas and New Guinea in the gardens of the local houses, and you might even hear the call of the Greater bird of paradise. The many flowering plants attract swarms of butterflies, some of which are incredibly beautiful. One of the most stunning is the large blue Papilio ulysses, which flits from flower to flower like a piece of living blue sky.
The harbour of Amboina is a wide deep channel, which nearly divides the island into two, and in it are the wonderful sea-gardens, which aroused the enthusiasm of Mr. Wallace.2 They are not perhaps so wonderful as the sea-gardens at Banda and elsewhere, but to those who have never seen such things before the many coloured sea-weeds and corals and shells and shoals of fantastic fishes seen through crystal water are a source of unfailing interest. The sea is crowded with fish of every size and form and colour. Nearly eight hundred species have been described from Ambonese waters, and it is worth while to visit the market in the early morning, when the night’s haul is brought in, and before 17the very evanescent colours of the fish have faded. Nearly every man in the place is a fisherman during some part of the day or night, and nobody need starve who has the energy to throw a baited hook into the sea. Most of the fish are caught either in nets very similar to our seine-net or in more elaborate traps which are mostly constructed by Chinamen.
The harbor of Amboina is a wide, deep channel that almost splits the island in two. It’s home to the amazing sea gardens that excited Mr. Wallace.2 They might not be as incredible as the sea gardens in Banda and other places, but for those who've never seen such beauty, the vibrant seaweeds, corals, shells, and schools of unique fish visible through the clear water are endlessly fascinating. The sea is teeming with fish of all shapes, sizes, and colors. Almost eight hundred species have been identified in the waters around Ambon, and it’s worth visiting the market early in the morning, when the catch from the night before comes in, before the fleeting colors of the fish start to fade. Almost every man in the area is a fisherman at some point during the day or night, and anyone willing to cast a baited hook into the sea won’t go hungry. Most fish are caught using nets similar to our seine nets or more elaborate traps, primarily made by Chinese fishermen.
The market is also worth visiting to see the variety of fruit and spices that grow in the island. Amboina has a peculiar form of banana, the Pisang Ambon, with white flesh, dark green skin, and a very peculiar flavour. Besides this there are many other kinds of bananas, mangoes, mangostines, guavas, sour-manilla, soursop, pineapples, kanari nut, nutmeg, cloves, and a small but very delicious fruit, the garnderia.
The market is also worth checking out to see the variety of fruits and spices that grow on the island. Amboina has a unique type of banana, the Pisang Ambon, with white flesh, dark green skin, and a very unique flavor. Besides this, there are many other kinds of bananas, mangoes, mangosteen, guavas, sour manila, soursop, pineapples, kanari nuts, nutmeg, cloves, and a small but very tasty fruit, the garnderia.
The native inhabitants of Amboina are a curious mixture of the aboriginal native with Portuguese, Dutch, and Malay blood. There is a strong predominance of the Portuguese type, which shows itself in the faces of many of the people, who still use words of Portuguese origin, and preserve many Portuguese names. A large number of them are Christians, and they rejoice in such names as Josef, Esau, Jacob, Petrus and Domingos.
The native people of Amboina are an interesting blend of the indigenous population along with Portuguese, Dutch, and Malay ancestry. The Portuguese influence is quite prominent, noticeable in the features of many locals, who still incorporate words of Portuguese origin into their language and keep many Portuguese names. A significant number of them are Christians, proudly bearing names like Josef, Esau, Jacob, Petrus, and Domingos.
New Year’s Eve was celebrated by a confusion of fireworks and gun-firing, which lasted from sunset until the small hours of 1910, and by an afternoon service in the Church attended by many hundreds of people. The women, who are usually in Amboina dressed entirely in black, wore for the occasion long white coats, black sarongs and white stockings. The men went more variously clad in straw hats, dinner18 jackets, low waistcoats, white or coloured starched shirts, coloured ties, black trousers, and brown boots. We were interested to find that the great bulk of the stuff from which clothes are made in Amboina is imported from England, and we were assured by a merchant who was interested in the trade that a man can dress himself in so-called European fashion as cheaply in Amboina as he can in this country.
New Year’s Eve was celebrated with a mix of fireworks and gunfire that went on from sunset until the early hours of 1910, along with an afternoon service at the church attended by hundreds of people. The women, who usually wear all black in Amboina, dressed for the occasion in long white coats, black sarongs, and white stockings. The men wore a variety of outfits, including straw hats, dinner jackets, low waistcoats, white or colored starched shirts, colored ties, black trousers, and brown boots. We were interested to learn that most of the fabric used for clothing in Amboina is imported from England, and a merchant involved in the trade assured us that a man can dress in what is considered European style just as cheaply in Amboina as he can in this country.
An agreeable feature of life at Amboina, as at other places in the Netherlands Indies, is the hospitality of the Dutch people. A stranger of at all respectable social position is expected to introduce himself to the club, and the residents in the place feel genuinely hurt if he fails to do so. The Societat, or “Soce,” as it is everywhere called, is more of a café than a club according to English ideas, and it exists for conviviality and gossiping rather than for newspaper reading and card playing. It is not even a restaurant in the sense that many English clubs are; the members meet there in the evening but they invariably dine, as they lunch, at home. On the verandah in front of the club is a round table, at which sit after dark large men in white clothes smoking cigars and drinking various drinks. The foreigner approaches with what courage he may and introduces himself by name to the party severally. They make a place for him in the circle and thereafter, with a courtesy which a group of Englishmen would find difficulty in imitating, they continue the conversation in the language of the foreigner. An Englishman is at first a little staggered by the number of pait (i.e. bitter, the name for gin and bitters) and19 other drinks that his hosts consume, and which he is expected to consume also, but, as I remember noticing in the case of their neighbours the Belgians in the Congo, it appears to do them little if any harm.
An enjoyable aspect of life in Amboina, like in other places in the Netherlands Indies, is the warm hospitality of the Dutch people. A newcomer with a respectable social status is expected to introduce himself to the club, and the locals genuinely feel hurt if he doesn't. The Societat, or “Soce,” as it’s commonly known, functions more like a café than a club in the English sense, focusing on socializing and gossip rather than reading newspapers or playing cards. It's not really a restaurant like many English clubs; members usually gather in the evening but always have their meals at home, whether it’s dinner or lunch. On the club's verandah, there’s a round table where large men in white clothes sit after dark, smoking cigars and sipping various drinks. The foreigner approaches with whatever courage he can muster and introduces himself individually to the group. They make room for him in the circle, and then, with a politeness that a group of Englishmen would find tricky to match, they carry on the conversation in the foreigner’s language. An Englishman might initially be taken aback by the number of pait (i.e. bitter, the term for gin and bitters) and 19 other drinks that his hosts consume, which he’s expected to drink as well, but, as I’ve noticed with their Belgian neighbors in the Congo, it seems to do them little to no harm.
In the larger places there is a concert at the club once or twice a week—at Bandoeng in Java I heard a remarkably good string quartette—and in almost every place there is a ladies’ night at the club once a week, when the children come to dance to the music of a piano or gramophone, as the case may be. It is a pretty sight and one to make one ponder on the possible harmony of nations—“Harmonie” is commonly a name for the clubs in the Netherlands Indies—to see small Dutch children dancing with little half-castes and, as I have more than once seen, with little Celestials and Japanese.
In the bigger towns, there’s a concert at the club once or twice a week—when I was in Bandung, Java, I heard a really good string quartet—and almost every place has a ladies’ night at the club once a week, where the kids come to dance to music from a piano or a record player, depending on what they have. It’s a nice sight and makes you think about the potential harmony between nations—“Harmonie” is often a name for the clubs in the Dutch East Indies—to see small Dutch kids dancing with half-caste children and, as I've seen more than once, with little Chinese and Japanese kids.
We left Amboina on New Year’s Day in a deluge of rain, and all that day we were in sight of the forest-covered heights of Ceram to the North. On January 2nd we passed Banda at dawn, and at sunset we got a view of the most South-west point of New Guinea, Cape Van de Bosch. On the morning of January 3rd we dropped anchor in the harbour of Dobo in the Aru Islands. For several miles before we arrived there we had noticed a marked difference in the appearance of the sea. Since we left Batavia we had been sailing over a deep sea of great oceanic depths, sometimes of two or three thousand fathoms, which was always clear and blue or black as deep seas are. Approaching the Aru Islands we came into the shoal waters of the Arafura Sea, which is yellowish and opaque and never exceeds one hundred fathoms in depth. We were, in fact, sailing20 over that scarcely submerged land, which joins the Aru Islands and New Guinea with the Continent of Australia.
We left Amboina on New Year’s Day in heavy rain, and all day we could see the forest-covered peaks of Ceram to the north. On January 2nd, we passed Banda at dawn, and by sunset, we caught sight of the southwestern tip of New Guinea, Cape Van de Bosch. On the morning of January 3rd, we dropped anchor in the harbor of Dobo in the Aru Islands. For several miles before we arrived, we noticed a significant change in the appearance of the sea. Since we left Batavia, we had been sailing over a deep ocean with great depths, sometimes two or three thousand fathoms, which was always clear and blue or black like deep seas. As we neared the Aru Islands, we entered the shallow waters of the Arafura Sea, which is yellowish and murky and never exceeds one hundred fathoms in depth. We were, in fact, sailing20 over that barely submerged land that connects the Aru Islands and New Guinea with the continent of Australia.
Dobo has doubtless changed a good deal in appearance since Mr. Wallace visited it in 1857, the majority of the houses are now built of corrugated iron in place of the palm leaves of fifty years ago; but it cannot have increased greatly in size, for it is built on a small spit of coral sand beyond which are mangrove swamps where building is impossible. The reason of its existence has also changed since the time when it was the great market of all the neighbouring islands, for now it exists solely as the centre of a pearl-fishing industry controlled by an Australian Company, the Celebes Trading Company. Messrs. Clarke & Ross Smith, the heads of this business, rendered us assistance in very many ways, and the sincerest thanks of the expedition are due to them. The primary object of pearl-fishing is of course the collection of pearl-shell which is used for knife handles, buttons, and a hundred other things. Shell of a good quality is worth more than £200 a ton. The pearls, which are occasionally found, are merely accidentals and profitable extras of the trade. Some idea of the extent of this business may be learnt from the fact that more than one hundred boats employing about five thousand men are occupied in the various fleets.
Dobo has definitely changed a lot in appearance since Mr. Wallace visited in 1857. Most houses are now made of corrugated iron instead of palm leaves like fifty years ago; however, it likely hasn't grown much in size because it's built on a small strip of coral sand, beyond which are mangrove swamps where building isn't possible. The reason for its existence has also shifted since it was once the main market for all the nearby islands. Now, it mainly functions as the center of a pearl-fishing industry run by an Australian Company, the Celebes Trading Company. Messrs. Clarke & Ross Smith, the leaders of this business, helped us in many ways, and the expedition owes them our sincerest thanks. The main goal of pearl-fishing is, of course, to collect pearl-shell, which is used for knife handles, buttons, and a hundred other items. Good quality shell is worth more than £200 a ton. The pearls that are occasionally found are just accidental and profitable bonuses of the trade. You can get an idea of the scale of this business from the fact that over one hundred boats employing about five thousand men are involved in the various fleets.
We left Dobo, the last place of civilisation that many of us were to see for a year and more, on January 3rd; and here, as we are almost within sight as it were of our destination, it may be opportune to state briefly the geographical position of New Guinea, and to give a short account of its exploration.
We left Dobo, the last spot of civilization that many of us would see for over a year, on January 3rd. Now, as we approach our destination, it seems like a good time to briefly outline the geographical location of New Guinea and provide a short overview of its exploration.
DOBO. ARU ISLANDS.
DOBO, ARU ISLANDS.
CHAPTER III
New Guinea—Its Position and Extent—Territorial Divisions—Mountain Ranges—Numerous Rivers—The Papuans—The Discovery of New Guinea—Early Voyagers—Spanish and Dutch—Jan Carstensz—First Discovery of the Snow Mountains—William Dampier in the “Roebuck”—Captain Cook in the “Endeavour”—Naturalists and later Explorers.
New Guinea—Its Location and Size—Territorial Divisions—Mountain Ranges—Numerous Rivers—The Papuans—The Discovery of New Guinea—Early Explorers—Spanish and Dutch—Jan Carstensz—First Discovery of the Snow Mountains—William Dampier on the “Roebuck”—Captain Cook on the “Endeavour”—Naturalists and Later Explorers.
The island of New Guinea or Papua lies to the East of all the great islands of the Malay Archipelago and forms a barrier between them and the Pacific Ocean. To the South of it lies the Continent of Australia separated from it by the Arafura Sea and Torres Strait, which at its narrowest point is less than a hundred miles wide. To the East is the great group of the Solomon Islands, while on the North there are no important masses of land between New Guinea and Japan. The island lies wholly to the South of the Equator, its most Northern point, the Cape of Good Hope in the Arfak Peninsula, being 19´ S. latitude.
The island of New Guinea or Papua is located to the east of all the major islands in the Malay Archipelago and acts as a barrier between them and the Pacific Ocean. To the south is the continent of Australia, which is separated by the Arafura Sea and Torres Strait, the narrowest point being less than a hundred miles wide. To the east, you'll find the large group of the Solomon Islands, while to the north, there are no significant land masses between New Guinea and Japan. The island is entirely south of the equator, with its northernmost point, the Cape of Good Hope on the Arfak Peninsula, at 19° S latitude.
The extreme length of the island from E. to W. is 1490 miles, and its greatest breadth from N. to S. is rather more than 400 miles. New Guinea is the largest of the islands of the globe, having an area of 308,000 square miles (Borneo has about 290,000 square miles), and it is divided amongst three countries roughly as follows: Holland 150,000, Great Britain 90,000, and Germany 70,000 square miles. The large territory of22 the Dutch was acquired by them with the kingdom of the Sultan of Ternate, who was accustomed to claim Western New Guinea as a part of his dominions: it is bounded on the East by the 141st parallel of East longitude and partly by the Fly River and thus it comprises nearly a half of the island.
The island stretches 1,490 miles from east to west and has a maximum width of just over 400 miles from north to south. New Guinea is the largest island in the world, covering an area of 308,000 square miles (Borneo has about 290,000 square miles). It's divided among three countries roughly as follows: Holland has 150,000 square miles, Great Britain has 90,000 square miles, and Germany has 70,000 square miles. The significant territory held by the Dutch was obtained through an agreement with the Sultan of Ternate, who used to claim Western New Guinea as part of his realm: it is bordered on the east by the 141st meridian of east longitude and partly by the Fly River, accounting for nearly half of the island.
The Eastern half of the island is divided into a Northern, German, and a Southern, British, part. The German territory is called Kaiser Wilhelm Land, and the islands adjacent to it, which have received German substitutes for their old names of New Britain, New Ireland, etc., are known as the Bismarck Archipelago. British New Guinea, which is now administered by the Federal Government of Australia, has been officially renamed the Territory of Papua, and with it are included the numerous islands at its Eastern extremity, the D’Entrecasteaux and Louisiade Archipelagoes.
The eastern half of the island is split into a northern part, controlled by Germany, and a southern part, controlled by Britain. The German area is called Kaiser Wilhelm Land, and the nearby islands, which have been given new German names instead of the old ones like New Britain and New Ireland, are known as the Bismarck Archipelago. British New Guinea, now run by the Federal Government of Australia, has officially been renamed the Territory of Papua, which also includes the many islands at its eastern end, the D’Entrecasteaux and Louisiade Archipelagos.
Only in the British territory has a serious attempt been made at settling and administering the country; the headquarters of the Government are at Port Moresby, and the country is divided into six magisterial districts.
Only in the British territory has there been a serious effort to settle and manage the country; the Government's headquarters are in Port Moresby, and the country is divided into six magisterial districts.
The German possessions are governed from Herbertshöhe in Neu Pommern (New Britain), which is the centre of a small amount of island trade, but the settlements on the New Guinea mainland are few and far between, and it cannot be pretended that the country is German except in name.
The German territories are controlled from Herbertshöhe in Neu Pommern (New Britain), which is the hub of a small amount of island trade. However, the settlements on the New Guinea mainland are sparse, and it can't be argued that the area is German except in name.
The Dutch territory has been even less brought under control than the German. For more than half a century there has been a mission station at Dorei in the N.W. but until 1899 when the Dutch assumed the direct23 control of the country, which was till that time nominally governed by the Sultan of Tidor (Ternate), there was no sign of Dutch rule in New Guinea. Now there are Government stations with small bodies of native soldiers at Manokware, an island in Dorei Bay, and at Fak-fak on the shore of MacCluer Gulf; more recently a third post has been established at Merauke on the South coast near the boundary of British New Guinea, with the object of subjugating the fierce Tugere tribe of that region.
The Dutch territory has been even less controlled than the German one. For over fifty years, there has been a mission station at Dorei in the northwest, but until 1899, when the Dutch took direct control of the country, which had been nominally governed by the Sultan of Tidor (Ternate) until that point, there was no indication of Dutch rule in New Guinea. Now there are government stations with small groups of local soldiers at Manokware, an island in Dorei Bay, and at Fak-fak on the coast of MacCluer Gulf; more recently, a third post has been set up at Merauke on the southern coast near the border of British New Guinea, aimed at subduing the fierce Tugere tribe in that area.
The most important physical feature of New Guinea is the great system of mountain ranges, which run from West to East and form the back-bone of the island. The Arfak Peninsula in the N.W. is made entirely by mountains which reach an altitude of more than 9000 feet. In the great central mass of the island the mountains begin near the S.W. coast with the Charles Louis Mountains, which vary in height from 4000 to 9000 feet. Following these to the East they are found to be continuous with the Snowy Mountains (now called the Nassau Range, the objective of this expedition) which culminate in the glacier-covered tops of Mount Idenberg (15,379 feet), and Mount Carstensz (15,964 feet), and to the East of these is the snow-capped Mount Wilhelmina (15,420 feet), and Mount Juliana (about 14,764 feet).
The most significant physical feature of New Guinea is the extensive range of mountains that stretch from west to east, forming the backbone of the island. The Arfak Peninsula in the northwest is entirely mountainous, with peaks reaching over 9,000 feet. In the central region of the island, the mountains begin near the southwest coast with the Charles Louis Mountains, which range from 4,000 to 9,000 feet in height. Continuing eastward, these mountains are connected to the Snowy Mountains (now known as the Nassau Range, the goal of this expedition), which culminate in the glacier-covered summits of Mount Idenberg (15,379 feet) and Mount Carstensz (15,964 feet). To the east of these peaks are the snow-capped Mount Wilhelmina (15,420 feet) and Mount Juliana (about 14,764 feet).
Leaving Dutch New Guinea and proceeding further to the East we come to the Victor Emmanuel and the Sir Arthur Gordon Ranges, which lie near the boundary of German and British New Guinea. Still further East is the Bismarck Range, often snow covered, and extending24 through the long Eastern prolongation of the island are the great range of the Owen Stanley Mountains, which reach their highest point in Mount Victoria (13,150 feet), and the Stirling Range.
Leaving Dutch New Guinea and moving further east, we arrive at the Victor Emmanuel and Sir Arthur Gordon Ranges, which are close to the border of German and British New Guinea. Even further east is the Bismarck Range, which is often covered in snow, and stretching through the long eastern part of the island are the impressive Owen Stanley Mountains, peaking at Mount Victoria (13,150 feet), along with the Stirling Range.
As might be expected in so mountainous a country there is a large number of rivers and some of them are of great size. On the North coast the Kaiserin Augusta River rises in Dutch territory and takes an almost Easterly course through German New Guinea to the sea, while the Amberno (or Mamberamo) rises probably from the slopes of the Snowy Mountains and flows Northwards to Point d’Urville. On the South coast, in British New Guinea besides the Purari, Kikor and Turama Rivers, the most important is the Fly River, which has been explored by boat for a distance of more than five hundred miles. In Southern Dutch New Guinea there are almost countless rivers: chief among them are the Digoel, which has been explored for more than four hundred miles; the Island River, by which a Dutch expedition has recently reached the central watershed of New Guinea; the Noord River by which Mr. H. Lorentz approached Mount Wilhelmina; the Utakwa and the Utanata.
As you'd expect in such a mountainous country, there are many rivers, some of which are quite large. On the north coast, the Kaiserin Augusta River starts in Dutch territory and flows mostly eastward through German New Guinea to the sea, while the Amberno (or Mamberamo) likely originates from the slopes of the Snowy Mountains and flows north to Point d’Urville. On the south coast, in British New Guinea, the Purari, Kikor, and Turama Rivers are present, with the Fly River being the most significant; it has been navigated by boat for over five hundred miles. In southern Dutch New Guinea, there are nearly countless rivers, with the Digoel being the most notable, explored for over four hundred miles; the Island River, which a Dutch expedition recently used to reach the central watershed of New Guinea; the Noord River, which Mr. H. Lorentz took to approach Mount Wilhelmina; as well as the Utakwa and the Utanata.
The natives of New Guinea are Papuans and the island is indeed the centre of that race, which is found more or less mixed with other races from the island of Flores as far as Fiji. Though the Papuans in New Guinea itself have been in many places altered by immigrant races, for instance by Malays in the extreme West, and by Polynesian and Melanesian influences in the South and East, there yet remain large regions,25 particularly in the Western half of the country, including the district visited by this expedition, where the true Papuan stock holds its own.
The people of New Guinea are Papuans, and the island is essentially the center of that ethnicity, which can also be found mixed with other groups from the island of Flores all the way to Fiji. Although the Papuans in New Guinea have been influenced by immigrant populations in many areas—such as Malays in the far West and Polynesian and Melanesian cultures in the South and East—there are still extensive regions, 25 especially in the Western part of the country, including the area explored by this expedition, where the original Papuan heritage remains strong.
The name Papua, it should be said, comes from the Malay wood papuwah, meaning “woolly” or “fuzzy,” and was first applied to the natives on account of their mops of hair; later the name was applied to the island itself.
The name Papua comes from the Malay word papuwah, which means “woolly” or “fuzzy,” and it was initially used to describe the natives because of their bushy hair; later, the name referred to the island itself.
Even among those Papuans who are pure-blooded—in so far as one may use that expression in describing any human race—there are very considerable varieties of appearance, but it is still possible to describe a type to which all of them conform in the more important particulars. The typical Papuan is rather tall and is usually well-built. The legs of the low country people are somewhat meagre, as is usually the case among people who spend much of their time in canoes, whilst those of the hill tribes are well developed. The hands and feet are large. The colour of the skin varies from a dark chocolate colour to a rusty black, but it seems to be never of the shining ebony blackness of the African negro. The lips are thick but not full, the teeth are strong but not noticeably good, and the jaws are strong but they can hardly be called prognathous. The forehead is receding, the brows are strong and prominent, and the shape of the face is somewhat oval. The hair is black and “frizzly” rather than “woolly,” it is crisp and hard to the touch, and in some tribes it is grown to a considerable length and dressed in a variety of ornamental fashions. Short hard hair is also found frequently on the chest and on the limbs,26 but on the face it is scanty and frequently altogether absent.
Even among those Papuans who are pure-blooded—in the sense that the term can be applied to any human race—there are noticeable differences in appearance, but it’s still possible to describe a type that most of them fit into regarding the main features. The typical Papuan is fairly tall and usually well-built. The legs of people from lowland areas are somewhat skinny, which is common for those who spend a lot of time in canoes, while the hill tribes have well-developed legs. Their hands and feet are large. Skin color ranges from dark chocolate to rusty black, but it never reaches the shiny ebony blackness found in African individuals. The lips are thick but not overly full, the teeth are strong but not particularly attractive, and the jaws are robust, though they wouldn’t be described as protruding. The forehead is sloping, the eyebrows are strong and prominent, and the shape of the face is somewhat oval. The hair is black and “frizzy” rather than “woolly,” crisp to the touch, and in some tribes, it grows to a considerable length and styled in various decorative ways. Short, coarse hair is often found on the chest and limbs, but it’s sparse on the face and often completely absent. 26
The most characteristic feature is the nose, which is long and fleshy and somewhat “Semitic” in outline, but flattened and depressed at the tip. But these characteristics of the nose would not alone suffice to distinguish the Papuans from others were it not for the fact that the alae nasi are attached at a remarkably high level on the face, and so an unusually large extent of the septum of the nose is exposed. It is owing to this curious formation of the nose that the Papuan is enabled to perform his almost universal practice of piercing the septum nasi and wearing there some ornament of bone or shell.
The most distinctive feature is the nose, which is long, fleshy, and somewhat "Semitic" in shape, but flattened and depressed at the tip. However, these nose characteristics alone wouldn't be enough to separate the Papuans from others if it weren't for the fact that the alae nasi are attached at a surprisingly high point on the face, exposing a much larger portion of the septum of the nose. It is this unique nose structure that allows the Papuan to carry out the almost universal practice of piercing the septum nasi and wearing an ornament made of bone or shell there.
Apart from physical characteristics many observers have found mental qualities in which the Papuans differ from, and are superior to, neighbouring races; but these things are so difficult to define, and they vary so much according to local circumstances, that it is not wise to use them as conclusive evidence. It may, however, be said without fear of contradiction that no person, who has had experience of Malays and of Papuans, could believe for a moment that they are anything but two very distinct races of men. The origin of the Papuans is not definitely known, and the existence in different parts of the island of small people, who are possibly of Negrito stock, suggests that the Papuans were not the original inhabitants of New Guinea.
Aside from physical traits, many observers have noted mental qualities in which the Papuans differ from and excel over neighboring races; however, these qualities are hard to define and vary greatly depending on local conditions, making it unwise to treat them as definitive proof. That said, it can confidently be stated that no one with experience of both Malays and Papuans could believe for even a moment that they are anything other than two very distinct races of people. The exact origin of the Papuans remains unclear, and the presence of smaller people in various parts of the island, who may be of Negrito descent, suggests that the Papuans were not the original inhabitants of New Guinea.
The history of the earliest discovery of New Guinea27 is not precisely known, but it is safe to disregard the legends of navigators having found the island before the Portuguese reached the Moluccas and founded a trading centre at Ternate in 1512. The earliest authentic record is of the Portuguese Don Jorge de Meneses, who was driven out of his way on a voyage from Goa to Ternate in 1526, and took refuge in the island of Waigiu. Two years later a Spaniard Alvaro de Saavedra taking spices from the Moluccas to Mexico appears to have reached the Schouten Islands in Geelvink Bay. From there he sailed North and discovered the Carolines and the Mariana Islands, but unfavourable winds drove him back to the Moluccas. In 1529 he set out again, and sailed along a long expanse of coast, which was doubtless the North coast of New Guinea.
The history of the earliest discovery of New Guinea27 isn't precisely known, but it's safe to ignore the legends about navigators finding the island before the Portuguese reached the Moluccas and established a trading hub in Ternate in 1512. The earliest verified record is of the Portuguese Don Jorge de Meneses, who got lost on a voyage from Goa to Ternate in 1526 and sought refuge on the island of Waigiu. Two years later, a Spaniard named Alvaro de Saavedra, while transporting spices from the Moluccas to Mexico, seems to have reached the Schouten Islands in Geelvink Bay. From there, he sailed north and discovered the Carolines and the Mariana Islands, but unfavorable winds pushed him back to the Moluccas. In 1529, he set out again and sailed along what was likely the north coast of New Guinea.
In 1546 Ynigo Ortiz de Retes sailed from Ternate to Mexico in his ship San Juan. He touched at several places on the North coast where he hoisted the Spanish flag, and called the island Nueva Guinea, because the natives appeared to him to resemble the negroes of the Guinea coast of Africa. The name, spelt Nova Guinea, appears printed for the first time on Mercator’s map of 1569.
In 1546, Ynigo Ortiz de Retes sailed from Ternate to Mexico on his ship San Juan. He stopped at several locations on the North coast, where he raised the Spanish flag and named the island Nueva Guinea, because the locals reminded him of the black people from the Guinea coast of Africa. The name, spelled Nova Guinea, first appeared in print on Mercator’s map from 1569.
The last important Spanish Expedition was that of Luis Vaz de Torres, who sailed with two ships from Peru, and in 1606 reached the south-east corner of New Guinea. He sailed along the South coast from one to the other end of the island, of which he took possession in the name of the King of Spain. Torres’ voyage through the strait which now bears his name was the first to show that New Guinea was an island,28 but the account of the voyage was not published and the fact of his discovery remained unknown until after 1800.
The last major Spanish expedition was led by Luis Vaz de Torres, who set sail with two ships from Peru and reached the southeast corner of New Guinea in 1606. He traveled along the south coast from one end of the island to the other, claiming it for the King of Spain. Torres’ journey through the strait that now bears his name was the first to prove that New Guinea was an island,28 but his account of the voyage wasn’t published, and his discovery remained unknown until after 1800.
The seventeenth century was chiefly notable for the explorations of the Dutch, whose East India Company proclaimed a monopoly of trade in the Spice Islands to the exclusion of people of other nationalities. In 1605, Willem Jansz sailed from Banda to New Guinea in the Duyfken. The Ké and Aru Islands were visited and the Cape York Peninsula of Australia was reached, but the importance of that discovery was not realised. On the mainland of New Guinea nine men of the ship’s company were killed and eaten, and the expedition returned to Banda.
The seventeenth century was mainly marked by the explorations of the Dutch, whose East India Company established a monopoly on trade in the Spice Islands, shutting out people from other nations. In 1605, Willem Jansz sailed from Banda to New Guinea on the Duyfken. The Ké and Aru Islands were explored, and they reached the Cape York Peninsula in Australia, but the significance of that discovery wasn't recognized at the time. On the mainland of New Guinea, nine crew members were killed and eaten, and the expedition headed back to Banda.
Jacques Le Maire and Willem Schouten made an important voyage in 1616 in the Eendracht. Sailing from Europe by way of Cape Horn they crossed the Pacific and discovered New Ireland, where they had trouble with the natives, who (it is interesting to note) gave them pigs in exchange for glass beads. The Admiralty and Vulcan Islands were seen and then, after reaching the coast of New Guinea, they discovered the mouth of the Kaiserin Augusta River and the Schouten Islands.
Jacques Le Maire and Willem Schouten embarked on a significant voyage in 1616 aboard the Eendracht. They sailed from Europe around Cape Horn, crossed the Pacific, and discovered New Ireland, where they faced issues with the locals, who, interestingly, traded them pigs for glass beads. They spotted the Admiralty and Vulcan Islands and then, after arriving at the coast of New Guinea, found the mouth of the Kaiserin Augusta River and the Schouten Islands.
The next important voyage, and in this chronicle the most important of all, was that of Jan Carstensz (or Carstenszoon) who sailed from Amboina in 1623 with the ships Pera and Arnhem. After visiting Ké and Aru they reached the S.W. coast of New Guinea, where they met with trouble. “This same day (February 11) the skipper of the yacht Arnhem, Dirck29 Meliszoon, without knowledge of myself or the sub-cargo or steersman of the said yacht, unadvisedly went ashore to the open beach in the pinnace, taking with him fifteen persons, both officers and common sailors, and no more than four muskets, for the purpose of fishing with a seine-net. There was great disorder in landing, the men running off in different directions, until at last a number of black savages came running forth from the wood, who first seized and tore to pieces an assistant named Jan Willemsz Van den Briel who happened to be unarmed, after which they slew with arrows, callaways, and with the oars which they had snatched from the pinnace, no less than nine of our men, who were unable to defend themselves, at the same time wounding the remaining seven (among them the skipper, who was the first to take to his heels); these last seven men at last returned on board in very sorry plight with the pinnace and one oar, the skipper loudly lamenting his great want of prudence, and entreating pardon for the fault he had committed.”
The next significant voyage, and in this account, the most crucial of all, was that of Jan Carstensz (or Carstenszoon) who set sail from Amboina in 1623 with the ships Pera and Arnhem. After stopping at Ké and Aru, they reached the southwest coast of New Guinea, where they encountered difficulties. “On this same day (February 11), the captain of the yacht Arnhem, Dirck29 Meliszoon, without my knowledge or that of the sub-cargo or helmsman of the yacht, recklessly went ashore to the open beach in the small boat, bringing along fifteen people, including officers and ordinary sailors, and only four muskets, intending to fish with a seine-net. There was chaos during the landing, with the men scattering in different directions, until a group of native people rushed out from the woods. They first attacked and killed an assistant named Jan Willemsz Van den Briel, who was unarmed, and then they killed nine of our men with arrows, clubs, and the oars they grabbed from the small boat—those men couldn’t defend themselves. At the same time, they wounded the remaining seven (including the captain, who was the first to flee); these last seven finally returned on board in terrible condition with the small boat and one oar, the captain loudly regretting his lack of caution and begging for forgiveness for the mistake he had made.”
The incautious skipper died of his wounds on the following day and so he did not take a part in the most momentous discovery of the voyage. “In the morning of the 16th (February) we took the sun’s altitude at sunrise, which we found to be 5° 6´; the preceding evening ditto 20° 30´; the difference being divided by two comes to 7° 42´; increasing North-easterly variation; the wind N. by E.; we were at about one and a half mile’s distance from the low-lying land in 5 or 6 fathom, clayey bottom; at a distance30 of about 10 miles by estimation into the interior we saw a very high mountain range in many places white with snow, which we thought a very singular sight, being so near the line equinoctial. Towards the evening we held our course E. by S., along half-submerged land in 5, 4, 3, and 2 fathom, at which last point we dropped anchor; we lay there for about five hours, during which time we found the water to have risen 4 or 5 feet; in the first watch, the wind being N.E., we ran into deeper water and came to anchor in 10 fathom, where we remained for the night.”
The careless captain died from his injuries the next day, so he didn’t take part in the most significant discovery of the voyage. “On the morning of the 16th (February), we measured the sun’s altitude at sunrise and found it to be 5° 6´; the previous evening it was 20° 30´; the difference, divided by two, gives us 7° 42´; showing increasing North-easterly variation; the wind was N. by E.; we were about one and a half miles from the low-lying land in 5 or 6 fathoms, on a clayey bottom; about 10 miles inland, we spotted a very high mountain range, many parts capped with snow, which we thought was a remarkable sight, being so close to the equator. Towards evening, we continued our course E. by S., along partially submerged land in 5, 4, 3, and 2 fathoms, where we finally dropped anchor; we stayed there for about five hours, during which we noticed the water had risen 4 or 5 feet; during the first watch, with the wind from the N.E., we moved into deeper water and anchored at 10 fathoms, where we stayed for the night.”
That is the brief account of the first discovery of the Snow Mountains of New Guinea by Jan Carstensz, whose name is now perpetuated in the highest summit of the range. Very few ships have sailed along that coast in three hundred years, and there are very many days in the year when not a sign of the mountains can be seen from the shore, so it is not very astonishing to find ships’ captains sailing on those seas who still disbelieve the story of the snow. On the same voyage Carstensz crossed the straits and sailed a considerable way down the Cape York Peninsula believing that the land was still New Guinea.
That’s a quick overview of the first discovery of the Snow Mountains of New Guinea by Jan Carstensz, whose name is now honored in the highest peak of the range. Very few ships have sailed along that coast in three hundred years, and there are many days throughout the year when the mountains are not visible from the shore, so it’s not surprising to find ship captains navigating those waters who still doubt the story of the snow. On the same journey, Carstensz crossed the straits and sailed quite a distance down the Cape York Peninsula, thinking that the land was still part of New Guinea.
In 1636 Thomas Pool explored a large tract of the S.W. coast; Pool himself was killed by natives, but the expedition discovered three large rivers, the Kupera Pukwa, Inabuka (? Neweripa), and the Utakwa. Tasman sailed along the North coast of New Guinea in 1642 after his discovery of Van Diemen’s Land (Tasmania); and in 1644 he was sent to find out whether there was31 a passage between New Guinea and the large “South Land” (Australia). Apparently he cruised along the coast about as far as Merauke, and also touched Australia, but the strait was not discovered.
In 1636, Thomas Pool explored a large area of the southwest coast. Pool himself was killed by locals, but the expedition found three major rivers: the Kupera Pukwa, Inabuka (? Neweripa), and the Utakwa. Tasman sailed along the north coast of New Guinea in 1642 after discovering Van Diemen’s Land (Tasmania); and in 1644, he was sent to investigate whether there was31 a passage between New Guinea and the large “South Land” (Australia). He apparently cruised along the coast as far as Merauke and also reached Australia, but the strait was never discovered.
Throughout the seventeenth century the Dutch East India Company maintained their monopoly of the cloves and nutmegs of the Moluccas, and great consternation was caused when the English tried to obtain these spices direct by sending ships to the Papuan islands. The Moluccas were protected by forts and their harbours safe, therefore in order to prevent the English from obtaining the spices outside the sphere of direct Dutch influence, all trees producing spices were destroyed.
Throughout the seventeenth century, the Dutch East India Company kept their monopoly on cloves and nutmeg from the Moluccas, and panic set in when the English attempted to get these spices directly by sending ships to the Papuan islands. The Moluccas were defended by forts and had secure harbors, so to stop the English from getting the spices outside of direct Dutch control, all the spice-producing trees were destroyed.
The most important of the English voyages was that of Capt. William Dampier in the Roebuck. He sailed by Brazil and the Cape of Good Hope to Western Australia and thence to Timor. On January 1, 1700, he sighted the mountains of New Guinea; he landed on several islands near the coast, captured Crowned pigeons and many kinds of fishes, which he described in his book. Rounding the N.W. corner of the island he sailed along the North coast and discovered that New Britain was separated from New Guinea by a strait to which he gave his own name.
The most significant of the English voyages was that of Captain William Dampier on the Roebuck. He traveled past Brazil and the Cape of Good Hope to Western Australia and then on to Timor. On January 1, 1700, he spotted the mountains of New Guinea; he landed on several islands near the coast, capturing crowned pigeons and various types of fish, which he detailed in his book. After rounding the northwest corner of the island, he sailed along the northern coast and discovered that New Britain was separated from New Guinea by a strait that he named after himself.
After the voyages of Philip Carteret, who proved that New Ireland is an island, and of de Bougainville in 1766 the most important is that of Captain James Cook in the Endeavour. He sailed from Plymouth in August 1768, rounded Cape Horn, reached and charted New Zealand, reached the East coast of New Holland (Australia) in April 1770, and sailed along the coast to32 Cape York, which he named. Looking Westward he decided that there was a channel leading from the Pacific to the Indian Ocean, and after sailing through it he came to the coast of New Guinea to the N.W. of Prince Frederick Henry Island, where he was attacked by natives and thence he sailed to Batavia. Thus Captain Cook by sailing through his Endeavour Strait, now called Torres Strait after the original navigator, repeated the discovery of Torres after an interval of more than a century and a half, and the general position and outline of New Guinea became known to the world.
After the journeys of Philip Carteret, who demonstrated that New Ireland is an island, and de Bougainville in 1766, the most significant voyage was that of Captain James Cook on the Endeavour. He departed from Plymouth in August 1768, rounded Cape Horn, reached and mapped New Zealand, arrived at the East coast of New Holland (Australia) in April 1770, and sailed along the coast to 32 Cape York, which he named. Looking west, he concluded that there was a channel connecting the Pacific to the Indian Ocean, and after navigating through it, he reached the coast of New Guinea to the northwest of Prince Frederick Henry Island, where he was attacked by locals before continuing to Batavia. By sailing through what is now known as Torres Strait, named after the original navigator, Captain Cook effectively repeated Torres's discovery after more than a century and a half, and the general location and outline of New Guinea became known to the world.
After the voyage of Cook many important additions were made to the charts of New Guinea and its neighbouring islands, notably by the voyages of La Perouse (1788), John MacCluer (1790-1793), D’Entrecasteaux (1792-1793), Duperrey (1823-1824), D. H. Kolff (1826), and Dumont d’Urville (1827-1828).
After Cook's voyage, many important updates were made to the maps of New Guinea and its nearby islands, especially by the voyages of La Perouse (1788), John MacCluer (1790-1793), D’Entrecasteaux (1792-1793), Duperrey (1823-1824), D. H. Kolff (1826), and Dumont d’Urville (1827-1828).
But during all this time New Guinea was practically no man’s land, and except at Dorei and about the MacCluer Gulf explorations were limited to views from the deck of a ship. Flags were hoisted now and then and the land taken possession of in the name of various sovereigns and companies, amongst others by the East India Company in 1793, but no effective occupation was ever made. The Dutch regained their title to the Western half of the island, but it was not until 1884 that a British Protectorate was proclaimed over the S.E. portion of the island, and over the remainder by Germany in the same year.
But during all this time, New Guinea was basically unclaimed territory, and except for Dorei and the area around the MacCluer Gulf, explorations were mostly just views from a ship's deck. Flags were occasionally raised, and land was claimed in the name of various rulers and companies, including the East India Company in 1793, but no real occupation ever occurred. The Dutch regained control of the western half of the island, but it wasn't until 1884 that a British Protectorate was declared over the southeastern part of the island, with Germany claiming the rest in the same year.
Although numerous naturalists, notably Dr. A. R.33 Wallace, Von Rosenberg, and Bernstein, and missionaries had spent considerable periods of time in the country, no very serious attempt was made to penetrate into the interior until 1876, when the Italian naturalist, d’Albertis, explored the Fly River for more than five hundred miles. Since that time a very large number of expeditions have been undertaken to various parts of the island, and it will only be possible to mention a few of them here. In 1885 Captain Everill ascended the Strickland tributary of the Fly River. In the same year Dr. H. O. Forbes explored the Owen Stanley range, and in 1889 Sir William Macgregor reached the highest point of that range.
Although many naturalists, including Dr. A. R. Wallace, Von Rosenberg, and Bernstein, along with missionaries, had spent a significant amount of time in the country, no serious attempts were made to explore the interior until 1876, when the Italian naturalist d’Albertis traveled over five hundred miles up the Fly River. Since then, numerous expeditions have been launched to different parts of the island, and I can only mention a few here. In 1885, Captain Everill navigated the Strickland tributary of the Fly River. That same year, Dr. H. O. Forbes explored the Owen Stanley range, and in 1889, Sir William Macgregor reached the highest point of that range.
In Dutch New Guinea very little exploration was done until the beginning of the present century. Professor Wichmann made scientific investigations in the neighbourhood of Humboldt Bay in 1903. Captains Posthumus Meyes and De Rochemont in 1904 discovered East Bay and the Noord River, which was explored by Mr. H. A. Lorentz in 1907.
In Dutch New Guinea, there was very little exploration until the start of this century. Professor Wichmann conducted scientific research near Humboldt Bay in 1903. In 1904, Captains Posthumus Meyes and De Rochemont discovered East Bay and the Noord River, which was explored by Mr. H. A. Lorentz in 1907.
During the period from 1909 to 1911, whilst our party was in New Guinea, there were six other expeditions in different parts of the Dutch territory. On the N. coast a Dutch-German boundary commission was penetrating inland from Humboldt Bay, and a large party under Capt. Fransse Herderschee was exploring the Amberno River. On the West and South coasts an expedition was exploring inland from Fak-fak, another was surveying the Digoel and Island rivers, and a third made an attempt to reach the Snow Mountains by way of the Utakwa River. But the most successful of34 all the expeditions was that of Mr. Lorentz, who sailed up the Noord River and in November 1909 reached the snow on Mount Wilhelmina, two hundred and eighty-six years after the mountains were first seen by Jan Carstensz.
During the time from 1909 to 1911, while our group was in New Guinea, six other expeditions were taking place in various parts of the Dutch territory. On the north coast, a Dutch-German boundary commission was moving inland from Humboldt Bay, and a large group led by Capt. Fransse Herderschee was exploring the Amberno River. On the west and south coasts, one expedition was investigating inland from Fak-fak, another was surveying the Digoel and Island rivers, and a third attempted to reach the Snow Mountains via the Utakwa River. However, the most successful of34 all the expeditions was that of Mr. Lorentz, who sailed up the Noord River and, in November 1909, reached the snow on Mount Wilhelmina, two hundred and eighty-six years after Jan Carstensz first saw the mountains.
CHAPTER IV
Sail from the Aru Islands—Sight New Guinea—Distant Mountains—Signal Fires—Natives in Canoes—A British Flag—Natives on Board—Their Behaviour—Arrival at Mimika River—Reception at Wakatimi—Dancing and Weeping—Landing Stores—View of the Country—Snow Mountains—Shark-Fishing—Making the Camp—Death of W. Stalker.
Sailing from the Aru Islands—Seeing New Guinea—Distant mountains—Signal fires—Local people in canoes—A British flag—Locals on board—Their behavior—Arrival at the Mimika River—Warm welcome at Wakatimi—Dancing and weeping—Unloading supplies—View of the land—Snow-capped mountains—Shark fishing—Setting up camp—Death of W. Stalker.
When we left the northernmost end of the Aru Islands behind us the wind rose and torrents of rain descended, and the Arafura Sea, which is almost everywhere more or less shoal water, treated us to the first foul weather we had experienced since leaving England. At dawn on the 4th January we found ourselves in sight of land, and about five miles south of the New Guinea coast. A big bluff mountain (Mount Lakahia) a southern spur of the Charles Louis range determined our position, and the head of the Nias was immediately turned to the East. As we steamed along the coast the light grew stronger, and we saw in the far North-east pale clouds, which presently resolved themselves into ghostly-looking mountains one hundred miles away. Soon the rising sunlight touched them and we could clearly see white patches above the darker masses of rock and then we knew that these were the Snow Mountains of New Guinea, which we had come so far to see. Beyond an impression of their remoteness and their extraordinary steepness we did not learn much of the formation of the mountains from that great distance and they were36 quickly hidden from our view, as we afterwards found happened daily, by the dense white mists that rose from the intervening land.
When we left the northernmost part of the Aru Islands behind, the wind picked up and heavy rain started pouring down. The Arafura Sea, which is mostly shallow everywhere, brought us the first bad weather we had faced since leaving England. At dawn on January 4th, we spotted land about five miles south of the New Guinea coast. A prominent mountain (Mount Lakahia), a southern extension of the Charles Louis range, indicated our position, and we turned the bow of the Nias eastward. As we cruised along the coast, the light grew stronger, and we noticed pale clouds in the far northeast that soon turned into ghostly-looking mountains a hundred miles away. The rising sunlight soon illuminated them, revealing white patches above the darker rock formations, and we realized these were the Snow Mountains of New Guinea, which we had traveled so far to see. From that great distance, we couldn’t learn much about the mountains' formation other than their remoteness and extraordinary steepness, and they were36 quickly obscured from our view, as we later found happened daily, by the thick white mist that rose from the land in between.
Following the coast rather more closely we soon found that our approach was causing some excitement on shore. White columns of the smoke of signal fires curled up from the low points of the land and canoes manned by black figures paddled furiously in our wake, while others, warned doubtless by the signals, put off from the land ahead of us and endeavoured to intercept us in our course.
Following the coast more closely, we quickly realized that our arrival was stirring up some excitement on shore. White columns of smoke from signal fires curled up from the low areas of land, and canoes manned by Black figures paddled furiously behind us. Meanwhile, others, likely alerted by the signals, set off from the land ahead and tried to intercept us on our path.
In some of the larger canoes there were as many as twenty men, and very fine indeed they looked standing up in the long narrow craft which they urged swiftly forward with powerful rhythmic strokes of their long-shafted paddles. At the beginning of each stroke the blade of the paddle is at right angles to the boat. As it is pulled backward the propelling surface of the paddle is a little rotated outward, a useful precaution, for the stroke ends with a sudden jerk as the paddle is lifted from the water and the consequent shower of spray is directed away from the canoe.
In some of the larger canoes, there were as many as twenty men, and they looked really impressive standing up in the long, narrow boats as they propelled themselves forward with strong, rhythmic strokes of their long paddles. At the start of each stroke, the blade of the paddle is perpendicular to the boat. As it’s pulled back, the paddle’s surface rotates slightly outward, which is a smart move, because the stroke finishes with a quick lift from the water, sending a splash of spray away from the canoe.
1. 2. 3. Carved Wooden Clubs. 4-10. Stone Clubs.
1. 2. 3. Carved Wooden Clubs. 4-10. Stone Clubs.
The shore was low and featureless, and it was impossible to identify the mouths of the rivers from the very inaccurate chart. It was not safe for the Nias to approach the land closely on account of the shoal water, so Capt. Van Herwerden dropped anchor when he had been steaming Eastwards for about eight hours, and sent the steam launch towards an inlet, where we could see huts, to gather information. A bar of sand prevented the launch from entering the 37 inlet, so they hailed a canoe which ventured within speaking distance, and by repeating several times “Mimika,” the only word of their language that we knew at that time, learnt that we had overshot our destination by a few miles. That canoe, it should be noted, was remarkable on account of two of its crew. One of them held aloft an ancient Union Jack; the other was conspicuously different from the scores of men in the canoes about us, who were all frankly in a bare undress, by wearing an old white cotton jacket fastened by a brass button which was ornamented with the head of Queen Victoria. How the flag and the coat and the button came to that outlandish place will never be known, but it is certain that they must have passed through very many hands before they came there, for certainly no Englishman had ever been there before.
The shore was flat and unremarkable, and it was impossible to pinpoint the river mouths on the very inaccurate map. It wasn't safe for the Nias to get too close to the shore because of the shallow waters, so Captain Van Herwerden dropped anchor after about eight hours of heading east and sent the steam launch to an inlet where we could see some huts to gather information. A sandbar blocked the launch from getting into the 37 inlet, so they called over a canoe that got within speaking distance, and by repeating “Mimika,” the only word in their language we knew at that time, they learned that we had passed our destination by a few miles. It's worth noting that the canoe was remarkable because of two of its crewmembers. One was holding up an old Union Jack; the other stood out from the many men in canoes around us, who were all dressed minimally, by wearing an old white cotton jacket secured with a brass button featuring the head of Queen Victoria. How the flag, coat, and button ended up in that remote place will always remain a mystery, but it’s clear that they must have changed hands many times before arriving there, as certainly no Englishman had ever been there before.
When the launch returned to the ship a crowd of natives, fifty or sixty at the least, came clambering on board leaving only one or two men in each canoe to paddle after the steamer as we slowly returned towards the Mimika. Two men were recognised by Capt. Van Herwerden as having belonged to a party of natives from this coast, who had been taken some years earlier to Merauke, the Dutch settlement near the southernmost point of New Guinea. At Merauke they had got into mischief and had been put in prison from which nine of them escaped, and these two men, probably the only survivors of the party, had contrived to find their way along four hundred miles of coast, peopled by hostile tribes, back to their own country.
When the launch returned to the ship, a crowd of locals, at least fifty or sixty, scrambled on board, leaving just one or two men in each canoe to paddle after the steamer as we slowly made our way back to the Mimika. Capt. Van Herwerden recognized two men from a group of natives from this coast who had been taken years earlier to Merauke, the Dutch settlement near the southern tip of New Guinea. At Merauke, they had gotten into trouble and had been imprisoned, from which nine of them escaped. These two men, likely the only survivors of the group, had managed to navigate along four hundred miles of coastline inhabited by hostile tribes back to their homeland.
The behaviour of our new fellow passengers was very38 remarkable and different from what one expected, though it was obvious enough at the first glance that these were people totally different from the Malayan races both in appearance and demeanour; yet there was none of that exuberance of spirits, child-like curiosity and exhibition of merriment and delight in their novel surroundings described by Wallace3 and Guillemard4 and which I had myself seen on the coast of German New Guinea. A few of them shook hands, or rather held hands, with us and talked loudly and volubly, while the rest stared dumbly at us and then wandered aimlessly about the ship seeking a chance to steal any loose piece of metal. They showed no fear nor did they betray any excitement nor any very keen curiosity about the marvellous things that they were seeing for the first time. They were quite unmoved by the spectacle of the windlass lifting up the anchor, and a casual glance down the skylight of the engine room was enough for most of them. They appeared to take everything for granted without question, and a stolid stare was their only recognition of the wonderful works of the white man’s civilisation. In one respect it is true they were not quite so apathetic and that was in their appetite for tobacco, which they begged from everyone on board, brown and white alike. When they had obtained a supply, they sat in groups about the deck and smoked as unconcernedly as though a passage in a steamship were an affair of every-day occurrence in their lives.
The behavior of our new fellow passengers was quite38 remarkable and different from what one would expect. It was clear at first glance that these people were entirely different from the Malay races, both in looks and manner; but there was none of the exuberance, child-like curiosity, and display of joy in their new surroundings described by Wallace3 and Guillemard4, which I had also witnessed on the coast of German New Guinea. A few of them shook hands, or rather held hands, with us and talked loudly and energetically, while the rest stared at us in silence and then wandered aimlessly around the ship looking for any loose pieces of metal to steal. They showed no fear, excitement, or strong curiosity about the amazing things they were seeing for the first time. They seemed completely unfazed by the sight of the windlass raising the anchor, and a quick glance down the skylight of the engine room was enough for most of them. They accepted everything without question, and a blank stare was their only acknowledgment of the impressive achievements of white civilization. In one way, it’s true they weren’t entirely apathetic, and that was in their craving for tobacco, which they begged from everyone on board, both brown and white alike. Once they got some, they gathered in groups on the deck and smoked as if traveling on a steamship was a regular occurrence in their lives.
By the time that we eventually anchored off the mouth of the Mimika River it was beginning to grow dark, and Capt. Van Herwerden ordered the natives on board to leave the ship, not having noticed that the canoes had already departed towards the shore. No doubt this was a preconcerted scheme of the natives who wanted to stay on board, but by dint of much shouting two canoes were persuaded to return and take away some of our passengers. It was then quite dark and there was a white mist over the sea, and the spectacle of the procession of black figures passing down the gangway into an apparent abyss, for the canoes were invisible in the gloom, was singularly weird. There was not room for all in the canoes, so about a score of fortunate ones had to stop on board, where they slept in picturesque attitudes about the deck. Five young men chose a place where the iron cover of the steering chain made a pillow a few inches high; they lay on their sides all facing the same way, their arms folded across their chests and their bent knees fitting into the bend of the knees of the man in front, and so close together that the five of them occupied a space hardly more than five feet square.
By the time we finally anchored off the mouth of the Mimika River, it was getting dark, and Capt. Van Herwerden ordered the locals on board to leave the ship, not realizing that the canoes had already headed to shore. This was probably a planned scheme by the locals who wanted to stay on board, but after a lot of shouting, two canoes were convinced to return and take some of our passengers. It was completely dark then, and there was a white mist over the sea. The sight of the procession of dark figures walking down the gangway into what seemed like an endless void, as the canoes were invisible in the darkness, was particularly eerie. There wasn’t enough space for everyone in the canoes, so about twenty lucky ones had to remain on the ship, where they slept in interesting positions all over the deck. Five young men picked a spot where the iron cover of the steering chain served as a pillow just a few inches high; they lay on their sides all facing the same direction, their arms crossed over their chests and their bent knees fitting into the bend of the knees of the man in front, so closely packed that the five of them took up barely more than five feet square.
Soon after daylight on the following day the steam launch left the ship with a party to proceed up the Mimika and find a suitable place for a base-camp. The river has a fine wide mouth about a mile across guarded by a sand bar, through which runs a narrow channel navigable at all stages of the tide except during rough weather. For some distance the river is a noble stream two or three hundred yards wide winding in fine sweeps40 between low mangrove-covered banks. About three miles from the sea the river divides into an East and West branch. The East branch, the Mimika proper, brings down not more than one-quarter of the volume of water of the West branch, of which it may be said to be a tributary. It is remarkable that the party who visited the Mimika in 1902 apparently overlooked the fact that the West branch is actually the main river. Above the junction of the two branches the water of the Mimika is of a brown chocolate colour which proclaims it, though we did not know it at the time, to be a mere jungle stream rising from comparatively low ground. The water of the West branch on the contrary is pale in colour and at times of flood almost milky-white, being charged with lime-stone from the high mountains where it rises.
Soon after dawn the next day, the steam launch left the ship with a group to head up the Mimika River and find a good spot for a base camp. The river has a wide mouth about a mile across, protected by a sandbar, with a narrow channel that’s navigable at all tides except during rough weather. For quite a stretch, the river is a beautiful stream two to three hundred yards wide, winding gracefully between low banks covered in mangroves. About three miles from the sea, the river splits into an East and West branch. The East branch, known as the Mimika proper, carries only about a quarter of the water volume of the West branch, which could be considered its tributary. It's surprising that the group who visited the Mimika in 1902 seemingly missed the fact that the West branch is actually the main river. Above where the two branches meet, the water of the Mimika is a brown chocolate color, signaling that it is just a jungle stream originating from relatively low ground. In contrast, the West branch has pale-colored water that can appear almost milky-white at times of flood, filled with limestone from the high mountains where it begins.
Proceeding for two or three miles up the Mimika, which had become above the junction a comparatively insignificant stream forty or fifty yards across and very tortuous, the exploring party in the steam launch arrived at the village of Wakatimi situated on the right bank of the river. The village was crowded with natives, numbering perhaps one thousand people, who gave the visitors a most remarkable reception. As soon as the boat appeared in sight the natives crowded down to the bank and shouted shrilly, men, women and children. When they came nearer the people threw themselves into the shallow water and many of them plastered themselves with mud, while the women performed their curious dance, if dance it can be called. It is not a concerted performance,41 but rather a pas seul executed by each woman independently of the others, and it is a peculiarly ungraceful exhibition. The body is bent forward from the hips, the hands rest on the knees or on the hips, and then with a shuffling movement of the feet the woman swings herself from side to side or up and down, always presenting her back and the narrow strip of barkcloth, which usually hangs down like a tail behind, to the astonished gaze of the spectator. She sings all the while a monotonous whining chant and occasionally looks back over her shoulder, as if to see that the onlooker is properly appreciative of her charms. Many of the people both men and women on this and other occasions of great excitement were so overcome with emotion that they actually shed tears of rapture.5 For many days after this boats were constantly coming up the river from the ship, and they were always welcomed in a similar manner by the natives.
Proceeding for two or three miles up the Mimika, which had become, above the junction, a relatively insignificant stream about forty or fifty yards wide and very winding, the exploring party in the steam launch arrived at the village of Wakatimi located on the right bank of the river. The village was filled with locals, numbering around a thousand people, who gave the visitors an extraordinary welcome. As soon as the boat came into view, the natives rushed to the bank and shouted excitedly, men, women, and children. When the boat got closer, many of them jumped into the shallow water and covered themselves in mud, while the women engaged in their strange dance, if it could be called that. It wasn't a coordinated performance, but rather a solo act by each woman separately, and it was quite an awkward display. The body leaned forward from the hips, with hands resting on the knees or hips, and then, by shuffling their feet, the women swayed from side to side or up and down, always showing their backs and the narrow strip of bark cloth that usually hung down like a tail behind them to the astonished spectators. They sang a monotonous, whining chant the whole time and occasionally glanced back over their shoulders, as if to ensure that the onlookers appreciated their performance. Many people, both men and women, during these emotionally charged moments, were so moved that they actually shed tears of joy. For many days after this, boats consistently traveled up the river from the ship, and the natives always welcomed them in a similar fashion.
The river was explored for a few miles further up, but the only suitable place for a camp was found to be on the left bank of the river immediately opposite to Wakatimi. Lieut. Cramer and a party of his soldiers established themselves there the same afternoon and the work of clearing the ground and landing the stores was immediately begun. The Nias was anchored about two miles outside the river and the 42launch went very slowly when it had two or three heavily laden boats to tow against the strong current of the river, so the business of landing the expedition was a very slow one, and as there was at first but very little space for pitching tents on the camping ground some of us remained for a few days on board. During those days that were spent on the ship outside the Mimika we had opportunities in the early morning of getting a general idea of the broad features of the country.
The river was explored for a few more miles upstream, but the only suitable spot for a campsite was found on the left bank, directly across from Wakatimi. Lieutenant Cramer and a group of his soldiers set up camp there the same afternoon, and they immediately began clearing the ground and unloading supplies. The Nias was anchored about two miles outside the river, and the 42launch moved very slowly when it had two or three heavily loaded boats to tow against the strong current, making the unloading of the expedition quite slow. Initially, there wasn’t much space for pitching tents at the campsite, so some of us stayed on board for a few days. During those days spent on the ship outside the Mimika, we had opportunities in the early morning to get a general sense of the country’s broad features.
At the top of the white sandy beach was in most places a narrow belt of Casuarina trees, which are accustomed to grow on sandy or stony soil. They resemble pines and their pale stems have a fresh green foliage, which is a pleasing contrast to the dense monotonous green of the majority of the trees in the country. Behind the Casuarina belt dense jungle, for the first few miles consisting entirely of Mangroves and beyond that of various trees, extends with hardly any rise of altitude to the foot of the mountains thirty miles away. This last observation was one of supreme importance and it affected the whole prospect and conduct of the expedition. Those of us who had been to New Guinea before had been accustomed to seeing a steep shore rising very quickly to the hills. This is the usual formation along practically the whole of the North coast of the island, also along a considerable extent of the South-east coast and again on the West coast in the neighbourhood of MacCluer Gulf. It was known of course that the South coast on both sides of the mouth of the Fly River and about Prince43 Frederick Henry Island was low swampy country, but it was assumed that, considering the fact that the highest peaks of the Snow Mountains were known to be not more than seventy miles from the sea, the foothills would certainly extend to within a short distance of the coast.
At the top of the white sandy beach, there was mostly a narrow strip of Casuarina trees, which typically grow on sandy or rocky soil. They look like pines, and their light-colored trunks have fresh green leaves, which provide a nice contrast to the dense, uniform green of most of the trees in the area. Behind the Casuarina strip, dense jungle spreads out, initially made up entirely of Mangroves, and further back, various trees continue with hardly any elevation change until reaching the foot of the mountains thirty miles away. This last observation was extremely important and influenced the entire outlook and actions of the expedition. Those of us who had been to New Guinea before were used to seeing a steep shoreline that quickly rises to the hills. This is typically the case along almost the entire northern coast of the island, as well as along a significant stretch of the southeastern coast and in the vicinity of MacCluer Gulf on the western coast. It was known, of course, that the southern coast on both sides of the mouth of the Fly River and around Prince43 Frederick Henry Island was low, swampy land, but it was assumed that, considering the fact that the tallest peaks of the Snow Mountains were only about seventy miles from the sea, the foothills would definitely extend close to the coast.
Before we had reached the country we had had the idea that in a few days’ march we should find ourselves in the hills at perhaps three or four thousand feet above the sea, but the view of the country which we saw from the Nias effectually put an end to any hopes of that kind. It is probable that more searching enquiries made at Batavia would have revealed the existence of this wide belt of low land, but it seldom occurs to you to question the truth of such an assumption. However that may be, a serious mistake was made and we paid for it dearly enough. The mountains appeared to rise very steeply from the low ground, and seen from a distance they appeared to be composed of parallel ridges lying one behind the other, each one successively higher than the one in front of it. It was only in certain lights, and more particularly when the clouds began to form on them, that you could distinguish deep and narrow valleys running into the mountains. The nearer ranges rose steeply enough, but were not too steep to be covered with dense forest easily discernible from a distance. The furthermost ridge on the other hand rose in huge precipices of bare rock, which showed reddish yellow in the morning sunlight with here and there downward stripes of black colour, presumably water, and in other places44 streaks of pure white rock. This precipice, of which more will be said later, grew smaller towards the West until it ended at the deep valley, which divides the Snow Mountains from the range of the Charles Louis Mountains.
Before we reached the countryside, we thought that after a few days of walking, we’d find ourselves in the hills at maybe three or four thousand feet above sea level. However, the view of the land from the Nias completely dashed those hopes. It’s likely that if we had asked more questions in Batavia, we would have discovered this vast area of low land, but it doesn’t usually occur to you to question such an assumption. Nevertheless, a serious mistake was made, and we paid for it dearly. The mountains looked like they rose steeply from the low ground, and from a distance, they seemed to be made up of parallel ridges stacked behind one another, each higher than the last. Only in certain lights, especially when the clouds began to form on them, could you see the deep and narrow valleys cutting into the mountains. The closer ranges rose steeply but weren’t so steep that they couldn’t be covered with dense forests, which were easily visible from afar. The furthest ridge, on the other hand, rose into massive cliffs of bare rock, which looked reddish-yellow in the morning sunlight, with streaks of black, likely from water, and in other spots44 streaks of pure white rock. This cliff, which will be discussed further later, gradually got smaller toward the West until it ended at the deep valley that separates the Snow Mountains from the Charles Louis Mountains range.
In the opposite direction towards the East the range rises gradually, until at a point about North-east from the Mimika three snow-capped tops are seen. I use the word “top” advisedly, for these three points are not peaks but are elevations on an otherwise fairly even mountain outline. The vertical extent of the snow is not very great, a few hundred feet at the most, the South face of the mountain being so steep that snow cannot lie on it save on the horizontal terraces of the strata, which could plainly be distinguished. Continuing the ridge East from the three snow tops (Mount Idenburg) is a long plain of almost level snow about three miles long. From the East end of the snow plain a ridge of shattered rock, looking like Dolomite towers from that great distance, forms a connection with Mount Carstensz, the highest point of the range.
In the opposite direction to the East, the range rises gradually until, at a point about Northeast from the Mimika, three snow-capped peaks come into view. I use the term "peak" intentionally, as these three points are not true peaks but rather elevations on an otherwise fairly flat mountain outline. The vertical extent of the snow isn't very large, only a few hundred feet at most, with the South face of the mountain being so steep that snow can only settle on the horizontal terraces of the strata, which are clearly visible. Continuing the ridge East from the three snow tops (Mount Idenburg) is a long, nearly level snow plain that's about three miles long. At the East end of the snow plain, a ridge of broken rock, resembling Dolomite towers from that distance, connects with Mount Carstensz, the highest point of the range.
Seen from afar, Mount Carstensz appears to be of a different formation from the rest of the range. Mr. Dumas of the Dutch Expedition to the Utakwa River clearly identified masses of slate on the Southern face from a distance of twenty miles, and this would quite account for its different appearance. There are two principal tops, a Western black and irregular rock with scattered patches of snow, and an Eastern top more even in its outline and entirely covered with snow. Between the two a glacier of moderate size flows down45 the South face of the mountain. Still further East from Mount Carstensz could be seen yet other ridges, apparently a continuation of the Carstensz ridge. Occasionally these were covered with snow in the early morning, but no other points of permanent snow could be seen from the Mimika, and indeed there is no other until Mount Wilhelmina is reached more than one hundred miles to the East. But studying the mountains with field glasses was an occupation which could only be pursued for a short time, for the clouds formed early on the ridges and by nine o’clock at the latest all the higher mountains were hidden from view.
Seen from a distance, Mount Carstensz looks distinct from the rest of the mountain range. Mr. Dumas from the Dutch Expedition to the Utakwa River easily spotted large masses of slate on the southern face from twenty miles away, which explains its unique appearance. There are two main peaks: a western one that's dark and irregular with scattered snow patches, and an eastern peak that has a smoother outline and is completely covered in snow. Between them, a moderately sized glacier flows down the southern face of the mountain. Further east of Mount Carstensz, more ridges can be seen, seemingly a continuation of the Carstensz range. Sometimes these ridges were snow-covered in the early morning, but no other sites of permanent snow were visible from the Mimika, and in fact, the next major snow point is Mount Wilhelmina, over a hundred miles to the east. However, observing the mountains through binoculars was something that could only be done for a short time because clouds formed early on the ridges, and by nine o'clock at the latest, all the higher peaks were out of sight.
During the first two days that we lay off the Mimika we were visited by numbers of natives in canoes, who came some to trade and some merely to stare at the ship and the people on board. The articles that they brought for sale consisted chiefly of fish, coconuts and bananas of a very poor kind, though we afterwards came to regard these latter as a delicious luxury. They also brought a few young pigs, young cassowaries, and other birds and they received payment in beads, scraps of cloth, empty bottles and tins and pieces of metal. It is worth while to record, as showing the indolence of these people, that on the third day no natives came to visit us. Those who had before come to look at us had presumably satisfied their curiosity, while the others who had come to barter were content with the treasures they had won, although they might have added greatly to their wealth if they had had the energy to catch a few fish or pick a few more coconuts.
During the first two days we stayed off the Mimika, we were visited by many locals in canoes, some came to trade and others just to look at the ship and the people on board. The items they brought for sale were mainly fish, coconuts, and quite subpar bananas, although we later came to see those bananas as a special treat. They also brought a few young pigs, young cassowaries, and other birds, and they got paid with beads, bits of cloth, empty bottles and cans, and scraps of metal. It’s worth noting that on the third day, no locals came to see us. Those who had come to check us out probably satisfied their curiosity, while the others who had come to trade were happy with what they had gained, even though they could have increased their haul significantly if they had bothered to catch a few fish or gather some more coconuts.
Another occupation, which served to pass the time,46 was fishing for the sharks with which that shallow sea abounds. They are blunt-nosed animals with large dusky patches on the skin. It is very seldom that you see them at the surface of the water, and they appear to feed always at the bottom. The first that was caught was found to be full of fragments of large crabs. Nobody on board was found willing to eat the flesh, though it is probable that a few months afterwards they would have been less fastidious, so the fish was thrown overboard, and an hour or two later a second shark, a monster about twelve feet long, was hauled, on board, and on being opened it was found to be full of large undigested lumps of (presumably) the first.
Another way to pass the time46 was fishing for the sharks that are common in those shallow waters. They have blunt noses and large dark patches on their skin. It's rare to see them at the water's surface; they usually feed at the bottom. The first shark caught was full of pieces of large crabs. No one on board wanted to eat the meat, even though it's likely that a few months later they would have been less picky, so the fish was thrown back into the sea. A couple of hours later, a second shark, a huge one about twelve feet long, was pulled on board, and when it was opened up, it was found to be stuffed with large undigested lumps of (presumably) the first.
On January 8th those of us who had remained on the Nias left the ship and proceeded to Wakatimi, where we found that Lieut. Cramer and his men had already done an immense amount of work in clearing the ground for the camp. It appeared that the place chosen had been cleared of forest at some time, for there were no large trees growing on it, but it was covered with a dense jungle of shrubs and small trees, a foot or so in thickness and a tangle of creepers. Already in four days a strip along the river bank about eighty yards long and thirty yards wide had been cleared of bush, and as time went on the clearing was gradually extended until there were twenty acres or more of open ground about the camp.
On January 8th, those of us who stayed on the Nias left the ship and headed to Wakatimi, where we found that Lieutenant Cramer and his team had already accomplished a huge amount of work in clearing the land for the camp. It seemed that the area chosen had been cleared of forest at some point, as there were no large trees growing there, but it was covered with a thick jungle of shrubs and small trees, about a foot thick, along with a tangle of vines. In just four days, a strip along the riverbank about eighty yards long and thirty yards wide had been cleared of brush, and over time, the clearing gradually expanded until there were twenty acres or more of open ground around the camp.
During the first two or three days the natives, who had assembled in large numbers at the village of Wakatimi, helped a good deal in clearing the ground and landing the stores. When the steam launch towing47 the laden boats arrived at the camp they fell upon the boats in hordes and quickly carried everything up the steep mud bank, but this amusement palled upon them very soon, and they stood about doing nothing and hampered the men at their work of unpacking. Accordingly a stout wooden fence was built about the landward side of the camp and over this they were content to gaze from morning till night. They stood packed together five or six deep, and the press of those at the back trying to catch a glimpse of what was going on was so great that two or three times the fence fell bodily inwards, and with it a struggling mass of black humanity; but it was not many days before their curiosity was satisfied, and though they did not afford us very much assistance it was fortunate that they were not inclined to molest or interfere with us in any way.
During the first two or three days, the locals, who had gathered in large numbers at the village of Wakatimi, helped quite a bit with clearing the ground and unloading the supplies. When the steam launch towing47 the loaded boats arrived at the camp, they swarmed over the boats and quickly carried everything up the steep mud bank. However, this excitement wore off quickly, and they ended up standing around doing nothing, hindering the men as they unpacked. So, a strong wooden fence was built on the landward side of the camp, and they were content to watch from that point all day long. They stood packed together five or six deep, and the crowd at the back trying to catch a glimpse of what was happening pushed so hard that the fence fell inwards two or three times, bringing down a struggling mass of people. But it wasn’t long before their curiosity was satisfied, and even though they didn’t give us much help, it was fortunate that they weren't inclined to bother or interfere with us in any way.
We had only been in our camp at Wakatimi for one day and it already seemed as if the place was beginning to show some sign of order, when a melancholy tragedy threw a gloom over the spirits of the whole expedition. On the afternoon of January 9th Mr. Wilfred Stalker, who had had plenty of experience of tropical and Australian jungles, went out from the camp taking his collecting gun to shoot some birds. The usual daily rain began at about four o’clock, but as we were all busy with various occupations in our tents his absence was not noticed until after six o’clock, when it was already pitch dark and the rain was falling in torrents. Beyond the camp was dense jungle intersected by creeks and pools of water, difficult enough48 to traverse by day but absolutely impassable in darkness, so there was nothing to be done that night but to hope anxiously that Stalker’s bushcraft had prompted him to make a shelter of some kind, if disaster had not already overtaken him. At dawn Lieut. Cramer sent out parties of soldiers in all directions, and soon all of us, Europeans, Gurkhas, and native soldiers were out searching and shouting and firing shots. With some difficulty we explained to the natives what had happened, and we offered them large rewards if they were successful in finding him, and many of them joined with us; but though the ground was carefully quartered and the search was continued all that day and a part of the next not a trace of him was found anywhere, and it was evidently hopeless that he could ever be found alive. On the second day, when the search had been abandoned, the natives were convinced of his fate, and two of the more important people came over from the village and wailed loudly outside his empty tent.
We had only been at our camp in Wakatimi for one day, and it already seemed like things were starting to get organized, when a tragic event darkened the mood of the entire expedition. On the afternoon of January 9th, Mr. Wilfred Stalker, who had plenty of experience in tropical and Australian jungles, left the camp with his collecting gun to shoot some birds. The usual daily rain started around four o’clock, but since we were all busy with different tasks in our tents, nobody noticed he was gone until after six o’clock, when it was pitch dark and the rain was pouring heavily. Beyond the camp, there was dense jungle filled with creeks and pools of water, which were tough to navigate in daylight but completely impossible in the dark. So, that night, all we could do was anxiously hope that Stalker’s survival skills had led him to make some kind of shelter, unless disaster had already struck him. At dawn, Lieutenant Cramer sent out groups of soldiers in all directions, and soon all of us—Europeans, Gurkhas, and native soldiers—were searching, shouting, and firing shots. We managed to explain to the locals what had happened, offering them big rewards for finding him, and many joined our search. However, despite carefully covering the area and continuing the search all that day and part of the next, we didn’t find any trace of him, and it became clear that finding him alive was hopeless. On the second day, when the search was called off, the locals were convinced of his fate, and two prominent villagers came over to wail loudly outside his empty tent.
On January 12th all doubts as to his end were set at rest when a canoe manned by four Papuans, smeared with mud as their custom is in such circumstances, brought back his body from a creek about half a mile from the camp, where it had been found. Up to that moment there had been present in our minds the horrid suspicion that he might perhaps have fallen the victim to foul play. We thought that natives finding him wandering alone might have been tempted by his possessions and have murdered him, but it was evidently not so and we could only hope that by drowning death had come swiftly to him.
On January 12th, all doubts about his fate were put to rest when a canoe crewed by four Papuans, covered in mud as is their custom in such situations, brought back his body from a creek about half a mile from the camp, where it had been discovered. Until that moment, we had harbored a dreadful suspicion that he might have fallen victim to foul play. We thought it possible that natives who found him wandering alone might have been tempted by his belongings and killed him, but it was clear that wasn’t the case, and we could only hope that he had died quickly by drowning.
CAMP OF THE EXPEDITION AT WAKATIMI.
CAMP OF THE EXPEDITION AT WAKATIMI.
A HOUSE FOR CEREMONIES, MIMIKA.
Ceremony House, Mimika.
We buried him under a tree about one hundred yards behind the camp, and in the absence of the leader of the expedition, who had gone away with Rawling and Cramer to reconnoitre the river above Wakatimi, I read the short burial service. Besides Marshall and Shortridge and myself there were a Dutch soldier, two convicts and about fifty Papuans, who stood quietly in a wide circle about the grave. I think the ninetieth psalm was never read to a more remarkable congregation. The grave was the first of the graves of many who left their bones in New Guinea.
We buried him under a tree about a hundred yards behind the camp. Since the leader of the expedition was away with Rawling and Cramer to scout the river above Wakatimi, I read the brief burial service. Apart from Marshall, Shortridge, and me, there was a Dutch soldier, two convicts, and around fifty Papuans who stood silently in a wide circle around the grave. I don’t think the ninetieth psalm was ever read to a more remarkable group. This grave was the first of many for those who left their remains in New Guinea.
Wilfred Stalker was in his thirty-first year when he died. Previously he had spent many years as a naturalist in Australia and several months in New Guinea. Early in 1909 he returned to the East where he spent a part of his time in engaging coolies for the New Guinea Expedition, and he had time to make an interesting journey in the Island of Ceram, where he made a remarkable zoological collection. He joined us at Amboina on January 1st so that we had not time to know him well, but his unflagging energy in the preparations at the base-camp, where he landed with the first party, showed that he was a man whom the expedition could ill afford to lose.
Wilfred Stalker was 31 years old when he died. Before that, he spent many years as a naturalist in Australia and a few months in New Guinea. In early 1909, he returned to the East, where he spent some of his time recruiting laborers for the New Guinea Expedition and had the chance to take an interesting trip to the island of Ceram, where he made an impressive zoological collection. He joined us in Amboina on January 1st, so we didn't have much time to get to know him, but his relentless energy in preparing at the base camp, where he arrived with the first group, made it clear that he was someone the expedition couldn't afford to lose.
CHAPTER V
Arrival of our Ambonese—Coolie Considerations—Canoes of the Natives—Making Canoes—Preliminary Exploration of the Mimika—Variable Tides—Completing the Camp—A Plague of Flies—Also of Crickets—Making “Atap”—Trading with the Natives—Trade Goods.
Arrival of our Ambonese—Thoughts on Laborers—Local Canoes—Canoe Construction—First Exploration of the Mimika—Shifting Tides—Completing the Camp—A Lot of Flies—And Crickets Too—Making "Atap"—Trading with the Locals—Items for Trade.
After all the stores and equipment of the expedition had been landed at Wakatimi, an operation which took six days and some ten or more journeys of the steam launch towing many boats to accomplish, the Nias returned to Dobo, and brought back from there on the 14th January our Ambonese coolies, who had arrived there by mail steamer from Amboina. To those of us who had had experience of native carriers in other countries, the appearance of the ninety-six Ambonese came as something of a shock. When the boats crowded with them came within sight of the camp the natives cried out that our women were coming, and they might well be excused for their mistake. With their wide straw hats and coloured coats and shirts and gay sarongs they had not much the appearance of men, and we wondered what sort of people they would be to force a way through the trackless country. When they landed, our first impression of their unsuitableness was rather strengthened than otherwise. Every man (to give them a dignity which very few of them deserved) had a large wooden or tin box as well as a huge bundle 51of bedding and mats. Their average age appeared to be about sixteen years, and though they were said to be the best men obtainable in Amboina, the physique of most of them was wretched. It was evidently useless to keep so many feeble creatures, so it was decided to keep fifty of the more promising and send the rest back to Amboina by the Nias, which was waiting at the mouth of the Mimika until the following day. The whole gang was paraded and a more hopeless looking lot it would be hard to imagine. With great difficulty we picked out fifty who, though they had little appearance of strength, were not obviously crippled by disease, and the forty-six others were sent away without having done a single day’s work.
After all the supplies and equipment of the expedition were unloaded at Wakatimi, an operation that took six days and involved about ten trips with the steam launch towing multiple boats, the Nias returned to Dobo. On January 14th, it brought back our Ambonese laborers, who had arrived there by mail steamer from Amboina. For those of us with experience with local carriers in other regions, the sight of the ninety-six Ambonese was quite shocking. As the boats filled with them approached the camp, the locals shouted that our women were arriving, and they were understandable in their confusion. Wearing wide straw hats, colorful coats and shirts, and bright sarongs, they looked far from manly, and we questioned what kind of people would navigate through the uncharted terrain. Upon their arrival, our initial doubts about their suitability were only reinforced. Every man (giving them a dignity that very few earned) carried a large wooden or tin box, along with a huge bundle of bedding and mats. Their average age seemed to be around sixteen years, and while they were said to be the best available in Amboina, most of them appeared to be in poor physical condition. It became clear that keeping so many weak individuals was pointless, so we decided to retain fifty of the more promising ones and send the rest back to Amboina aboard the Nias, which was waiting at the mouth of the Mimika until the next day. The entire group was lined up, and it would be hard to imagine a more hopeless-looking bunch. With great effort, we selected fifty who, despite their lack of apparent strength, were not obviously afflicted by illness, and the other forty-six were sent away without having done a single day’s work.
CANOE-MAKING: ROUGHLY SHAPING THE FELLED TREE.
CANOE-MAKING: ROUGHLY SHAPING THE CUT TREE.
The question of coolies, as we were to find by bitter experience during the ensuing months, is the point that determines the success or failure of an expedition. Mr. Stalker had left England charged with the duty of engaging coolies for this expedition. It was hoped that he would be able to get a number of men in the Ké Islands, but failing to engage them there he had seen in Amboina his only chance of recruiting a sufficient number of men. No blame can be attached to him, for he had had no experience of the kind before and his instructions were not very detailed, but it was a mistake which seriously delayed the progress of the expedition.
The issue of laborers, as we would learn through tough experiences in the months that followed, is what ultimately decides whether an expedition succeeds or fails. Mr. Stalker had left England with the responsibility of recruiting laborers for this mission. It was hoped that he could find enough workers in the Ké Islands, but when that didn't work out, he saw Amboina as his only opportunity to gather the necessary number of men. He can't be blamed for this, as he had no prior experience with such situations and his instructions were vague, but it was a mistake that significantly delayed the expedition's progress.
As well as the trouble involved in trying to make a silk purse of efficient coolies out of the sow’s ear of the Amboina rabble we were confronted by another difficulty of transport. It has been mentioned above52 (page 43) that before we arrived in the country it was expected that we should find rising ground close to the sea, and that in a few days’ journey at the most we should reach an altitude of three thousand feet or upwards, but the discovery that there was a tract of level country hardly above sea level extending from the coast to the foot of the mountains thirty miles inland entirely upset our calculations. Had we known this before we should necessarily have brought a launch and boats to tow our stores up the many miles of navigable river, and by so doing we should have saved ourselves many weeks of valuable time and an infinity of labour. It is worth while to record this fact, not for the object of drawing attention to any deficiencies in the organisation of the expedition, but to demonstrate the uselessness of entering an unknown country without having made a preliminary reconnaissance.
As well as the trouble of trying to turn a bunch of unskilled workers into an efficient team, we faced another challenge with transportation. It was mentioned earlier52 (page 43) that before we got to the area, we expected to find rising terrain close to the sea, and that within just a few days we would reach an altitude of three thousand feet or more. However, discovering that there was a stretch of flat land barely above sea level extending from the coast to the mountains thirty miles inland completely messed up our plans. If we had known this earlier, we definitely would have brought a boat and additional vessels to transport our supplies up the many miles of navigable river, which would have saved us many weeks of valuable time and endless labor. It's important to note this, not to point out any shortcomings in the expedition's organization, but to highlight the futility of entering an uncharted territory without doing a preliminary survey first.
An urgent message was despatched to the Navy Department in Java begging them to supply us with a steam launch at the earliest opportunity, but communications are slow in that part of the world, and it was not until ten weeks afterwards that the launch arrived at the Mimika. Its career was brief and inglorious. It made two or three journeys at snail’s pace up the river before it finally broke down altogether and was sent back to Java.
An urgent message was sent to the Navy Department in Java asking them to provide us with a steam launch as soon as possible, but communication is slow in that part of the world, and it wasn't until ten weeks later that the launch arrived at the Mimika. Its time with us was short and unremarkable. It made a couple of slow trips up the river before it eventually broke down completely and was sent back to Java.
In June we purchased from the pearlfishers at Dobo a petrol motor-boat, which made several successful trips up the river towing large quantities of stores, and then it was badly damaged by coming into violent contact with a sunken tree, and it was several months53 before it could be repaired sufficiently to float. Thus it happened that nearly all the river transport of the expedition was laboriously carried out in canoes.
In June, we bought a motorboat from the pearlfishers at Dobo, which made several successful trips up the river, towing large amounts of supplies. Unfortunately, it sustained significant damage after crashing into a submerged tree, and it took several months53 to repair it enough for it to float. As a result, almost all the river transport for the expedition had to be done painstakingly in canoes.
The canoes used by the natives on the Mimika and neighbouring rivers are simple “dug-outs,” that is they are made from one tree trunk without any joinery at all. They vary considerably in size but the length of an average canoe is about thirty-five feet. The sides curve inward towards the gunwale so that in section the canoe forms a large segment of a circle. The breadth at the gunwale is about eighteen inches and the breadth at the widest part from eighteen to twenty-four inches. The gunwales are almost horizontal, though in some boats there is a considerable “sheer” towards the end of the canoe. They end in a square bow and at the stern they come together to a fine point. The bottom of a canoe—there is no keel—slopes finely up from the middle towards the ends so that when the canoe is afloat several feet of its length at bow and stern are out of water.
The canoes used by the natives on the Mimika and nearby rivers are simple “dug-outs,” meaning they are made from a single tree trunk without any joints. They vary quite a bit in size, but the average canoe is about thirty-five feet long. The sides curve inward toward the gunwale, so that in cross-section, the canoe looks like a large segment of a circle. The width at the gunwale is around eighteen inches, while the width at the widest part is between eighteen and twenty-four inches. The gunwales are nearly horizontal, although some boats have a noticeable “sheer” towards the ends. They finish with a square bow and come together to a fine point at the stern. The bottom of a canoe—there's no keel—slopes gently up from the middle to the ends, so when the canoe is floating, several feet at the bow and stern are out of the water.
The square bow of the canoe is carved in a more or less symmetrical fashion and there is usually a narrow margin of ornamental carving at intervals along the sides. A common feature of this carving, as also of the other native ornaments, is an object which is intended to represent the human eye. Occasionally they attach to the bow of the canoe, one on either side and one in the middle, three long boards carved in a sort of fretwork manner and painted red and white. These project about four feet in front of the bow and give it somewhat the appearance of a bird’s beak.54 The inside of the canoe is sometimes whitened with lime or sago powder but is otherwise not ornamented. A few feet from the stern, where the bottom begins to slope upwards, a low partition of wood is left forming as it were a sort of bulkhead; the space behind this is filled with sand on which a fire is kept burning.
The front of the canoe is shaped in a mostly symmetrical way, and there's usually a narrow band of decorative carving at intervals along the sides. A common element of this carving, like many other indigenous decorations, is a design that represents the human eye. Sometimes, they attach three long boards to the front of the canoe—one on each side and one in the middle—that are carved in a fretwork style and painted red and white. These boards stick out about four feet in front of the bow, giving it a resemblance to a bird's beak.54 The inside of the canoe is sometimes coated with lime or sago powder but isn't decorated otherwise. A few feet from the back, where the bottom starts to rise, there’s a low wooden partition that acts like a bulkhead; the space behind this is filled with sand where a fire is kept burning.
Before we came to the country the whole business of canoe-making from the first felling of the tree to the final hollowing out of the inside was done with stone axes and the carving was done with sharpened shells, a labour which it is difficult to realise, so it is not surprising that the natives take very great care of their boats. They never allow water to stand in them for long, and at the end of a storm of rain the first thing they do is to go to the river and bail the water out of their canoes, which they do by scooping it out with the blade of a paddle. They also take good care of the outside and frequently char them with fire to kill the worms, which otherwise quickly destroy wood in brackish water.
Before we came to the country, the whole process of making canoes—from chopping down the tree to hollowing out the inside—was done using stone axes and sharpened shells for carving. It's hard to really appreciate how labor-intensive that was, so it's no wonder that the locals take great care of their boats. They never let water sit in them for long, and after a heavy rain, the first thing they do is head to the river to bail the water out, using the blade of a paddle to scoop it out. They also look after the outside and often char the wood with fire to kill any worms, which can quickly damage wood in brackish water.
The tree most commonly used for making canoes is Octomeles moluccana, which has a smooth pale trunk devoid of branches for a long way above the ground. When they can do so they choose a tree growing close to the river bank, but this is not always possible and we found a place where a tree for a canoe had been felled fully three hundred yards from the water. The trunk is roughly shaped where it lies and is then hauled with immense toil over logs laid on a rough track to the river; thence it is towed to the village where the hollowing and shaping is done at leisure. We saw a 55large number of canoes made at Parimau, and in nearly every case the balance was perfect when they were first put into the water.
The tree most commonly used for making canoes is Octomeles moluccana, which has a smooth, light-colored trunk that is branchless for quite a distance above the ground. When possible, they choose a tree that grows close to the riverbank, but this isn't always feasible. We discovered a location where a tree for a canoe had been cut down a full three hundred yards from the water. The trunk is roughly shaped where it lies and is then dragged with a lot of effort over logs placed on a rough path to the river; from there, it is towed to the village where the hollowing and shaping is done at leisure. We saw a 55 large number of canoes made at Parimau, and in almost every case, the balance was perfect when they were first put into the water.
CANOES, FINISHED AND UNFINISHED.
Canoes, ready and unready.
The canoes are usually propelled by paddles with long thin shafts and wide blades which are often beautifully carved, but in shallow places or rapid water the natives generally employ a long pole in the use of which they are very expert. It is easy enough to stand up and paddle or pole in large canoes, but the smaller craft are very top-heavy, and the natives perform wonderful feats of balancing in navigating them. Their education begins early for we saw in one of the villages small canoes three or four feet long, in which the children begin to learn the craft of the waterman almost before they have learned to walk.
The canoes are typically moved using paddles with long thin handles and wide blades, which are often beautifully carved. However, in shallow areas or fast-moving water, the locals usually use a long pole, and they are very skilled at it. It's easy to stand up and paddle or pole in larger canoes, but the smaller ones are quite unstable, and the locals perform amazing balancing acts while navigating them. Their training starts early, as we saw in one of the villages small canoes just three or four feet long, where children begin to learn the skills of boating almost before they've learned to walk.
Though the people value their canoes very highly they were anxious enough to part with them in exchange for our knives and pieces of metal, of which they had none at all, and we very soon had a small fleet of canoes. The first two were bought for a knife apiece, but the price soon rose to an axe for a canoe, and in the course of several months it had still further risen to two axes or even two axes and a knife.
Though the people greatly valued their canoes, they were eager to trade them for our knives and metal scraps, which they had none of. Before long, we had a small fleet of canoes. The first two were traded for a knife each, but the price quickly increased to an axe for one canoe, and after several months, it had risen even further to two axes or sometimes even two axes and a knife.
Within a few days of the arrival of our coolies we had purchased half a dozen canoes and preparations were made to send an exploring party up the river. At that time we were none of us skilful canoe-men and it was considered safer to use the canoes as rafts by lashing two side by side and securing a platform of bamboos across the top. This was a most cumbrous arrangement which added enormously to the labour56 of paddling, and after the first journey it was never repeated.
Within a few days of the arrival of our laborers, we had bought half a dozen canoes and made plans to send an exploring party up the river. At that time, none of us were skilled canoeists, so it was deemed safer to use the canoes as rafts by tying two of them side by side and securing a platform of bamboo across the top. This was a very cumbersome setup that greatly increased the effort needed for paddling, and after the first trip, it was never done again.56
On the 18th January, Goodfellow, Rawling, and Shortridge with twenty-four coolies, six Gurkhas, and a small party of Javanese soldiers in the charge of a Dutch sergeant started up the river. They took with them about a dozen natives, hoping that they would work hard at paddling and would be useful in other ways, but they were a perpetual nuisance calling out for their wives and wanting to stop to eat or sleep; they finished by stealing one of the canoes and deserting the night before they would have been sent back to their homes. With them went another of our cherished illusions that we should be able to get a great deal of assistance from the natives of the country. The party proceeded up the river at an incredibly slow rate on account of the clumsy rafts, and for four days saw no signs of inhabitants. On the fifth day they found one isolated hut, and two days later after passing a few scattered huts they arrived at the village of Parimau, above which place the river appeared to be hardly navigable.
On January 18th, Goodfellow, Rawling, and Shortridge, along with twenty-four coolies, six Gurkhas, and a small group of Javanese soldiers led by a Dutch sergeant, set off up the river. They brought about a dozen locals with them, hoping they would paddle hard and be helpful in other ways, but they turned out to be a constant hassle, always calling for their wives and wanting to stop to eat or sleep. Eventually, they ended up stealing one of the canoes and deserting the night before they were supposed to be sent back home. With them went another one of our cherished beliefs that we would get a lot of help from the locals. The group continued up the river at an incredibly slow pace due to the clunky rafts, and for four days they saw no signs of people. On the fifth day, they came across one isolated hut, and two days later, after passing a few scattered huts, they reached the village of Parimau, beyond which the river seemed nearly impossible to navigate.
The welcome accorded to the party by the natives of Parimau was as enthusiastic as that at Wakatimi described above, the people showing their delight by smearing themselves with mud and shedding copious tears. During the following days, when a camp was being made, hundreds of natives flocked into the place to see the strange white men, who were exhibited to the new-comers with a sort of proprietary air by the natives of Parimau.
The welcome the party received from the locals of Parimau was just as lively as the one at Wakatimi mentioned earlier, with the people expressing their joy by covering themselves in mud and crying a lot. In the days that followed, as a camp was set up, hundreds of locals gathered to see the unfamiliar white men, who were proudly shown off to the newcomers by the natives of Parimau.
In the meantime a great deal of work was necessary to put in order the base-camp at Wakatimi, and to render it secure against an attack, should the natives ever alter their friendly attitude towards us. The bush was completely cleared for some distance and a stout fence built about the camp. Then it was found that at high tide, and especially at spring tide, a large part of the camp was flooded and this necessitated a great amount of levelling and trenching and banking, a task which appealed to the fenland instinct of Cramer. The tide made itself felt in the river for several miles above Wakatimi, where there was a rise and fall of about ten feet, but the exact tidal movements were very difficult to recognise. On some days two tides were distinctly seen, while on many others there appeared to be only one. Their movements were further complicated by the very variable amount of water brought down by the river. Sometimes the river was almost stagnant, but at other times it swept down bank-high with a strong current for days at a time, and no flow of the tide could be noticed. The river Watuka, which joins the Mimika a few miles below Wakatimi, had a much greater volume of water than the latter river, and often when the tide was rising its waters were easily recognisable by their white colour floating up past the camp and holding back the waters of the Mimika in the same way that the Blue Nile, when it is in flood, forms a pond of the White Nile.
In the meantime, a lot of work was needed to organize the base camp at Wakatimi and make it secure against an attack, in case the locals changed their friendly attitude toward us. The bush was completely cleared for some distance, and a strong fence was built around the camp. Then it was discovered that at high tide, especially during spring tide, a large part of the camp was flooded, which required a lot of leveling, trenching, and banking—a job that appealed to Cramer's fenland instincts. The tide was felt in the river for several miles above Wakatimi, where there was a rise and fall of about ten feet, but the exact tidal movements were hard to recognize. On some days, two tides could be clearly seen, while on many others, there appeared to be only one. Their movements were further complicated by the highly variable amount of water brought down by the river. Sometimes the river was almost stagnant, but at other times it surged bank-high with a strong current for days, making it hard to notice any tidal flow. The Watuka River, which joins the Mimika a few miles below Wakatimi, had a much larger volume of water than the Mimika, and often when the tide was rising, its waters could be easily recognized by their white color floating up past the camp, holding back the waters of the Mimika in the same way that the Blue Nile, when it floods, creates a pond out of the White Nile.
It was unfortunate that no suitable place for the base-camp could be found above the tidal water, because it increased the difficulty of supplying the camp with58 drinking water, and at times when there was not much fresh water coming down the river the ebb and flow of the tide washed the refuse backwards and forwards in front of the camp. Water was boiled and filtered every day in quantities large enough for every man in the camp to have as much as he wished, but the value of this precaution was to a large extent neutralised by the Malay habit of washing out the mouth with the water in which the man bathes.
It was unfortunate that no suitable spot for the base camp could be found above the tidal zone, as this made it harder to supply the camp with58 drinking water. At times when there wasn’t much fresh water flowing down the river, the tide brought refuse back and forth in front of the camp. Water was boiled and filtered every day in large enough quantities for everyone in the camp to have as much as they wanted, but the value of this precaution was mostly undermined by the Malay custom of rinsing their mouths with the water used for bathing.
A wooden landing stage for canoes was built out over the muddy bank, and a bathing place was cut off from the river by a wooden fence to protect bathers from crocodiles and sharks, both of which were occasionally seen, but as the natives bathed constantly without showing any fear of either animal the precaution was perhaps needless.
A wooden dock for canoes was built out over the muddy bank, and a swimming area was enclosed from the river by a wooden fence to protect swimmers from crocodiles and sharks, which were sometimes spotted. However, since the locals bathed there all the time without showing any fear of either animal, the precaution might have been unnecessary.
At that time when the ground was being cleared we began to be plagued by large blue-bottle flies, which swarmed about the camp and laid their eggs everywhere. One of their favourite laying grounds was in our bedding, which in a hot damp climate must always be hung out to air when the sun shines. You would find two folds of your blanket stuck together with horrible masses of eggs and if, as sometimes happened, you did not scrape them all away you would wake up at night and find yourself crawling with maggots. There are some people who are afraid of spiders, but the most timorous of mortals must find the homely spider preferable to the loathsome blow fly. The house where we mostly lived at Wakatimi and where we had our meals was immediately filled59 with blue-bottles the moment our food was brought in, so we encouraged the larger sort of spider to live there and one old fellow who lived under the corner of the table used to come out at meal times and take his toll of flies, and in the course of time he became so tame that he would take a living fly out of your fingers.
At that time, when they were clearing the land, we started to be bothered by large bluebottle flies that swarmed around the camp and laid their eggs everywhere. One of their favorite spots to lay eggs was in our bedding, which always had to be aired out in the sun in a hot, humid climate. You would find two folds of your blanket stuck together with horrible clumps of eggs, and if, as sometimes happened, you didn’t scrape them all away, you would wake up at night and find yourself infested with maggots. Some people are scared of spiders, but even the most timid person must prefer the familiar spider to the disgusting blow fly. The house where we mostly lived at Wakatimi and where we had our meals was instantly filled with bluebottles as soon as our food was brought in, so we encouraged the larger type of spider to make its home there. One old spider that lived under the corner of the table would come out during meal times and catch his share of flies, and over time, he became so accustomed to us that he would take a live fly from your fingers.
At the same time, and indeed during the whole of our stay in the country, we were greatly annoyed by the depredations of very large crickets. Not content with making a most distracting noise by night these horrible creatures did endless damage to our eatable possessions. They invaded the sacks in which we kept our scanty garments, socks, vests and the like, and riddled them into holes, and they appeared to have a special partiality for sponges and brushes, which they devoured completely. Even more serious were their attacks on folded tents or sacks of rice and flour, which had to be constantly taken out of the store houses and repaired. When these things were taken out of the house a large number of crickets were taken out too, and then was the chance for the Kingfishers (Halcyon sanctus) which darted down and snapped them up. A pair of these beautiful little birds haunted the camp and became so tame that they would fly down from the roof of a house and pick up a cricket within a foot or two of a man.
At the same time, and honestly throughout our entire time in the country, we were really annoyed by the destruction caused by huge crickets. Not only did they create a super distracting noise at night, but these awful creatures also caused endless damage to our food supplies. They invaded the bags where we kept our few clothes, socks, and vests, leaving holes everywhere, and they especially loved to munch on sponges and brushes, which they completely destroyed. Even more concerning were their attacks on folded tents and sacks of rice and flour, which we had to regularly take out of storage and fix. When we pulled these items out of the house, a bunch of crickets came out too, providing an opportunity for the Kingfishers (Halcyon sanctus) that swooped down and grabbed them. A pair of these beautiful little birds frequented our camp and became so friendly that they would fly down from the roof of a house and snatch up a cricket just a foot or two away from a person.
When the ground had been well cleared and levelled, we set about the business of building barracks for the men and store houses for the provisions and equipment. The Dutch contingent had brought with them regulation army barrack frames, pieces of seasoned wood of60 definite lengths which are fitted together by bolts and screws, and form the skeleton of excellent houses. We had nothing of the kind, but the jungle supplied plenty of wood and our houses, though less regular than those of the Dutch, were very soon built. It is easy enough to put up the framework of a house in a place where there is plenty of timber, but the walls and the roof are a more difficult matter. Fortunately the natives were adepts in the art of making “atap,” which they use for roofing their own huts, and they were soon eagerly making it for us in exchange for our trade goods.
Once the ground was cleared and leveled, we started building barracks for the men and storage houses for supplies and equipment. The Dutch team brought along standard army barrack frames, made of seasoned wood of60 specific lengths that fit together using bolts and screws, forming the framework of sturdy houses. We didn’t have anything like that, but the jungle provided plenty of wood, and our houses, although less uniform than the Dutch ones, were built quickly. It’s relatively easy to set up the framework of a house where there’s lots of timber, but the walls and roof are trickier. Fortunately, the locals were skilled at making “atap,” which they use to roof their own huts, and they were soon enthusiastically making it for us in exchange for our trade goods.
MAKING “ATAP” FOR ROOFING.
Creating “ATAP” for roofing.
The best “atap” is made from the leaves of the Nipa palm (Nipa fruticans) which grows abundantly in the swampy country. Almost equally good “atap” can be made from the Sago palm, but the leaves of the Coconut palm shrivel quickly and are of no use for the purpose. The method of the manufacture of “atap” is briefly as follows: Leaflets of the palm are stripped from the stem, which is then split into three or four sticks of about an inch and a half in diameter and five or six feet in length. The man begins by taking up a leaf and folding it in the middle, thus breaking the mid-rib of the leaf. He then frees the mid-rib from the surrounding leaf for a short distance and breaks off a piece about three inches long for use presently. Then holding the stick near the end he pushes the free end of the mid-rib, which is separated from the leaf, into the soft substance of the stick and folds the leaf once round the stick in such a way that its two free ends lie one upon the other. He then clips 61together the free ends with the short piece he had broken from the mid-rib. He then repeats the process with another leaf, making each one slightly overlap the last, until the stick is completely covered with folded leaves. It should be said that each leaf is about three inches wide and four feet long so that the free ends, when the leaf is folded, lie about two feet from the stick. “Atap” is always made by the men, never by the women, and a quick worker will make a complete piece in about ten minutes.
The best “atap” is made from the leaves of the Nipa palm (Nipa fruticans), which grows plentifully in swampy areas. Almost just as good “atap” can be made from the Sago palm, but the leaves of the Coconut palm dry out quickly and aren't suitable for this purpose. The process of making “atap” is pretty simple: Leaflets of the palm are stripped from the stem, which is then split into three or four sticks about an inch and a half in diameter and five or six feet long. The person starts by taking a leaf and folding it in half, breaking the mid-rib of the leaf. They then pull the mid-rib away from the surrounding leaf for a short distance and break off a piece about three inches long for later use. Next, holding the stick near the end, they push the free end of the mid-rib into the soft part of the stick and wrap the leaf around the stick so that its two free ends lie on top of each other. They then tie together the free ends with the short piece they had broken from the mid-rib. The process is repeated with another leaf, overlapping each one slightly until the stick is completely covered with folded leaves. It should be noted that each leaf is about three inches wide and four feet long, so when folded, the free ends extend about two feet from the stick. “Atap” is always made by men, never by women, and a fast worker can complete a piece in about ten minutes.
The method of roofing with “atap” is very simple. Pieces are fixed by strands of rattan to the timbers of the roofing beginning from below and overlapping each other like tiles. The stick end of the “atap” is uppermost and the free ends point downwards. When there is no lack of “atap” and the pieces can be laid on the roof very closely together it forms a most efficient thatch, which keeps the house tolerably cool in the hot weather and is impervious to the heaviest downfall of rain.
The method of roofing with "atap" is quite simple. Pieces are secured with rattan strands to the roof timbers, starting from the bottom and overlapping each other like tiles. The stick end of the "atap" is at the top, while the free ends hang down. When there's plenty of "atap" and the pieces are laid closely together on the roof, it creates an efficient thatch that keeps the house fairly cool during hot weather and withstands heavy rain.
The demand for “atap” started our regular trade with the natives, it brought us into friendly relations with them and they soon discovered that they could put confidence in us. When they found that we really paid them, as we promised, in beads and cloth, there was keen competition in the “atap” trade and they brought us as much as we wanted. For a few pieces only they received beads, while for ten pieces and upwards we paid them in cloth and they adopted various tricks to obtain cloth, when they knew that the amount they brought was only worth beads. One of their62 dodges was to bring old pieces of “atap” from their own houses to increase the size of the pile, and sometimes a man would steal two or three pieces from the pile of another man who had already been paid, but they were always found out and were not in the least ashamed of themselves. It was important to keep the price low, because we very well knew that when the people had obtained as much cloth and as many beads as they wanted they would never do any more work, and that did occur after a few months. They greatly enjoyed a little foolery. For instance, when you were paying them in cloth it was much more appreciated if you wound it artistically about the recipient’s head than if you merely thrust it into his hands; and in paying a man in beads it was thought a great joke if you let them slowly trickle into his palm out of your closed fist. His smile would grow with the pile of beads in his hand, and he always hoped to find some more concealed between your fingers.
The demand for “atap” started our regular trade with the locals, and it led us to develop friendly relationships with them. They soon realized they could trust us. When they saw that we really paid them, as we promised, with beads and cloth, competition in the “atap” trade became intense, and they brought us as much as we needed. For just a few pieces, they received beads, but for ten pieces or more, we paid them in cloth, and they started to use different tricks to get cloth when they knew their supply was only worth beads. One of their tricks was to bring old pieces of “atap” from their homes to make the pile look bigger, and sometimes a guy would steal two or three pieces from someone else's pile who had already been paid. However, they always got caught and weren’t the least bit embarrassed about it. It was crucial to keep the price low because we knew very well that once the locals got as much cloth and beads as they wanted, they would stop working, and that did happen after a few months. They really enjoyed a little fun. For example, when you were paying them in cloth, they appreciated it much more if you wrapped it artfully around their head instead of just handing it to them; and when paying a guy in beads, it was considered hilarious to let them trickle slowly into his palm from your closed fist. His smile would widen with the growing pile of beads in his hand, and he always hoped to find more hidden between your fingers.
In addition to “atap” they also brought other things for trade, sometimes fish from the sea which were generally uneatable, and sometimes delicious prawns six or eight inches long from the river estuary. There was a constant trade in coconuts which grew in some numbers about Wakatimi, and occasionally we bought a bunch of bananas. Living birds of many kinds, cassowaries, pigeons, kingfishers, lories and parrots were often brought for sale, but the poor creatures were generally taken straight from the nest, and the soldiers and coolies who bought them quickly stuffed them to death with rice. Some of the lories throve and63 became tame enough to fly about at liberty, and the cassowaries became quite a pest in the camp.
In addition to “atap,” they also brought other items for trade, sometimes fish from the sea that were usually inedible, and sometimes delicious prawns six or eight inches long from the river estuary. There was a consistent trade in coconuts that grew in significant numbers around Wakatimi, and occasionally we bought a bunch of bananas. Live birds of various types, like cassowaries, pigeons, kingfishers, lories, and parrots, were often brought for sale, but unfortunately, the poor creatures were usually taken straight from the nest, and the soldiers and laborers who bought them quickly stuffed them to death with rice. Some of the lories thrived and became tame enough to fly around freely, and the cassowaries turned into quite a nuisance in the camp.
So keen did the people become on trading that they would barter all their worldly possessions for European goods. Stone clubs and axes, bows and arrows, spears and drums, the skulls of their forebears, indeed all their moveable goods were brought to us for exchange. It may sound rather a mean transaction to buy from a Papuan a stone axe, which has probably been in his family for generations, for a small knife or coloured handkerchief, but he was always delighted with the exchange and when both parties to it are satisfied a bargain may be considered a just one.
The people became so eager to trade that they would swap all their belongings for European goods. They brought us stone clubs and axes, bows and arrows, spears and drums, even the skulls of their ancestors—basically everything they owned. It might seem like a pretty unfair deal to buy a stone axe from a Papuan, which has likely been in his family for generations, in exchange for a small knife or a colorful handkerchief, but he was always thrilled with the trade. When both sides are happy, a deal can be seen as fair.
Our trade goods consisted mostly of coloured beads, red cloth, knives of various sizes, and axes. Of these the red cloth was by far the most useful and the most sought after. The Dutch had cloth of various shades and patterns, but the natives, with a true eye for colour, knew that our red stuff suited their dark skins better than any shade of green or blue. The axes were given in exchange for canoes, and knives were mostly used to pay the men who carried for us in the interior. Fish hooks were greatly appreciated by the natives of the coast villages, but the Jews’ harps of which we had a large quantity, though they are greatly in demand among the Papuans of British New Guinea and in some of the Pacific Islands, were of no use to us for trade, and the few we gave away were used either as ornaments round the neck or as ear-rings. There was always a great demand for cast-off clothing, but a Papuan wearing a pair of tattered trousers or a fragment of64 a shirt was so unpleasant to look at and he generally became so demoralised in character, that we made it a rule not to give them any of our rags. Empty bottles were of course greatly sought after and the many thousands of tins which we emptied during the course of the expedition were wealth untold to a people, who up to that time had possessed no sort of vessel.
Our trade goods mainly included colorful beads, red cloth, knives of different sizes, and axes. Of these, the red cloth was by far the most useful and the most desired. The Dutch offered cloth in various shades and patterns, but the locals, with a keen eye for color, knew that our red fabric looked better on their dark skin than any shade of green or blue. The axes were exchanged for canoes, and the knives were mostly used to pay the carriers who helped us in the interior. Fish hooks were highly valued by the coastal villagers, but the Jews’ harps, of which we had a large supply—though they were in high demand among the Papuans of British New Guinea and in some Pacific Islands—were not useful for trade, and the few we gave away were mostly used as necklaces or earrings. There was always a strong demand for discarded clothing, but a Papuan wearing a pair of torn pants or a piece of a shirt was quite an unpleasant sight, and he often became demoralized in character, so we made it a policy not to give them any of our rags. Empty bottles were, of course, greatly sought after, and the thousands of tins we emptied throughout the expedition were invaluable to a people who had previously owned no kind of vessel.
PAPUAN WOMAN CANOEING UP THE MIMIKA.
(Smoke is seen from the fire in the stern.)
PAPUAN WOMAN CANOEING UP THE MIMIKA.
(Smoke is visible from the fire in the back.)
CHAPTER VI
Difficulties of Food—Coolies’ Rations—Choice of Provisions—Transporting Supplies up the Mimika—Description of the River—A Day’s Work—Monotonous Scenery—Crowned Pigeons—Birds of Paradise and Others—Snakes, Bees and other Creatures—Rapids and Clear Water—The Seasons—Wind—Rain—Thunderstorms—Halley’s Comet.
Challenges with Food—Workers’ Rations—Selecting Supplies—Transporting Goods up the Mimika—Overview of the River—A Day's Work—Monotonous Landscape—Crowned Pigeons—Birds of Paradise and Others—Snakes, Bees, and Other Animals—Rapids and Clear Water—The Seasons—Wind—Rain—Thunderstorms—Halley’s Comet.
One of the principal obstacles in the way of successful exploration in Dutch New Guinea is the lack of food in the country itself. It is true that in the low-lying swampy districts near the coast there are plenty of Sago-palms, but the majority of Malays are not sago eaters except under compulsion, and the preparation of sago to make it only tolerably palatable is a tedious business. Moreover the first object of an expedition to the mountains is to leave the swamps behind as soon as possible. So it follows that every scrap of food, for the coolies as well as for the Europeans, has to be brought into the country from outside, and it will be evident that, when the means of transport are distressingly slow, the provisions must diminish considerably in quantity as they are carried towards the interior.
One of the main challenges for successful exploration in Dutch New Guinea is the lack of food in the area. While it's true that there are many sago palms in the low-lying, swampy regions near the coast, most Malays don’t eat sago unless they have to, and making it tolerably edible is a long process. Additionally, the primary goal of any expedition to the mountains is to leave the swamps as quickly as possible. As a result, every bit of food for both the porters and Europeans has to be brought in from outside the country, and it becomes clear that, given the painfully slow methods of transport, the supply must significantly decrease as it moves deeper into the interior.
The mainstay of the food of Malay coolies and soldiers is rice, of which the daily ration is one katti (1-1/3 pounds); to this is added about a quarter of a pound of dried meat or dried fish. Once or twice a66 week the rice was replaced by kachang ijau, a small round green bean, which is supposed to be of use in preventing the onset of beri-beri, though it is very doubtful whether this is the case; the beans are boiled and are eaten either with salt or with brown Javanese sugar. A full ration for a coolie also includes tea, coffee, salt and chillies. When it is remembered that the numbers of the expedition were never less than one hundred and twenty and were often more than one hundred and sixty, and since it was considered advisable always to have a supply for several months in advance in the eventuality of communication with Amboina becoming impossible, it can be imagined that the amount of stores necessary for the whole party was no small thing. The management of the stores of Cramer’s party alone, of which every detail had to be accounted for to the Government, occupied the full time of a Dutch sergeant and a native clerk.
The staple diet of Malay laborers and soldiers is rice, with a daily ration of one katti (1-1/3 pounds); they also receive about a quarter of a pound of dried meat or dried fish. Once or twice a66 week, the rice is substituted with kachang ijau, a small round green bean believed to help prevent beri-beri, although there's significant doubt about this claim; the beans are boiled and eaten with either salt or brown Javanese sugar. A full ration for a laborer also includes tea, coffee, salt, and chilies. Considering that the expedition had at least one hundred and twenty people, often exceeding one hundred and sixty, and it was deemed wise to stock up for several months to prepare for a potential communication breakdown with Amboina, it's clear that the amount of supplies required for the entire group was substantial. The management of supplies for Cramer’s party alone, which had to be meticulously accounted for to the Government, fully occupied a Dutch sergeant and a local clerk.
Not only was a great deal of labour involved in dealing with such an immense bulk of stores, but there was considerable difficulty in preserving them from the ill effects of the climate. Our first consignment of rice arrived in sacks, and the futility of that method of packing was apparent, when a great quantity of it was spoilt by a shower of rain between the steamer and the base-camp. The next lot was packed in tins with lids; when these were turned upside down the rice trickled out or water trickled in, and again a large quantity was lost or spoilt. After that it was put into tins of which the tops were soldered down, but even67 that was not quite successful, for it often happened that a pin-hole was left unsoldered, through which moisture would eventually find its way and the rice be spoilt.
Not only was a lot of work involved in managing such a massive amount of supplies, but there was also significant difficulty in protecting them from the adverse effects of the climate. Our first shipment of rice arrived in sacks, and the inadequacy of that packing method became obvious when a large portion of it got spoiled by a rain shower between the steamer and the base camp. The next batch was packed in tins with lids; however, when these were turned upside down, the rice spilled out or water seeped in, resulting in another substantial loss. After that, it was placed in tins with the tops soldered down, but even that wasn’t entirely effective, as it often happened that a pinhole was left unsoldered, allowing moisture to get in and spoil the rice.
Even more difficult than the rice to keep dry were the dried fish and dried meat, which were sent to us packed in wooden boxes; the stuff quickly became sodden from the moisture-laden atmosphere, and although we kept coolies constantly employed in drying it in the sun, an enormous amount of it became rotten and was thrown away. The only effectual method of preserving the dried meat and fish is to seal it up like the rice in soldered tins. The tin always used for this purpose is the rectangular tin in which kerosene oil is imported to the East; filled with rice it weighs about forty pounds.
Even more challenging than keeping the rice dry were the dried fish and dried meat, which arrived packed in wooden boxes. The stuff quickly became soggy due to the humid environment, and even though we constantly had workers drying it in the sun, a significant amount spoiled and had to be discarded. The only effective way to preserve the dried meat and fish is to seal it up, just like the rice, in soldered cans. The cans typically used for this purpose are the rectangular containers that kerosene oil is imported in to the East; when filled with rice, they weigh about forty pounds.
In writing the history of this expedition I should not be honest if I were to refrain from mentioning the fact that some of our own stores were, to say the least, ill-chosen. It appeared that a large quantity of stores had been bought from the Shackleton Expedition, which had returned from the Antarctic a few months before we left England. However suitable those provisions may have been for a Polar expedition, they were not the sort of thing one would have chosen for a journey in the Tropics. For instance, large tins of “bully-beef” are excellent in a cold climate, but when you open them near the Equator you find that they consist of pallid lumps of pink flesh swimming in a nasty gravy. Pea-soup and pea-flour, of which we had nearly four hundred pounds’ weight, strike terror68 into the stoutest heart, when the temperature is 86° in the shade. Pickles are all very well in their way for those that like them, but one hundred and sixty bottles was more than a generous allowance. Punch, in commenting on a newspaper misprint which stated that “the British Ornithologists Union Expedition to Papua was joined at Singapore by ten pickled Gurkhas,” suggested that it was “no doubt a misprint for gherkins.” We were glad that Mr. Punch was mistaken and that we had not increased our store of pickles at Singapore.
In writing the history of this expedition, I wouldn't be honest if I didn't mention that some of our supplies were, to put it mildly, poorly chosen. It turned out that a large number of supplies had been purchased from the Shackleton Expedition, which had returned from Antarctica just a few months before we left England. No matter how suitable those provisions might have been for a polar expedition, they were definitely not what you’d pick for a journey in the tropics. For example, large cans of “bully beef” are great in a cold climate, but when you open them near the Equator, you find pale lumps of pink meat floating in unappetizing gravy. Pea soup and pea flour—of which we had nearly four hundred pounds—strike fear into the stoutest heart when it’s 86° in the shade. Pickles are fine for those who like them, but one hundred sixty bottles were more than generous. *Punch*, commenting on a newspaper typo that stated “the British Ornithologists Union Expedition to Papua was joined at Singapore by ten pickled Gurkhas,” suggested it was “no doubt a typo for gherkins.” We were relieved that Mr. Punch was wrong and that we hadn’t added to our pickle stock in Singapore.
The packing was almost as remarkable as the choice of the stores themselves: they were secured in strong packing cases of large and variable size fastened with bands of iron and an incredible number of nails, suitable enough to withstand the banging of Polar storms, but not well adapted to their present purpose. The boxes were all too big for convenient transport, and as each one was filled with food of one kind only every box had to be opened at once and a selection made from them.
The packing was almost as impressive as the selection of the stores themselves: they were secured in sturdy packing cases of various large sizes, fastened with iron bands and an incredible number of nails, tough enough to endure the impact of polar storms, but not quite right for their current use. The boxes were way too big for easy transport, and since each one was filled with only one type of food, every box had to be opened at once to choose from them.
Here it must be said that, in response to our comments on the stores and the packing, the Committee sent out to us an excellent supply of provisions from Messrs. Fortnum and Mason, properly packed in light “Vanesta” cases. These reached us at the end of August and during the rest of our stay in the country we fared well.
Here it must be said that, in response to our comments on the stores and the packing, the Committee sent us a great supply of provisions from Fortnum and Mason, properly packed in lightweight “Vanesta” cases. These arrived at the end of August, and for the rest of our time in the country, we enjoyed good food.
JANGBIR AND HERKAJIT, GURKHAS.
Jangbir and Herkajit, Gurkhas.
We took with us a small supply of whisky and brandy, which was often acceptable, and I believe that in an excessively damp climate a small quantity of alcohol 69may be beneficial. The Dutch took with them dry Hollands gin, which is drunk with a small quantity of bitters before dinner; it certainly has the effect of coaxing your appetite for tinned foods, all of which, when you have lived on them for a few months, have the same dull taste.
We brought along a small stash of whisky and brandy, which was often welcome, and I think that in a really damp climate, a little alcohol can be helpful. The Dutch brought dry Hollands gin, which is sipped with a bit of bitters before dinner; it definitely helps stimulate your appetite for canned foods, all of which, after a few months of living on them, taste pretty bland. 69
It may be thought that the above discourse on the subject of food is unduly long, but I shall make no apology for it, because equally with the question of transport the question of food is of paramount importance. The recital of some of the mistakes that we made may serve as a warning to others, who wish to visit a similar district. In countries like Africa and many parts of Asia, where the people cultivate the soil and where there are numbers of game animals, you may always look forward to varying your fare with some fresh food, either animal or vegetable; but when you go to New Guinea you must be prepared to live wholly on dried and tinned foods, and that is only possible when they are varied and of the best manufacture.
It might seem like the discussion about food is overly lengthy, but I won’t apologize for it because, just like transportation, food is extremely important. Sharing some of the mistakes we made could help others who want to visit a similar area. In regions like Africa and many parts of Asia, where people farm the land and there are plenty of game animals, you can usually expect to mix up your meals with some fresh options, whether from animals or plants. However, when you go to New Guinea, you need to be ready to rely entirely on dried and canned foods, and that works only if they are varied and of high quality.
During the first months of our stay in New Guinea most of the energies of the expedition were spent in transporting supplies from the base-camp at Wakatimi to the camp at Parimau up the Mimika River. And indeed it may be said that this was one of the principal occupations of the expedition from beginning to end; for our coolies were very soon worn out by sickness and the unaccustomed labour, so that they had to be sent back to their homes, and by the time that a fresh batch of coolies arrived in the country the store of70 provisions at Parimau was exhausted and the process of taking up a fresh supply had to be begun again.
During the first few months of our time in New Guinea, most of the efforts of the expedition were focused on transporting supplies from the base camp at Wakatimi to the camp at Parimau along the Mimika River. In fact, this was one of the main activities of the expedition from start to finish; our porters quickly became exhausted from illness and the unfamiliar labor, which meant they had to be sent back home. By the time a new group of porters arrived in the area, the supply of70 provisions at Parimau had been depleted, so we had to start the process of getting a new supply all over again.
It was not until our third batch of coolies came at the end of December, that we were able to accumulate enough stores at Parimau to serve as a base for a moderately long expedition from that place. Before that time it had never been possible to make a longer march than three days from Parimau, and there had been long periods when from lack of coolies everything had been at a standstill. Those times were of course excessively trying both to the health and to the tempers of the members of the expedition. It was irksome beyond words to see day after day the mountains in the distance and to be unable to move a step nearer to them.
It wasn't until our third group of workers arrived at the end of December that we could gather enough supplies at Parimau to serve as a base for a moderately long expedition from there. Before that, it had never been possible to travel more than three days from Parimau, and there had been long stretches when everything had come to a halt due to a shortage of workers. Those times were incredibly stressful for both the health and patience of the expedition members. It was frustrating beyond belief to see the mountains in the distance day after day and not be able to move any closer to them.
HAULING CANOES UP THE MIMIKA.
Hauling canoes up the Mimika.
The distance from Wakatimi to Parimau, though only twenty-two miles as the crow flies, was about forty miles by water, and it took from five to seven days, according to the state of the river, to accomplish the journey in canoes. While the coolies were still comparatively fresh, we sometimes sent off as many as six canoes at a time from Wakatimi to Parimau, but with sickness and fatigue their numbers quickly diminished and two or three canoes laden with stores, accompanied by one “escort” canoe manned by Javanese soldiers and convicts, was the size of the usual river “transport.” The larger canoes were paddled by five or six and the smaller by four men; the average load carried by one canoe was about eight hundred pounds’ weight, of which a considerable amount was consumed on the journey. The men were given one 71day’s rest at Parimau, they came down the river in two days and rested for two days at Wakatimi before starting up the river again. One of us accompanied them on nearly every journey with a view to preventing the men from lingering too many days on the voyage and partly as a protection from the natives, who paid great respect to us but were inclined to behave rudely to the coolies, if they were not accompanied by an European.
The distance from Wakatimi to Parimau, although only twenty-two miles as the crow flies, was about forty miles by water, taking between five to seven days based on the river's condition to make the trip in canoes. While the coolies were still relatively fresh, we sometimes sent off as many as six canoes at once from Wakatimi to Parimau, but as sickness and fatigue set in, their numbers quickly dropped, and two or three canoes loaded with supplies, accompanied by one "escort" canoe manned by Javanese soldiers and convicts, became the usual river "transport." The larger canoes were paddled by five or six men and the smaller ones by four; the average load carried by one canoe was about eight hundred pounds, with a significant portion consumed during the journey. The men were given one 71 day of rest at Parimau, they would come down the river in two days and rest for two days at Wakatimi before starting up the river again. One of us accompanied them on almost every trip to prevent the men from lingering too long during the journey and partly to provide protection from the natives, who showed us great respect but tended to be rude to the coolies if they weren't accompanied by a European.
Those days of canoeing up the Mimika River were some of the most monotonous of my life and I shall never forget them. For the first few miles above Wakatimi the river is about as wide as the Thames at Windsor, the banks are covered with smallish trees with here and there clumps of palm trees, from which fresh young coconuts may be gathered. Occasionally the rising tide helps you on your way, and if you are particularly fortunate you may even see at the end of a straight reach of the river a glimpse of the distant mountains. But very soon the river narrows to half its width, the huge trees of the regular New Guinea jungle shut out all except a narrow strip of sky, and the river twists and meanders towards all the points of the compass, until you wonder whether it will not eventually bring you back to the point whence you started. There was one bend of the river which was particularly remarkable; it made an almost complete circle of about a mile and a half in circumference, ending at a point exactly forty yards distant from its commencement, so that by landing and walking across a narrow neck you could wait for more than half an hour for the canoes to overtake you.
Those days of canoeing up the Mimika River were some of the most boring of my life, and I’ll never forget them. For the first few miles above Wakatimi, the river is about as wide as the Thames at Windsor, with banks lined by small trees and occasional clusters of palm trees, where you can gather fresh young coconuts. Sometimes the rising tide gives you a boost, and if you’re lucky, you might even catch a glimpse of distant mountains at the end of a straight stretch of the river. But soon enough, the river narrows to half its width, and the massive trees of the New Guinea jungle block out all but a narrow strip of sky. The river twists and winds in every direction, and you start to wonder if it will eventually lead you back to where you began. There was one bend in the river that was especially noteworthy; it formed almost a complete circle about a mile and a half around, ending just forty yards from where it started, so you could land and walk across a narrow neck and wait for more than half an hour for the canoes to catch up with you.
The rate of travel varied with the efficiency of the coolies and according to the strength of the current in the river, which was sometimes very sluggish, and at other times came swirling down at three or four miles an hour. We cleared camping places at various points along the river, and, if the pace was good, the average stage was about six hours, though it often took ten or even twelve hours when the river was in flood. The pleasantest camping places were on mudbanks, where the coolies could bathe and pitch their tents without trouble, but they were very liable to be flooded by a sudden rise of the river during the night, and we generally had our own tents pitched on a space cleared in the jungle at the top of a steep bank.
The speed of travel depended on how efficient the coolies were and how strong the river current was, which could be really slow at times and at other times rushed by at three or four miles per hour. We set up camp at different spots along the river, and if the pace was good, we could cover an average distance in about six hours, though it often took ten or even twelve hours when the river was high. The nicest camping spots were on mudbanks, where the coolies could bathe and set up their tents easily, but they were prone to flooding from a sudden rise in the river during the night. We usually had our own tents set up in a cleared area in the jungle at the top of a steep bank.
It will be convenient to describe a day’s voyage up the Mimika by taking an extract from my diary:—
It will be easy to describe a day’s journey up the Mimika by sharing an excerpt from my diary:—
“May 13. The monotony of the river is beyond words, and one day is almost exactly like another. I get up at six o’clock and breakfast off cocoa and biscuits and butter, whilst the camp is coming down, i.e. tents, etc., being packed. Spend the next hour or rather more in hurrying on the coolies with their food, which they ought always to begin to cook half an hour earlier than they do. See everything put into the canoes and then start with the last. After that anything from five to twelve hours’ sitting on a damp tent with one’s feet in more or less (according to the weather) water swishing from side to side of the canoe. Sometimes I paddle, but not so much now as I did the first time I came up the river, 73not from laziness but because the irregular time is so horribly irritating. If the coolies would only paddle lazily but regularly all would be well, but they will not; they paddle all together furiously for perhaps twenty or thirty strokes and then vary between a haphazard rag-time and doing nothing at all.
“May 13. The river's monotony is beyond description, and each day feels almost identical to the last. I wake up at six o’clock and have cocoa, biscuits, and butter for breakfast while the camp is being packed up, meaning the tents and other gear. I spend the next hour or more urging the coolies to start cooking their food, which they really should begin doing at least half an hour earlier than they actually do. I make sure everything is loaded into the canoes and then set off last. After that, I can sit for anywhere between five to twelve hours on a damp bench inside the tent, with my feet in varying degrees of water sloshing back and forth in the canoe, depending on the weather. Sometimes I paddle, but not as much as I did during my first trip up the river, 73 not out of laziness but because the inconsistent timing is frustrating. If the coolies would just paddle lazily but steadily, everything would be fine, but they won’t; they paddle furiously together for maybe twenty or thirty strokes and then switch to a chaotic rhythm or do nothing at all.”
“Most of the time I watch the banks go by and wonder how long it will take us to get to the end of this reach, which bears a remarkable resemblance to the last and to the next. The jungle is as ugly as it can be, rank undergrowth, trailing rattans and scraggy rotting trees. In forty miles I do not think there are half a dozen big trees worth looking at. Very occasionally you see a flowering creeper, one with clusters of white flowers is here and there, and I have seen a few of the gorgeous flaming D’Albertis creeper (Mucuna pruriens). Butterflies are seldom seen and birds one hardly hears at all. The banks are steep slimy brown mud, littered with the trunks and limbs of rotten trees, which also stick up all over the river like horrid muddy bones.
“Most of the time, I watch the riverbanks pass by and wonder how long it will take us to reach the end of this stretch, which looks strikingly similar to the last one and the next. The jungle is as ugly as it gets, with thick undergrowth, trailing vines, and scraggly, rotting trees. In forty miles, I don’t think there are even half a dozen big trees worth noticing. Every once in a while, you spot a flowering vine, with clusters of white flowers here and there, and I’ve seen a few of the stunning flaming D’Albertis creeper (Mucuna pruriens). Butterflies are rarely seen, and you hardly hear any birds at all. The banks are steep, slippery brown mud, crowded with the trunks and limbs of decaying trees, which also stick up all over the river like dreadful muddy bones.”
“Altogether it is as gloomy and depressing as it can be, there is no view, not even a glimpse to shew that we are getting near a mountain range. In the midst of all this it generally rains hard and you arrive in camp soaking wet. Then see everything taken out of the canoes, tents pitched, canoes securely moored, food given out 74to the coolies, and by that time it is well on into the afternoon. Wet wood is somehow coaxed into boiling a kettle and I get a cup of tea, very good. At six o’clock the meal of the day, rice or a tin, but one eats very little on these journeys. After dinner a book and tobacco and to bed about nine o’clock, or earlier if the mosquitoes are troublesome. It does not compare favourably with being ‘on safari’ in Africa, and I frequently wish myself back on one of those interminable roads which I have so often cursed.”
“Overall, it’s as gloomy and depressing as it can get; there’s no view, not even a hint that we’re getting close to a mountain range. In the middle of all this, it usually rains heavily, and you arrive at camp soaking wet. Then you see everything taken out of the canoes, tents set up, canoes securely tied up, food handed out to the porters, and by that time, it’s well into the afternoon. Wet wood is somehow coaxed into boiling a kettle, and I manage to get a cup of tea, which is quite good. At six o’clock, the meal of the day arrives, either rice or a tin of something, but you eat very little on these trips. After dinner, I have a book and tobacco, then head to bed around nine o’clock, or earlier if the mosquitoes are annoying. It really doesn’t compare well to being ‘on safari’ in Africa, and I often find myself wishing to be back on one of those endless roads that I’ve complained about so many times.”
But it must not be supposed that there were not occasional pleasant moments, which to some extent were compensation for the monotony of those days. Sometimes you saw a Crowned Pigeon (Goura sclateri) by the water’s edge, and by paddling quietly you could approach within a few yards before it flew lazily across the river and alighted on a low branch. The Crowned Pigeon is one of the handsomest of New Guinea birds; it is as big as a large domestic fowl, of an uniform mauve grey colour with a large white patch on the wings, and on its head is a crest of delicate grey plumes, which it opens and shuts like a fan. These birds feed mostly on fruits, but they also eat small molluscs and crabs, which they pick up on the river bank. As they were almost the only eatable birds in the country, we killed a good many of them, but their numbers appeared to be in no way diminished when we left the country; the flesh is white and excessively dry.
But you shouldn't think there weren't occasional nice moments that somewhat made up for the monotony of those days. Sometimes, you'd spot a Crowned Pigeon (Goura sclateri) by the water’s edge, and by moving quietly, you could get within a few yards before it lazily flew across the river and landed on a low branch. The Crowned Pigeon is one of the most beautiful birds in New Guinea; it's about the size of a large domesticated chicken, with a uniform mauve-grey color and a big white patch on its wings. It has a crest of delicate grey feathers on its head that it can spread and close like a fan. These birds mainly eat fruits, but they also munch on small mollusks and crabs that they find along the riverbank. Since they were nearly the only edible birds in the area, we ended up hunting quite a few of them, but their population didn’t seem to drop when we left; the meat is white and extremely dry.
A PAPUAN OF MIMIKA WITH CLOSELY PLAITED HAIR.
A Papuan from Mimika with tightly braided hair.
The little red King Bird of Paradise (Cicinnurus regius) is heard calling everywhere, and from the upper 75waters of the river you hear the harsh cry of the Greater Bird of Paradise (Paradisea novae guineae), but both of these are birds of the dense forest and I do not remember ever having seen one from the river.
The little red King Bird of Paradise (Cicinnurus regius) can be heard calling all around, and from the upper 75 waters of the river, you can hear the harsh call of the Greater Bird of Paradise (Paradisea novae guineae), but both of these are birds of the thick forest, and I don’t recall ever seeing one from the river.
Green and red Eclectus Parrots (Eclectus pectoralis) and white Lemon-crested Cockatoos are fairly numerous and their harsh screams, though sufficiently unpleasing are a welcome interruption of the prevailing silence.
Green and red Eclectus Parrots (Eclectus pectoralis) and white Lemon-crested Cockatoos are quite common, and their loud screams, while not very pleasant, are a welcome break from the usual silence.
Lories were not often seen on the river journeys, but they were extremely common near Wakatimi, where a certain clump of trees was used by them as a regular roosting-place. For an hour or more before sunset countless hundreds of Lories (Eos fuscata) flew in flocks from all directions towards the roosting-trees, chattering loudly as they flew and even louder after they had perched. Often a branch would give way under the living weight and then the whole throng would rise in the air again and circle round and round before they alighted once more and the shouting and chattering continued until it was dark.
Lories weren’t often spotted on river trips, but they were really common near Wakatimi, where a specific group of trees served as their regular roosting spot. For an hour or more before sunset, countless hundreds of Lories (Eos fuscata) flew in flocks from all directions toward the roosting trees, making a lot of noise as they flew and even louder after they perched. Sometimes a branch would snap under their weight, causing the entire flock to take off again, circling around before settling down once more, with their shouting and chattering continuing until it was dark.
Crocodiles were very seldom seen, but Iguanas of two or three feet in length were often seen sunning themselves on a log or a stump, from which they would splash hurriedly into the water as the canoes approached. Several times at night I heard a splash as loud as the plunge of a man into water, but I could never discover what was the animal that caused it; there may yet possibly be some large unknown reptile in the river. Snakes were sometimes seen curled up in the overhanging vegetation and very commonly they were76 found swimming in the water; one day I counted eleven small harmless snakes swimming within half a mile of the same place.
Crocodiles were rarely spotted, but iguanas around two or three feet long were often seen basking on a log or a stump. They would quickly splash into the water as the canoes got closer. Several times at night, I heard a splash as loud as someone diving into water, but I could never figure out what animal made it; there might still be some large, unknown reptile in the river. Snakes were sometimes seen curled up in the overhanging plants, and they were very commonly found swimming in the water. One day, I counted eleven small, harmless snakes swimming within half a mile of the same spot.
On many days during the months of May and June the river swarmed with large bright yellow flies very similar to, but about twice the size of, the Green Drake of the fly-fisher. They hatched out about mid-day and took longer or shorter flights over the water, rising from it and alighting again like miniature aeroplanes. Many of them fell a prey to swallows and bee-eaters and other insect-eating birds, while the rest were quickly drowned, and I have seen long stretches of the river completely covered by the dead insects.
On many days in May and June, the river was filled with large, bright yellow flies that looked a lot like, but were about twice the size of, the Green Drake that fly-fishers use. They hatched around midday and flew short distances over the water, taking off and landing again like little airplanes. Many of them were caught by swallows, bee-eaters, and other insect-eating birds, while the rest quickly drowned. I've seen long stretches of the river completely blanketed with dead insects.
At some of the camps on the river and elsewhere we were a good deal bothered by small bees, the Stingless Honey-bee (Melipona praeterita). These annoying little creatures—they are about half the size of the common house-fly—buzzed about you in swarms and strove most persistently to settle on any exposed part of your body in pursuit of the sweat, which is never absent from you in those places. No matter how you beat about and killed them they were back again immediately and once, while writing, I kept my hands quite still on the book and in a few moments I counted forty-six on my two hands before their crawling became unbearable. They have a disagreeably sticky feeling as they crawl over you and your hands, when you have squashed a number of them, become sticky too.
At some of the camps by the river and elsewhere, we were really bothered by small bees, the Stingless Honey-bee (Melipona praeterita). These annoying little creatures—they're about half the size of a common housefly—buzzed around us in swarms and persistently tried to land on any exposed part of our bodies to get to the sweat, which is always present in those areas. No matter how much we swatted and killed them, they were back immediately. Once, while I was writing, I kept my hands completely still on the book, and in just a few moments, I counted forty-six on my hands before the crawling became unbearable. They have a grossly sticky feeling as they crawl over you, and your hands become sticky too after squashing a bunch of them.
At night, when the rain was not drumming ceaselessly on the roof of the tent, the silence was broken now and then by the grating call of a Brush Turkey77 (Talegallus fuscirostris)6; or a flock of Pale Crows (Gymnocorax senex), which are curiously nocturnal in their habits, would fly over the camp cawing like muffled rooks. Lizards and frogs uttered all sorts of strange cries and whistles, and the mournful unbirdlike note of the Frogmouth (Podargus papuensis) was heard on every side.
At night, when the rain wasn’t constantly pounding on the tent roof, the silence was occasionally interrupted by the harsh call of a Brush Turkey77 (Talegallus fuscirostris)6; or a group of Pale Crows (Gymnocorax senex), which are interestingly active at night, would fly over the camp cawing like muffled crows. Lizards and frogs made all kinds of strange sounds and whistles, and the mournful, unbirdlike call of the Frogmouth (Podargus papuensis) could be heard all around.
Sometimes, even when there was no wind stirring, you would hear at night a noise like thunder as some great tree went crashing down. Most of the trees in the jungle do not attain a very great girth, but they grow up very rapidly to reach the light and in their upper branches there is soon accumulated a dense mass of climbers and parasitic plants, which in the course of time become too heavy for the tree and cause it to collapse. The floor of the jungle is strewn with the limbs and trunks of fallen trees and the smell of rotting wood is everywhere.
Sometimes, even when there was no wind blowing, you would hear a noise at night like thunder as some big tree came crashing down. Most of the trees in the jungle aren't very thick, but they grow quickly to reach the light, and soon a dense mass of vines and parasitic plants builds up in their upper branches, which eventually becomes too heavy for the tree and causes it to fall. The jungle floor is covered with the limbs and trunks of fallen trees, and the smell of decaying wood is everywhere.
The last, usually the fifth, day of the journey up the river was always pleasant, partly because one knew that there were only a few more hours of the tedious voyage, and partly because the scenery was beginning to change. Beautiful Tree-ferns appeared upon the banks and the soil, firmer than in the swampy lands near the coast, supported trees of finer growth. Scattered pebbles and then banks of clean sand and shingle began 78to take the place of the hideous mud of the lower river, and after spending, as frequently happened, many weeks at Wakatimi, where the smallest pebble would have been an object of wonder, it was a peculiar pleasure to feel the grit of stones under your feet again. At the same time the cocoa-brown water became clear and sparkling and one drank it for the very pleasure of drinking. Going further we came to rapids, where the river ran over stones, or piled-up barriers of fallen trees. Passages were cut through many of these obstacles, but every succeeding flood brought down more trees and new barriers were formed.
The last day of the journey up the river, usually the fifth, was always enjoyable, partly because you knew there were only a few more hours of the long trip, and partly because the scenery started to change. Beautiful tree ferns appeared along the banks, and the soil, firmer than in the swampy areas near the coast, supported taller trees. Scattered pebbles and then banks of clean sand and gravel began to replace the ugly mud of the lower river, and after spending, as often happened, many weeks at Wakatimi, where even the smallest pebble was a source of wonder, it was such a nice feeling to have the grit of stones under your feet again. At the same time, the cocoa-brown water became clear and sparkling, and you drank it just for the joy of drinking. As we went further, we encountered rapids, where the river flowed over stones and piles of fallen trees. Paths were cut through many of these obstacles, but every flood brought down more trees, creating new barriers.
When the river was low, the last four miles to Parimau were covered by wading and hauling the canoes over or under the great logs. Every man had to get out of the canoe and do his share of the work, and sometimes we had to take the cargo out as well, when the canoe had to be dragged over a particularly high obstacle. When the river was in flood, the last day’s journey was the most arduous of all, and it sometimes took twelve or fourteen hours’ hard labour to accomplish it. The water was then too deep for poling, and the current was so swift that vigorous paddling hardly did more than prevent the canoe from following the stream, and it was only by dodging from one side of the river to the other and by hauling on overhanging branches that progress was made.
When the river was low, the last four miles to Parimau were tackled by wading and dragging the canoes over or under the huge logs. Everyone had to get out of the canoe and pitch in, and sometimes we had to unload the cargo too when the canoe needed to be pulled over a really tall obstacle. When the river was flooded, the final stretch was the toughest of all, and it could take twelve to fourteen hours of hard work to get through. The water was too deep for poling, and the current was so strong that paddling vigorously only helped keep the canoe from getting swept away, and we made progress by weaving from one side of the river to the other and pulling on the overhanging branches.
Head-dresses made of plaited fibres, worn at festivals and ceremonies. 1. is ornamented with tufts of plumes of the Greater Bird of Paradise.
Headpieces made from braided fibers, worn at festivals and ceremonies. 1. is decorated with tufts of feathers from the Greater Bird of Paradise.
Considering the want of skill of the coolies and the great number of journeys that were made up and down the river, it was wonderful that no accidents of any consequence occurred. It is true that a good 79many canoes capsized—I think all of us had at least one involuntary ducking—but a well-laden canoe is comparatively steady, and most of the upsets happened to empty canoes going down the river and nothing was lost but coolies’ scanty baggage, which was easily replaced. The Javanese coolies of the escort, who were even less skilled watermen than ours, suffered rather more accidents, but one boat-load of provisions and two rifles were the total of their losses.
Considering the lack of skill of the laborers and the numerous trips made up and down the river, it was remarkable that no significant accidents occurred. It's true that quite a few canoes capsized—I think we all experienced at least one unexpected dunking—but a well-loaded canoe is relatively stable, and most of the capsizes involved empty canoes traveling downstream, resulting in nothing lost except for the laborers’ minimal belongings, which were easily replaceable. The Javanese laborers in the escort, who were even less adept at handling watercraft than ours, experienced a few more accidents, but the total of their losses was just one boatload of supplies and two rifles.
There were periods, lasting for several weeks, when the river was almost continually in flood, and there were other, but always shorter, periods when the river was low; but though we spent fifteen months in New Guinea the time was not long enough to determine at all accurately the limits of the seasons, for the first three months of 1911 differed considerably from the corresponding months of the previous year. Speaking generally, it may be said of the Mimika district that the weather from mid-October to the middle of April is finer than the weather from the middle of April to the middle of October. These two periods correspond more or less with the monsoons, but it is notable that whereas in British New Guinea the period of the Eastern monsoon, May to November, is the drier, here the reverse is the case. The finest weather appears to be in November and December, and the wettest weather is in July, August and September. The terms “fine” and “wet” are used only relatively, for it is almost always wet. In the first twelve months of our stay rain fell on three hundred and thirty days. It was very unfortunate that we did not provide ourselves80 with rain-gauges for use at Wakatimi and Parimau, where interesting observations might have been recorded for a year or more. A roughly constructed rain-gauge, which was used for a short time, more than once recorded a fall of over six inches of rain in one night, and that was in the comparatively dry season of March.
There were stretches lasting several weeks when the river was almost constantly flooded, and other, but shorter, times when the river was low; however, even though we spent fifteen months in New Guinea, that wasn't long enough to clearly define the seasonal limits, since the first three months of 1911 were quite different from the same months in the previous year. In general, it's safe to say that in the Mimika district, the weather from mid-October to mid-April is better than from mid-April to mid-October. These two periods roughly align with the monsoons, but it's interesting to note that while the Eastern monsoon period, from May to November, is the driest in British New Guinea, the opposite is true here. The best weather seems to occur in November and December, while the wettest months are July, August, and September. The terms “fine” and “wet” are relative since it's almost always raining. During the first twelve months of our stay, it rained on three hundred and thirty days. It was unfortunate that we didn’t bring along rain gauges for Wakatimi and Parimau, where we could have made interesting observations for a year or more. A makeshift rain gauge, which was used for a brief period, recorded over six inches of rain in a single night more than once, and that was during the relatively dry month of March.
A great deal of the rain fell in thunderstorms. From January 4th, 1910, to January 4th, 1911, I heard thunder on two hundred and ninety-five days, not including days on which I saw distant lightning but did not hear the thunder.
A lot of the rain came down during thunderstorms. From January 4th, 1910, to January 4th, 1911, I heard thunder on two hundred and ninety-five days, not counting the days when I saw distant lightning but didn’t hear the thunder.
Before we left England it was thought that the party ought to include a geologist, but it was impossible to add to our numbers, which were already sufficiently great. As it fell out, we hardly reached geological country at all and a geologist would have spent an idle time, but there would have been plenty of occupation for a well equipped hydrologist.
Before we left England, it was suggested that the group should include a geologist, but it was impossible to increase our numbers, which were already quite large. As it turned out, we barely entered any geological areas, and a geologist would have had little to do. However, there would have been plenty of work for a well-equipped hydrologist.
The winds, whether from the East or from the West, were very variable both in force and constancy. Sometimes there would blow a fierce wind for two or three days followed by several days of calm. At other times a steady wind would blow for two or three weeks and so great would be the surf on the sea-shore that no ship could approach the mouth of the river. The wind usually dropped before sunset and the nights were calm.
The winds, whether coming from the East or the West, were very changeable in both strength and consistency. Sometimes a strong wind would blow for two or three days, followed by several days of calm. Other times, a steady wind would blow for two or three weeks, causing such high surf on the shore that no ship could get close to the river's mouth. The wind typically died down before sunset, and the nights were peaceful.
It followed naturally from the heavy rainfall that the nights were seldom clear, and at one time Marshall waited for three months before he could take an observation from a star. But there were times even in the81 wet weather, when the rain poured down during the day and at night the heavens were clear. One of these times fortunately occurred in May, when Halley’s Comet was approaching the Earth. On May 9th the comet, looking like a muffled star, was seen in the East and its tail, a broad beam of brilliant light, extended upwards through about thirty degrees. Below the comet and a little to the South of it Venus shone like a little moon, appearing far bigger than any planet I have ever seen. The comet grew enormously and in the early morning of May 14th, the last time that we saw it completely before it had passed the Earth, the tail blazed across the heavens like an immense search-light beam to the zenith and beyond. On May 26th it appeared again in the evening, reduced in size to about forty-five degrees, and several nights we watched it growing always smaller, until it vanished from our sight. Superlative expressions will not describe Halley’s Comet as we saw it in New Guinea; it was a wonderful appearance and one never to be forgotten. Our coolies and the Javanese declared that it portended much sickness and death. Though we tried to question them about it, we never learnt how it impressed the minds of the natives.
It naturally followed from the heavy rainfall that the nights were rarely clear, and at one point, Marshall waited for three months before he could take a star observation. However, there were moments even in the81 wet weather, when it rained during the day, but the sky cleared at night. One of these occasions fortunately occurred in May, when Halley’s Comet was approaching Earth. On May 9th, the comet, looking like a dim star, was seen in the East, and its tail, a wide beam of brilliant light, stretched upwards for about thirty degrees. Below the comet and slightly to the South, Venus shone like a small moon, appearing much larger than any planet I’ve ever seen. The comet increased significantly, and in the early morning of May 14th, the last time we saw it fully before it passed Earth, the tail blazed across the sky like an enormous searchlight beam to the zenith and beyond. On May 26th, it reappeared in the evening, reduced in size to about forty-five degrees, and for several nights we watched it shrink continuously until it disappeared from our view. No words can adequately describe Halley’s Comet as we saw it in New Guinea; it was a breathtaking sight, one that will never be forgotten. Our coolies and the Javanese claimed that it signified much sickness and death. Although we attempted to ask them about it, we never discovered how it affected the minds of the locals.
CHAPTER VII
Exploration of the Kapare River—Obota—Native Geography—River Obstructions—Hornbills and Tree Ducks—Gifts of Stones—Importance of Steam Launch—Cultivation of Tobacco—Sago Swamps—Manufacture of Sago—Cooking of Sago—The Dutch Use of Convict Labour.
Exploring the Kapare River—Obota—Local Geography—River Blockages—Hornbills and Tree Ducks—Gifting of Stones—Significance of Steam Launches—Growing Tobacco—Sago Swamps—Making Sago—Cooking Sago—Dutch Use of Convict Labor.
Towards the end of January Capt. Rawling, who had gone up the Mimika River with the first party to Parimau, made an excursion to the N.W. of that place, and at a distance of about four miles he came to a river, which we afterwards learnt to know as the Kapare, of much greater volume than the Mimika, and therefore likely to spring from mountains much higher than those that gave rise to the Mimika. Had we known at the time that our real objective, the highest mountains of the range, lay far to the N.E., we should have neglected the Kapare River, and by so doing we should have spared ourselves many weeks of labour; but at the same time we should have missed seeing a wide area of unknown country, and we might possibly have failed to make the discovery of the pygmy tribe, who inhabit the hilly country between the Kapare and the upper waters of the Mimika River.
Toward the end of January, Capt. Rawling, who had gone up the Mimika River with the first group to Parimau, took a trip to the northwest of that area. About four miles away, he found a river, which we later learned was the Kapare, much larger than the Mimika, suggesting it probably came from mountains significantly higher than those that created the Mimika. If we had known at the time that our actual goal, the highest mountains of the range, was far to the northeast, we would have ignored the Kapare River, saving ourselves many weeks of effort. However, we would have missed exploring a vast, unknown region and might not have discovered the pygmy tribe living in the hilly area between the Kapare and the upper parts of the Mimika River.
UPPER WATERS OF THE KAPARE RIVER. MOUNT TAPIRO IN DISTANCE.
UPPER WATERS OF THE KAPARE RIVER. MOUNT TAPIRO IN THE DISTANCE.
It appeared that the Kapare might offer a better route to the higher mountains than the Mimika, so it was decided that we should explore its lower waters and see whether it was possible to reach it from our base-camp. Accordingly on February 14th Lieut. Cramer, 83Marshall and I set out in three canoes, taking with us provisions sufficient for a week’s journey. Two miles below Wakatimi we entered and began to ascend the Watuka River, of which, as has been noted above (p. 40), the Mimika is but a tributary. After proceeding a mile or two up the Watuka we came to another junction of two rivers, and for the first time we began to realise the extraordinary network of waterways, which traverse the low-lying lands of that part of New Guinea. We learnt afterwards that there are inland channels joining several of the rivers to the East of the Mimika in such a way that it is possible to travel by water from Wakatimi to villages far distant along the coast without going by sea, and no doubt the same is true in a Westerly direction.
It seemed that the Kapare might provide a better route to the higher mountains than the Mimika, so we decided to explore its lower waters to see if we could reach it from our base camp. On February 14th, Lieut. Cramer, Marshall, and I set out in three canoes, bringing enough supplies for a week. Two miles below Wakatimi, we entered and started to go up the Watuka River, which, as mentioned earlier (p. 40), is just a tributary of the Mimika. After traveling a mile or two up the Watuka, we came to another junction of two rivers, and for the first time, we began to appreciate the incredible network of waterways that crisscross the low-lying areas of that part of New Guinea. We later learned that there are inland channels connecting several of the rivers to the east of the Mimika, allowing travel by water from Wakatimi to villages far along the coast without having to go by sea, and undoubtedly, the same is true to the west.
The junction we had then reached was formed by a wide river coming, apparently, from due North and a much smaller branch, not more than ten yards wide, but deep and swift, joining it from the West. It appeared to be quite certain that the river we were in search of must be the Northern branch, and we should have followed it at once had not a number of natives appeared on the bank, and asked us to go and visit their village, which, they explained, was a short distance up the Western branch.
The intersection we had reached was created by a wide river coming, seemingly, from straight North and a much smaller stream, not more than ten yards wide but deep and fast, joining it from the West. It seemed clear that the river we were looking for must be the Northern branch, and we would have followed it right away if a group of locals hadn’t shown up on the bank and invited us to visit their village, which, they said, was just a short distance up the Western branch.
We soon reached Obota, as the village was called, a collection of about one hundred huts on both banks of the narrow river, and there we were accorded the usual welcome by a large crowd of people. As it was still early in the day we were anxious to continue our journey, and we proposed to go up the Northern branch, but the natives assured us that that led to nowhere and broke84 up into branches in the jungle, while the small stream which flowed through the village was the river flowing directly from the mountains.
We soon arrived at Obota, as the village was named, which was a collection of around one hundred huts on both sides of the narrow river. There, we received the usual warm welcome from a large crowd of people. Since it was still early in the day, we were eager to continue our journey and suggested heading up the Northern branch. However, the locals assured us that it led to nowhere and split into branches in the jungle, while the small stream flowing through the village was the river that came directly from the mountains.
It should be explained that this information was conveyed to us partly by long speeches of which we understood little or nothing, but chiefly by means of maps drawn on the ground. Some of the men drew their rivers crossing one another in a rather improbable manner, but many of them drew charts very intelligently, and at different times we obtained from the natives a good deal of geographical information which was substantially correct. On this occasion their maps all agreed in tracing the big river to branches in the jungle, and the small river to the mountains, so we were rather reluctantly persuaded that they were right, and we tried to induce some of them to go with us. Many of them offered to go the next day, but not one would start then—it was too late, it was going to rain, they had not eaten, and many other excuses—so we got into our canoes and attempted to paddle up the stream and found, what the natives doubtless knew, that we could not advance at all. Several times we tried, but were always driven back by the strong current, to the great delight of the natives who lined the banks and laughed at our feeble efforts, so there was nothing for it but to make a camp near the village and wait till the next day.
It should be noted that this information was shared with us partly through long speeches, most of which we understood very little or not at all, but mainly through maps drawn on the ground. Some of the men sketched their rivers crossing each other in a pretty unlikely way, but many made charts that were quite clever, and at various times we received a decent amount of geographical information from the locals that was largely accurate. On this occasion, their maps all agreed in showing the big river leading to branches in the jungle and the smaller river leading to the mountains, so we were somewhat reluctantly convinced they were correct, and we tried to persuade some of them to join us. Many of them offered to come the next day, but not one would leave right then—it was too late, it was about to rain, they hadn’t eaten, and they had a bunch of other excuses—so we got into our canoes and attempted to paddle upstream, only to discover, as the locals likely knew, that we couldn’t make any progress at all. We tried several times, but were always pushed back by the strong current, to the amusement of the locals who lined the banks and laughed at our weak attempts, so we had no choice but to set up camp near the village and wait until the next day.
There was some difficulty about inducing the men to start in the morning, for it was raining, and, like other naked peoples, the Papuans dislike being wetted by rain, but we got off eventually with two natives,85 one at the bow and one at the stern, in each canoe, in addition to the crews of four Javanese soldiers and convicts. It was soon evident that without the help of the natives we could not possibly have ascended the river. For a mile or two above Obota the water ran like a mill-race in a very narrow channel full of rocks and sunken trees, and it was only by the most skilful poling and, when a chance occurred, by hauling the canoes along a side channel that we were able to proceed. When we returned a few days later, we skimmed in fifteen minutes down the rapids which we had taken more than three hours to ascend.
There was some trouble getting the men to start in the morning because it was raining, and like other groups who aren't used to clothes, the Papuans really didn't like getting wet. But we finally set off with two locals, one at the front and one at the back of each canoe, along with four Javanese soldiers and convicts in the crew. It quickly became clear that without their help, we wouldn't have been able to paddle up the river at all. A mile or two above Obota, the water flowed like a rapid in a very narrow channel filled with rocks and submerged trees. We could only move forward by expert paddling and, when the opportunity arose, by pulling the canoes along a side channel. When we came back a few days later, we sped down the rapids in fifteen minutes, which had taken us over three hours to climb.
Above the rapids the river widened to about forty yards and the strength of the current was proportionately less, but in a few miles we met with another difficulty. At a sharp bend of the river the whole channel was blocked by an enormous barrier of huge trunks and limbs of trees piled high upon each other and wedged below into a solid mass. For larger boats this might have meant a delay of many days spent in cutting a channel, but the dug-out canoe is narrow and, if not flexible, it can be squeezed through the most unlikely openings, so that we passed the barrier without the loss of many hours.
Above the rapids, the river widened to about forty yards, and the current was noticeably weaker. However, a few miles later, we encountered another challenge. At a sharp bend in the river, the entire channel was blocked by a massive pile of huge tree trunks and limbs stacked high on top of each other, firmly wedged into a solid mass below. For larger boats, this could have resulted in a delay of many days to cut a channel, but the dugout canoe is narrow, and while it isn't flexible, it can be squeezed through the most unexpected openings, allowing us to get past the barrier without losing too many hours.
When we started from Obota we had been doubtful whether it was possible that so small a river could possibly come from the mountains; but a little way above the barrier of logs our doubts were set at rest, when we found that our river was a mere off-shoot from another more than twice its volume, which flowed down to the sea at a village called Periepia. The main86 river, the Kapare, where we joined it, was more than a hundred yards wide, and in the next two days’ journey it hardly diminished at all in size. The character of the river differed markedly from that of the Mimika; its bed was of sand, denoting its mountain origin, in contrast to the brown mud of the Mimika and other jungle rivers, and its course was a procession of magnificent bends, quite unlike the paltry windings of the Mimika.
When we left Obota, we were unsure if such a small river could really come from the mountains. But just a bit further up, past the log barrier, our doubts were cleared when we discovered that our river was just a small branch off a much larger one, which was over twice its size, flowing down to the sea near a village called Periepia. The main river, the Kapare, where we joined it, was more than a hundred yards wide, and in the next two days of travel, it hardly shrank at all. The river’s character was very different from that of the Mimika; its bed was sandy, showing its mountain origin, unlike the brown mud of the Mimika and other jungle rivers. Its path was a series of beautiful bends, unlike the insignificant curves of the Mimika.
Paddling slowly up the river we disturbed companies of Hornbills (Rhytidoceros plicatus) which were feeding at the tops of the trees. These peculiarly hideous birds bark like dogs, and the loud “swishing” of their wings, as they slowly take flight, has been likened (not inaptly) to the starting puffs of a railway train. On this and on the other rivers we were often pleasantly reminded of home by the note of the Common Sandpiper (Totanus hypoleucus) which seemed to be quite as much at home in New Guinea as in its northern haunts. The last of these were seen in early April, and they began to reappear before the end of July. Very interesting birds, of which we saw a great number on this river, are the black and white Tree Ducks (Tadorna radjah). They have the curious habit of perching very cleverly on the topmost branches of the trees, and they make a pretty whistling by night.
Paddling slowly up the river, we disturbed groups of Hornbills (Rhytidoceros plicatus) that were feeding at the tops of the trees. These oddly unattractive birds bark like dogs, and the loud “swishing” of their wings as they take flight has been accurately compared to the initial puffs of a steam train. On this and other rivers, we were often pleasantly reminded of home by the call of the Common Sandpiper (Totanus hypoleucus), which seemed just as at home in New Guinea as in its northern habitats. The last of these were spotted in early April, and they began to show up again before the end of July. A particularly interesting bird that we saw in large numbers on this river is the black and white Tree Duck (Tadorna radjah). They have a unique habit of smartly perching on the highest branches of trees, and they produce a lovely whistling sound at night.
VEGETATION ON THE BANKS OF THE KAPARE RIVER.
VEGETATION ALONG THE BANKS OF THE KAPARE RIVER.
There were no signs of human habitation along the banks, until on the third day we came to a small village of a dozen huts, in the middle of which was a tall house built of bamboos, used for ceremonials and dancing. The few people inhabiting the place were of a very low 87order of intelligence, if one may judge from the apathy with which they received us and saw us go on our way.
There were no signs of people living along the banks until the third day when we arrived at a small village with about a dozen huts. In the center stood a tall house made of bamboo, used for ceremonies and dancing. The few people living there seemed to have a very low level of intelligence, judging by the indifference with which they greeted us and watched us continue on our way. 87
As we proceeded further, on the fourth day the river became a good deal smaller, having derived several tributaries from the low hills which were by that time not far distant on the right bank, and as the current became increasingly swifter it was evident that the Kapare did not promise a better means of approach by water to the mountains than the Mimika.
As we moved forward, on the fourth day the river shrank quite a bit, having picked up several smaller streams from the low hills that were now close by on the right bank. As the current got faster, it was clear that the Kapare wasn’t going to provide a better way to reach the mountains by water than the Mimika.
We were rather amused, when we came to the first bank of shingle, by the natives who were with us bringing us gifts of stones, as though they were something new and rare: probably they thought that as we came, for all they knew, from the sea, we had never seen such things before.
We found it pretty funny when we reached the first bank of pebbles, seeing the locals with us offering us gifts of stones, as if they were something special and unique: they probably thought that since we came from the sea, we had never seen these things before.
On the fifth day we left the baggage behind and went on in one unladen canoe, hoping to reach the point where Rawling had met the Kapare River by walking overland from the Mimika, but we were stopped a few miles short of that place by heavy rapids, which effectually prevented any further investigation of the river.
On the fifth day, we left our baggage behind and continued on in a single, light canoe, hoping to reach the spot where Rawling met the Kapare River by traveling overland from the Mimika. However, we were stopped a few miles short of that location by strong rapids, which completely blocked any further exploration of the river.
The excursion up the Kapare was a further illustration, if one had been needed, of the futility of undertaking an expedition in that country without a steam launch or motor-boat. When it was found that the Mimika was only an insignificant river, which the first excursion up it would have shown, the Kapare River might have been explored from Periepia, a matter which could have been done in two days instead of the seven occupied by the journey in canoes, and after that88 other rivers to the East might have been explored until one convenient for approaching the mountains had been found.
The trip up the Kapare was yet another example, if one was needed, of how pointless it is to attempt an expedition in that region without a steam launch or motorboat. When it became clear that the Mimika was just a minor river, which would have been evident on the first trip up it, the Kapare River could have been explored from Periepia, a task that could have taken two days instead of the seven spent paddling in canoes. After that88, other rivers to the east could have been investigated until one suitable for accessing the mountains was found.
After spending a night on a sand bank from which we were very nearly washed away by a sudden flood, we paddled leisurely down the river and came in one day again to Obota. Though the two places are so close together and communication between them is very frequent, the inhabitants of Obota are a much better lot of people than those of Wakatimi. The Obota men, who came up the river with us, worked steadily for several days, a thing we never could persuade the Wakatimi men to do, and, a more striking sign of their superiority, the Obota people cultivate the soil, whereas the Wakatimi people never do anything of the kind.
After spending a night on a sandbank from which we almost got swept away by a sudden flood, we paddled down the river at a relaxed pace and arrived at Obota again in a day. Even though the two places are very close and there’s frequent communication between them, the people of Obota are much better than those of Wakatimi. The Obota men who traveled up the river with us worked steadily for several days, which we could never convince the Wakatimi men to do. A more striking indication of their superiority is that the Obota people farm the land, while the Wakatimi people never do anything like that.
Many acres of ground on both sides of the river were cleared of bush and planted with bananas and sweet potatoes; we never succeeded in obtaining any of the latter, but bananas were brought for us to buy and in the circumstances they seemed to us to be excellent. The most extensive crop cultivated at Obota is tobacco; they plant out the seedlings and shelter them with a low roof of bent sticks covered with leaves, until the young plants are strong enough to bear the full force of the sun and rain. Almost every native smokes, men and women, and very often the children. A small handful of the dried leaves is taken and very carefully rolled up in the form of a cigar, and then wrapped round with a sirih leaf, which has been previously warmed over the fire; the ends are bitten square, and sometimes the leaf is tied round the middle with a thread of fibre to89 prevent its unrolling. The tobacco is strong in flavour, but not at all unpleasant to smoke. The only other place, except among the pygmy people of the hills, where we found cultivation was up the Keaukwa River, a few miles to the E. of the Mimika River.
Many acres of land on both sides of the river were cleared of brush and planted with bananas and sweet potatoes; we never managed to get any of the latter, but bananas were available for us to purchase and, given the situation, they seemed excellent. The largest crop grown at Obota is tobacco; they plant the seedlings and shelter them with a low roof made of bent sticks covered with leaves until the young plants are strong enough to withstand the full intensity of the sun and rain. Almost every local smokes, both men and women, and often children too. A small handful of dried leaves is carefully rolled into a cigar shape, then wrapped with a sirih leaf that has been warmed over the fire; the ends are bitten off square, and sometimes the leaf is tied around the middle with a thread of fiber to89 keep it from unrolling. The tobacco has a strong flavor, but it's not unpleasant to smoke. The only other place, besides among the pygmy people in the hills, where we found cultivation was up the Keaukwa River, a few miles east of the Mimika River.
The distribution of tobacco in New Guinea is rather a puzzling question. There are many places on the coast where its use was unknown until quite recently, while at the same time the mountain people, for example, in the Arfak Mountains and on the upper reaches of the Fly and Kaiserin Augusta Rivers, have been accustomed to cultivate it and to barter it with their neighbours in the lowlands. The Tapiro pygmy people, who live in the mountains, cultivate tobacco and exchange it with the Papuans of the upper Mimika who grow none themselves. These facts have led some people to suppose that the tobacco plant is indigenous in New Guinea.
The distribution of tobacco in New Guinea is quite a puzzling issue. There are many coastal areas where its use was unknown until recently, while at the same time, the mountain communities, like those in the Arfak Mountains and along the upper parts of the Fly and Kaiserin Augusta Rivers, have been growing it and trading it with their neighbors in the lowlands. The Tapiro pygmy people, who live in the mountains, cultivate tobacco and trade it with the Papuans of the upper Mimika, who don’t grow any themselves. These facts have led some to believe that the tobacco plant is native to New Guinea.
The people of Obota were rich in worldly possessions, for as we walked through the village we saw two Chinese brass gongs and a large porcelain pot, which they told us came from “Tarete.” It may be that at some time a Malay or Arab trader from Ternate came over to this part of the coast, but it is impossible to know; perhaps the things had been stolen and exchanged from one village to another, from the West end of the island, which is often visited by Ternate traders.
The people of Obota had a lot of material wealth. As we strolled through the village, we spotted two Chinese brass gongs and a large porcelain pot, which they said came from “Tarete.” It's possible that a Malay or Arab trader from Ternate visited this part of the coast at some point, but there's no way to tell for sure; maybe the items were stolen and traded from one village to another, coming from the west end of the island, which Ternate traders often visit.
But the chief reason for the prosperity of Obota is the fact that it lies at the edge of an extensive sago swamp, and sago is the mainstay of the food of the Papuans. Sago is made from a palm (Sagus rumphii)90 which always grows in wet places, generally in low ground near the sea, and it will even grow where the water is brackish.7 The palm is thicker than a man’s body, and its height is about 25 or 30 feet. The trunk is covered with large leaves bearing long hard spines. A mature tree produces a large vertical spike of flowers and then dies. When they wish to collect sago, the natives cut down a full-grown palm and clear it of its leaves and leaf-sheaths. A wide strip of the bark is then cut off from the side of the tree which lies uppermost and the sago is exposed. The bark of the tree is really nothing more than a shell about an inch in thickness, enclosing the pith or sago, which is a brownish pulpy substance separated by fibrous strands. The pith is separated from the bark by means of the sago-beater, which is a sort of wooden hammer made in two pieces, a handle about a foot and a half long, carrying a head about twelve inches long; the hitting face of the head is about two inches in diameter, and it often bears a rather sharp rim which is useful in clearing the pith from the bark.
But the main reason for Obota's prosperity is that it sits at the edge of a large sago swamp, and sago is the primary food source for the Papuans. Sago is derived from a palm (Sagus rumphii)90 that typically grows in wet areas, usually in low-lying grounds near the sea, and it can even thrive in brackish water.7 The palm is thicker than a man's body and reaches about 25 or 30 feet in height. Its trunk is covered with large leaves that have long, hard spines. A mature tree produces a tall spike of flowers and then dies. When the locals want to harvest sago, they cut down a mature palm and remove its leaves and leaf sheaths. Next, they strip away a wide piece of bark from the upper side of the tree to expose the sago. The tree's bark is essentially a shell about an inch thick that encases the pith or sago, which is a brownish, pulpy substance separated by fibrous strands. The pith is extracted from the bark using a sago-beater, a type of wooden hammer made of two pieces—a handle about a foot and a half long that supports a head roughly twelve inches long; the striking face of the head is about two inches in diameter and often features a sharp rim that helps in separating the pith from the bark.
PAPUAN WOMAN CARRYING WOODEN BOWL OF SAGO.
PAPUAN WOMAN CARRYING A WOODEN BOWL OF SAGO.
When all the pith has been beaten out of the shell of the tree it is carried away to the nearest water, where the sago is extracted. A trough made of two wide basin-like leaf-bases of the sago palm is set up on crossed sticks about three feet from the ground in such a way that one basin is a little higher than the other. Lumps of the pith are then kneaded in the upper part 91of the trough with water which is constantly poured into it; the water carries away the sago into the lower part of the trough, and nothing remains above but the coarse fibrous stuff which is thrown away; the lower trough gradually becomes filled with sago and the water flows away. The sago, a dirty white substance with a rather sour smell, is made into cylindrical cakes of about 30 lbs. weight, and neatly wrapped up in leaves of the palm to be carried back to the village. Most of the work of collecting and preparing the sago is done by the women.
When all the pith has been removed from the tree's shell, it's taken to the nearest water source to extract the sago. A trough made from two large, basin-like leaf bases of the sago palm is set up on crossed sticks about three feet off the ground, arranged so that one basin is slightly higher than the other. Pieces of the pith are then mixed in the upper part of the trough with water that’s continuously poured in; the water washes the sago into the lower part of the trough, leaving behind only the coarse fibrous material that is discarded. The lower trough gradually fills with sago as the water drains away. The sago, a dirty white substance with a somewhat sour smell, is formed into cylindrical cakes weighing about 30 lbs. and neatly wrapped in palm leaves to be taken back to the village. Most of the work of collecting and preparing the sago is done by women.
According to Mr. Wallace, one fair-sized sago palm will supply one man with food for a year, so it will be seen that the amount of labour required to feed a community in a district where sago is plentiful is not very overwhelming.
According to Mr. Wallace, one decent-sized sago palm can provide enough food for one person for a year, so it's clear that the amount of labor needed to feed a community in an area where sago is abundant isn't too demanding.
The usual method of cooking employed by the Papuans is to roll the sago into lumps about the size of a cricket ball and roast them in the embers of a fire. On one or two occasions I saw them prepare it in a different way, which was to wrap up the sago in banana leaves and cook it on hot stones; the result was probably more wholesome food than the charred lumps that they usually eat.
The typical cooking method used by the Papuans involves rolling sago into balls about the size of a cricket ball and roasting them in the hot coals of a fire. A couple of times, I saw them do it differently by wrapping the sago in banana leaves and cooking it on hot stones; this method likely produced healthier food than the charred lumps they usually eat.
Very often the natives of the Mimika eat the crude sago, that is to say, the pith simply as it is cut out of the tree, without having been washed or pounded. The stuff is roasted in the usual way and the separation of the sago is done in the mouth of the eater, who spits out the uneatable fibre.
Very often, the locals in Mimika eat raw sago, meaning the pith as it comes straight from the tree, without being washed or processed. They usually roast it, and the eater separates the sago in their mouth, spitting out the inedible fibers.
As well as providing the Papuans with the bulk of92 their food, the sago palm supplies them with excellent building poles in the mid-ribs of the leaves, which are straight and very strong, and are sometimes fifteen to twenty feet long, and the leaflets themselves are used for making “atap” in the districts where the Nipa palm is not found.
As well as providing the Papuans with most of92 their food, the sago palm also gives them great building poles from the mid-ribs of the leaves, which are straight and very strong, sometimes measuring fifteen to twenty feet long. The leaflets themselves are used to make “atap” in areas where the Nipa palm isn’t available.
It was mentioned above that the crews of our canoes on the excursion up the Kapare River were made up of Javanese soldiers and convicts. Our first batch of Ambonese coolies had by that time failed us, so Lieut. Cramer very kindly lent us some of his men for the occasion, and we had an opportunity of testing their worth. Speaking generally, it is not unfair to them to say that the Javanese are wholly unsuited to rough work in a savage country; they are a peaceful race of peasants and their proper place is in the rice fields. As soldiers they appear to the civilian eye to be clodhoppers masquerading in (usually misfitting) uniform. They have no military bearing and no alertness, and one ceases to wonder that when the Netherlands East Indian native army is almost exclusively composed of Javanese, the war-like people of Atjeh have kept the field for so many years. It is a matter for surprise that the Dutch do not enlist more of the warlike Bugis of Celebes, and natives of the Moluccas, and even the Achinese prisoners themselves; ten thousand of such men would surely be of more worth than the 30,000 Javanese who fill the ranks of their native army. Of course there are exceptions; there are men among them who have performed splendidly valorous deeds in time of war; but the majority are of a stuff of93 which it would be impossible to make soldiers, they are soft and unathletic and of a curiously feminine form of body, as a glance at a group of bathing Javanese will show.
It was mentioned earlier that the crews of our canoes on the trip up the Kapare River consisted of Javanese soldiers and convicts. By that time, our first group of Ambonese laborers had let us down, so Lieut. Cramer kindly lent us some of his men for the occasion, giving us a chance to evaluate their capability. Generally speaking, it’s fair to say that the Javanese are not suited for tough work in a wild country; they are a peaceful farming people, and their rightful place is in the rice fields. As soldiers, they seem to the casual observer like clumsy individuals pretending to be in (often ill-fitting) uniforms. They lack military presence and alertness, and it’s not surprising that when the Netherlands East Indies native army is primarily made up of Javanese, the warlike people of Atjeh have maintained control for so many years. It’s surprising that the Dutch do not recruit more of the martial Bugis from Celebes, as well as natives of the Moluccas, and even the Achinese prisoners themselves; ten thousand of those men would surely be more valuable than the 30,000 Javanese who make up their native army. Of course, there are exceptions; some have performed exceptionally brave acts in wartime, but the majority are not cut out to be soldiers; they are soft, unathletic, and have a strangely feminine physique, as you can see from a glance at a group of bathing Javanese.
The Javanese convicts were the same sort of material, but their case was not quite the same as that of the soldiers, for they had not voluntarily entered a profession (if the condition of convict can be called a profession) that involved service in foreign lands. The justice of the Dutch practice of employing convicts as coolies in military and exploring expeditions is very much open to question, but it need not be discussed at length here. The transport for the military operations in Atjeh is carried out almost entirely by convict labour, and all the Dutch exploring parties in New Guinea have made use of convict coolies, assisted in two instances by paid Dayaks. It is intended officially that only long-sentence men shall go on expeditions, so that by good behaviour they may earn some substantial remission of their sentences, but that is not invariably the case, for several young men left our expedition because their terms had expired. It is also supposed that only men shall be sent on expeditions who volunteer to go; but the supply of convict volunteers is not inexhaustible, and there were men with us whose last wish would have been to come to New Guinea.
The Javanese convicts were similar in nature, but their situation was different from that of the soldiers, as they hadn’t chosen a profession (if being a convict can be considered a profession) that required them to serve in foreign countries. The fairness of the Dutch practice of using convicts as laborers in military and exploration missions is highly debatable, but that won’t be discussed in detail here. The transport for military operations in Atjeh relies almost entirely on convict labor, and all Dutch exploration teams in New Guinea have utilized convict workers, with paid Dayaks assisting on two occasions. The official intention is that only long-term convicts should go on expeditions so that they can earn a significant reduction in their sentences through good behavior, but this isn’t always the case, as several young men left our expedition because their sentences had ended. It’s also expected that only those who volunteer will be sent on expeditions, but the pool of convict volunteers isn’t endless, and there were men with us who would have preferred to avoid going to New Guinea altogether.
But even if they were all volunteers and all long-service men, it is doubtful whether it is justifiable to send any but free men to work in a country so full of risks as New Guinea. The native of Java is a poor94 creature, particularly susceptible to beri-beri and other diseases of the tropics, and when I saw convicts die, as did unfortunately happen, I came to the conclusion that the balance went heavily against the system. It must, however, be recorded that the convicts are extremely well treated. Except in the matter of pay—convicts on expeditions receive about one guilder (1s. 8d.) a month—they are treated in all essentials exactly like the native soldiers; they have the same rations of food and the same tent accommodation, and many of them enjoy themselves a good deal more than if they were occupied in sweeping the roads in a town in Java. Their hours of labour in camp are comparatively short, and the loads they are given to carry on the march are by no means excessive. Nothing could exceed the kindness of Cramer’s treatment of the men under his command, and I have no doubt that the same may be said of the treatment of convicts elsewhere.
But even if they were all volunteers and long-term workers, it's questionable whether it's right to send anyone but free people to work in a country as risky as New Guinea. The native of Java is a poor94 soul, especially vulnerable to beri-beri and other tropical diseases, and when I witnessed convicts die, as unfortunately happened, I concluded that the disadvantages of the system outweighed the benefits. However, it should be noted that the convicts are treated very well. Aside from their pay—convicts on expeditions receive about one guilder (1s. 8d.) a month—they are treated in all essential ways just like the native soldiers; they get the same food rations and tent accommodations, and many of them actually have a better time than if they were busy sweeping the streets in a Java town. Their working hours in camp are relatively short, and the loads they're given to carry during marches aren’t excessive at all. Cramer’s kindness in treating the men under his command is unmatched, and I'm sure the same can be said for how convicts are treated in other places.
CHAPTER VIII
Description of Wakatimi—The Papuan House—Coconut Palms—The Sugar Palm—Drunkenness of the Natives—Drunken Vagaries—Other Cultivation—The Native Language—No Interpreters—The Numerals—Difficulties of Understanding—Names of Places—Local Differences of Pronunciation.
Description of Wakatimi—The Papuan House—Coconut Palms—The Sugar Palm—Drunkenness of the Natives—Drunken Behavior—Other Crops—The Native Language—No Translators—The Numerals—Challenges in Understanding—Place Names—Local Pronunciation Variations.
The native village of Wakatimi lay directly opposite to our base-camp on the W. bank of the Mimika, which was there about 150 yards broad. Beyond the margin of the river was a strip of grass intersected by muddy creeks, where the natives moored their canoes, and beyond that was Wakatimi. The village consisted of a single street about two hundred yards long lined on one side by huts, which usually numbered about sixty. But occasionally, as for instance when we first arrived, and once or twice subsequently when large crowds of natives from other villages visited the place, it happened that the street was a double row of houses, and every available spot of dry ground was occupied.
The native village of Wakatimi was directly across from our base camp on the west bank of the Mimika, which was about 150 yards wide at that point. Beyond the riverbank was a grassy area with muddy streams running through it, where the locals tied up their canoes, and beyond that was Wakatimi. The village featured a single street about two hundred yards long, lined on one side with huts, usually numbering around sixty. However, sometimes—like when we first arrived, and once or twice later when large groups from other villages came to visit—the street had two rows of houses, with every available dry space taken up.
Shifting house is a very simple affair, as most of the building materials are carried about in the canoes, and the canoes come and go in the most casual and unaccountable manner. Sometimes there were perhaps a thousand people at Wakatimi, and then there would be days when there was not a soul in the village. There were times when for weeks together there were large villages at the mouth of the river, and there were other96 times when the coast was utterly deserted and hardly a trace of the villages remained. We were never able to learn what it was that prompted these migrations of the natives, but it is probable that the pursuit of food was the guiding motive. The wandering habits of the people will certainly make it very difficult to administer the country and civilise the people, if an attempt to do so is ever made.
Shifting houses is really straightforward, as most of the building materials are transported in canoes, which come and go in a very casual and unpredictable way. Sometimes there were around a thousand people at Wakatimi, and other times there would be not a single person in the village. There were periods when large villages crowded the mouth of the river for weeks, and then there were times when the coast was completely deserted and almost no signs of the villages were left. We could never figure out what caused these movements among the locals, but it's likely that they were just following food sources. The nomadic lifestyle of the people will certainly make it very challenging to govern the country and civilize the people if there's ever an attempt to do that.
The typical native house of the Mimika district is a simple rectangular structure with a framework of light poles driven into the ground, the cross-pieces and roof pole being tied to the uprights by strands of rattan. In some houses the roof is a simple slope downwards from front to back, but in most cases there is a central ridge pole from which the roof slopes to the back and front, that at the back being longer and going lower than that in front. The height of the ridge is about eight feet; after we had been for some time in the country the people improved their building in imitation of our houses and built their huts ten, and even twelve feet high. The roof is made of “atap,” the thatch described above (p. 60), and the walls are mats made from the leaves of a Screw-pine (Pandanus). The area of an average hut is about 9 by 12 feet, the longer dimensions being from front to back.
The typical native house in the Mimika district is a simple rectangular structure built with light poles stuck into the ground, with cross-pieces and a roof pole tied to the vertical supports using strands of rattan. Some houses have roofs that slope downward from front to back, but most feature a central ridge pole from which the roof slopes both back and front, with the back side being longer and lower than the front. The ridge is about eight feet high; after spending some time in the area, the locals began to improve their construction techniques by mimicking our houses, creating huts that are ten, or even twelve feet high. The roof is made of “atap,” the thatch described earlier (p. 60), and the walls are mats made from the leaves of a Screw-pine (Pandanus). The average hut covers an area of about 9 by 12 feet, with the longer sides running front to back.
PAPUAN HOUSES ON THE MIMIKA.
Papuans' Houses on the Mimika.
The floor is covered with sand to a depth of several inches, which is prevented from escaping into the street by a board placed on its edge along the front of the hut. The sand is brought from the seashore and must be of great value in preserving the health of the people: the huts are frequently under water in the big floods 97and without the sand, which quickly dries, it would be impossible for them to live there. Unfortunately the sand aggravates the sores and ulcers from which too many of them suffer, but that is perhaps a lesser evil than always sleeping on sodden ground. Racks made of sticks, on which are stowed bundles of arrows, spears, clubs, tobacco, sago and all the other portable property of the family, extend from one wall to another, so that it is almost impossible to stand upright inside a hut. The door is an opening about two feet square in the front wall; as well as being the means of entrance for the members of the household the door serves as the principal means of escape for the smoke of the fire, which is constantly kept burning inside.
The floor is covered with several inches of sand, which is kept from spilling into the street by a board placed on its edge along the front of the hut. The sand is brought from the shore and is likely very important for the health of the people; the huts often get flooded during major storms, and without the sand, which dries quickly, it would be impossible for them to live there. Unfortunately, the sand makes the sores and ulcers that many of them suffer from even worse, but that might be a smaller problem than always having to sleep on wet ground. Racks made of sticks, holding bundles of arrows, spears, clubs, tobacco, sago, and all the other essential belongings of the family, stretch from one wall to the other, making it almost impossible to stand up straight inside the hut. The door is a two-foot square opening in the front wall; it not only allows entry for the household members but also serves as the main outlet for the smoke from the fire that is always kept burning inside.
It is only rarely that a house remains for long separated from others; when a second house is built it is attached to the side of the first, and the dividing wall is removed. In a large village the houses are built in rows of varying length, according to the nature of the ground, and there may be as many as fifty or sixty joined together. If you go inside you find that it is a single long house without any dividing walls, but each family keeps to its own particular section and use its own private entrance. When the place is crowded with people, and a number of fires are burning, the atmosphere inside the house may be more readily imagined than described.
It’s pretty rare for a house to stay isolated for long; when a second house is built, it gets connected to the first one, and the wall in between is taken down. In a large village, houses are built in rows of different lengths, depending on the lay of the land, and there can be as many as fifty or sixty all together. If you go inside, you’ll see it’s just one long house without any dividing walls, but each family sticks to its own section and has its own private entrance. When the place is packed with people and multiple fires are going, the atmosphere inside is easier to picture than to describe.
The feature that most distinguishes Wakatimi from all the other villages that we saw is its fine grove of coconut palms. The village street is bordered with them on the side opposite to the houses, and there98 must be three or four hundred trees in all. They afford a very pleasant shade to the village, and their graceful trunks curving this way and that are really picturesque and conveniently relieve the ugliness of the Papuan houses. It is rather dangerous to live so close to coconut trees, and sometimes when the wind blew in gusts before the rain we heard warning shouts and the heavy thud of a nut falling to the ground; but accidents never seemed to happen. The nuts are, of course, a source of great wealth to the Wakatimi people, who exchange them for bananas and tobacco with the people of Obota, and while we were in the country they brought us altogether thousands of nuts for which they received riches undreamt of before. At one or two places near the sea, and at several places on the Mimika River we found coconut palms, but far up the river they did not occur, nor did we see any on the Kapare River; and I believe all those we saw were planted by the natives, and that none of them were self-sown.
The feature that really sets Wakatimi apart from all the other villages we visited is its beautiful grove of coconut palms. The village street is lined with them on the side opposite the houses, and there must be three or four hundred trees in total. They provide nice shade for the village, and their elegant trunks bending this way and that are quite picturesque, helping to distract from the unattractiveness of the Papuan houses. It's somewhat risky to live so close to coconut trees, and sometimes when the wind picked up before a rainstorm, we heard warning shouts and the heavy sound of a nut hitting the ground; however, accidents never seemed to happen. The nuts are, of course, a significant source of wealth for the Wakatimi people, who trade them for bananas and tobacco with the people of Obota. While we were in the area, they brought us thousands of nuts in exchange for things they had never dreamed of before. We found coconut palms in one or two places near the sea and at several locations on the Mimika River, but they didn’t grow far up the river or on the Kapare River, and I believe all those we saw were planted by the locals, not naturally occurring.
The method of cultivation is extremely simple. A ripe nut is left out on the roof of a hut and allowed to sprout; when the shoot is about a foot or more in length, a small patch of ground is cleared, preferably in a sandy place on the river bank or near the sea shore, a hole is dug and the sprouting nut is planted. From time to time, if he remembers to do so, the native will clear away the strangling vegetation from the young plant, and in about five years, under favourable conditions, the palm begins to bear fruit.
The way to grow it is really easy. A ripe nut is left on the roof of a hut to sprout; when the shoot is around a foot long or more, a small area of ground is cleared, ideally in a sandy spot by the riverbank or near the beach, a hole is dug, and the sprouting nut is planted. Occasionally, if he remembers, the local person will clear away the weeds that could choke the young plant, and in about five years, if the conditions are good, the palm starts to produce fruit.
Growing commonly near Wakatimi is another species of palm, which, though it has not the value99 of the coconut palm, is yet more prized by the natives. This is the Sugar palm (Arenga saccharifera), and from it is made a very potent and intoxicating liquor. When the palm is in fruit—it bears a heavy bunch of dark green fruit—a cut is made in the stem below the stalk of the fruit, and the juice trickles out and is collected in the shell of a coconut. Apparently the juice ferments very rapidly without the addition of any other substance, for it is drunk almost as soon as it is collected and the native becomes horribly intoxicated.
Growing commonly near Wakatimi is another species of palm, which, though it isn’t as valuable99 as the coconut palm, is still more appreciated by the locals. This is the Sugar palm (Arenga saccharifera), and from it, a very strong and intoxicating liquor is made. When the palm bears fruit—producing a heavy bunch of dark green fruit—a cut is made in the stem below the fruit stalk, and the juice trickles out, collected in a coconut shell. The juice ferments really quickly without needing any extra ingredients, so it’s consumed almost right after it’s collected, and the local people get incredibly intoxicated.
During the first few weeks of our stay in the country the people were on their good behaviour, or else they found sufficient amusement in coming to see us and our works, but they soon tired of that and went back to their normal habits. Many of them went to the drinking places by day, and we often saw them lying or sitting at the foot of the tree, while one of their party stood at the top of a bamboo ladder collecting the palm wine. But the worst was a small gang of about a dozen men, the laziest in the village, whose custom it was to start off towards evening in canoes to their favourite drinking tree, where they spent the night drinking and making night hideous with their songs and shouts. In the morning they returned raving to the village and as often as not they started quarrelling and fighting and knocking the houses to pieces (a favourite occupation of the angry Papuan) before they settled down to sleep off the effects of their potations.
During the first few weeks of our time in the country, the locals were on their best behavior, or maybe they just enjoyed coming to check us out and see what we were up to. But they quickly got bored and returned to their usual ways. Many of them hung out at the bars during the day, and we often spotted them lounging at the base of a tree while one of their group climbed a bamboo ladder to collect palm wine. The worst was a small crew of about a dozen guys, the laziest in the village, who would set off in canoes each evening to their favorite drinking tree, where they'd spend all night drinking and disturbing the peace with their songs and loudness. In the morning, they would come back to the village in a frenzy, and more often than not, they'd start fighting and tearing apart houses (a favorite pastime of the angry Papuan) before finally crashing to sleep to recover from their drinking.
As a rule, the men were the worst offenders, and the women drank but seldom, but I well remember100 one day seeing a man and his wife both hopelessly drunk come over to our camp. It was pouring with rain and their canoe was several inches deep in water, but they danced up and down in it and sang a drunken ditty; it was a ludicrous and at the same time heart-rending exhibition. The man, when we first knew him, was a fine fellow who one day climbed up a palm tree to get us coconuts, a feat which no man out of condition can perform; a few months later he was hardly ever seen sober, and in January he died. A smiling round-faced youth called Ukuma, who was one of our particular friends at first and was privileged to wander where he liked about the camp, attached himself to the drinking party, and before we left the country he looked an old man, and I had difficulty in recognising him.
As a rule, the men were the worst offenders, and the women drank very little. However, I clearly remember one day seeing a man and his wife both completely drunk coming over to our camp. It was pouring rain, and their canoe was several inches deep in water, but they danced up and down in it and sang a drunken song; it was a ridiculous yet simultaneously heart-wrenching scene. When we first met him, the man was a great guy who one day climbed up a palm tree to get us coconuts, something no one out of shape can do. A few months later, he was hardly ever seen sober, and in January, he died. A cheerful young guy named Ukuma, who was one of our good friends at first and allowed to roam freely around the camp, ended up joining the drinking group, and by the time we left the area, he looked like an old man; I had trouble recognizing him.
A PAPUAN OF THE MIMIKA. A Papuan from Mimika. |
A PAPUAN OF THE MIMIKA. A Papuan from Mimika. |
Though the drunken vagaries of the natives were usually food for tears, they sometimes provided us with amusement. One afternoon one of the principal men of Wakatimi came down to the river bank quite intoxicated and took a canoe, which he paddled out into mid-stream and there moored it. From there he proceeded to shoot arrows vaguely and promiscuously at the village, raving and shouting what sounded to be horrible curses. Some of the arrows fell into the village and some sailed over the palm trees, and now and again he turned round and shot harmlessly into our camp, but nobody took the slightest notice of him except his wife, who went down to the river bank and told him in plain language her opinion of him. This caused him to turn his attention to her, but his aim 101was wild and the arrows missed their mark, so he desisted and went back to the shore, where the woman broke across her knee the remainder of his bundle of arrows, while he cooled his fevered brow in the river. Then, while she delivered a further lecture, he followed her back to their hut looking like a whipped and ashamed dog. It can hardly be doubted that palm wine shortens the lives of many of the Papuans, but one must hesitate before condemning an absolutely untaught and savage race for excessive indulgence in one of the pleasures that vary their monotonous lives.
Though the drunken antics of the locals usually brought us to tears, they sometimes provided us with some laughs. One afternoon, a leading man from Wakatimi staggered down to the riverbank quite intoxicated and took a canoe, which he paddled out into the middle of the stream and anchored it there. From that spot, he began to shoot arrows haphazardly at the village, raving and shouting what sounded like terrible curses. Some arrows landed in the village, while others flew over the palm trees, and occasionally he turned around and shot harmlessly into our camp, but no one paid him any attention except his wife, who came down to the riverbank and straightforwardly expressed her feelings about him. This grabbed his attention, but his aim was erratic, and the arrows missed, so he gave up and returned to the shore, where the woman broke the rest of his bundle of arrows over her knee while he cooled his fevered brow in the river. Then, as she continued her lecture, he followed her back to their hut, looking like a chastised and embarrassed dog. It's hard to deny that palm wine shortens the lives of many Papuans, but one must think twice before judging an entirely uneducated and primitive people for indulging in one of the few pleasures that break up their monotonous lives.
As well as coconuts the Mimika people have also bananas, papayas (Carica papaya), water-melons and pumpkins, all of them of a very inferior kind. It cannot be said that they cultivate these fruits; they occasionally get a banana shoot and plant it in the ground by the riverside, where it may or may not grow and produce fruit, but they make no clearings and take very little trouble to ensure the life of the plant. The papayas and the melons and pumpkins are sometimes seen growing about the native dwellings; but they, too, seem to be there more by accident than by any design on the part of the people. At Obota we found a few pineapples, which were probably the descendants of some that were brought to the Mimika by M. Dumas a few years earlier.
Along with coconuts, the Mimika people also have bananas, papayas (Carica papaya), watermelons, and pumpkins, all of which are of very poor quality. It's not accurate to say they actively cultivate these fruits; they sometimes take a banana shoot and plant it by the riverside, where it may or may not take root and bear fruit, but they don’t clear any land or put in much effort to support the plant's growth. The papayas, melons, and pumpkins can sometimes be found growing around their homes, but it seems they're there more by chance than any intentional effort from the people. At Obota, we found a few pineapples, likely descendants of those M. Dumas brought to the Mimika a few years prior.
It has been stated in the previous chapters that the natives told us this or that, and that we asked them for information about one thing or another. From this the reader must not conclude that we acquired a very complete knowledge of the native language,102 for that, unfortunately, was not the case, and even at the end of the fifteen months that we spent in their country we were not able to converse with them. Lieutenant Cramer and I compiled a vocabulary of nearly three hundred words,8 and we talked a good deal with the people, but we never reached the position of being able to exchange ideas on any single subject.
It was mentioned in the earlier chapters that the locals shared various things with us and that we asked them for details about different topics. However, the reader shouldn't assume that we gained a comprehensive understanding of the native language,102 because, unfortunately, that wasn't the case. Even after spending fifteen months in their country, we couldn't hold a conversation with them. Lieutenant Cramer and I put together a vocabulary of almost three hundred words,8 and we communicated a lot with the people, but we never got to the point where we could exchange ideas about any one topic.
In the Eastern and Northern parts of New Guinea it has always been found possible to communicate with the natives through the medium of some known language; even if there were many differences noticed in the language of a new district, there were always some common words which formed the foundation of a more complete understanding. The Western end of New Guinea has been for centuries visited by traders speaking Malay dialects, some of whom have settled in the country; or Papuans from those parts have travelled to Malay-speaking islands and have returned with a sufficient knowledge of the language to act as interpreters to people visiting those districts.
In the eastern and northern parts of New Guinea, it's always been possible to communicate with the locals using a known language. Even when there are noticeable differences in the language of a new area, there are usually some common words that help establish a better understanding. The western part of New Guinea has been visited for centuries by traders speaking Malay dialects, some of whom have settled there. Additionally, Papuans from that region have traveled to Malay-speaking islands and come back with enough knowledge of the language to serve as interpreters for visitors to those areas.
But the long stretch of the South-west coast from the MacCluer Gulf as far as the Fly River has been quite neglected by Malay-speaking traders, partly on account of the poverty of the country and partly by reason of the shallow sea and the frequent storms which make navigation difficult and dangerous, so that the Malay language was of no use to us as a means of talking with the natives. It is true that two men from the Mimika district had been taken a few years previously to Fak-fak, the Dutch Government post on the South 103side of the MacCluer Gulf, but though they spent two years there and attempts were made to teach them Malay, in 1910 the extent of their knowledge of the language was the two words Tida, tuan (No, master).
But the long stretch of the Southwest coast from the MacCluer Gulf all the way to the Fly River has been largely overlooked by Malay-speaking traders, partly due to the country's poverty and partly because of the shallow seas and frequent storms that make navigation tough and risky. As a result, Malay wasn't helpful for communicating with the locals. It's true that two men from the Mimika district had been taken a few years earlier to Fak-fak, the Dutch Government post on the South 103side of the MacCluer Gulf, but even after spending two years there and attempts to teach them Malay, by 1910 the extent of their knowledge of the language was just the two words Tida, tuan (No, master).
It is unfortunate that there is no common language along the S. coast, nor even a language with words common to all the dialects in use. We were visited on one occasion by the Dutch Assistant Resident from Fak-fak; the native interpreter who came with him, and who knew all the native dialects of the Fak-fak district, could not understand one word of the Mimika language. On another occasion some natives from Mimika were taken down by steamer to Merauke, the Government post in S.W. New Guinea, not far from the boundary of British Papua, and there they found the language of the natives quite unintelligible to them.
It’s unfortunate that there isn’t a common language along the southern coast, or even a shared vocabulary across the different dialects being used. We were once visited by the Dutch Assistant Resident from Fak-fak; the native interpreter who accompanied him, and who was familiar with all the native dialects of the Fak-fak district, couldn’t understand a single word of the Mimika language. On another occasion, some natives from Mimika were taken by steamer to Merauke, the government post in southwestern New Guinea, not far from the border of British Papua, and there they found the local native language completely unintelligible to them.
So we found ourselves confronted with the task of learning a language with neither grammar, dictionary nor interpreter. This may not seem to be an insuperable difficulty, nor is it perhaps where Europeans and educated people are concerned, but with Papuans it is a very different problem. The first thing to do—and very few of them would even grasp the idea—is to make them understand that you wish to learn their words. You may point at an object and look intelligent and expectant, but they are slow to take your meaning, and they soon tire of giving information. The facial expression, which amongst us conveys even to a deaf man an interrogation, means nothing to them, nor has the sideways shake of the head a negative meaning to Papuans.
So we found ourselves faced with the challenge of learning a language without grammar, a dictionary, or an interpreter. This might not seem like an impossible task, especially for Europeans and educated people, but it's quite a different issue with Papuans. The first step—and very few of them would even understand this idea—is to communicate that you want to learn their words. You might point at an object and appear intelligent and expectant, but they are slow to grasp your meaning, and they quickly lose interest in providing information. A facial expression that conveys a question to us means nothing to them, and a sideways shake of the head doesn't have a negative connotation for Papuans.
In trying to learn a new language of this kind most people (I imagine) would begin, as we did, with the numerals. But our researches in this direction did not take us very far, for we made the interesting discovery that they have words for one and two only; ínakwa (one), jamaní (two). This is not to say that they cannot reckon beyond two, for they can, by using the fingers and thumbs, and beginning always with the thumb of the right hand, reckon with tolerable accuracy up to ten. For numbers above ten they use the toes, never, so far as we observed, two or three toes, but always all the toes together to indicate a large but uncertain number. Sometimes they opened and closed the fingers of both hands two or three times and uttered the word takirí, which appeared to mean “many.” They did not, as some people do, use the word which means “hand” to indicate five or a quantity of about that number.
When trying to learn a language like this, most people (I assume) would start, like we did, with the numbers. However, our research in this area didn’t get us very far, as we made the interesting discovery that they only have words for one and two; ínakwa (one) and jamaní (two). This doesn’t mean they can’t count beyond two, since they can use their fingers and thumbs, starting with the thumb of their right hand, to count fairly accurately up to ten. For numbers above ten, they use their toes, but, as far as we observed, they never used just two or three toes; they always counted all their toes together to indicate a large but uncertain number. Sometimes, they opened and closed the fingers of both hands two or three times and said the word takirí, which seemed to mean "many." They didn’t, like some people do, use the word for "hand" to refer to five or a similar quantity.
With patience we learnt a great number of substantives, the names of animals, the parts of the body, the various possessions of the natives and so forth, and with more difficulty we learnt some of the active verbs. But when we came to abstract ideas, our researches ceased abruptly for lack of the question words, who, how, where, when, etc.; these we were never able to learn, and it is impossible to act them.
With patience, we learned a lot of nouns, the names of animals, the body parts, the different belongings of the locals, and so on, and with more difficulty, we learned some of the action verbs. But when it came to abstract concepts, our efforts came to a halt because we lacked the question words like who, how, where, when, etc.; we were never able to learn those, and it's impossible to use them.
Thus we were never able to find out what they thought of various things; we could point to the moon and be told its name, but we were never able to say, “What is the moon?” We learnt the names of lightning and thunder, but we never knew who they thought105 produced them. We could not find out where their stone axes came from, nor how old they were, nor who made them; and a hundred other questions, which we should have liked to put, remained unanswered.
Thus, we could never figure out what they thought about various things; we could point to the moon and be told its name, but we could never ask, “What is the moon?” We learned the names of lightning and thunder, but we never discovered who they believed produced them. We couldn't find out where their stone axes came from, how old they were, or who made them; and a hundred other questions we wanted to ask remained unanswered.
These limitations of our knowledge of the language were particularly annoying when we tried to find out the simplest ties of relationship. It may be thought very unintelligent of us that we never learnt the word for father, in spite of many attempts to do so. If you pointed to a child and asked a man, knowing him to be the father, what the child was, he would slap himself on the chest and answer, “Dorota kamare” (my penis); then if you pointed to himself he would tell you his own name, but never any word that could possibly be construed as father. If you tried the same thing with the mother she would point to the child and say, “Dorota auwë” (my breast). The child on being questioned pointed to the father and always said his name, the mother it would call Aína (woman), but perhaps this word also means mother.
These limitations in our understanding of the language were especially frustrating when we tried to find out the simplest family relationships. It might seem pretty clueless that we never learned the word for father, despite numerous attempts. If you pointed to a child and asked a man, knowing he was the father, what the child was, he would slap his chest and respond, “Dorota kamare” (my penis); then if you pointed at him, he would tell you his own name but never give you any word that could be interpreted as father. If you did the same with the mother, she would point to the child and say, “Dorota auwë” (my breast). When the child was asked about the father, it always pointed to him and said his name; for the mother, it would call her Aína (woman), but maybe this word also means mother.
There were two men at Parimau so much alike as to be unmistakably brothers; we learnt their names and that they were Inakwa kamare (one penis), but we never found out the name of their relationship.
There were two men at Parimau who looked so much alike that they were clearly brothers. We learned their names and that they were Inakwa kamare (one penis), but we never discovered the name of their relationship.
Seeing that some of the people have a very good idea of drawing on the ground a map of the country, I tried one day a graphic method of obtaining the relationships of a man whose name and whose wife’s name and son’s name I knew. I put sticks on the ground to represent him and his wife and son, and then in a tentative sort of way put in a stick to represent his106 father, whose name he mentioned, but the game did not interest him and my researches came to an end.
Seeing that some people have a great way of drawing a map of the area on the ground, I decided to try a visual method one day to figure out the connections of a man whose name, his wife’s name, and his son’s name I knew. I placed sticks on the ground to represent him, his wife, and his son, and then, in a tentative way, added a stick for his106 father, whose name he mentioned, but he wasn’t interested in the game, so my efforts came to a halt.
Even the apparently simple matter of enquiring the names of places is not so easy as one would think. When the first party went up the Mimika to Parimau they pointed to the huts and asked what the village was called; the answer given was “Tupué,” meaning I believe, the name of the family who lived in the huts pointed at. For several months we called the place Tupué, and the name appeared in various disguises in the English newspapers. When I was at Parimau in July, it occurred to me to doubt the name of Tupué, which we never heard the natives use, so I questioned a man elaborately. Pointing in the direction of Wakatimi, I said in his language: “Many houses, Wakatimi,” and he nodded assent; then pointing in the direction of another village that we had visited I said: “Many houses, Imah,” to which he agreed; then I said. “Many houses,” and pointed towards Parimau. This performance was repeated three times before he understood my intention and supplied the word “Parimau,” and then he shouted the whole story across the river to the people in the village who received it with shouts of laughter, and well they might. It was as if a foreigner, who had been living for six months in a place which he was accustomed to call Smith, enquired again one day what its name was and found that it was London.
Even the seemingly simple task of asking for the names of places is not as easy as you might think. When the first group traveled up the Mimika to Parimau, they pointed to the huts and asked what the village was called; the answer given was “Tupué,” which I believe is the name of the family living in the huts they were pointing at. For several months, we referred to the place as Tupué, and the name appeared in various forms in the English newspapers. When I was at Parimau in July, I started to question the name Tupué, which we never heard the locals use, so I asked a man in detail. Pointing towards Wakatimi, I said in his language: “Many houses, Wakatimi,” and he nodded in agreement; then, pointing towards another village we had visited, I said: “Many houses, Imah,” to which he agreed; then I said, “Many houses,” while pointing towards Parimau. This was repeated three times before he understood what I was trying to say and supplied the word “Parimau,” and then he yelled the whole story across the river to the people in the village, who responded with bursts of laughter, and rightly so. It was as if a foreigner, who had been living for six months in a place he was used to calling Smith, asked again one day what its name was and discovered it was London.
A PAPUAN MOTHER AND CHILD.
(On the right is seen a fishing net.)
A PAPUAN MOTHER AND CHILD.
(A fishing net is seen on the right.)
The language spoken by the people of Mimika is by no means unpleasant to listen to, and with the customary sing-song intonation it would be almost musical, if it 107were not for the harsh voices of the natives, both men and women. There are many agreeably soft gutterals, and there is no hissing sound in the language, as they are unable to pronounce the letter “s.” Many of their words are really very pleasing, notably some of their names, such as “Oonabë,” “Inamë,” “Tébo,” “Magena,” “Awariao,” “Idoriaota,” “Poandio,” and “Mareru,” to mention only a few; some of the names were so long that I never succeeded in writing them correctly.
The language spoken by the people of Mimika is definitely not unpleasant to listen to, and with the usual sing-song intonation, it would be almost musical, if it weren’t for the rough voices of the natives, both men and women. There are many pleasant soft gutturals, and there’s no hissing sound in the language, as they can’t pronounce the letter “s.” Many of their words are actually quite lovely, especially some of their names, like “Oonabë,” “Inamë,” “Tébo,” “Magena,” “Awariao,” “Idoriaota,” “Poandio,” and “Mareru,” just to name a few; some of the names were so long that I never managed to spell them correctly.
The people who lived near the upper waters of the Mimika appeared to speak the same dialect as those living near the coast, with one noticeable difference. Those words containing a “k” in the language of the people at the coast lose the “k” in the mouths of the up-river natives, thus: Ké (rain) in the Wakatimi language becomes ’é at Parimau; Kie (a leech) becomes ’ie, Pokanë (an axe) becomes Po’anë.
The people living by the upper waters of the Mimika seemed to speak the same dialect as those along the coast, with one clear difference. Words that have a “k” in the coastal people's language drop the “k” when spoken by the upriver natives, like this: Ké (rain) in the Wakatimi language turns into ’é at Parimau; Kie (a leech) becomes ’ie, and Pokanë (an axe) changes to Po’anë.
The only rule of grammar that we learnt was the simple method of constructing the possessive case by adding the suffix ta. Thus from doro (I) you have dorota (mine); from oro (you), orota (your), and in the same way Tebota (Tebo’s); Mareruta (Mareru’s), and so on.
The only grammar rule we learned was the simple way to form the possessive case by adding the suffix ta. So, from doro (I), you get dorota (mine); from oro (you), orota (your), and similarly Tebota (Tebo’s); Mareruta (Mareru’s), and so on.
They were curious to know our names and liked to address us by them; Goodfellow’s and Rawling’s names baffled them completely; Marshall’s became “Martë”; they made a good attempt at mine in “Wollatona,” and Cramer’s they pronounced perfectly.
They were eager to know our names and enjoyed using them; Goodfellow’s and Rawling’s names completely confused them; Marshall’s turned into “Martë”; they took a good shot at mine, calling it “Wollatona,” and pronounced Cramer’s name perfectly.
So far as I know, they never finish a word with a consonant, and when they adopted a Malay or Dutch108 word which ended in a consonant, they always added a vowel; for instance, tuana (master), Kapítana (Captain), maíora (Major).
As far as I know, they never end a word with a consonant, and when they took on a Malay or Dutch108 word that ended in a consonant, they always added a vowel; for example, tuana (master), Kapítana (Captain), maíora (Major).
Some of their newly-constructed words will puzzle future philologists who go there; for instance, the Malay word písau (a knife) they called pítau, substituting “t” for the “s” which they cannot pronounce; petau was found easier to say than pítau, and eventually it became changed to pauti, which was the finally accepted version.
Some of their newly created words will confuse future linguists who visit; for example, the Malay word písau (a knife) was changed to pítau, replacing “s” with “t” because they couldn’t pronounce it. Petau was easier to say than pítau, and eventually it evolved into pauti, which became the accepted form.
Probably the best means of learning the local dialect would be to encourage an intelligent child to visit your camp daily, where it would learn Malay and in course of time might be able to act as interpreter; but the process of education would be a slow one, and it would be constantly interrupted by the wandering habits of the natives. The time that we spent in the country was too short for any such attempt to be made, and indeed it was not until we had been there for several months that the children came fearlessly into our camp. But now that the natives have full confidence in Europeans a patient scholar might make a complete study of a quite unknown language.
The best way to learn the local dialect would probably be to have a bright child visit your camp every day, where they could pick up Malay and eventually be able to serve as an interpreter. However, the learning process would be slow and often disrupted by the nomadic lifestyle of the locals. We didn't spend enough time in the area to try something like that, and it actually took us several months before the children felt comfortable coming into our camp. But now that the locals fully trust Europeans, a dedicated learner could thoroughly study this unfamiliar language.
CHAPTER IX
The Papuans of Wakatimi—Colour—Hair—Eyes—Nose—Tattooing—Height—Dress—Widows’ Bonnets—Growth of Children—Preponderance of Men—Number of Wives—Childhood—Swimming and other Games—Imitativeness of Children—The Search for Food—Women as Workers—Fishing Nets—Other Methods of Fishing—An Extract from Dampier.
The Papuans of Wakatimi—Skin Color—Hair—Eye Color—Nose Shape—Tattooing—Height—Clothing—Widows’ Bonnets—Children’s Development—More Men than Women—Number of Wives—Childhood—Swimming and Other Games—Children’s Imitation—Food Gathering—Women as Workers—Fishing Nets—Other Fishing Techniques—An Extract from Dampier.
The Papuans of the Mimika district may be divided into two classes or tribes: those who live in the villages on the lower waters of the river and make periodical migrations to the sea; and those who live on the upper waters of the river near the foot of the mountains and who never go down to the coast. There is a wide interval of uninhabitable country between the regions occupied by these two tribes, and communication between them, if it takes place at all, is very rare; but they resemble each other so closely, both in physical characters and in their manners and customs, that a single description will suffice for both.9 The other native race of the district, the pygmy people who live in the mountains, will be described in a later chapter.
The Papuans of the Mimika district can be split into two groups or tribes: those who live in villages along the lower river and make periodic trips to the sea, and those who reside in the upper river areas near the mountains and never venture down to the coast. There is a significant stretch of uninhabitable land between the regions occupied by these two tribes, and communication between them, if it happens at all, is very uncommon; however, they are so similar in physical traits and in their behaviors and customs that one description will work for both.9 The other native group in the district, the pygmy people living in the mountains, will be described in a later chapter.
The skin of the Mimika native is a very dark brown, almost rusty black, but a dark colour without any of 110the gloss seen in the skin of the African negro. Not infrequently we saw men of a lighter, nearly yellow, colour, and in the Wakatimi district there were three pure albinos, a man, a woman and a child. The man and woman were covered with blotches of a pinkish pigment and were peculiarly disagreeable to look at, the child, a sucking infant, and the offspring of black parents, was as white as any European baby, and was called, out of compliment to us, “Tuana.”10
The skin of the Mimika native is a very dark brown, almost rusty black, but a dark color without the gloss seen in the skin of African individuals. We often saw men with lighter, nearly yellow skin, and in the Wakatimi district, there were three pure albinos: a man, a woman, and a child. The man and woman had blotches of pinkish pigment and were quite unpleasant to look at, whereas the child, a nursing infant and the child of Black parents, was as white as any European baby and was affectionately called “Tuana.”10
The hair is black and thick and frizzly; it never, or seldom grows long, so you do not see the ornamental coiffures characteristic of the natives of some other parts of the island; but they are skilful in plaiting what there is of it and take some pride in the result. Three- or four-pronged combs are worn in the hair more as a means of carrying a useful article than as ornaments. The hair of young children is often quite fair, but it becomes dark as they grow up; some of the adults have the custom, common in other places, of dyeing the hair yellow with lime.
The hair is black, thick, and frizzy; it rarely grows long, so you don't see the decorative hairstyles typical of people from other parts of the island. However, they are skilled at braiding what little hair they have and take pride in it. They wear three- or four-pronged combs more as a practical accessory than as decorations. Young children's hair is often quite light, but it darkens as they grow older. Some adults have the common practice of dyeing their hair yellow with lime.
The eye of the Papuan child is the eye of any bright dark-eyed child here or elsewhere; the white of the eye is white and the iris dark and clear. But very soon the white becomes bloodshot and yellow, and the iris blurred. The expression in the eyes is a thing that haunts one by its forlornness and hopelessness; it cannot be described, but you may see it in the eyes of certain animals. They show a strong disinclination 111to look you straight in the eyes, and when you rarely make them do so you seem to be looking into an unlighted and empty space.
The eye of the Papuan child is just like the eye of any bright dark-eyed child, whether here or elsewhere; the whites of the eyes are white and the iris is dark and clear. But soon enough, the whites become bloodshot and yellow, and the iris grows unclear. The expression in their eyes is haunting with its sadness and despair; it’s hard to put into words, but you can see it in the eyes of certain animals. They don’t want to look you directly in the eye, and when you finally manage to get them to do so, it feels like you’re staring into a dark and empty void. 111
The teeth are strong, but not conspicuously white and perfect like those of some other black races. A good many men file or chip the upper incisors to a point, but this has not, so far as we know, any particular significance.
The teeth are strong, but not obviously white and perfect like those of some other Black races. Quite a few men file or chip their upper incisors to a point, but as far as we know, this doesn’t have any particular significance.
The nose is almost bridgeless and is of a somewhat hooked and fleshy type with wide nostrils. The septum of the nose is pierced when the boys are young, and the hole is kept open by a rolled-up leaf thrust through it; in this way it is gradually dilated until the man is able to wear a carved ornament of a piece of the bill of a hornbill or a curved boar’s tusk, with which he decorates himself on festal occasions. The nose-piercing is attended with a good deal of ceremony, but we were never fortunate enough to see it; it is done when the child is about five years old, and the operation is made (according to native accounts) with a piece of sharpened bone heated in the fire. Small ornaments are sometimes worn in holes in the alae nasi which are pierced in all the children, both boys and girls, when they are small infants.
The nose is almost flat and has a slightly hooked, fleshy shape with wide nostrils. The septum gets pierced when the boys are young, and they keep the hole open by putting a rolled-up leaf through it; this gradually stretches it until the man can wear a carved ornament made from a piece of a hornbill's bill or a curved boar’s tusk, which he uses to decorate himself on special occasions. The nose-piercing involves quite a bit of ceremony, but we never got to see it; this is done when the child is around five years old, and according to local stories, the process uses a piece of sharpened bone that’s heated in the fire. Small ornaments are sometimes placed in holes in the alae nasi, which are pierced in all children, both boys and girls, when they are just small infants.
Many of the people pierce the lobes of the ear, but the custom is not universal. The ornaments worn in the ear are strings of two or three beads, or small rings of plaited fibres or rattan, or the claw of a cassowary. We took with us a large number of Jew’s harps as trade goods, but the natives did not care for them, and two (the only two, I believe) that we did succeed112 in making the people accept, were worn by them as ear-rings. Another man, a constant smoker, in default of a better cigar case always carried a cigar in the lobe of his ear.
Many people pierce their earlobes, but it’s not a universal practice. The decorations worn in the ear are usually strings of two or three beads, small rings made of braided fibers or rattan, or a cassowary claw. We brought a lot of Jew’s harps as trade goods, but the locals weren’t interested. Out of the two (the only two, I think) that we managed to get them to accept, they wore them as earrings. Another guy, who always smoked, carried a cigar in his earlobe since he didn’t have a better cigar case.
Tattooing, in the proper sense of the term, is unknown to the Mimika Papuans, but a great number of them practise cicatrisation or scarring. The usual places for these markings are the buttocks and the outer side of the upper (usually the left) arm. On the buttocks the marks are almost always the same, a cross, about two inches square, on the left buttock, and a cross surrounded by a circle on the right. The mark on the arm is about four inches long and sometimes represents a snake and sometimes a scorpion or a crayfish, but the meaning of it, and whether or not it had some totemistic significance we were unable to learn. Some of the women affect a scar between the breasts, which makes a very unsightly contraction, and we occasionally saw people with irregular scars all over the upper part of the breast and back, but it is probable that most of them were the signs rather of former quarrels than due to a spirit of coquetry.
Tattooing, in the true sense of the word, is not practiced by the Mimika Papuans, but many of them do engage in cicatrization or scarring. The usual areas for these markings are the buttocks and the outer part of the upper arm (typically the left arm). On the buttocks, the marks are almost always the same: a cross about two inches square on the left buttock, and a cross surrounded by a circle on the right. The mark on the arm is about four inches long and sometimes looks like a snake, sometimes a scorpion, or a crayfish, but we couldn’t determine its meaning or if it had any totemic significance. Some women have a scar between their breasts, which creates a rather unappealing indentation, and we occasionally saw people with irregular scars scattered across the upper part of their chest and back, but it's likely that most of these were the result of past fights rather than for aesthetic reasons.
They are fond of painting their faces with a bright red earth, lumps of which they sometimes find and prize very highly, and not infrequently we saw men with their faces smeared black with a mixture of fat and charcoal, or whitened with powdered sago, but the reason, if there were any but vanity, for this adornment we did not discover.
They like to paint their faces with bright red earth, which they sometimes find and value a lot. We often saw men with their faces smeared black using a mix of fat and charcoal, or whitened with powdered sago, but we didn’t find out the reason for this decoration, if there was any beyond just vanity.
CICATRIZATION. Healing. |
PAPUAN WITH FACE WHITENED WITH SAGO POWDER. PAPUAN WITH FACE WHITENED WITH SAGO POWDER. |
The average height of men measured at Wakatimi and Parimau is 5 feet 6 inches. No women were 113measured, but it would probably be found that the average height of the women was about two inches less than that of the men. Such a height is small compared with that of many races, but the first impression you get of the Papuans is that they are tall, for they hold themselves well, and all naked people look taller than those who go clothed. Their legs are thin and rather meagre, due in a great measure to the large proportion of their lives that is spent in canoes, but they walk with a good swinging gait and cover the ground easily.
The average height of men measured at Wakatimi and Parimau is 5 feet 6 inches. No women were 113measured, but it's likely that the average height of women is about two inches shorter than that of the men. While this height is small compared to many other races, the first impression you get of the Papuans is that they are tall because they carry themselves well, and all naked people look taller than those who are clothed. Their legs are thin and somewhat wiry, partly because they spend a lot of their lives in canoes, but they walk with a strong, confident stride and cover ground easily.
It is a curious thing that a black man never looks naked; a white man undressed looks a naked man, so too does a yellow man, but a Papuan—and nobody could wear much less in the way of clothes than he does—always seems to be sufficiently clad. The dress of the Papuan men, as has been suggested above, is scanty in the extreme. They have, or had before we visited them, no cloth except a very inferior bark cloth made from the bark of a species of fig tree. Some of the men wear a narrow strip of this bark cloth, which hangs down in front from a string round the loins and keeps up an ineffectual pretence of decency.
It’s interesting that a black man never seems to appear naked; a white man looks truly naked when undressed, and the same goes for a yellow man. However, a Papuan—who couldn’t wear less in terms of clothing—always seems to be adequately covered. As mentioned earlier, Papuan men wear very little. They had, until our visit, no fabric aside from a very poor quality bark cloth made from the bark of a type of fig tree. Some of the men wear a narrow strip of this bark cloth, which hangs down in front from a string around their waist, making a weak attempt at modesty.
The more usual covering is the bamboo penis-case, which is kept in position by pulling the preputium through a hole in the lower end of the case. There are three or four different patterns of penis-cases, and they are always ornamented with carved designs. Another equally common fashion of covering is the shell; this is an oval or roughly squared segment of a large white sea shell, sometimes as much as six inches in diameter. It is worn on a string which passes through two holes114 bored in it, and is tied tightly round the loins. The convex surface of the shell faces forwards, and the preputium is pulled upwards and clipped under the lower margin of the shell. Both the bamboo case and the shell are useful as a protection against the leeches and thorns of the jungle.
The more common covering is a bamboo penis case, which is secured by pulling the foreskin through a hole at the bottom of the case. There are three or four different styles of penis cases, and they are always decorated with carved designs. Another equally common type of covering is made from a shell; this is an oval or roughly rectangular piece of a large white sea shell, sometimes as much as six inches in diameter. It is worn on a string that goes through two holes114 drilled in it, and is tied tightly around the waist. The curved surface of the shell faces forward, and the foreskin is pulled up and tucked under the lower edge of the shell. Both the bamboo case and the shell provide protection against leeches and thorns in the jungle.
Small boys go quite naked until they reach the time of puberty, when for a short period they wear a sort of skirt made from the shredded leaves of the pandanus. Though the men like very much to wear round their heads strips of our coloured cloth, they do not normally use any kind of head-gear except on ceremonial occasions, when the men who beat the drums wear elaborate hats ornamented with the plumes of birds of paradise. Many of the men wear arm-bands above the elbow and leg-bands below the knee, made of tightly woven fibre or of fine strips of rattan.
Little boys usually run around completely naked until they hit puberty, at which point they wear a kind of skirt made from shredded pandanus leaves for a short while. While the men really enjoy wrapping colored cloth around their heads, they typically don’t wear any headgear except for special ceremonies, when the drummers sport elaborate hats decorated with bird-of-paradise plumes. Many of the men wear arm bands above their elbows and leg bands below their knees, made from tightly woven fibers or fine strips of rattan.
The women are rather more clothed than the men, but it cannot be said that they are at all overdressed. The usual garment consists of a narrow belt of bark cloth or grass round the waist, from which there hang a narrow strip of bark cloth in front, reaching about half way down the thigh, and a wider strip, somewhat after the fashion of the tail of an Englishman’s evening coat, extending as far as the knee behind. In addition to this, many of the women wear a sort of short waistcoat or sleeveless bodice made of plaited grass or fibre with tags or tassels hanging down in a sort of fringe from its lower edge. Newly-married women wear a sort of apron, or rather a long fringe of shredded leaves, which hangs down from the waist.
The women wear more clothing than the men, but it can’t be said they’re overdressed at all. Their typical outfit consists of a narrow belt made of bark cloth or grass around the waist, from which hangs a narrow strip of bark cloth in front, reaching about halfway down the thigh, and a wider strip that’s somewhat like the tail of a tuxedo, extending down to the knee in the back. Additionally, many women wear a sort of short vest or sleeveless top made from woven grass or fibers, with tags or tassels hanging down like fringes from the bottom edge. Newly married women wear a type of apron, or rather, a long fringe of shredded leaves that hangs down from the waist.
WOMEN OF WAKATIMI.
(On the left is a widow wearing the bonnet.)
WOMEN OF WAKATIMI.
(On the left is a widow wearing the bonnet.)
The best dressed, or in any case the most dressed, members of the community are the widows, who wear, in addition to the other articles of female attire, what can only be described as a poke bonnet. In some cases the bonnet projects so far in front of the face as to obscure the features, in some it is of a conical design, and in others it resembles in shape nothing so much as the morion of a mediaeval man-at-arms.
The best-dressed, or at least the most dressed, members of the community are the widows, who wear, along with other women's clothing, what can only be called a poke bonnet. In some instances, the bonnet sticks out so far in front of the face that it hides the features; in others, it has a cone shape, and in some cases, it looks a lot like the visor of a medieval knight's helmet.
Like the waistcoats worn by the women, the bonnets are made of ingeniously plaited fibre, and both of these look well when they are newly made, but they very quickly become hideous with damp and dirt, and the wearer is a person to be shunned. The small girls, unlike the boys, wear a narrow strip of bark cloth tucked between the legs almost as soon as they can walk. It is perhaps worth mentioning that these people have the art of sewing; they make eyed needles out of sharp fish bones, and with strands of fibre they contrive to sew pieces of bark cloth very neatly together.
Like the vests worn by the women, the bonnets are made from cleverly braided fibers, and both look good when they're new, but they quickly become unattractive with moisture and dirt, making the wearer someone to avoid. The little girls, unlike the boys, wear a narrow strip of bark cloth tucked between their legs almost as soon as they can walk. It's worth noting that these people have the skill of sewing; they fashion eyed needles from sharp fish bones, and with strands of fiber, they manage to stitch pieces of bark cloth together very neatly.
There are no milk-producing domesticated animals in the country, so the women suckle their infants for a very long time, and you may occasionally see children of (apparently) three or four years old at their mothers’ breasts; but whether young or old, it is very difficult to estimate the age of these people. In the course of a year we saw little children grow into active boys and we saw young men become middle-aged. I should say—but this is pure speculation—that a man is old at forty years and a woman at an even earlier age; it seems probable, too, that the life of a woman is shorter than that of a man.
There are no milk-producing farm animals in the country, so the women breastfeed their infants for a long time, and you might occasionally see children who look about three or four years old still nursing. However, it's really hard to estimate the age of these people, whether they're young or old. Over the year, we watched little kids grow into active boys and young men become middle-aged. I would guess—though this is just a guess—that a man is considered old at forty and a woman even earlier; it also seems likely that women have a shorter lifespan than men.
Partly on account of the migratory habits of the natives, and partly owing to the fact that at no hour of the day until nightfall are all the people in or about the houses, it was never found possible to take a census of a village, but from our observations we arrived at the conclusion that the number of men was decidedly greater than that of women.
Partly because of the wandering habits of the locals, and partly due to the fact that no time of day until after dark does everyone gather in or around the houses, it was never possible to conduct a census of a village. However, from our observations, we concluded that there were definitely more men than women.
The number of a man’s wives was a favourite subject for boasting and they often assured us that they had two or even three wives, but we only knew two men who certainly had two wives; on the other hand we knew a considerable number of men who had no wives at all. It appears that a man may take a wife from his own village or from a village in the same district; thus a Wakatimi man may take a wife from Obota or Periepia, and a Parimau man from Kamura. There were two women at Parimau who were said to come from Wakatimi, but whether they had been voluntarily exchanged or were the spoils of war we were not told.
The number of a man’s wives was a common topic for bragging, and they often told us that they had two or even three wives. However, we only knew two men who definitely had two wives; on the other hand, we were aware of quite a few men who had no wives at all. It seems a man can take a wife from his own village or from a neighboring village; for example, a Wakatimi man can marry a woman from Obota or Periepia, and a Parimau man can marry someone from Kamura. There were two women in Parimau who were said to be from Wakatimi, but we weren't told whether they were traded voluntarily or taken as war prizes.
It was unfortunate that we learnt nothing about the customs and ceremonies connected with marriage. A wedding took place at Wakatimi when we all happened to be absent, and the only definite description that we were able to get of it was that the bride, who arrived from another village by canoe, crawled on her hands and knees from the water’s edge to the village, a distance of about a hundred yards, and most of it through mud.
It was unfortunate that we didn't learn anything about the customs and ceremonies associated with marriage. A wedding took place at Wakatimi while we were all away, and the only clear description we got was that the bride, who came from another village by canoe, crawled on her hands and knees from the water's edge to the village, a distance of about a hundred yards, mostly through mud.
Beyond question, the happiest time in the lives of the Papuans is their childhood, when they are free to play from morning to night and need not take part117 in the ceaseless search for food, which occupies so much of the time of their elders. As infants they are carried on the backs of their mothers and very often of their fathers, secured by a wide strap of bark cloth, the ends of which are tied across the carrier’s chest. It is very seldom that you hear them cry and they appear to give very little trouble; their mothers are very careful of the cleanliness of the infants. Very early in life they begin to walk and almost as soon they learn to swim. In fine weather they often spend the greater part of the day in the river and it is a very pretty sight to see a crowd of little Papuans playing together in the water. Sometimes they are joined by the women, who seem to enjoy the fun quite as much as the children. One of their favourite games is to pretend to be a school of porpoises, whose rolling headers they imitate admirably. They very soon become powerful swimmers, and I remember one day seeing a small boy, who cannot have been more than eight years old, swim across a river in tremendous flood, while the party of men who were with him had to seek a place where they could safely swim across half a mile lower down.
Without a doubt, the happiest time in the lives of the Papuans is their childhood, when they can play from morning to night without worrying about the endless search for food that consumes so much of their elders' time. As babies, they are carried on their mothers' backs, and often their fathers' too, secured with a wide strap of bark cloth tied across the carrier's chest. It’s rare to hear them cry, and they seem to cause very little trouble; their mothers take great care to keep them clean. They start walking at a young age and almost immediately learn to swim. On nice days, they often spend most of the day in the river, and it's a charming sight to see a group of little Papuans playing together in the water. Sometimes the women join in, having just as much fun as the children. One of their favorite games is pretending to be a school of porpoises, and they imitate the way they roll excellently. They quickly become strong swimmers, and I remember seeing a small boy, no more than eight years old, swim across a rapidly flowing river while the group of men with him had to find a safer spot to cross half a mile downstream.
There are a number of games too that they play on dry land: they play the universal game of lying in wait for your enemy and suddenly pouncing out on him; they have great battles in which they are armed with miniature bows and arrows, and reed stems take the place of spears, and shrill yells make up for the lack of bloodshed. There is another game which I saw played three or four times in exactly the same manner, and which, by reason of it somewhat resembling a118 children’s game called “Nuts in May,” is perhaps worth describing. Eight little boys, each one carrying a long flowering grass, stood in two parties of four facing each other a few yards apart. At first they waved their grasses and then danced towards each other, crossed and took the places that had been opposite to them; this they repeated twice. Then they ran round and round in a circle about five yards wide waving their grasses and shouting until they stopped suddenly and sat down in a bunch together. After a rest of about half a minute, they jumped up and ran round again in the same circle, now shouting and grabbing as they ran handsful of sand, which they threw over their heads into the air or between their legs into the face of the one behind; then a sudden stop and again they all sat down in a bunch. After this they jumped up, ran all together for a few yards shouting loudly, hurled all their grasses as high into the air as they could, and the game was ended.
There are also a number of games they play on dry land: they engage in the universal game of lying in wait for their enemy and then suddenly pouncing on them; they have epic battles armed with miniature bows and arrows, and reed stems serve as spears, with loud yells making up for the absence of bloodshed. There's another game I saw played three or four times in exactly the same way, which, because it somewhat resembles a children's game called “Nuts in May,” is perhaps worth describing. Eight little boys, each carrying a long blade of flowering grass, stood in two groups of four facing each other a few yards apart. At first, they waved their grasses and then danced toward each other, crossed paths, and took the spots that had been opposite them; they repeated this twice. Then they ran in a circle about five yards wide, waving their grasses and shouting until they suddenly stopped and sat down in a huddle. After resting for about half a minute, they jumped up and ran around again in the same circle, now shouting and grabbing handfuls of sand, which they threw over their heads into the air or between their legs into the face of the person behind them; then they came to a sudden stop and all sat down together again. After this, they jumped up, ran together for a few yards shouting loudly, threw all their grasses as high into the air as they could, and the game ended.
Like the children of more civilised races, the young Papuans are fond of imitating their elders. The boys like to be seen walking about with men, to copy their swaggering walk, and to sit about smoking idly and watch the women at work. The little girls sometimes contrive to make grass garments like those worn by the women; they make small dolls’ houses in which they themselves, or infants still smaller than they, are the dolls, and they like to be seen baling out the canoes or carrying sand for the houses. But in their case pretence is soon changed to reality, and when they are quite young they are made to accompany their119 mothers in the serious business of life, while the boys are still leading a gay life with no responsibilities. Both boys and girls very early become proficient in the management of canoes, and a child of tender years will confidently steer a canoe through rough water which would end in certain shipwreck for one of us.
Like kids from more developed cultures, young Papuans love to mimic their elders. The boys enjoy walking around with men, trying to imitate their confident swagger, and sitting around smoking while watching the women work. The little girls sometimes manage to make grass outfits similar to what the women wear; they even build small dollhouses where they, or even smaller children, are the dolls, and they like to be seen bailing out canoes or carrying sand for their homes. However, for them, pretending quickly turns into reality, and when they’re still quite young, they’re brought along with their mothers to take part in the serious aspects of life, while the boys continue to enjoy a carefree existence with no obligations. Both boys and girls quickly become skilled at handling canoes, and even a young child can confidently navigate a canoe through choppy waters that would spell disaster for an adult.
The chief business in the lives of the Papuans is that of all animals, human and others, namely, the search for food. But while the civilised races have learnt to foresee wants of the future, and have established a system of agriculture which provides food for everybody and leaves a part of the population free to pursue other occupations, the Papuans take no thought for the morrow, and the search for food becomes literally a hand to mouth business, which occupies the attentions of every member of the community.
The main focus in the lives of the Papuans is the search for food, just like all animals, including humans. However, while civilized societies have learned to anticipate future needs and created agricultural systems that provide food for everyone, allowing some people to pursue other jobs, the Papuans don't think about tomorrow. Their quest for food is a day-to-day struggle that occupies the attention of every member of the community.
They have no cultivation in the Mimika villages, and even at those places such as Obota (see p. 88) where there is some cultivation, the crops that they raise are not nearly sufficient for the whole population, so it can easily be imagined that an improvident people living in a country constantly liable to sudden floods, which swamp the land for weeks at a time, is frequently faced with a prospect of complete starvation. At first you are inclined to think that the whole of the business of collecting food falls on the shoulders of the women, while the men sit at home and do nothing. This is certainly true of a great many days in the year, but certain tasks can only be performed by the men, such as hunting for game in the jungle, and felling120 trees to make the canoes, without which the people must inevitably starve.
They don't farm in the Mimika villages, and even in places like Obota (see p. 88) where there is some farming, the crops they grow aren't nearly enough for the entire population. So, it's easy to see how a careless people living in an area that's often hit by sudden floods, which can cover the land for weeks, frequently face the threat of complete starvation. At first, you might think that the entire responsibility of gathering food falls on the women while the men lounge at home doing nothing. This does hold true for many days of the year, but there are specific tasks that only men can do, like hunting for game in the jungle and cutting down trees to make canoes, which are essential for survival.
Their working day begins fairly early, and by about eight o’clock the village is almost deserted by the women, who have all gone off in canoes to fish or collect sago. As a rule, two or three women go in each canoe, taking with them a few children, a dog or two, several fishing nets, rolls of matting, some spears and arrows, a little food, a bamboo filled with fresh water, if they are going down to the river mouth, and always a fire burning in the stern of the boat. The usual destination of the women is the muddy creeks among the mangrove swamps not far from the sea; there where the water is brackish and the tide rises and falls several feet they find in the mud banks large mussels (Cyrena sp.), which contain a good deal of food, and the shells of which are useful as knives and scrapers. Hopping all over the mud are seen hundreds of curious little fish (Periophthalmus sp.), whose eyes seem to be starting out of their heads; these little creatures climb up the steepest mud banks, and even up the stumps of trees.
Their workday starts pretty early, and by around eight o’clock, the village is almost empty of women, as they have all left in canoes to fish or gather sago. Usually, two or three women share each canoe, bringing along a few children, a couple of dogs, several fishing nets, rolls of matting, some spears and arrows, a bit of food, a bamboo filled with fresh water if they’re heading to the river mouth, and there’s always a fire burning in the back of the boat. The common place for the women to go is the muddy creeks in the mangrove swamps not far from the sea; where the water is brackish and the tide rises and falls several feet, they find large mussels (Cyrena sp.) in the mud banks, which provide a lot of food, and the shells are useful as knives and scrapers. Scattering across the mud are hundreds of curious little fish (Periophthalmus sp.), whose eyes seem to be popping out of their heads; these little creatures can climb up the steepest mud banks and even up the stumps of trees.
PAPUAN WOMAN AND CHILD.
Papuans: Woman and Child.
The commonest type of fishing net is made in an oval framework of wood, or strips of rattan, about 5 feet long by 2 feet wide; the net is a close mesh of native string stretched tightly across the frame, except at the middle, where it sags a little. The usual method of using this kind of net is to grasp it at both ends and by wading through the shallow water to scoop up small fish much in the same way as shrimps are caught. There is another more ingenious method of using it, which 121sometimes results in large capture of little fish. When the tide is high the bushes along the river bank and many of the drooping branches of the trees are submerged; the natives approach quietly in their canoes, cautiously push the net under the submerged vegetation, and then with a sudden jerk lift it up out of the water, in this way capturing numbers of small fish which had been sheltering or looking for food among the leaves.
The most common type of fishing net is made from an oval frame of wood or strips of rattan, about 5 feet long and 2 feet wide. The net is tightly woven with local string across the frame, except in the middle, where it dips slightly. The typical way to use this net is to hold it at both ends and wade through shallow water to scoop up small fish, similar to how shrimp are caught. There’s also a clever method of using it that sometimes results in catching a lot of small fish. When the tide is high, the bushes along the riverbank and many of the low-hanging branches of trees are underwater; the locals quietly approach in their canoes, carefully push the net under the submerged plants, and then with a quick pull, lift it out of the water, capturing a bunch of small fish that had been hiding or searching for food among the leaves.
Another form of fishing net—though there is no netting in its construction—is made of long, thin strips of bamboo tied parallel to each other at intervals of about half an inch, forming a sort of screen or trellis-work, which can be rolled up if necessary. Strong wooden stakes are driven into the mud at the mouth of the creeks which join the river in many places, and at high water the screens are fastened to the stakes in such a way as to touch the bottom and close the entrance of the creek; the water can run back when the tide falls, but not the fish which are sometimes caught in considerable numbers.
Another type of fishing net—though it doesn’t actually have any netting—is made from long, thin strips of bamboo tied parallel to each other at about half an inch apart, creating a sort of screen or trellis. This setup can be rolled up if needed. Strong wooden stakes are pushed into the mud at the mouths of the creeks that connect with the river in various spots, and when the water is high, the screens are attached to the stakes in a way that they touch the bottom and block the entrance of the creek. The water can flow back out when the tide goes down, but the fish can’t escape and are sometimes caught in large amounts.
The larger fish are all obtained by the men, who either catch them with a hook and line, or spear them in the shallow water near the river mouth, or along the sea shore. We saw very few hooks; one or two were made of rough metal, the others were neatly fashioned from fish bones, and all of them were plain without barbs. Now they have a large number of steel fishhooks, which they greatly value.
The larger fish are all caught by the men, who either hook them with a line or spear them in the shallow water near the river mouth or along the shore. We saw very few hooks; one or two were made of rough metal, while the others were carefully made from fish bones, and all of them were simple and lacked barbs. Now they have a lot of steel fishhooks, which they really value.
The commonest types of fish-spear are made of thin bamboo or a light wood about ten feet long, and they end in three or four sharp prongs of bamboo or122 hardened wood. They also use a barbed spear of which the head becomes detached from the shaft, when it becomes fixed in a fish; a light line connecting the shaft with the head causes the shaft to act as a drag on the movements of the fish, which can easily be followed up and killed; this kind of spear is only used for the larger fish, saw-fish and the like, but I never saw it in use. Considering the enormous number of fish that there are—at the mouth of the river the water is sometimes seen to be seething with large fish—it cannot be said that the men are very clever with their spears.
The most common types of fish spears are made of thin bamboo or light wood, about ten feet long, and they have three or four sharp prongs made of bamboo or hardened wood at the end. They also use a barbed spear whose head comes off the shaft once it gets stuck in a fish; a thin line connects the shaft to the head, which helps drag the fish, making it easy to track down and catch. This kind of spear is only used for larger fish, like sawfish, but I’ve never seen it in action. Given the vast number of fish—at the river mouth, you can sometimes see the water bubbling with big fish—it’s hard to say that the men are very skilled with their spears.
They also shoot fish, using single- or three-pointed arrows; you may see a man standing quietly in a pool of water like a heron waiting for the fish to come up to him, or stalking a shoal of fish stealthily from the bank; in either case he will probably shoot arrow after arrow without effect, for they are absurdly indifferent marksmen with the bow.
They also catch fish using single- or three-pronged arrows; you might see a guy standing quietly in a pool of water like a heron, waiting for the fish to come to him, or sneaking up on a school of fish from the bank. In either case, he’ll likely shoot arrow after arrow without any success, as they are ridiculously poor shots with the bow.
The most primitive methods of all of catching fish I saw practised one day coming down from Obota. A native paddling in the bow of my canoe saw a large fish near the bank, towards which he steered the canoe. When he judged that he was near enough to it, he hurled himself flat on to the water with a resounding splash that drenched everything in the boat, and a thud that would have stunned the fish at once had it not darted off an instant earlier.
The most basic way of catching fish I witnessed one day while heading back from Obota. A local person paddling in the front of my canoe spotted a large fish near the bank and directed the canoe towards it. When he felt he was close enough, he leaped flat onto the water with a loud splash that soaked everything in the boat, and a thud that would have stunned the fish instantly if it hadn't darted away just a moment before.
The sight of a fish, however small it is, always rouses a Papuan to action. When we were travelling with natives, we sometimes came to pools where small fish had been left by some receding flood. Instantly123 their loads were thrown down and everyone darted into the water with sticks and stones and shouts and as much enthusiasm as if the fish had been salmon and a full meal for everyone.
The sight of a fish, no matter how small, always gets a Papuan moving. When we were traveling with locals, we sometimes stumbled upon pools where small fish had been left behind by a receding flood. Instantly123 their loads were dropped, and everyone jumped into the water with sticks and stones, shouting and full of excitement as if the fish were salmon and a feast for all.
There is another method of fishing which was observed by the navigator, Captain Dampier, in use by the natives of this region. It is so remarkable that, although we did not see it employed by the people of the Mimika district, I shall make no excuse for repeating it here:—
There’s another fishing method that was noted by the navigator, Captain Dampier, used by the locals in this area. It’s so interesting that, even though we didn’t see it practiced by the people of the Mimika district, I won’t hesitate to share it here:—
“They strike Fish very ingeniously with Wooden Fiss-gigs and have a very ingenious way of making the Fish rise: For they have a piece of Wood curiously carv’d and painted much like a Dolphin (and perhaps other Figures;) these they let down into the Water by a Line with a small weight to sink it; when they think it low enough, they haul the Line into their Boats very fast, and the Fish rise up after this Figure; and they stand ready to strike them when they are near the Surface of the Water.”11
“They catch fish very cleverly with wooden gigs and have a smart method for making the fish come to the surface. They use a piece of wood that’s intricately carved and painted to look like a dolphin (and maybe other shapes). They lower this into the water with a line and a small weight to keep it submerged. Once they think it's deep enough, they quickly pull the line back into their boats, and the fish come up after this decoy. They are ready to catch them when they are close to the surface of the water.”11
There are times when the natives get more fish than they know what to do with, and other times when no fish can be caught; but they have no idea of laying up a store for the lean times. It is true that they char some in the fire and keep them for a few days before the fish putrify, but if they learnt to smoke some of their surplus supply, they need never go hungry.
There are times when the locals catch more fish than they can handle, and other times when they can’t catch any; but they don’t think about saving up for the tough times. It’s true that they cook some in the fire and keep them for a few days before the fish spoil, but if they learned to smoke some of their extra fish, they would never go hungry.
CHAPTER X
Food of the Papuans—Cassowaries—The Native Dog—Question of Cannibalism—Village Headman—The Social System of the Papuans—The Family—Treatment of Women—Religion—Weather Superstitions—Ceremony to avert a Flood—The Pig—A Village Festival—Wailing at Deaths—Methods of Disposal of the Dead—No Reverence for the Remains—Purchasing Skulls.
The Diet of the Papuans—Cassowaries—The Indigenous Dog—The Cannibalism Debate—Village Leader—The Papuan Social Structure—Family Dynamics—Women’s Treatment—Beliefs and Religion—Weather-related Superstitions—Rituals to Prevent Floods—The Pig—Community Celebrations—Grieving for the Deceased—Ways to Handle the Dead—Disregard for Remains—Purchasing Skulls.
The search for food furnishes occasionally some very curious scenes. One of the most remarkable occurs when the river in flood brings down a tree-trunk in a suitable stage of decay. A canoe is sent out with men to secure it and tow it to the bank. When it has been left stranded by the falling water, the people, men, women and children come out and swarm around it like bees about a honey-pot, and you wonder what they can be doing. When you go close you find that some are splitting up the log with their stone axes and others are cutting up the fragments with sharpened shells in the same way that their ancestors—and perhaps ours too—did centuries ago. The objects of their search are the large white larvæ of a beetle, about the size of a man’s thumb; I have seen natives eat them just as they cut them out of the wood, but usually they roast them in the fire and consider them a great delicacy.
The search for food sometimes produces very interesting scenes. One of the most striking happens when the river floods and brings down a tree trunk that's decaying just right. A canoe is sent out with people to collect it and pull it to the shore. Once it's left stranded by the receding water, people—men, women, and children—come out and swarm around it like bees around a honey jar, and you wonder what they're up to. When you get closer, you see that some are splitting the log with their stone axes while others are cutting the pieces with sharpened shells, just like their ancestors—and maybe ours too—did centuries ago. They’re searching for the large white larvæ of a beetle, about the size of a thumb; I've seen people eat them right away as they cut them from the wood, but usually, they roast them over the fire and consider them a real treat.
Nothing that can by any means be considered eatable comes amiss to the Papuans; there are two kinds of water tortoises which they like to eat, and rats, lizards, frogs and snakes, and the eggs of crocodiles they devour125 greedily. A number of different kinds of fruits, most of them disagreeable to European tastes, are found growing in the jungle and form a welcome addition to their fare. Birds they get occasionally, but their skill with the bow and arrow is not remarkable.
Nothing that can be considered edible goes to waste for the Papuans; they enjoy eating two types of water tortoises, as well as rats, lizards, frogs, and snakes, and they greedily consume crocodile eggs125. A variety of different fruits, most of which are not appealing to European tastes, grow in the jungle and provide a welcome addition to their diet. They catch birds occasionally, but their skill with the bow and arrow isn’t particularly impressive.
Most of their meat is obtained by hunting with dogs the wild pig, the wallaby and the cassowary. The pig (Sus papuensis), though it is not really a native of New Guinea, was introduced into the island so long ago that it has become as well established as the rabbit has become in this country. In some places, particularly near the foot of the mountains, pigs are fairly numerous, and the natives kill a good many; they are very savage beasts, and I saw a native terribly gashed by a large boar, which was shortly afterwards shot by one of our Gurkhas.
Most of their meat comes from hunting wild pigs, wallabies, and cassowaries with dogs. The pig (Sus papuensis), while not originally from New Guinea, has been around on the island for so long that it's become as common as rabbits are in this country. In some areas, especially near the mountains, pigs are fairly abundant, and the locals hunt quite a few; they can be very aggressive animals. I witnessed a native who was severely injured by a large boar, which was later shot by one of our Gurkhas.
The Wallaby (Dorcopsis lorentzii) is a small kangaroo, about two feet in height when it stands upright; it seems to be fairly evenly distributed all over the district. When the natives bestir themselves they seem to be able to catch the wallaby fairly easily; in four consecutive days we saw the remains of thirteen brought into the village of Parimau. The flesh is coarse and has a very strong musky flavour.
The Wallaby (Dorcopsis lorentzii) is a small kangaroo that stands about two feet tall when upright and appears to be fairly widespread throughout the area. When the locals get active, they seem to catch the wallaby with relative ease; in just four days, we saw the remains of thirteen brought into the village of Parimau. The meat is tough and has a very strong musky flavor.
There are two kinds of Cassowary in the Mimika district, a small species new to science (Casuarius claudi), which was discovered in the mountains at an altitude of about 1500 feet, and a large species (Casuarius sclateri), which was fairly abundant everywhere. We frequently heard their curious booming cry at night and we often saw their tracks in the mud of the jungle or on the river bank, but they are very shy birds and are seldom seen.
There are two types of Cassowary in the Mimika district: a small species new to science (Casuarius claudi), discovered in the mountains around 1500 feet up, and a large species (Casuarius sclateri), which was quite common everywhere. We often heard their strange booming calls at night and frequently saw their tracks in the mud of the jungle or along the riverbank, but they are very timid birds and are rarely spotted.
Once I had the luck to see an old cassowary with two young birds walking about in a stony river bed, a place which they particularly affect, and it was a very pretty sight to see how the mother bird, after she had caught sight of me, drove away the chicks to a place of safety and all the time kept herself between them and me. The natives hunt and kill and eat a good many cassowaries; the feathers are used for ornamental head-dresses and belts and for decorating spears and clubs, and the claws are often used as the points of arrows.
Once, I was lucky enough to see an old cassowary with two young chicks wandering around a rocky riverbed, a spot they really like. It was a beautiful sight to watch how the mother bird, after noticing me, pushed her chicks to safety while keeping herself between them and me. The locals hunt, kill, and eat quite a few cassowaries; their feathers are used for fancy headpieces and belts, as well as for decorating spears and clubs, and the claws are often used as arrow tips.
The Papuan Dog, without whose help the native would seldom, if ever, be able to get any meat, is a sharp-nosed prick-eared creature about the size of a Welsh terrier. The colour is yellow, brown or black, and the tail, which is upstanding, is tipped with white. Usually the hair is short and smooth, but we saw one dog, brought down to Parimau by a party of pygmies, which had a thick furry coat like a chow dog, which it also resembled in the carriage of its tail. The dogs in the village of the pygmies which we visited, were smooth-coated like those of the Papuans, so it is possible that that thick-coated animal came from some remote district where the natives live at a higher altitude.
The Papuan Dog, without which the locals would rarely, if ever, get any meat, is a sharp-nosed, prick-eared animal about the size of a Welsh terrier. Its color can be yellow, brown, or black, and its upright tail is tipped with white. Generally, the fur is short and smooth, but we saw one dog brought to Parimau by a group of pygmies that had a thick, furry coat like a chow dog, and its tail was carried similarly. The dogs in the pygmy village we visited were smooth-coated like those of the Papuans, so it’s possible that the thick-coated dog came from a remote area where people live at a higher altitude.
The Papuan dogs are very sociable creatures, and they like to accompany the natives on their journeys. They are particularly fond of going in canoes on the river, and two or three are seen in nearly every canoe even when the people are only out fishing. Their food is generally given to them by the women and it consists of raw meat, when there is any, and lumps127 of sago. A remarkable peculiarity about them is that they never bark, but they make up for this defect by their extraordinary power of howling. Sometimes in broad daylight, if there was no wind, but more often on still fine nights, a party of dogs would sit together, usually on the river bank, and utter a chorus of the most piteous and blood-curdling howls. No amount of stone-throwing or beating with sticks, freely administered by their masters, had the smallest effect on them; they would only move away a few yards and begin again, apparently carried away by an ecstasy of sorrow.
The Papuan dogs are very friendly animals, and they enjoy joining the locals on their travels. They especially love riding in canoes on the river, and you can often see two or three of them in almost every canoe, even when the people are just out fishing. The women usually feed them, giving them raw meat when it’s available and chunks of sago. One interesting thing about them is that they never bark, but they make up for it with their incredible howling ability. Sometimes during the day, if it’s calm, but more often on peaceful nights, a group of dogs would gather, usually by the riverbank, and let out a haunting and chilling chorus of howls. No amount of stone-throwing or hitting with sticks, applied generously by their owners, seemed to make a difference; they would just move a few yards away and start howling again, seemingly caught up in a wave of sorrow.
The natives value their dogs highly, as they well may do, for they provide the whole of their meat supply, and they use them to exchange for articles of which they have great need. The people at Parimau have a small piece of iron about the size of a chisel, used for carving their canoes and paddles, for which the enormous price of three dogs had been paid, so they informed us, to the people of the Wakatimi. One day one of our “boys” shot a dog, which had been in the habit of stealing food from our camp. When the natives knew that it was dead, all the people of the village began to wail in the same manner as they do when a person dies, and the owner of the dog smeared himself with mud and mourned bitterly. No doubt the display was somewhat exaggerated in the hope of getting a compensation from us, but at the back of it there was genuine emotion.
The locals really value their dogs, and they have good reason to, since the dogs provide all their meat and are used to trade for essential items. The folks in Parimau have a small piece of iron about the size of a chisel that they use for carving their canoes and paddles, and they told us that they paid an enormous price of three dogs to the Wakatimi people for it. One day, one of our team members shot a dog that had been stealing food from our camp. When the locals found out it was dead, everyone in the village started to wail just like they do when someone passes away. The dog's owner covered himself in mud and mourned intensely. While the show of grief might have been a bit over the top in hopes of getting compensation from us, there was definitely some genuine emotion behind it.
Before leaving the subject of the food of the Papuans and their means of obtaining it, a word must be said on the question of cannibalism. It is popularly128 supposed that all the natives of New Guinea are cannibals, and fears were expressed by many of our friends that some, if not all, of us would end in a Papuan feast. But we saw no signs of cannibalism, and we have no reason to suppose that it is practised by the people of the Mimika district. Men whom we questioned about it denied it and showed expressions of disgust at the suggestion; but that is not a complete proof of their innocence, for I have known people elsewhere, who were undoubtedly cannibals, deny it in the same manner. The question of cannibalism is always difficult to decide without direct evidence, and in the case of these Papuans the verdict must be one of “Not proven.”
Before wrapping up the topic of Papuan food and how they obtain it, it's important to address the issue of cannibalism. It's commonly believed that all the natives of New Guinea are cannibals, and many of our friends expressed concern that some, if not all, of us might end up at a Papuan feast. However, we saw no indication of cannibalism, and there's no reason to think it's practiced by the people of the Mimika area. The men we asked about it denied it and reacted with disgust at the suggestion; however, that isn't definitive proof of their innocence, as I've known people elsewhere who were clearly cannibals but denied it in the same way. The issue of cannibalism is always tricky to determine without direct evidence, and in the case of these Papuans, the conclusion must be “Not proven.”
The account given in a preceding chapter of the difficulties we experienced in learning the language of the Papuans will serve to explain how it was that we learnt so little about the nature of their social system. The people of Wakatimi were called Wakatimi-wé (people of Wakatimi), the people of Obota were Obota-wé, and the people of other villages in like manner, but we never heard one word that included them all, nor indeed do we know whether or not they consider themselves all to belong to the same tribe.
The account provided in the previous chapter about the challenges we faced in learning the Papuan language will help explain why we learned so little about their social system. The people of Wakatimi were called Wakatimi-wé (people of Wakatimi), the people of Obota were Obota-wé, and similarly for the people of other villages, but we never heard a term that included them all, nor do we know if they consider themselves to be part of the same tribe.
In every village that we visited there were one or two or even more men who called themselves natoo, a word signifying “chief.” But in no case did the natoo appear to have any authority over the other people; their houses were no bigger than the rest, and (except in one instance) they had no more personal property than the other members of the community.
In every village we visited, there were one or two or even more men who referred to themselves as natoo, which means “chief.” However, in no instance did the natoo seem to have any real authority over the other people; their homes were no larger than anyone else's, and (except in one case) they had no more personal belongings than the other community members.
A PAPUAN OF MIMIKA.
A Papuan from Mimika.
The exceptional case was a man of unusual intelligence who became our intimate friend and gave us much information for which he was always well rewarded, so that before we left the country his house was filled with tins and bottles, and he was the possessor of axes and knives, yards of cloth and countless beads. In all the ordinary affairs of life the “chiefs” and their families have to work like everybody else, but it is possible that in their wars, of which we saw nothing at all, they may be persons of more consequence.
The standout case was a man of remarkable intelligence who became our close friend and provided us with a lot of information for which he was always well compensated. By the time we left the country, his house was stocked with cans and bottles, and he owned axes and knives, yards of fabric, and countless beads. In everyday life, the “chiefs” and their families have to work just like everyone else, but it's possible that in their wars, which we witnessed nothing of, they might hold more significance.
Generally speaking, one would say that the society of the Mimika Papuans is a group of small families. It cannot by any means be described as a socialistic community; with one exception there is no sign of community of property, but it is rather a case of every man for himself, or (more accurately) of every family for itself. A canoe belongs to the family of the man who made it; the coconut trees, which grow here and there along the lower Mimika, do not belong to the community but to individuals, presumably the men or some of the men who planted them. Sometimes the trees are protected by a fence, a very flimsy structure of three or four sticks, placed across the track which leads to the trees; in other cases a few palm leaves or some pierced shells threaded on a string are tied round the tree itself; both of these devices appear to be enough to ensure the security of the trees. The exception mentioned is seen when game is brought in by the hunters; the meat, as I observed on several occasions, is distributed to every house in the village.
Generally speaking, you could say that the society of the Mimika Papuans consists of small families. It can't be described as a socialist community; with one exception, there’s no sense of shared property. It’s more about every person looking out for themselves, or more accurately, every family doing the same. A canoe belongs to the family of the man who built it; the coconut trees scattered along the lower Mimika don’t belong to the community but to individuals, likely the men who planted them. Sometimes the trees are protected by a fence made of a few sticks placed across the path leading to them; in other cases, a few palm leaves or some shells strung on a string are tied around the tree. Both methods seem sufficient to keep the trees safe. The exception I mentioned comes into play when hunters bring in game; the meat, as I’ve seen on several occasions, is shared out to every household in the village.
As I have described above (p. 97) the houses in a130 village are joined together under a common roof, but each family enters by its own doorway, and, except for the publicity resulting from the lack of dividing walls or partitions, it finds itself in its own private house. It is difficult to say exactly of what the “family-group” consists. There are the man and his wife and the children, and sometimes an extra man or two, and, rarely, an extra woman, who is, I believe, always a second wife of the man of the house; but the position of the extra men and their relationship to the rest of the family I cannot define. At the village of Obota a detached house, rather larger than the rest, was said to be occupied by young men only; we did not see any other instance of this elsewhere.
As I mentioned earlier (p. 97), the houses in a130 village are connected under a shared roof, but each family has its own entrance, and aside from the openness that comes from the absence of dividing walls or partitions, each family enjoys its own private space. It’s hard to precisely define what the “family group” includes. There’s the man, his wife, and their children, sometimes with an extra man or two, and rarely an extra woman, who I believe is always the second wife of the household’s man; however, I can’t specify the roles of these extra men and how they relate to the rest of the family. In the village of Obota, there was a separate house, larger than the others, which was said to be occupied only by young men; we didn’t observe this anywhere else.
Families are small, as might be expected from the severity of their conditions of life and the long period of suckling by the mothers, and we did not know definitely of any couple who had more than three living children. Though the women do a large amount of the work of the community they are not mere drudges; they do a great deal of talking, and the men appear to pay considerable respect to their opinion. This was frequently noticeable when we wanted to buy something, such as canoes, from a native; he would say that he must first of all go and consult his wife, and when he returned it often happened that, prompted by his wife, he insisted on a higher payment than he had asked before.
Families are small, likely due to the harshness of their living conditions and the long time mothers spend nursing. We were not aware of any couple having more than three living children. Although the women contribute significantly to the community's work, they are not just laborers; they engage in a lot of conversation, and the men seem to respect their opinions quite a bit. This was often clear when we wanted to buy something, like canoes, from a local. He would say he needed to consult his wife first, and when he came back, it was common for him to demand a higher price than he had initially mentioned, influenced by her advice.
On one occasion only did we see a woman ill-treated, and the performance was a particularly brutal one. Two men and a woman walked down from the village131 of Wakatimi to the river bank, dragging another woman, who shrieked and struggled violently. After throwing her into the mud they dragged her into the shallow water and tried to drown her by holding her down under a fishing-net. We shouted at them, and were just going with some soldiers in a canoe across the river to rescue the woman, when they desisted and allowed the poor creature to crawl out on to the bank, where she lay for some time exhausted. Some natives who came over to us shortly afterwards laughed about it and treated the whole affair as a joke.
On one occasion, we saw a woman being mistreated, and it was especially brutal. Two men and a woman walked down from the village131 of Wakatimi to the riverbank, dragging another woman, who was screaming and struggling fiercely. After throwing her into the mud, they pulled her into the shallow water and tried to drown her by holding her down under a fishing net. We shouted at them and were just about to go with some soldiers in a canoe across the river to rescue her when they stopped and let the poor woman crawl out onto the bank, where she lay exhausted for a while. Some locals who came over to us shortly after just laughed about it and treated the whole incident like a joke.
With regard to the superstitions and beliefs of the Papuans, owing to our unfortunate difficulties with the language we learnt nothing whatever. Religion, in the accepted sense of that term, I am sure they have not. It is true that they make curious carved effigies, but these are not idols, and there is no evidence to show that they ever consult or worship them; on the contrary, they treat them with contempt and often point to them with laughter. These images are ingeniously and skilfully carved out of wood, and they represent a human figure always grotesque and sometimes grossly indecent. They vary in size from a few inches to twelve or fourteen feet, and when they are not neglected they are ornamented with red and white paint.
Regarding the superstitions and beliefs of the Papuans, we learned nothing at all due to our unfortunate language difficulties. I'm sure they don't have religion in the traditional sense of the word. It's true that they create interesting carved figures, but these aren't idols, and there's no evidence that they ever consult or worship them; instead, they treat them with disdain and often laugh at them. These figures are skillfully carved from wood and usually depict a human figure that is always grotesque and sometimes quite obscene. They range in size from a few inches to twelve or fourteen feet, and when they are not neglected, they are decorated with red and white paint.
We had opportunities of observing the outward signs of what were probably superstitions in connection with certain phenomena of the weather. For instance, the first peal of thunder that was heard in the day—it occurred almost every day—was greeted by the men132 with a long-drawn tremulous shout. On the occasion of a particularly alarming thunderstorm, when the lightning flashes were almost unceasing, the men came out of doors and with long sticks beat the ground in front of their huts; then they waved the sticks in the air, shouting loudly meanwhile. Curiously enough the rare whistle of a certain bird, which we never identified, was always greeted by the men of Parimau with a shout precisely similar to that with which they greet the thunder.
We had chances to observe the outward signs of what were likely superstitions related to certain weather phenomena. For example, the first clap of thunder heard during the day—this happened almost every day—was met by the men132 with a long, trembling shout. During a particularly intense thunderstorm, when the lightning flashes seemed almost endless, the men came outside and used long sticks to beat the ground in front of their huts; then they waved the sticks in the air while shouting loudly. Interestingly, the rare whistle of a certain bird, which we never identified, was always responded to by the men of Parimau with a shout that was exactly the same as the one they used for thunder.
The first sight of the new moon was signalised by a short sharp bark rather than a shout. Several times on the day following the first sight of the new moon I noticed a spear decorated with white feathers exposed conspicuously in the village, but whether it had any connection with the kalendar I cannot say.
The first glimpse of the new moon was marked by a quick, sharp bark instead of a shout. Several times the day after I spotted the new moon, I saw a spear adorned with white feathers prominently displayed in the village, but I can't say if it was related to the calendar.
When the first drops of rain of the day began to fall, the men were sometimes seen to snap their fingers four times towards the four quarters of the compass.
When the first drops of rain started to fall, the men were sometimes seen snapping their fingers four times towards the four directions.
A curious ceremony was twice observed at a time of heavy rain, when the Mimika was rising rapidly and threatening to sweep away the village of Parimau. A party of men walked down to the edge of the river, and one of them with a long spear threshed the water, while the others at each stroke shouted, “Mbu” (water, flood). Then they went up to the village, and in front of each door they dug a hole, into which they poured a coconut-full of water; again they shouted “Mbu,” and then filled up the hole with sand.
A strange ceremony was performed twice during heavy rain when the Mimika was rising quickly and about to wash away the village of Parimau. A group of men walked to the riverbank, and one of them used a long spear to stir the water, while the others shouted “Mbu” (meaning water, flood) with each strike. After that, they returned to the village and dug a hole in front of each door, pouring a coconut-full of water into it. Again, they shouted “Mbu” and then filled the hole with sand.
That they have some belief in the supernatural is certain. We learnt a word niniki, which undoubtedly133 means ghosts; they described niniki as things which you could not see but were here and there in the air about you. When they were asked where a dead man had gone to, they talked of niniki, and pointed vaguely to the horizon, saying the word which means “far.”
That they believe in the supernatural is clear. We learned a word niniki, which definitely133 means ghosts; they described niniki as things that you couldn't see but were here and there in the air around you. When asked where a dead man had gone, they mentioned niniki and pointed vaguely to the horizon, using the word that means "far."
If there is one thing in heaven or earth to which it may be said that the Papuans pay some sort of respect it is the pig. They hunt and kill a good many wild pigs in the jungle and eat their flesh, but the lower jaw of each animal is carefully cleaned and hung up on a sort of rack in front of the houses; on one of these racks I counted no fewer than thirty-two pigs’ jaws. The grass and leaves in which the animal is wrapped and the ropes used for tying it up when it is carried home from the jungle, are not thrown away but are hung up on a similar sort of rack in a conspicuous place in the village.
If there's one thing in heaven or earth that the Papuans show some respect for, it's the pig. They hunt and kill quite a few wild pigs in the jungle and eat their meat, but they carefully clean the lower jaw of each animal and hang it up on a rack in front of their houses; on one of these racks, I counted at least thirty-two pig jaws. The grass and leaves that wrap the animal, along with the ropes used to tie it up when they carry it home from the jungle, are not discarded but hung up on a similar rack in a noticeable spot in the village.
In every village there may generally be seen two or three pigs running about freely; they are probably not bred in the village, but are caught in the jungle, when they are young. They very soon become quite tame and accompany the people on their migrations from one place to another until they are full grown, when they provide food for a festival. The only elaborate popular ceremony that took place while we were in the country happened early in May at Parimau, and the principal feature of it was the slaughter of pigs. Unfortunately for me I was at the base-camp at the time and did not see the festival, so I will make extracts from Marshall’s graphic account.12
In every village, you can usually see two or three pigs roaming around freely; they probably aren’t raised in the village but are caught in the wild when they’re young. They quickly become quite tame and follow the people as they move from place to place until they grow up, at which point they provide food for a festival. The only big community celebration that happened while we were in the area occurred early in May at Parimau, and the main event was the slaughter of pigs. Unfortunately for me, I was at the base camp at that time and missed the festival, so I’ll include excerpts from Marshall’s vivid description.12
“Yesterday the natives gave us an excellent show. For some days previously natives had been arriving from distant parts until the small village of 40 huts contained 400 people, and it was evident from the tomtomming and other signs that something of importance was about to take place. On the night of the 3rd inst. they lit a big bonfire, and all night long they were howling and yelling as if to drive away evil spirits. Soon after daybreak they came over to fetch us, and, expecting something unusual, I slipped a film into my cinematograph camera and went over. They gave me every opportunity of obtaining a good picture, keeping an open space for me in the best positions. First of all the women, draped in leaves, slowly walked down the beach, driving two full-grown boars in front of them, and then disappeared in the jungle. About 150 men with faces painted and heads and spears decorated with feathers, formed up in three sides of a square, one end of which was occupied by a band of tomtoms. A slow advance on the village then commenced, the men shouting in chorus and the women dancing on the outskirts. The centre of the square was occupied by single individuals, who, following each other in quick succession, gave a warlike display, finally shooting arrows far over the trees.
“Yesterday, the locals put on an amazing show. For several days leading up to this, people had been arriving from far away, so that the little village of 40 huts was full of 400 people. It was clear from the drumming and other signs that something significant was about to happen. On the night of the 3rd, they lit a huge bonfire, and all night long they howled and yelled as if trying to scare off evil spirits. Just after dawn, they came to fetch us, and anticipating something special, I loaded a film into my camera and went along. They made sure I had plenty of chances to get a good shot, clearing a space for me in the best spots. First, the women, wrapped in leaves, slowly walked down the beach, herding two fully grown boars in front of them before vanishing into the jungle. About 150 men, with painted faces and heads adorned with feathers on their spears, formed three sides of a square, with one end occupied by a group of drummers. They then began a slow advance on the village, the men shouting in unison while the women danced on the outskirts. The center of the square was filled with individuals who, following each other in quick succession, put on a warlike display, ultimately shooting arrows far over the trees.”
A TYPICAL PAPUAN OF MIMIKA.
A typical Mimika Papuan.
“The next scene took place around a large sloping erection which we soon found was an altar, on which the two boars were about to be sacrificed. The women and boars who had disappeared into the forest now marched from the jungle at the far end of 135the village. The boars were seized, and a struggle with the animals ensued, but the two huge brutes were bound up with rattan, chalk meanwhile being rubbed into their eyes, apparently in order to blind them. The women set up a tremendous wailing, and appeared on the scene plastered in wet mud from head to foot. The two boars, on each of which a man sat astride, were now hoisted up and carried to the altar, on which the animals were tightly lashed. Then amid much shouting, tomtomming, and fanatical displays, the boars were clubbed to death. As soon as life was extinct, the women cut the carcases free, and, pulling them to the ground, threw themselves on the dead bodies, wailing loudly, and plastering themselves with wet mud in ecstasies of grief. This continued for some ten minutes, when the men, many of whom were covered with mud and uttered strange dirges, picked up the bodies, and the whole assembly following suit marched into the river, where a much-needed washing took place. Just previous to this a three-year-old child, painted red and crying loudly, had been roughly seized and dragged towards the dais, and for a moment we thought something more serious than a boar sacrifice was about to take place. But we were much relieved to see that it was only having its ears pierced. The whole performance lasted about an hour and a half.
“The next scene took place around a large sloping structure that we soon realized was an altar, where the two boars were about to be sacrificed. The women and boars who had disappeared into the forest now marched out from the jungle at the far end of 135 the village. The boars were caught, and a struggle with the animals ensued, but the two massive beasts were tied up with rattan, while chalk was rubbed into their eyes, seemingly to blind them. The women let out a loud wail and appeared at the scene covered in wet mud from head to toe. The two boars, with a man sitting on each one, were lifted up and carried to the altar, where the animals were tightly secured. Then, amid a lot of shouting, drumming, and fervent displays, the boars were clubbed to death. Once they were lifeless, the women cut the carcasses free, and throwing themselves onto the dead bodies, they wailed loudly, smearing themselves with wet mud in their grief. This went on for about ten minutes, after which the men, many of whom were also covered in mud and sang strange mourning songs, picked up the bodies, and the entire assembly followed suit as they marched into the river for a much-needed wash. Just before this, a three-year-old child, painted red and crying loudly, had been roughly grabbed and dragged towards the dais, and for a moment we thought something more serious than a boar sacrifice was about to happen. But we were relieved to see it was just having its ears pierced. The whole event lasted about an hour and a half.”
“The afternoon was given over to innocent play, the women and girls—many of them quite pretty—chasing the men up to the river side and into the water. This is one of the few ceremonies when the136 women are allowed to beat the men, the latter not being permitted to retaliate. The damsels finally became so bold that they stormed the camp.”
“The afternoon was all about innocent fun, with the women and girls—many of them quite attractive—chasing the men to the riverbank and into the water. This is one of the rare occasions when the women are allowed to hit the men, who aren't allowed to fight back. The girls eventually got so daring that they took over the camp.”
Of ceremonies connected with birth, if any take place, we saw nothing at all. The only marriage ceremony that took place during our stay in the country has been referred to on a preceding page.
Of ceremonies related to birth, if any occurred, we didn't see any at all. The only marriage ceremony that happened while we were in the country has been mentioned on a previous page.
Deaths were unfortunately more frequent, and if they were not accompanied by any elaborate ceremonial they were, at all events, widely advertised, sometimes indeed even before the event itself. A wretched man became very ill at Parimau in August, and it was soon evident that his days were numbered. Members of his family carried him out of the house and laid him in the sunlight for a time, and then took him back into the house again at least half a dozen times a day. Now and again, when he dozed, they set up the dreadful wail that is customary when a person dies, and he had to wake up and assure them of his continued life. At night his hut was crowded with sympathetic watchers, and with the smoke of the fire and much tobacco the atmosphere must have been nearly insupportable. As our own house was distant only about forty yards across the river we could plainly hear his laboured breathing, and when it grew softer they wailed again until the wonder was that he did not die. On the third day they dug a grave for him, but still he lingered on, and it was not until the fifth night, when a tremendous flood came down and swept away the village so that all the people had to take refuge in their canoes, that he died.
Deaths were unfortunately more common, and if they weren’t marked by any elaborate rituals, they were definitely broadcasted, sometimes even before they happened. A poor guy got really sick in Parimau in August, and it quickly became clear that he didn’t have long to live. His family moved him outside to soak up some sun for a while, then brought him back inside at least six times a day. Occasionally, when he dozed off, they let out the horrible wail that’s customary when someone dies, and he had to wake up and reassure them that he was still alive. At night, his hut was packed with sympathetic onlookers, and with the smoke from the fire and lots of tobacco, the air must have been nearly unbearable. Since our house was only about forty yards across the river, we could clearly hear his labored breathing, and when it got softer, they wailed again, making it surprising that he hadn’t passed away. On the third day, they dug a grave for him, but he still hung on, and it wasn’t until the fifth night, when a massive flood came and washed away the village, forcing everyone into their canoes, that he finally died.
When a death occurs the people in the hut at once begin to wail, then the people in the neighbouring huts join in and soon the whole village is wailing. It is a very peculiar and very striking chorus. Each individual wails on one note, and as there are perhaps five notes ranging from a very high pitch to a deep murmured bass being sung at once, the effect is most mournful. The occasional beat of a drum adds not a little to the general effect of lamentation. It must be admitted, however, that the wailing is not always a musical performance. Sometimes the mourning man behaves in the way that a child does when it is described as “roaring”; he puckers up his face in the most extraordinary contortions, “roars” at the top of his voice with occasional heart-breaking sobs, while the tears course down his face, and the complete picture is ludicrous in the extreme.
When someone dies, the people in the hut immediately start to cry out, and soon the folks in the nearby huts join in, until the whole village is in mourning. It's a very unique and striking sound. Each person cries on a single note, and since there might be about five notes ranging from a high pitch to a deep rumble all being sung at once, the result is incredibly sorrowful. The occasional beat of a drum adds a lot to the overall feeling of grief. However, it's important to note that the wailing isn't always a musical performance. Sometimes the grieving person acts like a child described as “roaring”; they twist their face into all sorts of funny shapes, “roar” at the top of their lungs with occasional heart-wrenching sobs, while tears stream down their face, creating a scene that's downright ridiculous.
The disposal of the dead nearly always takes place just before dawn, but the method of it is not always the same. The most common practice is to bury the body in a shallow grave dug in the nearest convenient spot, sometimes within a few yards of the huts. The body is wrapped in mats and laid flat in the grave, which is then filled up, and its place is perhaps marked by a stick, but in a day or two it is forgotten and people trample on it without heed.
The disposal of the dead usually happens just before dawn, but the method isn’t always the same. The most common practice is to bury the body in a shallow grave dug in the nearest convenient spot, sometimes just a few yards from the huts. The body is wrapped in mats and placed flat in the grave, which is then filled in, and its location might be marked by a stick, but after a day or two, it’s forgotten, and people walk over it without thinking.
We observed one instance of a more elaborate kind of burial. The corpse, wrapped in leaves and mats, was taken out into the jungle and placed on a platform about four feet high, which had been put up for the purpose. After placing the body on the platform the138 men who had carried it walked down to the river, shouted once in unison, and then, having received an answering shout from the men in the village, one of them threw a small triangular piece of wood out into the stream. In the meantime the family of the dead man disappeared into the jungle, from which they soon emerged quite naked, plastered all over with mud and decorated with wisps of climbing plants. The next two days were spent in digging a grave and making a coffin shaped like a small canoe; this however was found to be too small and was not used. On the third day the body was placed in the grave, and an ornamental post placed in the ground at each end, but contrary to our hopes (for the state of that man was becoming very offensive) they did not fill in the grave. They merely covered the body with leaves and turned it over every day. At intervals the widow, quite naked, save for a plastering of mud, crawled on hands and knees from her hut, which was less than five yards distant, and visited the grave. In a few days a providential flood came and filled up the grave and put an end to what had become for us an almost intolerable nuisance.
We saw one case of a more elaborate burial. The body, wrapped in leaves and mats, was taken into the jungle and placed on a platform about four feet high that had been built for this purpose. After laying the body on the platform, the138 men who carried it walked down to the river, shouted together once, and then, after hearing a shout back from the men in the village, one of them tossed a small triangular piece of wood into the stream. Meanwhile, the family of the deceased disappeared into the jungle and soon came back completely naked, covered in mud and adorned with bits of climbing plants. The next two days were spent digging a grave and making a coffin shaped like a small canoe; however, this was found to be too small and wasn’t used. On the third day, the body was placed in the grave, and an ornamental post was put in the ground at each end, but contrary to our hopes (since the state of that man was becoming very unpleasant), they did not fill in the grave. They only covered the body with leaves and turned it every day. Occasionally, the widow, completely naked except for the mud, crawled on her hands and knees from her hut, which was less than five yards away, to visit the grave. After a few days, a fortuitous flood came and filled up the grave, putting an end to what had become an almost unbearable nuisance for us.
Both at Wakatimi and at Parimau our camp commanded a good view of the native village, and a death always provided us with the mild excitement of wondering in what new way they would celebrate the event. On one occasion when a woman died, the bereaved husband and another man walked slowly down to the river and waded out into about three feet of water. There the widower submitted to being washed all over by the other man and finally to being held under water by139 him for half a minute or more, after which they walked solemnly back to the village.
Both at Wakatimi and Parimau, our camp had a good view of the native village, and whenever someone died, it always brought us a slight thrill of curiosity about how they would commemorate the event this time. One time, when a woman passed away, the grieving husband and another man slowly walked to the river and waded into about three feet of water. There, the widower allowed the other man to wash him completely and ultimately to hold him under the water for half a minute or more, after which they walked back to the village solemnly.
Early in the morning of the day after the death of the natoo of Wakatimi all the women and girls of the village, to the number of sixty or seventy, came down to the river, all of them without a vestige of clothing, and in the shallow water a foot or two deep they swam and crawled and wriggled up the river for a hundred yards or more, wailing loudly all the time. Sometimes they came out on to the bank and rolled in the mud, and finally they all went out of the water and stood wailing in front of the dead man’s house.
Early in the morning the day after the death of the natoo of Wakatimi, all the women and girls in the village, around sixty or seventy of them, went down to the river, completely naked. In the shallow water, a foot or two deep, they swam, crawled, and wriggled upstream for over a hundred yards, wailing loudly the whole time. Sometimes they climbed out onto the bank and rolled in the mud, and eventually, they all got out of the water and stood crying in front of the dead man’s house.
Another method of disposing of the dead, which is very frequently adopted, is to place the body wrapped in mats in a rude coffin, which is usually constructed from pieces of broken canoes. The coffin containing the body is supported on a trestle of crossed sticks about four feet from the ground (see illustration opposite), and there it remains until decomposition is complete. As these coffins are often placed within a yard or two of the houses, it can be imagined that a Papuan village is not always a pleasant place to visit.
Another way of handling the dead, which is often used, is to put the body wrapped in mats inside a simple coffin, usually made from pieces of broken canoes. The coffin with the body is supported on a trestle of crossed sticks about four feet off the ground (see illustration opposite), and it stays there until it fully decomposes. Since these coffins are often located within a yard or two of the houses, one can imagine that a Papuan village isn’t always a pleasant place to visit.
At the village of Nimé we saw two or three pathetic little bundles containing the remains of infants exposed on racks within a few feet of the houses, from which they doubtless came.
At the village of Nimé, we saw two or three sad little bundles with the remains of infants placed on racks just a few feet away from the houses they probably came from.
DISPOSAL OF THE DEAD. A COFFIN ON TRESTLES.
DISPOSAL OF THE DEAD. A COFFIN ON TRESTLES.
When decomposition is complete no account is taken of the bones, excepting the skull, which is taken and preserved in the house. Sometimes it is buried in the sand of the floor of the house, and sometimes it is tied up in a sort of open basket-work of rattan and hung 140up in the roof, where it becomes brown with smoke and polished by frequent handling.
When decomposition is finished, no attention is paid to the bones, except for the skull, which is collected and kept in the house. Sometimes it’s buried in the sand on the floor of the house, and other times it’s wrapped in a kind of open rattan basket and hung 140 up in the roof, where it gets brown from the smoke and shiny from being handled often.
Though the people take the trouble to bring the skulls into their houses, they show no real respect for them, and they are eager enough to part with them if a chance occurs. Two of us went one day to Obota, a village a few miles from Wakatimi, in the hopes of buying some bananas. In one of the huts we saw a skull and offered to buy it, not at all expecting that the owner would be willing to sell, but the offer of (I think) a piece of cloth was gladly accepted and the skull was ours. In a few minutes, when it became known that we had given good cloth for a common skull, everybody was anxious to sell his family remains, and outside every doorway were placed one or two or even three grinning skulls. They do not treat the skulls very carefully, and a good many were damaged, so we only bought about half a dozen that were perfect.
Though the people go through the effort to bring the skulls into their homes, they don’t show any real respect for them and are quick to sell them if the opportunity arises. Two of us went one day to Obota, a village a few miles from Wakatimi, hoping to buy some bananas. In one of the huts, we spotted a skull and offered to buy it, not really expecting the owner to sell, but the offer of (I think) a piece of cloth was gladly accepted, and the skull was ours. Within minutes, when word spread that we had exchanged good cloth for a common skull, everyone became eager to sell their family remains, and outside every doorway, there were one or two or even three grinning skulls. They don’t handle the skulls very carefully, and many were damaged, so we only bought about half a dozen that were in perfect condition.
One day a man walked into our camp at Wakatimi carrying a skull under his arm. He stood outside our house for some time, grinning and saying nothing, then he gave us unmistakably to understand that it was the skull of his wife, who, as we knew for a fact, had only died a short time previously. The skull was indeed so fresh that we declined the offer.
One day, a man walked into our camp at Wakatimi carrying a skull under his arm. He stood outside our house for a while, grinning and saying nothing, then he made it clear that it was the skull of his wife, who, as we knew for sure, had only died recently. The skull was so fresh that we refused the offer.
CHAPTER XI
Papuans’ Love of Music—Their Concerts—A Dancing House—Carving—Papuans as Artists—Cat’s Cradle—Village Squabbles—The Part of the Women—Wooden and Stone Clubs—Shell Knives and Stone Axes—Bows and Arrows—Papuan Marksmen—Spears—A most Primitive People—Disease—Prospects of their Civilisation.
Papuans' Passion for Music—Their Concerts—A House for Dancing—Carving—Papuans as Artists—Cat's Cradle—Village Disputes—The Role of Women—Wood and Stone Clubs—Shell Knives and Stone Axes—Bows and Arrows—Skilled Papuan Marksmen—Spears—An Extremely Primitive Culture—Illness—Opportunities for Their Civilization.
The most pleasing characteristic of the Papuans is their love of music. When a number of them are gathered together and when they have eaten well, or are for any other reason happy, they have a concert. Sometimes the concerts take place in the afternoon and continue till nightfall, but more often they begin after dark and go on almost through the night. The orchestra is simple and consists of two or three men who beat drums and sit before a small fire in the middle. Round them are grouped the chorus all sitting on the ground. The drums are hollowed cylinders of wood, which are often elaborately carved; one end is open, the other is closed by a piece of lizard’s or snake’s skin (see illustration p. 142). When this skin becomes slack, as it very quickly does, the drummer holds it towards the fire until it regains its pitch. It is not the custom to tune up both drums, when there are more than one, to the same pitch, usually an interval of about half a tone is left between them. The leader of the orchestra sometimes wears a remarkable head-dress made of plaited fibre and ornamented with bunches of plumes of the Bird of Paradise142 (see illustration p. 78). The effect of these plumes waving backwards and forwards as the man moves his head to mark the phrases of the song is exceedingly striking, and it must be admitted that if there is anybody, who can becomingly wear those gorgeous plumes, it is the naked black man.
The most appealing trait of the Papuans is their love of music. When a group of them gathers together and they’ve had a good meal, or are simply feeling happy, they hold a concert. Sometimes these concerts start in the afternoon and last until nightfall, but more often they begin after dark and continue well into the night. The band is simple, consisting of two or three men who play drums while sitting around a small fire in the center. Surrounding them is a chorus of people sitting on the ground. The drums are hollow wooden cylinders, often intricately carved; one end is open, and the other is covered with lizard or snake skin (see illustration p. 142). When this skin becomes loose, which it does quickly, the drummer holds it near the fire until it tightens back to the right pitch. It's not customary to tune all the drums to the same pitch; usually, there’s about a half-tone difference between them. The conductor sometimes wears a striking headpiece made of braided fiber, adorned with clusters of Bird of Paradise feathers142 (see illustration p. 78). The sight of these feathers swaying back and forth as he moves his head to accentuate the song's phrases is incredibly impressive, and it’s fair to say that if anyone can pull off those beautiful feathers, it’s the naked Black man.
The most usual kind of song begins with a slow tapping of the drums, then these are beaten quicker and the singer (one of the drummers) begins a sort of recitative song, to which the chorus contributes a low humming accompaniment. Then the drums are beaten very loudly and rapidly, all the men in chorus sing, or rather growl, a deep guttural note, followed by a prolonged musical note at about the middle of the register of a normal man’s voice, and the song ends with one or more short sharp barks, “Wah! wah! wah!” with a loud drum accompaniment. The song, or probably different verses of it, is repeated very many times. The final shouts of the song, which for want of a better word I have called “barks,” are uttered by all the men in unison and recall, as was pointed out by Mr. Goodfellow, the harsh croaking call of the Greater Bird of Paradise, which is heard almost daily in the jungle. It is possible that the song is in some way connected with the bird and that there is an intentional imitation of its note.
The most common type of song starts with a slow drum beat, then speeds up, and the singer (who is also one of the drummers) begins a kind of spoken song, while the chorus provides a low humming background. Then the drums are played very loudly and quickly, and all the men in the chorus sing, or more accurately, growl a deep guttural sound, followed by a long musical note that sits around the middle pitch of a typical man’s voice. The song wraps up with one or more sharp barks, “Wah! wah! wah!” accompanied by loud drumming. The song, or probably different verses of it, is repeated many times. The final shouts of the song, which I’ve referred to as “barks,” are sung in unison by all the men and remind, as Mr. Goodfellow noted, of the harsh croaking call of the Greater Bird of Paradise, which can be heard almost daily in the jungle. It’s possible that the song is somehow linked to the bird and intentionally mimics its call.
The scheme of all these songs is the same, viz., a recitative with drums and a humming accompaniment, but some of them have really rollicking choruses, and we used to listen to them at night with extreme pleasure as they came, somewhat softened by distance, over the water to our camp at Wakatimi. The voices of the men 143are often rich, and they have a true musical ear. Their intervals are very similar to ours and not at all like those of the Malays and many other Eastern singers, who recognize perhaps five notes where we have only two. Beside the drum the only instrument of music they have is a straight trumpet made from a short piece of bamboo. This produces only a single booming note and is not used at the concerts.
The pattern of all these songs is the same: a recitative with drums and a humming background, but some of them have really lively choruses. We used to enjoy listening to them at night, their sounds slightly softened by distance, drifting over the water to our camp at Wakatimi. The men's voices are often rich, and they have a genuine musical ear. Their intervals are very similar to ours and not at all like those of the Malays and many other Eastern singers, who recognize maybe five notes where we have only two. Besides the drum, the only musical instrument they have is a straight trumpet made from a short piece of bamboo. This produces only a single booming note and isn't used at concerts.
1. Stone Axe.
2. 3. 4. Head-rests for sleeping.
5. 6. 7. Drums.
1. Stone axe.
2. 3. 4. Sleep Headrests.
5. 6. 7. Drum set.
As an amusement of the Papuans even more important than singing is dancing, of which they often talked, but though we saw some of their dancing halls (see illustration p. 48), we never had the good fortune to witness a performance. At the coast village of Nimé, a few miles to the East of the Mimika River, there was a very elaborate dancing house, which must have cost an immense amount of labour to build. The length of the house from front to back was about 100 feet, the width about 25 feet, and it rested on poles which were about 8 feet high in front, rising up to about 14 feet high at the back. The side walls and the back were of “atap” as was also the roof, which sloped from a long ridgepole running the whole length of the house. The ridgepole was remarkable as being made from a single tree trunk (Casuarina) shaved down very smoothly to a uniform thickness of about 10 inches; the ends of it, which projected about 8 feet both at the front and back of the house, were carved in very lifelike representations of the head of a crocodile and were painted red. The weight of the beam must have been immense and one wondered how it had been hoisted into position. Between the ridge of the roof and the eaves there projected144 both in front and at the back six other smaller poles grotesquely carved to represent fish and reptiles and hideous human heads. The front of the house was open, and when you had climbed up the supporting poles and had stepped over a low fence you found yourself in a spacious hall with a floor well made of sheets of bark, which sloped up gradually from front to back. Along either side at regular intervals on the floor were sand fireplaces and above these were wooden racks, from which it was evident that something was hung to be cooked. Round the walls on all sides was a strip of carved and painted wood, and exactly in the middle of the hall, fixed to the floor and the roof were two posts about 3 feet apart and tied between them, at about half the height of a man, was an elaborately carved and painted board about twelve inches wide. In the middle of this board was carved the eye, which is a familiar feature of the ornamental carving on the canoes and drums, and it appeared that this eye is the centre of the ceremonies which take place in the house.
As a form of entertainment, dancing is even more significant to the Papuans than singing, which they often discussed. While we saw some of their dance halls (see illustration p. 48), we never had the chance to see a performance. In the coastal village of Nimé, just a few miles east of the Mimika River, there was an impressive dance house that must have taken a tremendous amount of labor to construct. The house measured about 100 feet long and 25 feet wide, resting on poles about 8 feet high at the front, which rose to around 14 feet high at the back. The walls and the roof were made of "atap,” and the roof sloped down from a long ridgepole that ran the full length of the house. The ridgepole was notable for being made from a single tree trunk (Casuarina) smoothly shaved to a uniform thickness of about 10 inches; the ends stuck out approximately 8 feet at both the front and back of the house, carved into lifelike representations of a crocodile's head and painted red. The weight of the beam must have been enormous, and one could only wonder how they lifted it into place. Between the ridge of the roof and the eaves, six smaller poles jutted out at both the front and back, grotesquely carved to represent fish, reptiles, and ghastly human heads. The front of the house was open, and after climbing up the supporting poles and stepping over a low fence, you would find yourself in a spacious hall with a well-made floor of bark sheets that sloped gradually from front to back. Along either side of the floor at regular intervals were sandy fireplaces, and above them were wooden racks, indicating that something was hung there to cook. A strip of carved and painted wood ran around the walls on all sides, and exactly in the middle of the hall, fixed to the floor and the roof, were two posts about 3 feet apart. Tied between them, at about half the height of a man, was an intricately carved and painted board about twelve inches wide. In the center of this board was carved an eye, a familiar motif in the ornamental carving on canoes and drums, and it seemed that this eye was the focal point of the ceremonies that took place in the house.
So far as I could understand from the description of the natives who accompanied me in my visit to the house, the people, both men and women, who take part in the ceremony, dance slowly upwards from the front of the house singing as they go, and when they reach the carved board each one in turn touches the eye, while all the people shout together. But what the object of the whole performance is and what the people cook and eat, are questions to which I was unable to find an answer.
As far as I could tell from the description by the locals who joined me on my visit to the house, both men and women participating in the ceremony dance slowly up from the front of the house, singing as they go. When they reach the carved board, each person touches the eye in turn, while everyone else shouts together. However, I couldn’t figure out the purpose of the whole performance or what the people cook and eat.
1-7. Bamboo Penis-cases. 8-12. Carved Blades of Paddles.
1-7. Bamboo Sheaths. 8-12. Carved Paddle Blades.
I have had occasion above to mention the artistic 145carvings on the canoes and drums. Their paddles too show a very good idea of design, as will be seen from the illustration p. 144. Nothing amused them more than to be provided with a pencil and pieces of paper and to attempt to draw figures. Their efforts were not always very successful, and some of the drawings which I have kept would be quite unrecognisable for what they are, if I had not labelled them at the time. Like the young of civilised races they always preferred to draw the figures of men and women, and some of these are remarkable for having the mouth near the top of the head above the level of the eyes. The method of drawing is very simple; the pencil is held almost upright on the paper and the outline of the figure, begun at an arm or leg or anywhere indifferently, is drawn in one continuous stroke without removing the pencil from the paper. The end is always rather exciting, like the feat of drawing a pig when you are blindfolded, for the artist is never quite certain of finishing at the point whence he started. Besides human figures they liked drawing dogs, pigs, birds and fishes. Two pictures of a dog and a bird both done by the same man are peculiarly interesting, because they were both drawn upside down. I watched the man making the drawings, and when they were finished I saw that the legs of the creatures were uppermost; so I turned the papers the right way round and handed them back to him, but he inverted them again and admired them in that position. Curiously enough the same man drew human figures in the correct attitude, head uppermost, so that the state of his mental vision offers rather a puzzling problem.
I mentioned earlier the artistic 145 carvings on the canoes and drums. Their paddles also showcase a great sense of design, as shown in the illustration on p. 144. Nothing entertained them more than being given a pencil and pieces of paper to try drawing figures. Their attempts weren't always very successful, and some of the drawings I kept would be completely unrecognizable if I hadn't labeled them at the time. Like young kids from modern cultures, they preferred to draw figures of men and women, and some of these are notable for having the mouth positioned near the top of the head, above the level of the eyes. The way they drew was very straightforward; they held the pencil almost upright on the paper and started the outline of the figure from an arm or leg or any random spot, drawing in one continuous line without lifting the pencil. The ending was always quite thrilling, similar to drawing a pig while blindfolded, since the artist was never entirely sure he would finish where he started. In addition to human figures, they enjoyed drawing dogs, pigs, birds, and fish. Two pictures of a dog and a bird, both drawn by the same person, are particularly interesting because they were both upside down. I watched him create the drawings, and when he finished, I noticed the legs of the animals were at the top. So, I turned the papers right side up and gave them back to him, but he flipped them again and admired them that way. Interestingly, the same person drew human figures correctly, head at the top, which makes his mental perspective quite puzzling.
a. Cockatoo. a1 b. Designs for scarification. b. Hornbill.
c. Pig. d. Dog. e. Bird. f. Man. g. Woman.
a. Cockatoo. a1 b. Designs for scarification. b. Hornbill.
c. Pig. d. Dog. e. Bird. f. Man. g. Woman.
Most of them had a keen appreciation of pictures and they were surprisingly quick in identifying photographs of themselves; in this respect they showed a good deal more intelligence than some of our Gurkhas, who held a photograph sideways or upside down and gazed at it blankly, as if they had not the faintest idea of what it portrayed. The illustrated papers were a source of endless delight to them, and the portraits of beautiful ladies, who they felt sure were our wives, were greatly admired. Horses, sheep, cattle and all other animals were declared to be dogs.
Most of them had a strong appreciation for pictures and were surprisingly quick to recognize photographs of themselves; in this way, they showed a lot more intelligence than some of our Gurkhas, who would hold a photo sideways or upside down and stare at it blankly, as if they had no idea what it showed. The illustrated papers were a constant source of joy for them, and they really admired the portraits of beautiful women, who they were sure were our wives. Horses, sheep, cattle, and all other animals were all called dogs.
Another amusement—it can hardly be called an art—of the Papuans is the game of cat’s cradle, at which many of them are extraordinarily proficient. It is not, as with us, a game played by two persons; with them the part of the second person is performed by the player’s teeth, and he contrives to produce some wonderfully intricate figures, none of which, I regret to say, we had patience or skill enough to learn. The most elaborate figure I saw was supposed to represent a bird, and when the features of it had been pointed out some resemblance was certainly apparent.
Another form of entertainment—it can barely be called an art—of the Papuans is the game of cat’s cradle, in which many of them are incredibly skilled. Unlike with us, it’s not a two-person game; for them, the role of the second person is taken by the player’s teeth, and they manage to create some impressively intricate figures, none of which, I’m sorry to say, we had the patience or skill to learn. The most complicated figure I saw was meant to represent a bird, and when its features were pointed out, there was definitely some resemblance.
But it must be admitted that their amusements are not always so innocent as drawing pictures and playing cat’s cradle. I have referred above to the gang of drunkards, who used to create such turmoil at Wakatimi. The people of Parimau, who had no means of getting intoxicated, were just as quarrelsome as the Wakatimi people, and fights were of frequent, almost daily occurrence. Some one does something, it matters not what, to offend some other person, and in an instant148 the village is in an uproar. Spears fly through the air—we never saw anybody touched by one—and stone clubs are brandished furiously, the combatants all shout horrible threats at the tops of their voices, while a few people look on stolidly or hardly take any notice at all. There seems to be a certain etiquette about the use of clubs, for the person about to be hit generally presents a soft part of his person, the back or shoulders, to the clubber, and we never saw a man intentionally hit another on the head, a blow which might easily be fatal; but blood flowed in plenty from the flesh wounds.
But it's clear that their fun isn't always as innocent as drawing pictures and playing cat's cradle. I mentioned earlier the group of drunks who used to cause so much chaos at Wakatimi. The people of Parimau, who had no way to get drunk, were just as argumentative as the Wakatimi folks, and fights happened often, almost daily. Someone does something, it doesn't really matter what, to upset someone else, and in an instant the village is in chaos. Spears fly through the air—we never saw anyone actually get hit by one—and stone clubs are waved around aggressively, with the fighters shouting terrible threats at the top of their lungs, while a few onlookers just stand there or barely pay attention at all. There seems to be a kind of etiquette when it comes to using clubs, because the person about to be hit tends to present a soft part of their body, like their back or shoulders, to the person with the club, and we never saw anyone intentionally strike another on the head, which could easily kill. But blood flowed freely from the flesh wounds.
The part of the women in these village squabbles is always to scream loudly and generally to begin by banging the houses with sticks or spears and to end with pulling them to pieces. In a fight at Wakatimi we saw a party of infuriated women absolutely demolish three or four houses. The fights end almost as suddenly as they begin and in a short time the village settles down to its usual tranquillity. Neither the sight nor the sound of these village quarrels is very agreeable, but they have no regularly organised games and, at the worst, not a very great amount of damage is done.
The role of women in these village disputes is always to scream loudly and generally to start by banging on the houses with sticks or spears and to finish by tearing them apart. During a fight at Wakatimi, we saw a group of furious women completely destroy three or four houses. The fights end almost as quickly as they start, and soon the village returns to its usual calm. Neither the sight nor the sound of these village quarrels is pleasant, but they don’t have organized games, and at worst, not a lot of damage is done.
The clubs used in these village fights and doubtless also in their tribal wars—but of those we know nothing—are of two kinds, wooden and stone-headed. The wooden clubs are about four feet long and consist of a plain shaft, of which the last foot or rather more is carved into a saw-like cutting edge; some of these are made of a very heavy wood and they are exceedingly formidable weapons. A more simple type of wooden club is a plain wooden shaft rather thinner at the handle end than at 149the other, round which is fixed a piece of shark’s skin or the prickly skin from the back of the Sting Ray and often with it is tied the saw of a small Saw fish; such a club appears to be capable of inflicting a very nasty wound.
The clubs used in these village fights, and probably also in their tribal wars—though we know nothing about those—come in two types: wooden and stone-headed. The wooden clubs are about four feet long and have a simple shaft, with the last foot or so carved into a saw-like cutting edge; some of these are made from very dense wood, making them extremely powerful weapons. A more basic type of wooden club is a plain shaft that’s thinner at the handle end than at the other end, around which a piece of shark skin or the spiny skin from the back of a stingray is attached, often with the saw of a small sawfish tied to it; this kind of club seems capable of causing a very serious wound.
SPLITTING WOOD WITH A STONE AXE.
SPLITTING WOOD WITH A STONE AXE.
There is a great variety of stone-headed clubs, but they are all alike in being furnished with a wooden shaft, which is usually a plain piece of wood, but occasionally carved near the club end. The stone head is pierced in the middle by a round hole about an inch in diameter, through which the shaft is passed and fixed firmly by wedges. Most of the heads are made of a rather soft limestone, but where the people obtain it we do not know, for there is no stone of any kind near the coast. The simplest type is merely a round water-worn pebble with a hole bored through it. More commonly they are worked and the labour of producing them must have been considerable. Some are flat discs with sharp cutting edges or blunt and roughly milled edges, and some are cut into the form of five or six or more pointed stars; rarely they are triangular. Others again are round or oval and are cut into more or less deep teeth, or they have small bosses left projecting here and there, but no two of them are exactly alike. The weight of the club head is usually two or three pounds. The most savage-looking club we saw was simply a rough lump of coral, not trimmed in any way. It was pierced and mounted on a finely carved shaft of extremely heavy wood, and the whole thing must have weighed fifteen or twenty pounds.
There are many types of stone-headed clubs, but they all have a wooden shaft, which is typically just a plain piece of wood, though sometimes it's carved near the club end. The stone head has a round hole about an inch in diameter in the middle, through which the shaft is passed and securely fixed with wedges. Most heads are made of soft limestone, but we don’t know where the people get it, as there’s no stone of any kind near the coast. The simplest type is just a round, water-worn pebble with a hole drilled through it. More often, they are shaped through significant labor. Some are flat discs with sharp or blunt, roughly milled edges, and others are carved into the shape of five or six pointed stars; triangular ones are rare. Some are round or oval with varying depth of teeth, or they have small protrusions left in various places, but no two are exactly the same. The club head usually weighs two to three pounds. The most menacing club we saw was just a rough lump of coral, untrimmed. It was pierced and mounted on a beautifully carved shaft made of extremely heavy wood, and the whole piece must have weighed fifteen to twenty pounds.
Not a little credit is due to the Papuans for their150 industry in making these elaborate weapons, for it must be remembered that until we visited the country they had no metal tools whatever, with the exception of two or three scraps of soft iron, and all their work was done with shell knives and stone axes. The knives are simply the shells of a common freshwater bivalve (Cyrena sp.); when these are rubbed down on a stone, they take on an exceedingly sharp edge and are used by the natives for carving the canoes and drums and sharpening their spears and arrows.
A lot of credit goes to the Papuans for their150 skill in making these complex weapons. It's important to note that before we arrived in the area, they didn't have any metal tools at all, except for a couple of scraps of soft iron. Everything was done with shell knives and stone axes. The knives are simply the shells of a common freshwater clam (Cyrena sp.); when they are ground down on a stone, they become extremely sharp and are used by the locals for carving canoes and drums, as well as sharpening their spears and arrows.
The stone axes used in the Mimika district are all of the same type, though they vary greatly in size from about four inches to large ones of nearly twelve inches in length. The stone of which they are made is always the same, a quartzite. The shaft is about two feet long and is invariably made of the butt end of a bamboo. A hole is bored and burnt in the lower end of the bamboo, that is to say in the solid part of the wood below the first joint, and the pointed end of the stone is jammed into the hole. The stone is always fixed axe-fashion, i.e. with its broad surface and cutting edge in the same plane with the long axis of the handle, and not adze-fashion, as is the custom in some other parts of New Guinea (see illustration p. 142). The axes quickly become blunt with use and they are sharpened by being rubbed upon another stone. At Wakatimi stones are very rare and one man appeared to be the stone-smith of the village. I remember seeing him one day sitting outside his hut sharpening an axe, with three or four others lying beside him waiting to be done, while a few yards away a woman was splitting a log of wood with a stone axe. It struck 151me as being one of the most primitive scenes I had ever witnessed, really a glimpse of the Stone Age.
The stone axes used in the Mimika district are all the same type, but they come in different sizes, ranging from about four inches to nearly twelve inches long. They are all made from the same material: quartzite. The handle is about two feet long and is always made from the butt end of a bamboo stalk. A hole is drilled and burned into the lower end of the bamboo, meaning the solid part of the wood below the first joint, and the pointed end of the stone is inserted into this hole. The stone is always attached in an axe-like manner, meaning its broad surface and cutting edge align with the long axis of the handle, rather than being attached like an adze, as seen in some other areas of New Guinea (see illustration p. 142). The axes dull quickly with use and are sharpened by rubbing them against another stone. At Wakatimi, stones are very rare, and one man seemed to be the village's stone-smith. I remember seeing him one day sitting outside his hut sharpening an axe, with three or four others waiting to be finished beside him, while a woman a few yards away was splitting a log with a stone axe. It struck me as one of the most primitive scenes I had ever witnessed, truly a glimpse into the Stone Age.
The bows of the Mimika natives are about five feet long and are made of a simple straight piece of a very hard wood (usually a species of pandanus), tapering towards the ends, which are sometimes ornamented with the claw of a cassowary or a tuft of feathers and shells or the claw of a crab. The “string” is a piece of rattan and it requires a strong arm to bend the bow. The arrows are of various types (see illustration p. 150); they are all made of reed stems, and none are ever feathered nor have they nocks. They vary only in their points, which are sometimes merely the sharpened end of the reeds themselves and sometimes a plain sharpened tip of hard wood or bamboo. Some are tipped with the sharpened claw of a cassowary or with the spine that lies along the back of the Sting Ray, and the arrows used for shooting fish have often three points of sharp bamboo.
The bows used by the Mimika people are about five feet long and made from a single straight piece of very hard wood (usually a type of pandanus), narrowing toward the ends, which are sometimes decorated with a cassowary claw or a tuft of feathers and shells, or a crab claw. The "string" is made of rattan, and it takes a strong arm to bend the bow. The arrows come in different types (see illustration p. 150); they are all made from reed stems, and none are ever fletched or have nocks. They differ only in their tips, which are sometimes just the sharpened ends of the reeds themselves and other times a plain sharpened tip of hard wood or bamboo. Some are tipped with a sharpened cassowary claw or the spine of a stingray, and those used for fishing often have three sharp bamboo points.
Most people have the idea that the savage man performs prodigies of skill with his bow and arrows, but whenever I saw the Papuans shooting, they made astonishingly bad practice. I remember seeing two Papuans trying to kill an iguana in a tree not more than twenty feet above the ground; they shot arrow after arrow at it, but the creature, which was as long and almost as thick as a man’s arm, climbed slowly up from branch to branch until it was lost to view.
Most people think that primitive people are incredibly skilled with their bows and arrows, but whenever I watched the Papuans shoot, they were surprisingly bad at it. I remember seeing two Papuans trying to catch an iguana in a tree no more than twenty feet off the ground; they fired arrow after arrow at it, but the iguana, which was about as long and nearly as thick as a man's arm, climbed slowly from branch to branch until it disappeared from sight.
The hunting spears are of two kinds, a plain straight shaft of heavy wood, very sharp and hardened by fire at the tip; and a straight shaft of a lighter wood, to the end of which is fixed part of a straight bone (generally the152 tibia) of a pig, sharpened to a fine point. There is another kind of spear made of a soft wood, finely pointed and with a wide blade carved in a sort of open-work fashion (see illustration p. 150); the blade and the point are painted red with clay and the shaft is generally decorated with feathers or plaited fibre. Spears of this sort are of no use in hunting but are employed at dances and other ceremonial functions.
The hunting spears come in two types: one is a plain straight shaft made of heavy wood, very sharp, and hardened by fire at the tip; the other is a straight shaft of lighter wood, with part of a straight bone (usually the152 tibia) from a pig fixed at the end, sharpened to a fine point. There’s another type made from soft wood, finely pointed, with a wide blade carved in an open-work style (see illustration p. 150); the blade and point are painted red with clay, and the shaft is usually decorated with feathers or braided fibers. Spears like this aren't used for hunting but are instead used in dances and other ceremonial events.
Two more pieces of furniture, the head-rest and the sago bowl, complete the list of articles made by the Papuans. The head-rests, which were seen only in the villages of Obota and Nimé, are made of a strip of elaborately carved wood four or five inches wide and between two and three feet in length, and are supported at each end by a stout wooden prop, which raises the head-rest about four inches above the ground. The longer head-rests are supposed to support the heads of two sleeping persons.
Two more pieces of furniture, the headrest and the sago bowl, complete the list of items made by the Papuans. The headrests, which were found only in the villages of Obota and Nimé, are made from a strip of intricately carved wood about four to five inches wide and between two to three feet long. They are supported at each end by a sturdy wooden prop, lifting the headrest roughly four inches off the ground. The longer headrests are intended to support the heads of two sleeping people.
Fire is nearly always taken by the Papuans wherever they go; in almost every canoe a fire is kept burning, and when they travel through the jungle the men carry a smouldering stick. There must be occasions when all these fires are extinguished, but how they produce them we were unable to learn; the Papuans of Parimau could not make fire with the friction stick and rattan used by their neighbours, the Tapiro Pygmies.
Fire is almost always brought by the Papuans wherever they go; in nearly every canoe, a fire is kept burning, and when traveling through the jungle, the men carry a smoldering stick. There must be times when all these fires are put out, but we couldn't figure out how they create them; the Papuans of Parimau couldn't produce fire using the friction stick and rattan like their neighbors, the Tapiro Pygmies.
From the description of them which has been given in this and the two preceding chapters it will be seen that the conditions of life of the Papuans are as primitive as those of any people now living in the world. There are very few other places, where you can find a people who153 neither make nor possess any metal and who have no knowledge of pottery. The only vessels that they have for holding water are scraped-out coconuts and simple pieces of bamboo. Water boiling they had never seen before we came among them. Their implements and weapons are, as I have shown, of the most primitive kind, and their ornaments are of the rudest possible description.
From the description provided in this and the two previous chapters, it's clear that the living conditions of the Papuans are as basic as those of any people currently living in the world. There are very few other places where you can find a group of people who153 neither make nor possess any metal and have no knowledge of pottery. The only containers they have for holding water are hollowed-out coconuts and simple pieces of bamboo. They had never seen boiling water before we arrived. Their tools and weapons, as I've mentioned, are of the most basic type, and their ornaments are of the simplest design possible.
Cultivation of the soil is only practised by the people of one or two villages, and even then it produces but a very small proportion of their food, so it follows that most of their time and energies are devoted to procuring the necessaries of life.
Cultivating the land is only done by people in one or two villages, and even then it provides just a small part of their food, so most of their time and efforts go into getting the essentials for living.
The struggle for existence is keen enough, the birth-rate is low and the rate of infant mortality is, I believe, very high. Nor do diseases spare them; syphilis is exceedingly prevalent, and was probably introduced by Chinese and Malay traders to the West end of the island, whence it has spread along the coast. Tuberculosis is happily absent, but two natives of Wakatimi were suffering from what appeared to be certainly leprosy. Skin diseases, notably tinea imbricata, are very common; and almost every person appears to suffer occasionally from fever of one sort or another.
The competition for survival is intense, the birth rate is low, and the infant mortality rate is, I believe, very high. Diseases don’t spare them; syphilis is extremely common and was likely brought by Chinese and Malay traders to the west side of the island, from where it has spread along the coast. Fortunately, tuberculosis is absent, but two locals from Wakatimi were showing signs that definitely looked like leprosy. Skin diseases, especially tinea imbricata, are very frequent; and it seems like almost everyone deals with some kind of fever now and then.
But in spite of all these drawbacks the Papuans of the Mimika are not such a very miserable people. They are strong, those of them that survive the ordeals of infancy and sickness; they have food in plenty to eat, if they choose to exert themselves sufficiently to obtain it; they have their amusements, songs and dances; and the manner of their lives is suited to the conditions of the country154 in which they live. It is this last consideration which ought ultimately to determine their fate: they live in a wretchedly poor country which is constantly liable to devastating floods, and their habit of wandering from one place to another, where food may be obtained, is the only way of life suitable to the physical and climatic conditions of the country.
But despite all these challenges, the Papuans of the Mimika aren't as miserable as one might think. Those who make it through the tough times of infancy and illness are strong; they have plenty of food to eat if they put in the effort to get it. They enjoy their entertainment, songs, and dances, and their lifestyle fits the conditions of the land they inhabit. It's this last point that should ultimately shape their future: they live in a very poor region that frequently faces devastating floods, and their tendency to move from place to place in search of food is the only way to adapt to the area's physical and climatic conditions.154
Any attempt to “civilise” them must inevitably destroy their primitive independence, and if it succeeded in establishing the people in settled communities it would reduce them at many seasons to absolute starvation. We were visited once by the Director of the Sacred Heart Mission at Toeal, which has done admirable work amongst the natives of the Ké Islands and at one or two places in New Guinea itself. When he had seen the people and the nature of the country and had been told something of their habits, he decided that the Mimika was not, at present at all events, a proper field for missionary enterprise. Setting aside all other considerations, one dares to hope that such an interesting people may for a long time be left undisturbed; they do no harm to their neighbours and the effects on them of civilising influences would be at the best uncertain.
Any attempt to "civilize" them will inevitably destroy their primitive independence, and if it manages to settle the people into communities, it would leave them facing starvation for much of the year. We were once visited by the Director of the Sacred Heart Mission at Toeal, which has done excellent work among the natives of the Ké Islands and at a couple of locations in New Guinea itself. After he observed the people and the landscape and learned about their way of life, he concluded that the Mimika was not, for the time being at least, a suitable area for missionary work. Putting aside all other factors, one can only hope that such a fascinating group may remain undisturbed for a long time; they don't harm their neighbors, and the effects of civilizing influences on them would be uncertain at best.
CHAPTER XII
The Camp at Parimau—A Plague of Beetles—First Discovery of the Tapiro Pygmies—Papuans as Carriers—We visit the Clearing of the Tapiro—Remarkable Clothing of Tapiro—Our Relations with the Natives—System of Payment—Their Confidence in Us—Occasional Thefts—A Customary Peace-offering—Papuans as Naturalists.
The Camp at Parimau—A Swarm of Beetles—Our First Encounter with the Tapiro Pygmies—Papuans as Porters—We Explore the Tapiro Clearing—Notable Clothing of the Tapiro—Our Interactions with the Natives—Payment Method—Their Trust in Us—Rare Thefts—A Traditional Peace Offering—Papuans as Naturalists.
While it was the business of some of us during the early months of the expedition to stop at the base-camp and despatch canoes laden with stores up the river, others remained at Parimau to establish there a second permanent camp and to find, if possible, a way of approaching the higher mountains. It should be said that Parimau is some distance from the mountains—the high point nearest to it. Mount Tapiro (7660 ft.) is some twelve miles to the North, but it was no longer possible to travel in the direction of the mountains by way of the Mimika River, which had dwindled to a very small size at Parimau, therefore it was necessary to find a new route from there onward.
While some of us focused on the early months of the expedition by staying at the base camp and sending canoes filled with supplies up the river, others stayed at Parimau to set up a second permanent camp and, if possible, to find a way to get closer to the higher mountains. It's worth mentioning that Parimau is quite far from the mountains—the nearest high point, Mount Tapiro (7660 ft.), is about twelve miles to the north. However, it was no longer feasible to travel toward the mountains via the Mimika River, which had shrunk to a very small size at Parimau, so it became necessary to find a new route from there onward.
The first camp at Parimau was made on the shallow sandy side of the river close to the native village; the Papuans generally place their villages on gently sloping rather than on steep banks for convenience in hauling up their canoes. The coolies, such as there were of them, were occupied on the river, the natives for the156 first few months were of little or no assistance in building, and the work was done almost entirely by half a dozen of the Gurkhas. Their greatest achievement was the construction of a log-house in the best Himalayan style, probably by far the solidest building that was ever put up in Dutch New Guinea. The floor was raised about three feet above the ground and it was well that the workmanship was good, for it had not been finished many weeks before a flood swept over the camp and everyone took refuge in the house, the floor of which was just awash. Afterwards the camp was moved to the high bank across the river and the subsequent floods swamped the house and carried it away piecemeal, but two of the uprights survived and were still standing a year later.
The first camp at Parimau was set up on the shallow, sandy side of the river near the local village. The Papuans usually build their villages on gently sloping banks rather than steep ones for easier access to haul their canoes. The few coolies available were working on the river, and the locals were not much help with the construction during the first few months; the work was mainly done by a small group of Gurkhas. Their biggest accomplishment was building a log house in a solid Himalayan style, likely the sturdiest structure ever built in Dutch New Guinea. The floor was raised about three feet above the ground, and it was fortunate that the craftsmanship was good because it wasn't long before a flood swept over the camp, forcing everyone to take shelter in the house, which had its floor just barely above water. Later, the camp was moved to the higher bank across the river, and subsequent floods inundated the house and destroyed it piece by piece, but two of the vertical supports remained standing a year later.
We were a good deal annoyed at Parimau by the larvæ of a small red and black beetle, which infested the wood of which the frames of our huts were made. These larvæ, which look like small hairy caterpillars, were continually dropping from the roof and when they were killed, or even touched, they emitted the most disagreeable musky smell. They sometimes dropped upon you during the night and the smell of them would wake you from your sleep. The beetle itself too, if crushed or irritated, has the same disgusting peculiarity.
We were quite annoyed at Parimau by the larvæ of a small red and black beetle that infested the wood used to make the frames of our huts. These larvæ, which resemble small hairy caterpillars, were constantly falling from the roof. When they were killed or even just touched, they released an incredibly unpleasant musky odor. Sometimes they would fall on you during the night, and the smell would wake you from your sleep. The beetle itself also has the same gross characteristic if it's crushed or disturbed.
It has been mentioned above (Chapter V.) that Captain Rawling in exploring to the N.W. of Parimau came to the big river Kapare, which we unsuccessfully tried to navigate in canoes from below to the point where he had met it. While he was walking up the river bed one day, the Papuans who were with him157 caught after an exciting chase two small men, whose build and dress and appearance proclaimed them to belong to another race than the Papuan. A day or two later two more were captured, while they were crossing the river; they were kindly treated and presents were given to them, but they showed no inclination to conduct strangers to their home, a large clearing in the jungle on the hill side, which could be plainly seen from the Kapare River. We learnt from the Papuans that these little people were called Tapiro.13
It was mentioned earlier (Chapter V.) that Captain Rawling, while exploring northwest of Parimau, encountered the large river Kapare, which we tried to navigate unsuccessfully in canoes from downstream to the spot where he found it. One day, while he was walking along the riverbed, the Papuans accompanying him caught two small men after an exciting chase. Their physique, clothing, and overall appearance clearly showed they were from a different race than the Papuans. A day or two later, two more were captured while crossing the river; they were treated kindly and given gifts, but they showed no interest in leading strangers to their home, a sizable clearing in the jungle on the hillside that was clearly visible from the Kapare River. We learned from the Papuans that these little people were called Tapiro.157
At the beginning of March I accompanied one of the food-transports up the Mimika and went with Rawling out to the Kapare, where he had made a camp and was occupied with some of the Gurkhas in cutting a track through the jungle. By that time we had no coolies available for land transport; in six weeks our fifty coolies had diminished to ten, who were all wanted for the canoes, so we were entirely dependent on native assistance for land journeys. There was not much difficulty in persuading people to carry loads for us from Parimau to the nearest point of the Kapare River, for they were accustomed to go over there to fish. But it was a different business on the second day, when we wanted to push the camp a few miles further up the river so as to be in a better position for reaching the clearing of the Tapiro. At first they resolutely refused to start at all and retired to the shelters they had made at a little distance from the camp. From there they had to be led back by the hand one by one and then be severally introduced to their loads, but even so a number 158of them ran away again, and it was hours before we moved from the camp.
At the start of March, I joined one of the food deliveries up the Mimika and went with Rawling out to the Kapare, where he had set up a camp and was working with some of the Gurkhas to clear a path through the jungle. By that time, we had no coolies left for land transport; in six weeks, our fifty coolies had shrunk to ten, all of whom were needed for the canoes, so we completely relied on local help for land trips. It wasn’t too hard to convince people to carry loads for us from Parimau to the nearest spot on the Kapare River since they were used to going there to fish. But it was a different story on the second day when we wanted to move the camp a few miles further up the river to be in a better spot for reaching the clearing of the Tapiro. At first, they firmly refused to start at all and went back to the shelters they had built a little way from the camp. From there, we had to guide them back one by one and then introduce them to their loads, but even then, several of them ran away again, and it took hours before we could leave the camp.
When once they were started they went steadily enough for about a mile and then they all put down their loads and refused to go on, but as they had stopped in the middle of the bed of the river it was impossible to remain there, so with promises of cloth and beads we urged them on a little further. The same performance was repeated a dozen times at intervals, which became shorter and shorter until our coaxing and cajoling availed no longer and there was nothing for it but to stop and make a camp. It had taken us more than four hours to cover less than three miles, most of which was easy going over sand and stones in the bed of the river. We should have been awkwardly situated if they had all gone away and left us to carry the loads, as they did a few weeks later to Marshall, who was deserted by them and forced to leave some of his baggage behind him. Needless to say, these misfortunes would not have occurred if our Malay coolies had been suited to their work. As it was, there were considerable periods when we had either to make use of what help the natives consented to give us, or else be content to do nothing at all.
Once they got going, they moved steadily for about a mile. Then, they all dropped their loads and refused to go any further. Since they had stopped in the middle of the riverbed, staying there was not an option. So, with promises of cloth and beads, we encouraged them to go a little further. The same thing happened a dozen times, with intervals getting shorter and shorter, until our coaxing stopped working, and we had no choice but to stop and set up camp. It took us over four hours to cover less than three miles, most of which was easy going over sand and stones in the riverbed. We would have been in a tough spot if they had all left and made us carry the loads, like they did a few weeks later to Marshall, who was abandoned by them and had to leave some of his gear behind. It goes without saying that these issues wouldn't have happened if our Malay coolies had been better suited for their roles. As it was, there were long stretches where we had to rely on whatever help the locals were willing to offer, or else just sit around and do nothing.
When it suits them to do so, the Mimika Papuans can carry very heavy loads and they manage to cover the ground at a very respectable pace. They wrap up the load in the mat made of pandanus leaves, which every man always carries with him to serve both as a sleeping mat and as a shelter from the rain. The mat is securely tied by ropes of rattan or any of the other innumerable creepers of the jungle, and two strong loops159 are made to pass over the shoulders so that the load may be carried on the back, ruck-sack fashion. The women carry loads as well as the men and sometimes also the children, when the whole family is making a journey.
When they need to, the Mimika Papuans can carry very heavy loads and move at a decent pace. They wrap their cargo in a mat made of pandanus leaves, which every man always brings along for use as both a sleeping mat and a rain shelter. The mat is securely fastened with ropes made of rattan or other various jungle vines, and two strong loops159 are created to go over the shoulders, allowing the load to be carried on the back like a backpack. Women carry loads just as often as men do, and sometimes the children join in when the whole family is traveling.
From our upper camp on the Kapare River Rawling and I made two attempts to reach the forest clearing of the Tapiro, which could be easily seen from the camp at a distance of about three miles in a straight line; but though careful bearings of its direction were taken, it turned out to be a most puzzling place to reach. Not more than a mile above the camp the Kapare emerges from a deep and narrow gorge in the foot hills—or rather the spurs of the mountains, they are too steep to call foot hills—which descend very abruptly to the almost level country below. Just after it emerges from the gorge, the river is joined by a stream of the clearest water I have ever seen, which we afterwards came to call the White Water (see illustration opposite).
From our upper camp on the Kapare River, Rawling and I tried twice to get to the forest clearing of the Tapiro, which was visible from the camp about three miles away in a straight line. But despite carefully taking bearings, it turned out to be really tricky to get there. Just a mile upstream from the camp, the Kapare flows out of a deep and narrow gorge in the foothills—or rather the spurs of the mountains, since they're too steep to be called foothills—which drop sharply to the almost level ground below. Right after it comes out of the gorge, the river is joined by a stream of the clearest water I've ever seen, which we later named the White Water (see illustration opposite).
In our first attempt to reach the clearing we wandered in the jungle for ten hours and came nowhere near to it. But the day was not altogether wasted, for we climbed up the hillside to about fifteen hundred feet and by cutting down some trees we obtained a wonderful view across the plain of the jungle to the distant sea. The air of the jungle was heavy with the scent of the wild Vanilla, and all around us were calling (but we could not see them) Greater Birds of Paradise; sometimes we were within sound of as many as six at one time. On that day too I first saw the Rifle Bird (Ptilorhis intercedens), one of the most beautiful though the least gaudy of the 160birds of Paradise, whose long-drawn whistle can never be mistaken or forgotten.
In our first attempt to find the clearing, we wandered through the jungle for ten hours and didn’t get anywhere close to it. But the day wasn’t completely wasted. We climbed up the hillside to about fifteen hundred feet, and by cutting down some trees, we got an amazing view of the jungle plain stretching out to the distant sea. The jungle air was rich with the scent of wild vanilla, and all around us, we could hear the calls of the Greater Birds of Paradise (though we couldn’t see them); sometimes, we could hear as many as six at once. That day, I also caught my first glimpse of the Rifle Bird (Ptilorhis intercedens), one of the most beautiful yet least colorful birds of Paradise, whose long, melodic whistle is unforgettable.
A TRIBUTARY STREAM OF THE KAPARE RIVER.
A stream flowing into the Kapare River.
In our second attempt we profited by some of the mistakes made on the former, but even so the irregularity of the ground and the complexity of the watercourses nearly succeeded in baffling us. “Rawling and I left camp early with two Gurkhas. A mile and a half up the left bank of the river we struck off N.E. from the path we followed the other day. Cut a new path through the jungle for about a mile until we came to a faint native track, which we followed for another mile or so, chiefly along fallen tree trunks overhung by a network of rattan and other creepers, a fearful struggle to get through. Then for a mile or more up the bed of a stony stream encumbered with the same obstructions, dead trees and rattans, until we came to a deep gorge with a torrent about three hundred feet below us and on the opposite side the steep slope of another great spur of the mountain, on which the clearing presumably lay. We slithered and scrambled down to the river, which was full of water and only just fordable. Then up the other slope, not knowing at all accurately the direction of the clearing. Very steep and the jungle very dense with rattan and tree-ferns, so the leading Gurkha was kept busily occupied in cutting with his kukrí and progress was slow.
In our second attempt, we learned from some of the mistakes we made before, but even so, the uneven ground and the complicated waterways almost got the best of us. “Rawling and I left camp early with two Gurkhas. A mile and a half up the left bank of the river, we veered northeast from the path we had taken the other day. We carved a new route through the jungle for about a mile until we found a faint native track, which we followed for another mile or so, mostly along fallen tree trunks entwined with rattan and other vines, making it a tough journey to get through. Then we trekked for a mile or more up the bed of a rocky stream cluttered with the same obstacles—dead trees and rattans—until we reached a deep gorge with a raging torrent about three hundred feet below us. On the opposite side, there was the steep slope of another great mountain ridge, where the clearing was likely located. We carefully made our way down to the river, which was full and barely fordable. Then we climbed the other slope, unsure of the exact direction of the clearing. It was really steep, and the jungle was dense with rattan and tree ferns, so the leading Gurkha was busy chopping with his kukrí, and our progress was slow.
“About one o’clock, when we had been going for nearly six hours, the clouds came down and it began to rain and we were ready to turn back. Luckily the Gurkhas were convinced that the clearing was not far ahead and when we found a pig-trap, a noose of rattan161 set in a faint track, it seemed that they might perhaps be right. So we went on and in a few minutes we came out of the forest into the clearing. About thirty yards from us was a hut with three men standing outside it. We called out to them and they waited until we came up. A minute or two later two more men came out from the forest behind us, no doubt they had been following us unseen. The hut was a most primitive structure of sticks roofed with leaves, leaning up against the hillside. There was a fire in the hut and beside it was sitting an old man covered with most horrible sores. We went on up the hill for a couple of hundred yards to a place (about 1900 feet above the sea) where we had a fine view. Rawling put up the plane-table and got angles on to several points for the map.
“About one o’clock, after we had been hiking for nearly six hours, the clouds rolled in, it started to rain, and we were ready to turn back. Fortunately, the Gurkhas believed that the clearing was just ahead, and when we stumbled upon a pig-trap — a noose made of rattan set in a faint path — it seemed they might be right. So we pressed on, and in just a few minutes, we emerged from the forest into the clearing. About thirty yards in front of us was a hut with three men standing outside. We called out to them, and they waited until we reached them. A minute or two later, two more men appeared from the forest behind us; they had likely been following us without us knowing. The hut was a very basic structure made of sticks with a roof of leaves, propped up against the hillside. There was a fire inside the hut, and sitting next to it was an old man covered in terrible sores. We continued up the hill for a couple of hundred yards to a spot (about 1900 feet above sea level) where we had a great view. Rawling set up the plane-table and took angles on several points for the map.”
“During the hour or more that we stayed there, eight men came to see us. Excepting one rather masterful little man, who had no fear of us, they were too shy to approach us closely and remained about ten yards distant, but even so it was plainly evident from their small stature alone, that they were of a different race from the people of the low country.
“During the hour or so that we were there, eight men came to see us. Except for one rather dominating little man, who wasn't afraid of us, the others were too shy to come close and stayed about ten yards away. Even so, it was obvious from their shorter stature that they were from a different race than the people of the low country.”
“The most remarkable thing about them is the case that each man wears, his only article of clothing; it is made of a long yellow gourd, about two inches in diameter at the base and tapering to about half an inch at the pointed end. It is worn with the pointed end upwards and is kept in position by a string round the waist. As the length of the case—some of them measure more than fifteen inches—is more than a162 quarter of the height of the man himself, it gives him a most extraordinary appearance. Every man carries a bow and arrows in his hand and a plaited fibre bag of quite elaborate design slung on his back. Two men wore necklaces of very rough scraps of shell and one had a strip of fur round his head. Two others wore on their heads curious helmet-like hats of grass ornamented with feathers.
“The most remarkable thing about them is the case each man wears, which is his only piece of clothing; it’s made from a long yellow gourd, about two inches in diameter at the base and tapering to about half an inch at the pointed end. It’s worn with the pointed end facing upwards and is held in place by a string around the waist. Since the case is quite long—some of them are more than fifteen inches—it accounts for more than a162 quarter of the man’s height, giving him a really unusual look. Every man carries a bow and arrows in his hand and has a woven fiber bag of intricate design slung over his back. Two men wore necklaces made of rough scraps of shell, and one had a strip of fur around his head. Two others wore strange helmet-like hats made of grass, decorated with feathers.”
“One man had a diminutive axe made of a piece of soft iron about three inches long, set in a handle like those of the stone axes. They must have some bigger axes, as they have cut down some very large trees and the marks on the stumps look as if they had been made with fairly sharp instruments. The clearing altogether is very considerable, probably fifty acres or more. The ground is covered with the sweet-potato plant, and in many places ‘taro’ has been carefully picked out. They have a few coarse-looking bananas, some of which they offered to us.
“One man had a small axe made from a piece of soft iron about three inches long, attached to a handle similar to those of stone axes. They must have some larger axes because they’ve cut down very large trees, and the marks on the stumps look like they were made with fairly sharp tools. The clearing is quite significant, probably fifty acres or more. The ground is covered in sweet potato plants, and in many places, taro has been carefully harvested. They have a few rough-looking bananas, some of which they offered to us.”
“Their voices are rather high-pitched and one of them, who met us first and called several of the others to come and see us, ended his calls with a very curious shrill jodelling note. When we came away we offered them cloth and beads to come with us and show us a better way, but they were either too frightened or too lazy to do so. We got back to camp after ten hours’ hard going, drenched with rain and covered with leeches, but well-pleased with the success of the day.”14
“Their voices are pretty high-pitched, and one of them, who met us first and called a few others to come see us, ended his calls with a really strange shrill jodeling note. When we left, we offered them cloth and beads to join us and show us a better way, but they seemed either too scared or too lazy to accept. We made it back to camp after ten hours of tough trekking, soaked from the rain and covered in leeches, but we felt really good about the success of the day.”14
That was the last that we saw for a long time of the Tapiro pygmies, for it was evident that the Kapare River 163was useless as a means of approach to the Snow Mountains and we had to turn our attention to the country to the N.E. of the Mimika. Moreover, it was impossible to keep the camp there supplied with provisions, as we were at that time entirely dependent for transport on the goodwill of the Papuans.
That was the last we saw of the Tapiro pygmies for a long time, as it was clear that the Kapare River 163was not a viable route to the Snow Mountains, and we had to focus on the area to the northeast of the Mimika. Additionally, it was impossible to keep the camp there stocked with supplies since we were completely reliant on the Papuans for transportation at that time.
Generally speaking we always remained on excellent terms with the natives and very rarely had any trouble with them. Except that we bought from them the “atap” for our houses, we got little or no help from the people of Wakatimi, but the people of Parimau assisted us in a number of ways. At first, as I have shewn, we had considerable difficulty in persuading them to work for us as carriers; but when they found that they really did receive the payment they were promised, they were willing and sometimes even anxious to carry loads for us, though we often had to wait a few days until it suited their convenience to start. It was a pity that they were never willing to travel further than about three days’ march from their village, but as there were long periods when we were entirely dependent on them for land transport, we counted ourselves lucky in their agreeing to work at all.
Generally speaking, we always got along well with the locals and rarely had any issues with them. Aside from buying “atap” for our houses, we received little to no help from the people of Wakatimi, but the people of Parimau helped us in various ways. At first, as I showed, we had a lot of trouble convincing them to work for us as carriers; however, once they realized that they actually received the payment they were promised, they became willing and sometimes even eager to carry loads for us, although we often had to wait a few days until it was convenient for them to start. It was unfortunate that they were never willing to travel more than about three days' journey from their village, but since there were long stretches when we relied completely on them for land transport, we considered ourselves fortunate that they agreed to work at all.
Chiefly owing to the help of the natives we were able to make and keep supplied for several months another camp on the Wataikwa River, three days’ march north-east from Parimau. When they went out there first, they were accustomed to receive their pay, cloth and beads or a small knife at the end of the journey; but later, when wages rose, as they inevitably did with every successive journey, it seemed to be absurd to waste164 perhaps half a load by carrying axes and knives to be given in payment at the end of the march. So a plan was adopted of giving them at the Wataikwa camp a paper authorising them to demand payment on their return to Parimau, and it was a gratifying tribute to the confidence that they had in us that they readily fell in with the scheme. Before starting they were shewn the knife or axe or whatever it was that they would receive for their labour, and at the end they raced back with their scraps of paper to Parimau, covering in a few hours the distance that had taken them three days on the outward journey. Some of the less energetic people in the village, when they saw that their friends received a knife or an axe by merely presenting a small piece of paper to the man in charge of the camp at Parimau, thought that they might easily earn the same reward, and they were rather astonished to find that the small scraps of paper, which they handed in, produced nothing at all or only a serious physical rebuff. But they were so childlike in their misdemeanours that one could not be seriously angry with them.
Mainly thanks to the help of the locals, we were able to set up and maintain another camp on the Wataikwa River for several months, three days' trek northeast of Parimau. When they first went out there, they were used to receiving payment in the form of cloth, beads, or a small knife at the end of the journey. However, as wages climbed, as they often did with each trip, it seemed pointless to carry axes and knives to hand out as payment at the end of the march, taking up valuable space. So, we decided to give them a paper at the Wataikwa camp that authorized them to claim their payment when they returned to Parimau, and it was a great testament to the trust they had in us that they agreed to this plan without hesitation. Before they left, they were shown the knife or axe or whatever it was that they would receive for their work, and at the end, they hurried back with their pieces of paper to Parimau, covering in a few hours the distance that had taken them three days on the way there. Some of the less active people in the village, seeing their friends get a knife or an axe just by showing a small piece of paper to the camp manager in Parimau, thought they could easily earn the same reward, and they were pretty shocked to find that the scraps of paper they handed in got them nothing at all or just a harsh rejection. But they were so innocent in their attempts that it was hard to be really angry with them.
They shewed their confidence in our honesty in another very flattering way. During the period of the most frequent floods at Parimau, when they were liable to be washed away at any moment, the people took most of their movable possessions out of their houses and hid them in safe places in the jungle. But many of them merely brought their goods across to our side of the river and deposited them without any attempt at concealment within a few yards of our camp, apparently knowing that there they would be perfectly secure from theft.
They showed their trust in our honesty in another really flattering way. During the times of frequent floods at Parimau, when they could be washed away at any moment, the people took most of their movable belongings out of their homes and hid them in safe spots in the jungle. But many of them just brought their things over to our side of the river and left them out in the open just a few yards from our camp, clearly knowing that they would be completely safe from theft there.
They are by nature unconscionable thieves and a chance of stealing is to them merely a chance of acquiring property in the easiest way. On one occasion, when a party of our coolies were returning alone from Parimau to Wakatimi, they were waylaid at a narrow place in the river by some Papuans, who relieved them of their baggage and disappeared into the jungle; most of the stolen goods were subsequently returned, when the natives were threatened with punishment. The same thing happened another time when the coolies were accompanied by armed Javanese soldiers, who apparently forgot the use of their rifles until the thieves had got away. But they had a proper respect for a white man and whenever one of us, armed or not, was with the canoes, the natives never tried to molest us. They occasionally stole from the camps a knife or an axe, but though they were constantly about our houses and often inside them for hours at a time, we never lost anything of value.
They are naturally shameless thieves, and to them, the chance to steal is just an easy way to gain property. One time, when a group of our workers was coming back alone from Parimau to Wakatimi, they were ambushed at a narrow spot in the river by some locals, who took their bags and vanished into the jungle. Most of the stolen items were later returned when the locals were threatened with punishment. The same situation happened again when the workers were with armed Javanese soldiers, who seemingly forgot how to use their rifles until the thieves had escaped. However, they respected a white man, and whenever one of us, armed or not, was with the canoes, the locals never tried to bother us. They sometimes stole a knife or an axe from the camps, but even though they were often near our houses and sometimes inside them for hours, we never lost anything valuable.
A temptation, which often proved too strong for them, was our fleet of canoes. At Wakatimi the canoes were moored in front of the camp at the place where the natives, who came to visit us, were accustomed to land. They came mostly in the late afternoon and stayed till sunset, and it happened several times that when they went away they contrived to put two or three men into one of our canoes and slip away with it unnoticed in the dusk. But when on the following day we made a fuss, the canoe was generally brought back with a long story of its having been found floating down the river towards the sea.
A temptation, which often proved too strong for them, was our fleet of canoes. At Wakatimi, the canoes were tied up in front of the camp at the spot where the locals visited us. They would usually come in the late afternoon and stay until sunset, and there were several instances when they managed to sneak two or three men into one of our canoes and slip away with it unnoticed in the dusk. But when we raised a fuss the next day, the canoe was generally returned with an elaborate story about it being found drifting down the river towards the sea.
An opportunity of looting, which was not to be resisted, occurred one day when a party of discharged coolies were leaving the country. The boat, in which they were being taken off to the ship, capsized as it came alongside the steamer and thirty coolies and all their belongings were upset into the sea. The captain of the ship was only anxious to save his boat and the coolies hastened to escape from the sharks. In the meantime a crowd of natives, who had come down in their canoes to visit the ship, lost no time in picking up the floating boxes and bundles of clothing, and before anybody was aware of their action they were fast paddling away to their villages.
An opportunity for looting, which was too tempting to resist, came one day when a group of fired coolies were leaving the country. The boat that was supposed to take them to the ship capsized as it pulled up to the steamer, spilling thirty coolies and all their belongings into the sea. The ship's captain only cared about saving his boat, while the coolies rushed to avoid the sharks. Meanwhile, a crowd of locals who had come in their canoes to see the ship wasted no time collecting the floating boxes and bundles of clothing, and before anyone noticed what they were doing, they were quickly paddling away to their villages.
On such occasions and at other times when we had reason to be angry with them, the people of Wakatimi observed a curious custom. There was in the village a coloured china plate and a piece of bent silver wire, which was sometimes used by the owner as an ear-ring. On the morning following their misdemeanour two men came over from the village bringing the ear-ring on the plate, which they gave to us, shook hands and departed. Later in the day they returned and we gave them back their gifts; this happened several times.
On those occasions, and at other times we had a reason to be upset with them, the people of Wakatimi had a strange custom. In the village, there was a decorated china plate and a piece of bent silver wire that the owner sometimes used as an earring. The morning after their wrongdoing, two men would come over from the village with the earring on the plate, hand it to us, shake our hands, and leave. Later that day, they would come back, and we would return their gifts; this repeated several times.
At one time there was a serious epidemic of drunkenness among the people of Wakatimi and they shewed their ill-manners by shooting arrows into the camp. This was of no consequence when only one person misbehaved himself. But when one day a number of men waded half-way across the river and began to send arrows into the camp, it had to be stopped. The Dutch sergeant, who was alone in charge of the place at the167 time, held up his rifle, a weapon the use of which they very well understood, and signalled to them that unless they went away he would fire. As they took no notice of his warning he fired, aiming at the legs of the ringleader, but unfortunately he hit him in the groin. Shortly afterwards, so little animosity did they show and so complete was their confidence in us, they brought the wretched man over to our camp, but nothing could be done for him and in a few hours he died.
At one point, there was a serious problem with drunkenness among the people of Wakatimi, and they displayed their bad behavior by shooting arrows into the camp. This wasn't an issue when only one person acted out. But one day, a group of men waded halfway across the river and started shooting arrows into the camp, and it had to be stopped. The Dutch sergeant, who was in charge at the167 time, raised his rifle, a weapon they understood well, and signaled to them that he would fire unless they left. When they ignored his warning, he fired, aiming at the legs of the ringleader, but unfortunately, he hit him in the groin. Shortly afterward, despite their earlier behavior and their trust in us, they brought the injured man to our camp, but nothing could be done for him, and he died within a few hours.
They were very appreciative of medical treatment and at different times we were able to do a good deal for them. One man actually went so far as to pay a fee of half a dozen coconuts for the saving of his little daughter’s ulcerated foot, which was rapidly going from bad to worse under native treatment. They often cut themselves severely with our axes and knives before they learnt their sharpness, and their wounds healed astonishingly quickly with ordinary clean methods; the only trouble was that they liked to take off the bandages and use them for personal adornment.
They were really grateful for medical care, and at different times, we were able to help them a lot. One man even went as far as to pay a fee of six coconuts to save his little daughter's ulcerated foot, which was quickly getting worse with traditional treatment. They often cut themselves badly with our axes and knives before realizing how sharp they were, but their wounds healed surprisingly fast with regular clean methods; the only issue was that they liked to remove the bandages and use them as decorations.
As well as acting as carriers for us, the people at Parimau did a considerable amount of work for us about the camp in cutting down trees, an occupation which they always enjoyed, and in helping to build some of the houses. They were even more useful to us as naturalists and, thanks mainly to them, we made a very complete collection of the reptiles of the district. They were particularly adept at catching snakes and often five or six men in a day would stroll into the camp carrying a deadly poisonous snake wrapped up in leaves. One day Goodfellow was walking through168 the jungle with some natives and the man in front of him stooped down and picked up a poisonous viper without even pausing in his stride.
The people at Parimau not only helped us with transportation, but they also did a lot of work around the camp, like cutting down trees, which they always enjoyed, and assisting in building some of the houses. They were even more helpful as naturalists, and thanks to them, we created a comprehensive collection of the local reptiles. They were especially skilled at catching snakes, and often five or six men would casually walk into the camp carrying a deadly poisonous snake wrapped in leaves. One day, Goodfellow was walking through the jungle with some locals when the man in front of him bent down and picked up a poisonous viper without missing a beat.
We always encouraged the natives to bring us snakes in the hope of getting new species, and when we did not want those that they brought, they were quite content to take them away and eat them. They seemed to have a peculiar knack of catching poisonous things, for besides snakes they often brought scorpions and centipedes in their parcels of leaves. With the more delicate creatures such as lizards they were less successful and among the hundreds that they brought us there were very few which they had not damaged. They always assumed an air of importance and somewhat of mystery, when they brought some animal for sale, and you always knew that when you had bought, or refused, as the case might be, the creature that was offered, the man would instantly produce something else, but the puzzle was always to know whence he produced it, for his scanty costume does not admit of pockets.
We always encouraged the locals to bring us snakes in hopes of discovering new species, and when we didn’t want the ones they brought, they were perfectly happy to take them back and eat them. They seemed to have a unique talent for catching dangerous creatures, as they often showed up with scorpions and centipedes in their bundles of leaves, in addition to snakes. With more delicate animals like lizards, they weren’t as successful, and out of the hundreds they brought us, very few were unharmed. They always carried an air of importance and a bit of mystery when presenting an animal for sale, and you could always tell that once you either bought or declined the creature, the person would immediately pull out something else. The mystery was always where it came from, since their sparse clothing didn't have pockets.
CHAPTER XIII
Visit of Mr. Lorentz—Arrival of Steam Launch—A Sailor Drowned—Our Second Batch of Coolies—Health of the Gurkhas—Dayaks the best Coolies—Sickness—Arrival of Motor Boat—Camp under Water—Expedition moves to Parimau—Explorations beyond the Mimika—Leeches—Floods on the Tuaba River—Overflowing Rivers—The Wataikwa—Cutting a Track.
Visit from Mr. Lorentz—Motorboat arrives—A sailor drowns—Our second group of workers—Health of the Gurkhas—Dayaks are the best workers—Illness—Motorboat arrives—Camps are flooded—Expedition moves to Parimau—Exploration beyond the Mimika—Leeches—Flooding on the Tuaba River—Rivers are overflowing—The Wataikwa—Clearing a trail.
A pleasant interlude in the monotony of the early part of the expedition occurred one day towards the end of March, when the natives of Wakatimi signalled in the usual way the approach of a boat and presently a steam launch appeared with Europeans on board. They turned out to be the Dutch explorer, Mr. H. A. Lorentz, who was on his way back from his second and successful expedition to Mount Wilhelmina by way of the Noord River, with his companions Captain J. W. van Nouhuys and Lieutenant Habbema, and the Captain of the Government steamer Java, which had anchored off the mouth of the Mimika. Mr. Lorentz looked like a man hardly returned from the dead, as indeed he well might, for after climbing to the snows of Mount Wilhelmina he had fallen down a cliff on his return, with a result of two broken ribs and serious concussion of the brain, and he had endured untold sufferings on his way back to the foot of the mountain. But he had achieved the principal object of his expedition, and his spirits were in better condition than his body. They stayed for the170 night with us and at dinner, though I was in a minority of one to six, with characteristic courtesy they all spoke English; the entertainment, assisted by luxuries brought from the Java, lasted until the small hours, and it was the pleasantest evening I spent in New Guinea.
A nice break in the monotony of the early part of the expedition happened one day toward the end of March when the locals of Wakatimi signaled, as usual, the arrival of a boat, and soon after, a steam launch appeared with Europeans on board. They turned out to be the Dutch explorer, Mr. H. A. Lorentz, returning from his second successful expedition to Mount Wilhelmina via the Noord River, accompanied by his crew, Captain J. W. van Nouhuys and Lieutenant Habbema, along with the Captain of the Government steamer Java, which had anchored at the mouth of the Mimika. Mr. Lorentz looked like a man barely back from the brink, which he certainly could be, as after climbing to the snowy peak of Mount Wilhelmina, he had fallen off a cliff on his way back, resulting in two broken ribs and a serious concussion. He had endured immense suffering on his journey back down the mountain. But he had accomplished the main goal of his expedition, and his spirits were higher than his physical condition. They spent the night with us, and at dinner, even though I was the only one against six, they all graciously spoke English; the evening, enhanced by treats brought from the Java, went on until the early hours, making it the most enjoyable night I had in New Guinea.
The Java brought for us the long-expected steam launch, and its career began, as it ended, with disaster. Before dawn one of the men of the boat wished to fetch something that he had left on the launch, which was moored in the river about fifteen yards from the bank. The sentry on duty did his best to prevent him, because it was a rule of the camp that no man was allowed to bathe before sunrise, but he insisted on swimming out to the launch. In a few yards he found that the current was stronger than he had expected, he called for help, and in a few moments a canoe set out in the gloom to look for him, but no more was seen of him until his body was recovered by the natives at the mouth of the Mimika a few days later. Shortly after the accident happened our guests left us on their way back to Europe, and we watched their departure with somewhat envious eyes.
The Java finally delivered the long-awaited steam launch, and its journey began and ended in disaster. Before dawn, one of the men on the boat wanted to grab something he had left on the launch, which was moored about fifteen yards from the shore. The sentry on duty tried his best to stop him because it was a camp rule that no one was allowed to swim before sunrise, but he insisted on swimming out to the launch. Just a few yards in, he realized the current was stronger than he expected, called for help, and a canoe quickly set out into the darkness to search for him. Unfortunately, he was not seen again until his body was found by locals at the mouth of the Mimika a few days later. Shortly after the accident, our guests left us on their way back to Europe, and we watched them go with a bit of envy.
The history of the middle period of the expedition, that is to say, from April to December, is chiefly a history of floods and sickness and disappointment. In the middle of April Goodfellow, who had gone away early in March, returned with a fresh batch of forty-eight coolies, whom he had recruited in Banda and Amboina. About a half of these men were natives of the island of Buton, and the rest were Ambonese, and though they were the best men that could be found at such short notice, and171 were greatly superior to our first batch of coolies, they were really not fit for the work they had to do, and the majority of them soon became useless to us.
The history of the middle period of the expedition, from April to December, is mostly about floods, illness, and letdowns. In mid-April, Goodfellow, who had left early in March, came back with a new group of forty-eight laborers that he had recruited in Banda and Amboina. About half of these men were from the island of Buton, and the rest were Ambonese. Even though they were the best workers we could find on short notice and were much better than our first group of laborers, they really weren’t suited for the tasks we needed them for, and most of them quickly became unhelpful to us.
The steam launch towed the canoes for a short distance up the river once or twice, but it very soon broke down and thenceforward until the middle of June all the transport between Wakatimi and Parimau was done by the coolies themselves. For them it was literally a killing work; in the first few weeks two men died, one of pneumonia, the other of dysentery, both causes resulting from the circumstances of their work, while several others developed the first signs of beri-beri and had to be sent away at the earliest opportunity.
The steam launch pulled the canoes a short way up the river a couple of times, but it broke down soon after. From then until mid-June, all the transport between Wakatimi and Parimau was done by the coolies. For them, it was extremely grueling work; in the first few weeks, two men died—one from pneumonia and the other from dysentery—both due to the conditions of their labor. Several others showed early symptoms of beri-beri and had to be sent away as soon as possible.
About the same time one of the Gurkhas died; he was from the beginning a very unhealthy man, who ought not to have been engaged for the expedition. Of the other nine Gurkhas three were invalided home before the end of the year and the remaining six stayed with us until we left the country. Although they came from the highlands of Darjeeling—or perhaps for that very reason—our Gurkhas, who were by no means a carefully selected lot, withstood the trials and the climate of the country better than any of the other “native” people in the expedition and, if expense were no drawback, it is probable that an expedition to New Guinea would have the best chance of success if coolies were taken from Northern India.
About the same time, one of the Gurkhas passed away; he had always been an unhealthy man and shouldn’t have been part of the expedition. Of the other nine Gurkhas, three were sent back home for health reasons before the year was over, and the remaining six stayed with us until we left the country. Although they came from the highlands of Darjeeling—or maybe because of it—our Gurkhas, who weren't a carefully chosen group, handled the challenges and climate of the country better than any of the other "native" people in the expedition. If cost weren’t an issue, an expedition to New Guinea would likely have the best chance of success if laborers were sourced from Northern India.
That is, however, rather a counsel of perfection, and an expedition to New Guinea must make use of natives of the Malay Archipelago. The Ambonese and the Butonese have been tried and have been found wanting,172 so also have the Ké Islanders and the Sundanese from the mountains of central Java. Possibly the wild hillmen of Timor, if enough of them could be engaged, would work well, but the only people who have hitherto worked successfully as coolies in Dutch New Guinea are the hill-Dayaks of Borneo. Mr. Lorentz, who took with him eighty Dayaks, most of them from the Mendalen River, on his expedition to Mount Wilhelmina, spoke with enthusiasm of the admirable behaviour of his men, and if Indian or other Asiatic coolies are not available, it may be said that an expedition to the mountainous districts of Dutch New Guinea can only be properly conducted with Dayaks.
That is, however, quite an idealistic view, and any expedition to New Guinea will need to rely on natives from the Malay Archipelago. The Ambonese and the Butonese have been tested and found lacking,172 as have the Ké Islanders and the Sundanese from the central Java mountains. The wild hillmen of Timor might be effective if enough could be recruited, but so far, the only people who have successfully worked as laborers in Dutch New Guinea are the hill-Dayaks from Borneo. Mr. Lorentz, who brought eighty Dayaks, most from the Mendalen River, on his expedition to Mount Wilhelmina, spoke highly of the excellent behavior of his team. If Indian or other Asian laborers aren’t available, it can be said that an expedition to the mountainous regions of Dutch New Guinea can only be properly managed with Dayaks.
Our coolies were not the only people in the expedition who began to feel the ill effects of the climate; the Javanese soldiers and convicts quickly filled the hospital which had been put up at Wakatimi, and in May and June there were many mornings when I saw more than forty sick men. Most of them suffered from fever and a more or less severe form of dysentery, and a good many cases of beri-beri occurred. Unfortunately sickness was not confined to our native followers only; the Europeans began also to suffer from the very adverse conditions in which they found themselves. One or two of the Dutch non-commissioned officers became seriously ill; Goodfellow, who returned with the second batch of coolies from Banda about the middle of April, was never free from fever for more than a few days from that time until he left the country in October; and Shortridge became such a wreck from almost continuous fever, which began about the173 beginning of March, that by the end of May he had to be sent away for three months’ change of air to Australia. Soon after his return in August he succumbed again to the evil climate, and though he pluckily pretended that there was nothing the matter with him, he went from bad to worse, and I am fully persuaded that his almost forcible deportation at the end of November saved his life.
Our laborers weren’t the only ones on the expedition feeling the negative effects of the climate; the Javanese soldiers and convicts quickly filled the hospital set up at Wakatimi, and in May and June, there were many mornings when I saw more than forty sick men. Most of them suffered from fever and various levels of dysentery, and there were quite a few cases of beri-beri. Unfortunately, illness wasn’t limited to our local workers; Europeans also began to struggle with the harsh conditions they found themselves in. A couple of the Dutch non-commissioned officers became seriously ill; Goodfellow, who returned with the second group of laborers from Banda around mid-April, was never free from fever for more than a few days until he left the country in October; and Shortridge became such a wreck from almost continuous fever, which started around the173 beginning of March, that by the end of May he had to be sent away for three months’ change of air to Australia. Shortly after he returned in August, he succumbed once again to the terrible climate, and although he bravely pretended nothing was wrong, he got worse and worse, and I truly believe that his almost forced departure at the end of November saved his life.
At the end of May, Goodfellow and Rawling went over to Dobo, and after about eight days returned with the motor boat, which had been bought from the pearl-fishers. Like most things of which a great deal is expected the motor boat turned out to be a disappointment, and it eventually led us into serious difficulty, but for a short time it did good service in towing boats up the river, and it considerably shortened the voyage from Wakatimi to Parimau.
At the end of May, Goodfellow and Rawling headed over to Dobo, and after about eight days, they came back with the motorboat that they had bought from the pearl fishers. Like many things that come with high expectations, the motorboat turned out to be a letdown, and it eventually caused us serious problems. However, for a little while, it did a good job towing boats up the river and significantly reduced the travel time from Wakatimi to Parimau.
The day of the arrival of the motor boat was memorable for being the occasion of the first of the really serious floods that beset us. Late in the evening a party of our coolies on their way back from Parimau, who were not due to arrive until the following day, reached the camp at Wakatimi, most of which was by that time under water. The journey down the river usually occupied two days, but they had found all the usual camping places, some of which were high above the ordinary river bed, under water, and they had been unable to find any safe resting-place.
The day the motorboat arrived was memorable for being the start of the serious flooding that troubled us. Late in the evening, a group of our coolies returning from Parimau, who weren't supposed to arrive until the next day, reached the camp at Wakatimi, most of which was already underwater. The trip down the river typically took two days, but they found all the usual camping spots, some of which are usually well above the normal river level, submerged, and they couldn't find any safe place to stop.
The three following days were among the most unpleasant that I had ever spent, though worse were to follow later. On the morning of the first day the water174 fell a little and we spent laborious hours in piling up our stores and movable gear on to the top of empty boxes, and when those were all used on posts driven into the ground. All through the afternoon the water rose, the coolies’ and soldiers’ houses were quickly flooded, and our own house, which was on the highest part of the camp, was nearly a foot under water. On the two succeeding days the conditions were much more serious, and we had two feet of water in our house. The river took a short cut over the neck of land formed by a wide bend of the river on which the camp was placed and flowed straight through the camp. Our beds were raised up on empty kerosene-tin boxes, and when these were submerged there was a mild excitement in guessing how far up the frame-work of the bed the water would rise. Fires were put out and cooking was impossible, so the coolies and soldiers, who depended on their boiled rice, had rather a hungry time. Our own food consisted of biscuits and cold tinned stuff, which is not very exhilarating when you have been in water all day long. An unprejudiced observer looking in upon us from the outside in the evening might well have wondered what kind of lunatics we were to come to New Guinea. Goodfellow was lying in bed very sick with fever, while Rawling and I, up to our knees in water, were making a poor pretence at having dinner. The only humour that we managed to extract from the situation was in the novel experience of being able, without moving from our seats, to wash our plates between the first course of biscuits and sardines and the second course of biscuits and marmalade; the Mimika river was flowing under our chairs175 and we had only to lower our plates into it to clean them.
The next three days were some of the most uncomfortable of my life, though even worse days were still ahead. On the first morning, the water level dropped slightly, and we spent exhausting hours stacking our supplies and gear onto empty boxes, and once those were all used up, we put everything on posts driven into the ground. Throughout the afternoon, the water started rising again; the coolies’ and soldiers’ houses quickly flooded, and our own place, which was at the highest point in the camp, was nearly a foot underwater. The following two days were even worse, with two feet of water in our house. The river took a shortcut over a neck of land caused by a wide bend, flowing straight through our camp. Our beds were propped up on empty kerosene cans, and when those got submerged, we had a bit of excitement guessing how high the water would climb on the frames of our beds. All the fires went out, and cooking was impossible, leaving the coolies and soldiers, who relied on their boiled rice, pretty hungry. Our meals consisted of biscuits and cold canned food, which wasn’t very uplifting after being soaked all day. An unbiased observer looking in on us that evening might have wondered what kind of crazies we were for coming to New Guinea. Goodfellow was lying in bed, very sick with fever, while Rawling and I, up to our knees in water, were trying to have dinner. The only humor we found in the situation was the unusual experience of being able, without leaving our seats, to wash our plates between the first course of biscuits and sardines and the second course of biscuits and marmalade; the Mimika River was flowing under our chairs, and we just had to dip our plates into it to clean them.
On the fourth day the water fell, and the camp was not flooded again for several weeks, but there was left everywhere a thick deposit of mud, which kept the houses sodden for a long time afterwards. In spite of all our precautions, a quantity of stores were irreparably spoilt and, worse still, the flood left behind it an increased amount of sickness, and indeed the wonder was that the prolonged soaking had not ill effects on every one of us.
On the fourth day, the rain stopped, and the camp didn't get flooded again for several weeks, but there was a thick layer of mud everywhere that kept the houses damp for a long time afterward. Despite all our efforts, a lot of supplies were ruined beyond repair, and even worse, the flood brought an increase in sickness; it was a surprise that the prolonged wetness didn't negatively impact every single one of us.
At the beginning of July Cramer and I arrived at Parimau, bringing with us the last loads of provisions to complete the store, which we had been working hard for three months with our second batch of coolies to accumulate at that place. It was hoped that that store would be sufficient to enable us to use Parimau as a second base camp for making a prolonged expedition into the mountains without wasting any more time on transports up the river; but in that we had reckoned without the vagaries of the New Guinea climate and the consequent diminution of the effective strength of our coolies, who were already too few for our purpose.
At the start of July, Cramer and I arrived at Parimau, bringing the last loads of supplies to complete our stockpile, which we had been tirelessly working on for three months with our second group of coolies. We hoped this stock would be enough to allow us to use Parimau as a secondary base camp for an extended expedition into the mountains without wasting any more time transporting goods up the river. However, we underestimated the unpredictable New Guinea climate and the resulting decrease in the effective strength of our coolies, who were already too few for our needs.
In the meantime Rawling and Marshall had been making excursions to the North-east of Parimau, in the direction of the high mountains. About five miles from Parimau they had come to the Tuaba River and about the same distance further on they had come to the Kamura River, a few miles above its junction with the Tuaba. Continuing in the same direction they came to another river, bigger than either of the others, the Wataikwa, which was so often impassable that it seemed176 likely to prevent any further progress. But a short excursion up the valley of the Wataikwa showed the impossibility of reaching the highest mountains by that route, and a camp was accordingly established on the Wataikwa with a view to crossing that river when an opportunity should occur.
In the meantime, Rawling and Marshall had been taking trips to the northeast of Parimau, heading toward the high mountains. About five miles from Parimau, they reached the Tuaba River, and about the same distance further, they encountered the Kamura River, a few miles upstream from its junction with the Tuaba. Continuing in the same direction, they arrived at another river, larger than the others, the Wataikwa, which was often too difficult to cross and seemed likely to hinder any further progress. However, a brief exploration up the Wataikwa Valley revealed that reaching the highest mountains via this route was impossible, so they set up camp on the Wataikwa with plans to cross the river when the opportunity arose.
These excursions were all made with the assistance of natives, without whose assistance no advance beyond Parimau would have been possible, so long as all the coolies were occupied in the work on the river. Very little reliance could be placed on the natives, when they were working as carriers alone without coolies, and most of us at one time or another had the disagreeable experience of being deserted by them and left unable to move either backwards or forwards. It was in circumstances such as these that the Gurkhas, some of whom always accompanied us in journeys through the jungle, shewed to the best advantage.
These trips were all made with the help of locals, without whom we wouldn't have been able to go beyond Parimau, especially since all the laborers were busy with river work. You couldn't really count on the locals when they were working as carriers without the laborers, and most of us had the unpleasant experience of being abandoned by them, leaving us unable to move either back or forward. It was in situations like these that the Gurkhas, who always accompanied us on our jungle journeys, really stood out.
When the store of provisions at Parimau was completed, the next step was to establish a further depôt of provisions at the Wataikwa camp. Though the distance between the two places was less than fifteen miles in a straight line, it was a three days’ march for a loaded coolie and two camping places were made on the way, one on an island in the Tuaba River, the other on the bank of the Kamura. The first day’s march from Parimau began by crossing and recrossing the Mimika several times and here and there wading up the river itself. About three miles up the river we struck off Eastwards through the jungle along a hardly visible native track used by the people going to the village of177 Ibo; this was the only regular native track we used, and these few miles across from the Mimika to the Tuaba were the only place where we had not to cut our own path. The mud in that part of the jungle was quite exceptionally bad, even for New Guinea; in the comparatively dry weather it was like walking through porridge, and in the wet weather you were continually struggling through liquid slime almost up to your knees.
When the supply store at Parimau was finished, the next step was to set up another supply depot at the Wataikwa camp. Even though the distance between the two locations was under fifteen miles in a straight line, it took three days for a loaded porter to make the journey, and two camps were set up along the way, one on an island in the Tuaba River and the other on the bank of the Kamura. The first day’s march from Parimau started with crossing and recrossing the Mimika several times, and occasionally wading up the river itself. About three miles up the river, we headed east through the jungle along a barely noticeable native path used by locals traveling to the village of177Ibo; this was the only consistent native path we used, and these few miles from the Mimika to the Tuaba were the only stretch where we didn’t have to carve out our own path. The mud in that part of the jungle was exceptionally bad, even by New Guinea standards; during the relatively dry weather, it felt like walking through porridge, and when it rained, you were constantly battling through liquid sludge that nearly reached your knees.
We were very much annoyed there, though not more in that than in other parts of the jungle, by the leeches which swarmed everywhere. These hateful little creatures sit on the leaves or twigs stretched out to their fullest length and expectant of the passer-by. It is not necessary to believe, as some people do, that they jump or even that they fall upon you as you pass beneath them; there are so many that as you brush through the jungle you must inevitably touch many outstretched heads and as soon as they are touched they attach themselves immediately to you. They are extremely rapid in their movements, and their touch is so delicate that you do not feel their presence until they have nearly gorged themselves with blood. Your legs, unless they are well protected with putties, are most liable to their attacks, but you find leeches on all parts of your body, and I have found them in my eyes and in my mouth and once just captured one as it was preparing to enter one of my nostrils. They are able to consume an astonishingly large quantity of blood, and when, as often happens, they open a small vein, the bleeding continues after they have dropped from their feeding place. It is not advisable to pull a leech from your body; it often results in178 the creature leaving behind a part of its clasper, which may give rise to a serious sore. Pigs do not appear to be attacked by leeches, but the soft parts of the heads of some of the cassowaries that were shot were found to be covered with them. Cassowaries are few and far between, and there must be millions of leeches that go through life without once tasting blood. Some of the leeches are prettily marked with stripes of yellow and brown, but none that we saw in the jungle were of large size; the longest were perhaps two inches in length.
We were pretty annoyed there, although not more than in other parts of the jungle, by the leeches that were everywhere. These annoying little creatures sit on the leaves or branches, stretched out and waiting for anyone passing by. You don’t have to believe, as some do, that they jump or fall on you as you walk under them; there are so many that when you push through the jungle, you're bound to touch many outstretched heads, and as soon as they get touched, they latch onto you immediately. They move really fast, and their touch is so light that you often don’t notice them until they’ve almost drained a lot of blood. Your legs, unless they’re well protected, are the most likely targets for their attacks, but you can find leeches all over your body. I’ve even found them in my eyes and mouth, and once I caught one just as it was about to crawl up my nostril. They can consume a surprisingly large amount of blood, and when, as often happens, they open a small vein, the bleeding can continue even after they drop off. It’s not a good idea to pull a leech off your body; it can end up leaving part of its mouth behind, which can lead to a serious sore. Pigs don’t seem to get attacked by leeches, but the soft areas on the heads of some cassowaries we shot were covered in them. Cassowaries are rare, and there must be millions of leeches that go through life without ever tasting blood. Some of the leeches are pretty with stripes of yellow and brown, but none we saw in the jungle were large; the longest were maybe two inches long.
Besides leeches there was not much to distract or to amuse us in passing through that stage of the march—certainly there were always plenty of the Greater Birds of Paradise to be heard calling, but they were very seldom to be seen—and we were chiefly anxious to struggle to the end of it ourselves and to push the coolies along until we heard the welcome sound of heavy water and light showed through the trees ahead. The Tuaba, at the place where we were accustomed to cross it, is a wide river flowing in about half a dozen channels, which extend over half a mile or more of ground. All of these channels are considerable torrents even in the most favourable conditions and it is by no means easy to cross them, but in the very frequent times of flood they are absolutely impassable. The camping place was made on an island across the first channel, as the river bank proper was covered with very dense jungle, and at low water the island was surrounded by a stretch of dry sand and shingle, which afforded us a pleasant drying ground after struggling through the sweltering jungle.
Besides leeches, there wasn’t much to distract or entertain us during that part of the march—there were always plenty of Greater Birds of Paradise calling out, but we rarely saw them. We were mainly focused on pushing ourselves and the coolies to keep going until we heard the welcome sound of rushing water and light shining through the trees ahead. The Tuaba, at the place we usually crossed, is a wide river flowing through about half a dozen channels that span over half a mile or more. All of these channels are significant torrents even in the best conditions, and crossing them is not easy. During frequent floods, they are completely impassable. We set up camp on an island just across the first channel, as the riverbank was thick with dense jungle. At low water, the island was surrounded by dry sand and shingle, which provided us with a nice spot to dry off after battling through the oppressive jungle.
TYPICAL JUNGLE, MIMIKA RIVER.
Typical Jungle, Mimika River.
But it was not always a place of calm; it could be 179quite a dangerous place, and I had a very unpleasant experience the first time I camped there. I was on my way out to the Wataikwa river with a Gurkha, four coolies and about twenty natives of Parimau laden with tins of rice. The river was comparatively low when we pitched our camp, but it began to rain in the afternoon, and the almost continuous thunder and the black clouds in that direction showed us that it was raining heavily in the mountains. By nightfall the rising flood had completely covered the sandbank in front of the camp, and before midnight the river was flowing right through the camp. The coolies were taking refuge like birds in the trees, and the water had just covered my piece of ground, which was an inch or two higher than any other spot. The Gurkha came and helped me to secure the stores from the water, which was still rising fast. We arranged all the rice tins upright, and on them we placed my bed; on the bed we placed all the other stores and baggage, and finally I took refuge there myself. The water rose above the top of the rice tins and about half way up the framework of my bed and then happily it began to fall rapidly, and in an hour or two the camp was land again. Shoes of mine and odd garments of the coolies were washed away, but we had been in no danger of being swept away, for the current was not rapid enough over the comparatively shallow water of the island; the only risk was from the large logs and trees which came sweeping down on the flood. The Papuans, who were encamped on another island a short distance below ours, had kept up all night a constant and most melancholy wailing, which did not at all add to the humour of the situation.
But it wasn't always a peaceful place; it could be 179quite dangerous, and I had a very unpleasant experience the first time I camped there. I was heading to the Wataikwa River with a Gurkha, four coolies, and about twenty locals from Parimau carrying tins of rice. The river was relatively low when we set up camp, but it started to rain in the afternoon, and the almost constant thunder and dark clouds in that direction indicated that it was pouring heavily in the mountains. By nightfall, the rising flood had completely submerged the sandbank in front of the camp, and by midnight the river was flowing right through our camp. The coolies were taking shelter like birds in the trees, and the water had just covered my spot, which was an inch or two higher than any other area. The Gurkha helped me secure the supplies from the rising water. We stacked all the rice tins upright and placed my bed on top; then we put all the other supplies and luggage on the bed, and finally, I took refuge there myself. The water rose above the top of the rice tins and about halfway up the frame of my bed, but luckily it started to recede quickly, and in an hour or two, the camp was dry again. My shoes and some clothes belonging to the coolies were washed away, but we hadn’t been in any real danger of being swept away since the current wasn’t strong enough over the relatively shallow water of the island; the only threat came from the large logs and trees that were rushing down with the flood. The Papuans, who were camped on another island a short distance downriver, spent the whole night wailing mournfully, which certainly didn't help the mood of the situation.
For three more days we stayed on that sandbank, while the rain poured down and the river swept past us on both sides, unable either to proceed or to retreat. I made two attempts to cross the river, but found it impossible to struggle across the flood. In the meantime the natives, who were well able to swim naked across the first channel, threatened all the time to return to Parimau. A few of them did leave me, but the rest by constant cajoling and by liberal gifts of rice, for which they had acquired a great liking, I persuaded to stay with me until after four days we were able to get away.
For three more days we stayed on that sandbank while the rain poured down and the river rushed by us on both sides, unable to move forward or back. I tried to cross the river twice but found it impossible to fight my way through the flood. In the meantime, the locals, who could easily swim naked across the first channel, kept threatening to go back to Parimau. A few of them left me, but I managed to convince the rest to stick around with constant flattery and generous gifts of rice, which they had come to really like, until after four days when we were finally able to leave.
From the Tuaba to the Kamura river, a distance of about four miles, a track had been cut by Marshall and the Gurkhas. It was a curious piece of country, almost level and covered with not very dense jungle, but remarkable for the number of streams flowing through it. Between the two rivers we crossed eighteen streams of various sizes; some were rivulets, and others swift and strong so that one was glad of a supporting Papuan on either hand. The Kamura river is of less size than the Tuaba, but it is still a large river and subject to heavy and sudden floods. It flows in a bed of sand and shingle two or three hundred yards from bank to bank, though, except at times of flood, it only occupies a narrow channel. Mostly it runs swiftly over the stones, but here and there are long stretches of still water like the pool of a salmon river; unluckily there are no big fish in it, or New Guinea would be a pleasanter place than it is.
From the Tuaba to the Kamura river, about four miles apart, a path was created by Marshall and the Gurkhas. It was an interesting area, nearly flat and covered with not very thick jungle, but notable for the numerous streams running through it. Between the two rivers, we crossed eighteen streams of different sizes; some were small brooks, while others were fast and strong, making us thankful for a supporting Papuan on either side. The Kamura river is smaller than the Tuaba, but it’s still a large river that experiences heavy and sudden floods. It flows through a bed of sand and pebbles, about two or three hundred yards wide from bank to bank, although, except during floods, it only fills a narrow channel. Most of the time it flows swiftly over the stones, but here and there are long stretches of still water like a salmon river’s pool; unfortunately, there are no big fish in it, or New Guinea would be a nicer place than it is.
It was an agreeable change to come out on to the181 bank of the Kamura, for from there we had our first wide view of the mountains that we hoped to reach. The foothills, if mountains eight or nine thousand feet high may be so described, sloped down to within a few miles of us to the North, and behind them and stretching far to East and West rose range beyond range of steep and precipitous ridges, culminating in the snowy top of Mount Carstensz, thirty miles to the North-east. Our route took us for several miles along the course of the Kamura; it was certainly not comfortable walking over the big and often slippery stones and wading waist-deep across the river three or four times to cut off big bends, but it was pleasant indeed to have a wide free space about us after having been for so long hemmed in by trees, and anything was preferable to the mud and leeches of the jungle.
It was a nice change to step out onto the181 bank of the Kamura, where we got our first clear view of the mountains we aimed to reach. The foothills, if you can call mountains that are eight or nine thousand feet high by that name, sloped down to just a few miles north of us. Behind them, stretching far to the east and west, were successive ranges of steep and rugged ridges, culminating in the snowy peak of Mount Carstensz, thirty miles to the northeast. Our route took us several miles along the Kamura’s path; it was definitely not easy to walk over the large and often slippery stones or wade waist-deep across the river three or four times to cut off the big bends, but it felt great to have such an open space around us after being so confined by trees for so long, and anything was better than the mud and leeches of the jungle.
A few miles up the Kamura we left the main river and turned off up the bed of a smaller river, which joins it from the East. This is actually a branch of the Wataikwa connecting the two rivers, and down it comes a great volume of water when the Wataikwa is full, while at other times it becomes almost dry. The rivers of this district of New Guinea are somewhat peculiar in this respect; they are very numerous, and they flow out from the mountains in a North to South direction, with not many miles intervening between one river and the next. As soon as they emerge from the mountains they find themselves on quite low ground and with forty or more miles to run to the sea. There are no outlying hills or depressions to guide them in any particular course, thus it happens that they overflow in convenient182 directions, and connections are established between one river and another. As well as in the case of the Wataikwa this was observed on the Utakwa river, close to the foot of the mountains, and I believe the same thing happens on the Kapare river. Further on in their courses, when they approach the mangrove swamps near the sea, the rivers again break up into an extraordinary network of branches. Judging from the appearance of the country and from the considerable changes, which we observed in the case of the Wataikwa during a period of only a few months, it is probable that these great rivers change their courses very often.
A few miles up the Kamura, we left the main river and branched off into a smaller river that flows in from the East. This is actually a branch of the Wataikwa, connecting the two rivers. When the Wataikwa is full, a massive volume of water flows down it, but at other times it nearly dries up. The rivers in this region of New Guinea are quite unique in this way; they are very numerous and flow from the mountains in a North to South direction, with only a few miles between each river. As soon as they come out of the mountains, they hit low ground and have to cover forty or more miles to reach the sea. There are no hills or valleys to steer them in a specific direction, so they overflow in various directions, creating connections between different rivers. Just like with the Wataikwa, this was also seen with the Utakwa river near the base of the mountains, and I believe the same thing occurs with the Kapare river. Further along their paths, as they near the mangrove swamps by the sea, the rivers break up into a complex network of branches. Based on the landscape and the significant changes we noticed in the Wataikwa over just a few months, it’s likely that these large rivers frequently change their courses.
Whilst parties of coolies, rapidly diminishing in numbers, were occupied at lengthening intervals in transporting stores from Parimau to the camp on the Wataikwa river, Rawling and Marshall had found a way of crossing that river. It is true that there were a great many days when it was quite impossible to cross it, and there was always a certain amount of risk of being swept away, not to mention the discomfort of beginning your day’s work by getting wet up to your chest; but it was absolutely necessary to continue cutting the track, wet or dry. On the other side of the river, they had tried to continue in the North-east direction and had come to broken lumpy ground covered with the densest jungle that we met with in any part of the country. The trees were not so very big, indeed most of them were quite small, but they were of a peculiarly hard wood, which quickly blunted the kukris of the Gurkhas and they grew so close together that it was quite impossible to push your way between them. Eventually a track was cut to the Iwaka River, five miles to the east of the Wataikwa.
While groups of laborers, quickly dwindling in number, were busy at longer intervals transporting supplies from Parimau to the camp on the Wataikwa river, Rawling and Marshall had figured out a way to cross the river. There were indeed many days when crossing it was completely impossible, and there was always a risk of being swept away, not to mention the annoyance of starting your workday soaked up to your chest; but it was absolutely necessary to keep cutting the path, whether it was wet or dry. On the other side of the river, they tried to head in the northeast direction and found themselves on uneven, bumpy ground covered with the thickest jungle we encountered anywhere in the region. The trees weren’t very large, in fact most of them were quite small, but they were made of particularly hard wood, which quickly dulled the Gurkhas' kukris, and they were so close together that it was nearly impossible to push through them. Eventually, a path was cleared to the Iwaka River, five miles east of the Wataikwa.
AT THE EDGE OF THE JUNGLE.
AT THE EDGE OF THE JUNGLE.
Some idea of the difficulty of cutting this track may be learnt, when it is said that Rawling and Marshall with three Gurkhas and five natives were occupied for three weeks in cutting five thousand yards of the way, and the whole distance of five miles was cut in five weeks. Unfortunately it was labour in vain, the path when finished was too difficult for men to traverse with loads. We cut another track, which avoided the hilly ground and brought us to the Iwaka close to the point reached by the first; by the new track, which was cut in a week, we were able to reach the Iwaka in three hours’ walk from the Wataikwa.
Some idea of the difficulty of cutting this track can be gathered from the fact that Rawling and Marshall, along with three Gurkhas and five locals, spent three weeks carving out five thousand yards of the path, and the entire five-mile stretch took five weeks to complete. Unfortunately, it was all in vain, as the finished path was too challenging for people to travel with loads. We carved out another route that bypassed the hilly area and brought us close to the Iwaka, near the spot reached by the first path; by this new route, which we cut in a week, we were able to reach the Iwaka in just three hours of walking from the Wataikwa.
CHAPTER XIV
The Camp at the Wataikwa River—Malay Coolies—“Amok”—A Double Murder—A View of the Snow Mountains—Felling Trees—Floods—Village washed Away—The Wettest Season—The Effects of Floods—Beri-beri—Arrival of C. Grant—Departure of W. Goodfellow.
The Camp by the Wataikwa River—Malay Workers—“Amok”—A Double Murder—A View of the Snow Mountains—Cutting Down Trees—Floods—Village Washed Away—The Wettest Season—The Effects of Floods—Beri-beri—Arrival of C. Grant—Departure of W. Goodfellow.
If I were to write a true and complete account of the expedition, I should fill many pages with repeated stories of rain and floods, sickness among the coolies and our consequent inaction; but that would be as wearisome to the reader as it was trying to our own patience. During July and a part of August we sent out parties of coolies to the Wataikwa camp, where a considerable depôt of food was formed, but about the middle of the latter month the number of our coolies was reduced to twenty, of whom not more than half were capable of any hard work, and it became quite evident that any further progress in the direction of the mountains was out of the question until we should get a fresh supply of men.
If I were to write a true and complete account of the expedition, I would fill many pages with repeated stories of rain and floods, illness among the coolies, and our resulting inaction; but that would be as tiresome for the reader as it was frustrating for us. During July and part of August, we sent groups of coolies to the Wataikwa camp, where a significant stock of food was gathered, but around the middle of August, our number of coolies dropped to twenty, of whom only about half were able to do any hard work. It became clear that any further progress toward the mountains was impossible until we could get a new supply of men.
As the number of coolies grew fewer we sent natives with them to carry stores out to the Wataikwa, but the supply of willing natives was very uncertain and it became a matter of some difficulty to keep up a regular communication with that camp. Two Gurkhas and two Javanese soldiers remained always at the Wataikwa and one or other of us went out there and stopped to make natural history collections or to superintend the cutting 185of the road on the other side of the river for a few weeks at a time, while the others were at Parimau or at Wakatimi. We managed to continue this arrangement until the end of October, when it became no longer possible to keep an European supplied out there; thenceforward until the beginning of January the camp at the Wataikwa was occupied only by the guard of Gurkhas and Javanese, who in the meantime consumed nearly all the stores that had been so laboriously accumulated there.
As the number of laborers decreased, we sent locals with them to transport supplies to the Wataikwa, but finding willing locals was very unreliable, making it quite challenging to maintain steady communication with that camp. Two Gurkhas and two Javanese soldiers always stayed at the Wataikwa, and one of us would go out there and stay for a few weeks to collect natural history specimens or supervise the road construction on the other side of the river, while the others were at Parimau or Wakatimi. We managed to keep this arrangement going until the end of October, when it became no longer feasible to have a European out there; from then until the beginning of January, the camp at the Wataikwa was only occupied by the guard of Gurkhas and Javanese, who in the meantime consumed nearly all the supplies that had been so painstakingly gathered there.
CAMP OF THE EXPEDITION AT PARIMAU.
CAMP OF THE EXPEDITION AT PARIMAU.
We often said hard things to and of our Malay coolies, but the poor wretches were not to blame for being such incompetent carriers. At their proper occupations of carrying cargo to and from the ships at Macassar, or working on the boats of the pearl-fishers, or doing odd jobs in their native places, no doubt they excelled; but at struggling through the New Guinea jungle with even the lightest of loads they were hopeless failures and the wonder was that they survived as long as they did. Taking them all round, the majority of them worked as well as they could, and some of them even became quite attached to us.
We often said harsh things to and about our Malay workers, but the poor guys weren't to blame for being such ineffective carriers. In their proper jobs of transporting cargo to and from the ships at Macassar, or working on the boats of the pearl-fishers, or doing various tasks in their hometowns, they surely excelled; but when it came to struggling through the New Guinea jungle with even the lightest of loads, they completely failed, and it was a wonder they managed to survive as long as they did. All in all, most of them worked as well as they could, and some even grew quite attached to us.
To a large number of people the name of Malay immediately suggests a savage person who runs amok, but you may live for years in a Malay country and never see a single amok. Fortunately our Malays never behaved in this dangerous fashion, though one day a man who was suffering from fever went suddenly mad and inflicted a serious knife-wound on the body of another coolie; the wounded man was successfully treated by Marshall, who was happily but seldom required in this way to exercise his vocation as surgeon. Malays are186 indeed rather too handy with their knives and a more serious encounter took place one day between two of Cramer’s convicts. These two men, a mandoer (head man) and another, quarrelled one morning about some trifle connected with their food, and before anybody knew what was amiss, knives were out and one was chasing the other through the camp. By a clever backward thrust the pursued man dealt the pursuer a deep wound under the heart, but he was unable to escape before the pursuer had given him too a mortal wound. One died in a few minutes and the other during the course of the day, fortunately perhaps for both of them.
For a lot of people, the name Malay immediately brings to mind someone wild who goes amok, but you could live in a Malay country for years and never see a single amok. Luckily, our Malays never acted this way, although one day a man suffering from fever suddenly went mad and seriously injured another worker with a knife; the injured man was successfully treated by Marshall, who was fortunately not often needed in this way as a surgeon. Malays are 186 indeed a bit too quick with their knives, and a more serious incident occurred one day between two of Cramer’s convicts. These two men, a mandoer (head man) and another, got into a fight one morning over some minor issue related to their food, and before anyone realized what was happening, they had their knives out, with one chasing the other through the camp. With a clever backward thrust, the man being chased gave the pursuer a deep wound under the heart, but he couldn’t escape before the pursuer also inflicted a fatal wound on him. One died within a few minutes, and the other later in the day, which was perhaps fortunate for both of them.
But ordinarily our Malays were most quiet and peaceable fellows. Certainly they were liars and thieves when it suited their convenience to be so, but these two faults are almost universal in the East. They were enthusiastic fishermen (a sure sign of grace) and spent many hours of their leisure time in angling for small fish, which they very seldom caught. Another of their virtues, though it sometimes became a little wearisome, was their love of singing, in which they indulged on fine evenings. The Ambonese used to sing, accompanied by a soloist on a sort of penny whistle, some really pretty songs, possibly of Portuguese origin, to which one could listen with real pleasure. But the singing of the Javanese, usually in a high falsetto voice, was a burden hardly to be borne.
But generally, our Malays were pretty calm and easy-going guys. Sure, they could be dishonest and steal when it benefited them, but those two traits are pretty common in the East. They were passionate about fishing (a clear sign of character) and spent a lot of their free time trying to catch small fish, which they rarely managed to do. One of their positive traits, although it could get a bit tiresome at times, was their love for singing, especially on nice evenings. The Ambonese would sing, with a soloist playing a kind of penny whistle, some really lovely songs that might have Portuguese roots, which you could listen to with genuine enjoyment. However, the singing of the Javanese, usually in a high falsetto, was difficult to endure.
In dealing with people like the Malays it is essential to keep them constantly occupied in order to prevent them from brooding too much over their untoward circumstances and becoming, as they easily do,187 physically ill. Accordingly, during the times when for one reason or another they were not carrying out loads to the Wataikwa camp, we set them to clearing the jungle about the camp at Parimau, and in the course of time some ten or twelve acres were cleared. Apart from the object of drying and letting light into the camp, this clearing was made with the purpose of obtaining from Parimau a view of the Snow Mountains. This latter object was ultimately attained and proved of great service to the surveyors, who were enabled to fix more definitely the various points of the range seen from a place of which they had already determined the position by astronomical observations. To the non-surveyor too the view of the mountains was a boon, though rather a tantalising one, and I used to spend many hours in the mornings, before the mists had hidden them, in scanning the snows of Idenburg and Carstensz and planning routes by which they might be reached.
When dealing with people like the Malays, it’s important to keep them busy to stop them from dwelling too much on their difficult situations and potentially becoming, as they often do, physically unwell. So, during the times when they weren't transporting loads to the Wataikwa camp for various reasons, we had them clear the jungle around the camp at Parimau, and over time, about ten to twelve acres were cleared. Besides the goal of drying out and brightening the camp, this clearing was also meant to provide a view of the Snow Mountains from Parimau. We eventually achieved this goal, which greatly helped the surveyors, allowing them to pinpoint various points of the range that they had already located using astronomical observations. For those not involved in surveying, the view of the mountains was a treat, albeit a frustrating one, and I would often spend hours in the mornings, before the mists obscured them, gazing at the snows of Idenburg and Carstensz and planning possible routes to reach them.
Cutting down trees in the New Guinea jungle differs from cutting down trees here in that the tree does not always fall, even when the trunk is cut completely through. Amongst the tops of the trees grows an extraordinary network of rattans and other creepers of sufficient strength to support a tree, even if it is inclined to fall. We spent some time one day in firing shots with a rifle at a single creeper, thicker than a man’s arm, which was holding up a tree without any other support; though I believe we sometimes pierced the creeper with bullets, it held on and only gave way some hours later. As a rule we did not take the trouble to188 cut the creepers, but if a tree did not fall we cut down those about it until they all fell together in one splendid crash. On sloping ground the best method of felling trees is to cut their trunks only half way through and leave them, and then to cut completely through a big tree above them in such a way that it will fall down hill and complete the felling of those below it.
Cutting down trees in the New Guinea jungle is different from cutting down trees here because the tree doesn’t always fall, even when the trunk is completely cut through. Among the tops of the trees grows an incredible network of rattans and other vines strong enough to hold up a tree, even if it's leaning to fall. One day, we spent some time shooting at a single vine, thicker than a man's arm, that was supporting a tree with no other help; although we sometimes pierced the vine with bullets, it stayed intact and only gave way hours later. Usually, we didn’t bother to cut the vines, but if a tree didn’t fall, we cut down the ones around it until they all came crashing down together. On sloping ground, the best way to fell trees is to cut their trunks only halfway through and leave them, then cut completely through a large tree above them so that it falls downhill and finishes the job on those below it.
Some of the trees that we cut down in our clearing fell in the most unexpected directions, but though there were some narrow escapes, there were no accidents. The most unpleasant was a tree which fell midway between two houses, one full of coolies and the other full of stores, and shaved off the projecting roof of both; it might easily have killed half-a-dozen sleeping men, but the only harm it did was to fill the camp with a swarm of large and furiously biting ants, which had had a nest in its topmost branches. The natives, who never tired of using our steel axes, helped a good deal in felling the trees and in this way some of them earned large quantities of coloured beads.
Some of the trees we cut down in our clearing fell in the most unexpected ways, but although there were a few close calls, there were no accidents. The worst incident was when a tree fell right between two houses, one filled with workers and the other with supplies, and it knocked off the overhanging roofs of both. It could have easily injured several sleeping men, but luckily, the only damage it caused was to fill the camp with a swarm of large, aggressively biting ants that had a nest in its top branches. The locals, who never got tired of using our steel axes, helped a lot with cutting down the trees, and in doing so, some of them earned a lot of colorful beads.
Another occupation for the coolies in their idle moments, and at the same time a very necessary work, was the business of keeping the camp in a state of repair. When the high river bank opposite the village of Parimau was chosen for a camping ground, it was thought that floods at all events could do no harm. The houses nearest to the river were built five or six yards back from the edge of the bank, which was there about fifteen feet above the usual level of the water, and it seemed quite out of the question that the river could ever invade the camp. It was necessary, in order to prevent it from becoming 189the dumping ground of camp-refuse, to clear away the rank vegetation that grew on the bank down to the water’s edge, and this was the beginning of what almost ended in our downfall. After the tangle of creepers had been removed, the first rains began to wash the bank away, and when the river rose three or four feet, as it speedily did after a few hours’ downpour, it undermined the lower part of the bank and large landslips took place from above.
Another job for the laborers during their free time, and also a very important task, was keeping the camp in good shape. When the high riverbank across from the village of Parimau was chosen as the camping site, it was believed that floods wouldn’t pose much of a threat. The closest houses to the river were built five or six yards back from the bank, which was about fifteen feet above the usual water level, so it seemed impossible for the river to ever reach the camp. To avoid the camp becoming a dumping ground for trash, it was essential to clear the thick vegetation that grew on the bank down to the water's edge, and this was the start of what almost led to our downfall. After we removed the tangled vines, the first rains began to wash away the bank, and when the river rose three or four feet, which it quickly did after just a few hours of heavy rain, it weakened the lower part of the bank and caused large landslips from above.
THE CAMP AT PARIMAU. A PRECAUTION AGAINST FLOODS.
THE CAMP AT PARIMAU. A SAFEGUARD AGAINST FLOODS.
In the course of a few weeks several yards of land disappeared, and the safety of our houses, which had come to be almost overhanging the river, was seriously imperilled. To save them we erected a strong palisade of long poles thrust deeply into the bottom of the bank and secured them by rattan ropes, which passed through our house and were attached to posts at the back. The interval between the palisade and the bank was laboriously filled up with shingle from the river bed, and this provided a never-ending occupation, because the stones were always trickling through the palisade and required to be renewed. The natives were of great assistance to us in this work, and on one occasion—it was the only time that we ever persuaded them to come into our camp, although we lived within a few yards of their village—the women and children came and helped in the work and thoroughly enjoyed themselves.
In just a few weeks, several yards of land were lost, putting the safety of our houses, which had come to almost hang over the river, in serious jeopardy. To protect them, we built a sturdy fence with long poles driven deep into the bank and secured them with rattan ropes that passed through our house and were fastened to posts at the back. We filled the space between the fence and the bank with gravel from the riverbed, which became a never-ending task because the stones kept slipping through the fence and needed to be replaced. The locals helped us significantly with this work, and one time—this was the only occasion we ever convinced them to come into our camp, even though we lived just a few yards from their village—the women and children came and lent a hand, thoroughly enjoying the work.
It was well that we took these precautions, for as the weather grew steadily wetter and wetter (though that seemed hardly possible) through July and August, so the river rose higher and higher and each succeeding flood was greater than the last. The night of the 18-19th of190 August was one that I shall never forget: it had been raining steadily for some days and the river was fairly full, but about sunset on the 18th the rain really began to come down solidly, as it does in the Tropics. About midnight a terrific thunderstorm began, which continued with almost incessant thunder and lightning until dawn, but long before this the river had risen many feet and was already threatening the village. As soon as the waters began to rise the natives appeared at the edge of the river with blazing torches, while canoes were baled out and brought nearer to the shore. When the flood, rising visibly by that time, reached the lowest house, a most extraordinary Bedlam broke loose and it sounded as if all the people in the village were being drowned. The men all shouted at once, the women and children screamed and the dogs whined and howled. By the light of the flashes of lightning we could see them scurrying hither and thither, bundling all their belongings into the canoes and trying to save the roofs and matting walls of their huts by throwing them among the branches of the trees at the back of the village. In a very short time all the houses were swamped and the people were in their canoes, about twenty in all, moored to the branches of the trees along the edge of the jungle, where they kept up an unceasing turmoil until daylight.
It was a good thing we took these precautions because as the weather got wetter and wetter (which seemed impossible) throughout July and August, the river continued to rise, and each flood was worse than the last. The night of August 18-19 is one I will never forget: it had been raining steadily for several days, and the river was quite full, but around sunset on the 18th, the rain started pouring down hard, like it does in the tropics. Around midnight, a massive thunderstorm hit, with nearly constant thunder and lightning until dawn, but well before that, the river had risen several feet and was already threatening the village. As the waters began to rise, the locals appeared at the riverbank with torches, while they emptied out canoes and brought them closer to shore. When the flood, which was rising visibly by then, reached the lowest house, total chaos erupted, and it sounded like everyone in the village was drowning. The men shouted all at once, the women and children screamed, and the dogs whined and howled. In the flashes of lightning, we could see people rushing around, stuffing their belongings into canoes and trying to save the roofs and matting walls of their huts by tossing them into the branches of the trees behind the village. In no time, all the houses were submerged, and the people were in their canoes—about twenty in total—tied to the branches of the trees along the jungle edge, where they kept up a constant noise until morning.
THE MIMIKA AT PARIMAU. LOW WATER.
THE MIMIKA AT PARIMAU. LOW WATER.
THE SAME IN FLOOD. THE VILLAGE HAS DISAPPEARED AND THE PEOPLE ARE IN CANOES.
THE SAME IN FLOOD. THE VILLAGE HAS GONE, AND THE PEOPLE ARE IN CANOES.
In the meantime our own position was not very secure. The river was swirling down at ten or twelve miles an hour and bringing with it huge tree-trunks, which carried away our fleet of canoes and threatened to destroy our protecting palisade. If that had gone nothing could have prevented our houses from falling 191into the river, but happily it held well. The whole of the jungle on our side of the river was under water and all sorts of creatures sought the shelter of our houses, which occupied the highest position. When even these were flooded, armies of ants and beetles and other insects climbed up our beds and other furniture to escape from drowning, moths washed out of their resting places fluttered aimlessly about, and a family of rats, which inhabited my hut, ran about squeaking in terror.
In the meantime, our situation wasn't very secure. The river was rushing down at about ten or twelve miles an hour, bringing with it huge tree trunks that swept away our fleet of canoes and threatened to destroy our protective fence. If that had gone, nothing could have stopped our houses from falling into the river, but thankfully, it held strong. The entire jungle on our side of the river was underwater, and all sorts of creatures sought refuge in our homes, which were at the highest point. When even those were flooded, swarms of ants, beetles, and other insects climbed up our beds and furniture to escape from drowning, moths blown out of their resting spots fluttered around aimlessly, and a family of rats living in my hut ran around squeaking in fear. 191
Beyond the loss of our canoes, some of which were afterwards recovered, no great damage was done, and the flood fell almost as quickly as it had risen. Soon after daybreak the ground, on which the village had been, began to appear above the falling water, and it was seen that not one stick of the huts was standing. But the natives were anxious to get out of their canoes, and by mid-day half the huts in the village were re-built with the fragments that they had crammed into the canoes or had put up into the trees. During the next two or three days they brought back quantities of housing materials, which had been carried for miles down the river, and very soon the village resumed its normal appearance.
Beyond the loss of our canoes, some of which were later recovered, there wasn't much damage, and the flood receded almost as quickly as it had risen. Soon after dawn, the ground where the village used to be began to emerge as the water fell, and it was clear that not a single hut was left standing. However, the locals were eager to get out of their canoes, and by midday, half of the huts in the village had been rebuilt using the pieces they had stuffed into the canoes or had placed in the trees. Over the next two or three days, they brought back loads of building materials that had been swept miles down the river, and before long, the village looked normal again.
On two subsequent occasions in the following month the village was completely swept away by floods, and it was a matter of surprise to us that they did not adopt the custom of their neighbours the Tapiro pygmies and build their houses on piles. The third great flood swept away the sandbank on which the village stood, and they were accordingly compelled to build their houses on the top of a high bank further down the river. Such a place192 as that necessitated cutting down a number of big trees, but now that a great many of them have the steel axes, which we gave them, it is to be hoped that they have learnt to place their dwellings in safer positions, even though it costs them a little extra labour.
On two separate occasions the following month, the village was completely destroyed by floods, and we were surprised that they didn’t follow the example of their neighbors, the Tapiro pygmies, by building their houses on stilts. The third major flood washed away the sandbank the village was built on, so they had to construct their homes on top of a higher bank further down the river. A location like that required cutting down several large trees, but now that many of them have the steel axes we provided, we hope they’ve learned to build their homes in safer locations, even if it takes a bit more effort.
The wet season, which we hoped had reached its maximum of wetness in July, when sometimes for days together the rain hardly ceased, continued in a series of greater or less floods through the months of August and September. Often it was impossible to move a yard from the camp, and without books life would have been almost insupportable. On one of the wettest of those days I came across the following passage, which seemed to describe the situation exactly:—
The rainy season, which we thought had hit its peak in July, when it rained almost nonstop for days, went on with various levels of flooding through August and September. Often, it was impossible to move even a short distance from the campsite, and without books, life would have been nearly unbearable. On one of the rainiest days, I found the following passage that perfectly captured the situation:—
It need hardly be said that this very disagreeable season produced ill effects on all the members of the expedition. The Europeans became depressed, and if we were not sick of life itself, we were certainly sick of New Guinea, while in the case of the coolies and soldiers, who were accustomed to sunnier climates, and who had no interest or goal to look forward to in the country, the results were disastrous indeed. Hardly a man escaped fever of greater or less severity and chills brought on by the unceasing rain and the consequent impossibility of securing a change of dry clothing. Several men suffered too from dysentery of a very intractable type, which completely incapacitated them from any further service.
It hardly needs saying that this really unpleasant season had negative effects on everyone in the expedition. The Europeans felt down, and while we weren't exactly fed up with life itself, we were definitely tired of New Guinea. For the coolies and soldiers, who were used to sunnier climates and had no interest or objectives to look forward to in the country, the effects were truly disastrous. Almost everyone was hit with fever, whether mild or severe, along with chills from the never-ending rain and the resulting inability to get dry clothes. Several men also suffered from a severe case of dysentery that completely disabled them from any further work.
But worse than either fever or dysentery was the193 beri-beri, which made its appearance after we had been in the country for a few months. This is not the place to give a scientific account of beri-beri; it will suffice to say that it is a disease, of which the most important feature is a degeneration of the nervous system. The results of this are seen in the curious and characteristic walk, loss of sensation in various parts of the body, interference with the circulation and swelling of the body and particularly of the face and limbs, and in very many cases sudden heart failure. It is almost conclusively proved now that the cause of the disease is an error of diet, and it appears to be certain that the fine milling and polishing of the rice, which forms the staple food of the natives of so many countries in the East, deprives the rice of a very necessary constituent as a food. Those people, who grind their own rice and do not mill or polish it finely, but leave a small portion of the husk still adhering to the grain, are free from beri-beri. The disease varies in severity from time to time and from place to place, but at its best it is a very deadly scourge and it causes a very large number of deaths. Occasionally it occurs in an epidemic form, but fortunately that did not happen to our expedition.
But worse than either fever or dysentery was the193 beri-beri, which showed up after we had been in the country for a few months. This isn't the place for a scientific explanation of beri-beri; it's enough to say that it's a disease characterized by deterioration of the nervous system. The effects are seen in the distinctive and odd way people walk, loss of sensation in various parts of the body, issues with circulation, swelling of the body, especially the face and limbs, and in many cases, sudden heart failure. It's now almost conclusively proven that the disease is caused by a dietary deficiency, and it's clear that the fine milling and polishing of rice—the staple food for so many people in the East—strips away an essential nutrient. People who grind their own rice and don't mill or polish it finely, leaving a small amount of the husk on the grain, are free from beri-beri. The severity of the disease varies over time and in different locations, but at its worst, it's a very deadly affliction that causes a significant number of deaths. Occasionally, it appears in epidemic form, but fortunately, that didn’t happen to our expedition.
In the six months from the beginning of June to the end of November, thirty-nine men shewed definite symptoms of beri-beri, and seven deaths were directly attributable to this cause. Our coolies, who came from the Eastern islands of the Archipelago, were much less susceptible to the disease than were the convicts and soldiers, most of whom came from Java and Sumatra; these latter contracted the disease in a much more194 serious form and most of the fatal cases took place among them. It was a curious circumstance that at Parimau, which was in most respects by far the healthier place, many more cases of beri-beri occurred than at Wakatimi, where it is doubtful if any cases originated.
In the six months from the start of June to the end of November, thirty-nine men showed clear symptoms of beri-beri, and seven deaths were directly linked to this condition. Our laborers, who came from the Eastern islands of the Archipelago, were much less likely to get the disease compared to the convicts and soldiers, most of whom were from Java and Sumatra; these groups contracted the disease in a much more serious form, and most of the fatal cases occurred among them. It was strange that at Parimau, which was generally a healthier place, many more cases of beri-beri were reported than at Wakatimi, where it’s uncertain if any cases even started.
Still more remarkable was the case of the camp on the Wataikwa River, which ought to have been the healthiest place we occupied anywhere in the country. For several months a guard of two Javanese and two Gurkhas was kept there to look after the store of food, and though they were very frequently changed and replaced by others, several of the Javanese developed beri-beri and two of them died. The Gurkhas, perhaps because they led more active lives than the Javanese, remained free of the disease until one of them, Havildar Mahesur, a most useful man, had the misfortune to damage one of his eyes; it was necessary for him to remain in the darkness of his tent for some days and within a fortnight he developed all the signs of beri-beri so that he had to be sent away from the country.
Even more astonishing was the situation at the camp on the Wataikwa River, which should have been the healthiest place we stayed in throughout the country. For several months, a guard made up of two Javanese and two Gurkhas was stationed there to take care of the food supplies, and although they were frequently rotated and replaced, several of the Javanese developed beri-beri, and two of them died. The Gurkhas, possibly because they lived more active lives than the Javanese, managed to stay free of the disease until one of them, Havildar Mahesur, who was extremely valuable, unfortunately injured one of his eyes. He had to stay in the darkness of his tent for several days, and within two weeks, he showed all the symptoms of beri-beri, requiring him to be sent away from the country.
A welcome interruption in those dreary months was caused by the arrival at Parimau on August 26 of canoes bringing Mr. C. H. B. Grant, who had come out from England as naturalist to the expedition in the place of W. Stalker. He brought with him two Dayak collectors15 and a quantity of various and excellent stores, and a large mail, the first we had received since the end of May. Shortridge had arrived in the country by the same ship 195on his return from Australia, but his change of air had not completely cured him and he was compelled to leave the country at the end of November. Goodfellow, whose fever continued almost without interruption, became so weak that he also was obliged to leave the country early in October. From that time we had only a dozen men and no forward movement was possible until the arrival of our third batch of coolies on the 22nd December. By the same boat that brought the new coolies in December came instructions to Captain Rawling to take over the command of the expedition.
A welcome break in those dull months came with the arrival at Parimau on August 26 of canoes carrying Mr. C. H. B. Grant, who had come from England as a naturalist for the expedition in place of W. Stalker. He brought along two Dayak collectors15 and a variety of excellent supplies, plus a large mail shipment, the first we had received since the end of May. Shortridge had arrived in the country on the same ship on his return from Australia, but the change of scenery hadn’t fully cured him, and he had to leave the country at the end of November. Goodfellow, whose fever persisted almost nonstop, became so weak that he too had to leave the country early in October. After that, we only had about a dozen men, and no progress was possible until our third group of laborers arrived on December 22. The same boat that brought the new laborers in December also brought instructions for Captain Rawling to take over command of the expedition.
CHAPTER XV
Pygmies visit Parimau—Description of Tapiro Pygmies—Colour—Hair—Clothing—Ornaments—Netted Bags—Flint Knives—Bone Daggers—Sleeping Mats—Fire Stick—Method of making Fire—Cultivation of Tobacco—Manner of Smoking—Bows and Arrows—Village of the Pygmies—Terraced Ground—Houses on Piles—Village Headman—Our Efforts to see the Women—Language and Voices—Their Intelligence—Counting—Their Geographical Distribution.
Pygmies visit Parimau—Description of Tapiro Pygmies—Skin Color—Hair—Clothing—Jewelry—Net Bags—Flint Knives—Bone Daggers—Sleeping Mats—Fire Starter—How to Create Fire—Growing Tobacco—How They Smoke—Bows and Arrows—Pygmy Village—Terraced Land—Stilt Houses—Village Leader—Our Efforts to Meet the Women—Language and Voices—Their Intelligence—Counting—Their Geographic Distribution.
The Pygmy people—or Tapiro as they are called by the Papuans—whom we saw in March, visited us occasionally in small parties of three or four at Parimau and later we went to one of their villages in the hills, to which they were reluctantly persuaded to show us the way. When they come down to Parimau they were warmly welcomed by the Papuans, with whom they seemed to be on very friendly terms, and stayed in their houses for two or three days. They appeared to be particularly attractive to the women, one of whom we saw affectionately embrace a Tapiro on his arrival; it was said that she kissed him, but if that was so it was the only occasion on which that form of endearment was seen practised by the Papuans. It was noticeable that when they arrived at Parimau they had not their bows and arrows, which they always carry elsewhere; probably they had left them hidden in the jungle before they came to the village. Similarly, when we went up to visit the Tapiro, the Papuans who 197were with us left their spears behind them at the last camp before we reached their village.
The Pygmy people—or Tapiro, as the Papuans call them—who we saw in March, occasionally visited us in small groups of three or four at Parimau. Later, we made a trip to one of their villages in the hills, and they were somewhat hesitant but agreed to show us the way. When they came down to Parimau, they were warmly welcomed by the Papuans, with whom they seemed to have a friendly relationship. They stayed in their houses for two or three days. The Tapiro appeared to be especially appealing to the women; one of them affectionately embraced a Tapiro when he arrived. It was said that she kissed him, but if that happened, it was the only time we saw that kind of affection among the Papuans. It was noticeable that when they arrived at Parimau, they did not have their bows and arrows, which they usually carry everywhere else; they probably left them hidden in the jungle before coming to the village. Similarly, when we went up to visit the Tapiro, the Papuans who were with us left their spears behind at the last camp before we reached their village.
A TAPIRO PYGMY.
A Pygmy Tapir.
Their visits were always very welcome because they brought with them from the hills quantities of tobacco to exchange with the natives of Parimau, who grow none themselves. At first they were very shy of crossing the river, but by the offer of gifts we persuaded them to come into our camp, where we had better opportunities of observing them than in the crowded village.
Their visits were always very welcome because they brought a lot of tobacco from the hills to trade with the people of Parimau, who don’t grow any themselves. At first, they were hesitant to cross the river, but with some gifts, we convinced them to come to our camp, where we could observe them more easily than in the crowded village.
At one time or another we took measurements of 40 adult men, most of them men in the prime of life, and their average height was found to be 144·9 cm. (4 ft. 9 in.). It is possible that one or two rather tall men of 150 cm. and upwards, whose appearance led us to suspect that they were Tapiro-Papuan half-breeds, may have been included among those measured, but the correction of that error will not appreciably reduce the true average height. The height of the smallest man measured was 132·6 cm. By contrast with the Papuans they looked extremely small and, what was rather a curious thing, though many of our Malay coolies were no taller than they, the coolies looked merely under-sized and somewhat stunted men, while the Tapiro looked emphatically little men. They are cleanly-built, active-looking little fellows, rather big in the buttocks as mountain people are apt to be, and their well-made calves are noticeable in contrast with the long, straight legs of the Papuans. They walk with an easy swinging gait, the knees a little bent and the body slightly leaning forwards.
At some point, we measured 40 adult men, most of them in their prime, and their average height was found to be 144.9 cm (4 ft. 9 in.). It's possible that one or two taller men, around 150 cm and up, whom we suspected were of mixed Tapiro-Papuan descent, may have been included in the measurements, but correcting this error wouldn’t significantly change the true average height. The shortest man measured was 132.6 cm. Compared to the Papuans, they appeared quite short, and interestingly, although many of our Malay laborers were the same height, they just seemed slightly under-sized and a bit stunted, while the Tapiro looked undeniably little. They are well-built, active little guys, a bit thicker in the hips like many mountain people, and their well-shaped calves stand out in contrast to the long, straight legs of the Papuans. They walk with a relaxed, swinging stride, knees slightly bent and their bodies leaning forward a bit.
The colour of their skin is paler than that of the Papuans—some of them indeed are almost yellow—but they are so indescribably dirty that it is not easy to know what is their true colour; they have also an ugly habit of smearing their faces with a black oily mixture. Neither tattooing nor cicatrization appears to be practised by them. The septum of the nose is always pierced and in it they occasionally wear a curved boar’s tusk planed down to a thin slip, or a short piece of straight bone; the alae nasi are not pierced. The nose is straight and very wide at the nostrils. The upper lip of many of the men is long and curiously convex.
The color of their skin is lighter than that of the Papuans—some of them are almost yellow—but they are so incredibly dirty that it’s hard to know what their actual color is; they also have an unpleasant habit of smearing their faces with a black oily mixture. Neither tattooing nor scarring seems to be done by them. The septum of the nose is always pierced, and they sometimes wear a curved boar’s tusk shaped into a thin strip or a short piece of straight bone in it; the alae nasi are not pierced. The nose is straight and very wide at the nostrils. The upper lip of many of the men is long and oddly convex.
The hair is short and woolly and black; many of the men give a lighter shade to the hair with lime or mud, and in two or three cases it seemed to be of a brown colour without any artificial treatment. They appear to begin to grow bald at a comparatively early age. The younger men grow whiskers and the older have short bushy black beards. There is a good deal of short downy black hair scattered about the body. Their eyes are noticeably larger and rounder than those of the Papuans, and there is in them something sleepy and dog-like which gives a pathetic expression to their faces.16
The hair is short, curly, and black; many of the men lighten their hair with lime or mud, and in a few cases, it looks brown without any treatment. They seem to start going bald at a fairly young age. Younger men grow sideburns, while older men have short, bushy black beards. There’s a fair amount of fine black hair scattered across their bodies. Their eyes are noticeably larger and rounder than those of the Papuans, and there’s a sleepy, dog-like quality in them that gives their faces a sad expression.16
When we first saw them one or two men wore curious helmet-like caps of plaited fibres and another had a strip of fur round his head; otherwise they are completely naked except for the remarkable gourd case described above (p. 161). Strangely enough they are extremely modest and unwilling to expose themselves; when with some difficulty we had persuaded 199a man to part with his case, he would not remove it then and there, but always disappeared into the jungle and returned after an interval decently covered with leaves.
When we first saw them, one or two men were wearing strange helmet-like caps made of woven fibers, and another had a strip of fur wrapped around his head; other than that, they were completely naked except for the unique gourd case mentioned earlier (p. 161). Interestingly, they were very modest and hesitant to expose themselves; after much effort to convince a man to let go of his case, he wouldn’t take it off right away but instead disappeared into the jungle and came back after a while, modestly covered with leaves.
Their ornaments are few and simple; a number of men wear arm-bands and leg-bands of plaited fibre similar to those worn by the Papuans, and several of them wear necklaces of seeds, short pieces of bamboo, scraps of broken shell, teeth of wallabies and (in one instance) the bones of a small mammal. The lobes of both ears are pierced and a few men wear in one ear an ornament made of a small piece of gourd to which are attached seeds, scraps of fur, claws of birds and other ornamental odds and ends. One young man, with more originality than the rest, thrust through his front hair a piece of sharpened bone, which projected downwards over his face and gave him a most distinguished appearance (see Frontispiece).
Their decorations are minimal and straightforward; several men wear arm and leg bands made of braided fiber similar to those worn by the Papuans, and some of them sport necklaces made of seeds, short sections of bamboo, pieces of broken shell, wallaby teeth, and (in one case) the bones of a small mammal. Both earlobes are pierced, and a few men wear an ornament in one ear made from a small piece of gourd to which seeds, bits of fur, bird claws, and other decorative odds and ends are attached. One young man, showing more creativity than the others, has a piece of sharpened bone stuck through his front hair, which hangs down over his face and gives him a very distinguished look (see Frontispiece).
The most elaborate and ornamental of their possessions are the bags, which every man carries. Most of them carry two, a large bag like a haversack slung across the shoulders and usually hanging down the back, and a small bag only a few inches square slung round his neck and hanging down on the chest. They are made of fine fibres of different colours, cleverly netted17 in ornamental patterns, and they show the best attempt at decorative art that we saw in the country. In these bags the Pygmy man keeps all his portable property. The small wallet round the neck contains his bone and 200shell ornaments when they are not in use, and his knives; these latter are sharp flakes of a flint-like stone shaped exactly like the flint-knives and scrapers that are found in this country; they are used for scraping down the wood of their bows and for pointing and ornamenting their arrows as well as for other cutting purposes, and it is profoundly interesting in these days of steel to see people still using the implements of prehistoric man. One or two men also carried in their wallets a short dagger made of a pointed cassowary’s bone, and they explained to us by graphic gestures how they were accustomed to shoot a cassowary with their arrows and then after a long chase to stab it with the dagger.
The most intricate and decorative of their belongings are the bags that every man carries. Most of them have two: a large bag resembling a haversack slung over their shoulders, usually hanging down their back, and a small bag only a few inches square worn around their neck, hanging down on their chest. These bags are made from fine fibers in various colors, skillfully woven into decorative patterns, showcasing the best example of decorative art that we observed in the country. In these bags, the Pygmy man keeps all his portable possessions. The small wallet around his neck holds his bone and shell ornaments when they're not in use, as well as his knives; these are sharp flakes of a flint-like stone shaped just like the flint knives and scrapers found in this region. They are used for shaving down the wood of their bows and for shaping and decorating their arrows, as well as for other cutting tasks. It's fascinating in this age of steel to see people still using tools from prehistoric times. One or two men also carried in their wallets a short dagger made from a pointed cassowary bone, and they demonstrated for us, using gestures, how they typically shoot a cassowary with their arrows and then, after a long chase, stab it with the dagger.
The contents of the larger bag usually are the sleeping mat, the fire-stick and rattan, and tobacco. The sleeping mat is a fabric of pandanus leaves, which can be used either as a mat to lie upon or as a shelter from the rain; it measures usually about six by three feet and is neatly folded to be carried in the bag. The manufacture of these mats is always the work of the women and is a very ingenious process. The long ribbon-like leaves of the pandanus are split horizontally into two strips; the shiny upper one alone is used and the lower is thrown away. Strips of two leaves are placed with their split surfaces together and their shiny surfaces outwards, and then numbers of these pairs of split leaves are sown together, edge to edge, until the mat is of the required size. Thus the mat is made entirely of the outer surfaces of the leaves; it is very strong and is quite impervious to rain.
The contents of the larger bag usually include the sleeping mat, the fire-stick and rattan, and tobacco. The sleeping mat is made from pandanus leaves, which can be used either as a mat to lie on or as a shelter from the rain; it typically measures about six by three feet and is neatly folded to fit in the bag. Making these mats is always the work of women and involves a very clever process. The long ribbon-like leaves of the pandanus are split horizontally into two strips; only the shiny upper strip is used, while the lower one is discarded. Strips from two leaves are placed together with their split sides facing each other and their shiny sides facing out, then multiple pairs of split leaves are sewn together, edge to edge, until the mat reaches the desired size. This way, the mat is made entirely from the outer surfaces of the leaves; it’s very strong and quite resistant to rain.
MAKING FIRE: (1) BY THE FRICTION OF WOOD AND RATTAN.
MAKING FIRE: (1) BY FRICTION OF WOOD AND RATTAN.
By far the most interesting of the possessions of these 201people is the apparatus for making fire, which consists of three different parts, the split stick, the rattan, and the tinder. The split stick is a short stick of wood an inch or so in diameter, which is split at one end and is held open by a small pebble placed between the split halves. The rattan is a long piece of split rattan wound upon itself into a neatly coiled ring (see illustration p. 202), and the tinder is usually a lump of the fibrous sheath of a palm shoot and sometimes a piece of dried moss.
The most fascinating possession of these 201 people is their fire-making tool, which has three parts: the split stick, the rattan, and the tinder. The split stick is a short piece of wood, about an inch in diameter, that is split at one end and kept open with a small pebble placed between the two halves. The rattan is a long piece of split rattan rolled up into a neat coil (see illustration p. 202), and the tinder is usually a clump of the fibrous covering of a palm shoot, and sometimes a piece of dried moss.
The method of making fire is as follows: In the split of the stick, between the stone which holds the split ends apart and the solid stick, is placed a small fragment of tinder. The operator—if one may use so modern a word in describing so ancient a practice—places the stick upon the ground and secures the solid, i.e. the unsplit end with his foot. Then, having unwound about a yard of the rattan, he holds the coil in one hand and the free end in the other and looping the middle of it underneath the stick at the point where the tinder is placed he proceeds to saw it backwards and forwards with extreme rapidity. In a short space of time, varying from ten to thirty seconds, the rattan snaps and he picks up the stick with the tinder, which has probably by this time begun to smoulder, and blows it into flame. At the point where the rattan rubs on the stick a deep cut is made on the stick, and at each successive use the stick is split a little further down and the rattan is rubbed a little further back, so that a well-used fire-stick is marked with a number of dark burnt rings. It was only with the greatest difficulty and after many attempts that we succeeded in producing fire in this manner, but the202 Tapiro do it with the utmost ease and they scorned our boxes of matches, which we offered them in exchange for their apparatus, and showed no signs of surprise at a suddenly kindled match.18
The method of making fire is as follows: In the split of the stick, between the stone that keeps the split ends apart and the solid stick, a small piece of tinder is placed. The person doing this—if one can use such a modern term for such an ancient practice—sets the stick on the ground and secures the solid, i.e., the unsplit end with their foot. Then, after unwinding about a yard of rattan, they hold the coil in one hand and the free end in the other, then loop the middle of it underneath the stick where the tinder is located, and proceed to saw it back and forth very rapidly. In a short time, ranging from ten to thirty seconds, the rattan snaps, and they pick up the stick with the tinder, which has likely begun to smolder by this point, and blow on it until it ignites. Where the rattan rubs against the stick, it creates a deep cut, and with each use, the stick is split a little further down and the rattan is rubbed a little further back, so a well-used fire stick is marked with several dark burnt rings. It took us great effort and many tries to produce fire this way, but the Tapiro do it effortlessly, dismissing the boxes of matches we offered them in exchange for their setup, showing no surprise at a suddenly lit match.202
The most frequent use of the fire-stick is in lighting the tobacco, of which nearly every man carries a supply in his larger bag. These people cultivate tobacco in sufficient quantities to be able to supply the Papuans of the low country. The leaves are dried and neatly rolled up into long bundles weighing three or four pounds; the flavour is strong and rather bitter, but it is not unpleasant to smoke. The Tapiro smoke tobacco chiefly as cigarettes, using for the wrapper a thin slip of dry pandanus leaf. When, as is often the case, the wrapper is very narrow and the tobacco is inclined to escape, the man smokes his cigarette in a peculiar manner; he holds the unlighted end in his fingers and with his mouth draws out the smoke from between the edges of the wrapper in the middle of the cigarette, this he continues to do until the cigarette is about half consumed when he puts the end in his mouth in the ordinary way.
The fire-stick is mostly used to light tobacco, which almost every man carries in his larger bag. These people grow enough tobacco to supply the Papuans of the lowlands. The leaves are dried and neatly rolled into long bundles weighing three or four pounds; the flavor is strong and somewhat bitter, but it's not unpleasant to smoke. The Tapiro mainly smoke tobacco as cigarettes, using a thin strip of dry pandanus leaf for the wrapper. Sometimes, when the wrapper is quite narrow and the tobacco tends to fall out, the man smokes his cigarette in a unique way; he holds the unlit end in his fingers and pulls the smoke through the edges of the wrapper in the middle of the cigarette with his mouth. He keeps doing this until the cigarette is about half gone, at which point he puts the end in his mouth like usual.
The Tapiro also smoke tobacco in a pipe in a fashion of their own. The pipe is a simple cylinder of bamboo about an inch in diameter and a few inches in length. A small plug of tobacco is rolled up and pushed down to about the middle of the pipe, and the smoker holding it upright between his lips draws out the smoke from below. 203The Tapiro never make large cigars like those of the Papuans of the Mimika, and the Papuans never smoke pipes, nor did they take readily to those that we gave them.
The Tapiro also smoke tobacco in their own unique way. Their pipe is a simple bamboo cylinder, about an inch in diameter and a few inches long. A small plug of tobacco is rolled up and pushed down to the middle of the pipe, and the smoker holds it upright between his lips to inhale the smoke from below. 203 The Tapiro don't make large cigars like the Papuans of the Mimika do, and the Papuans don't smoke pipes nor did they easily take to the ones we offered them.
MAKING FIRE: (2) BLOWING ON THE SMOULDERING TINDER.
MAKING FIRE: (2) BLOWING ON THE SMOLDERING TINDER.
Besides the bone daggers mentioned above the only weapon of the Tapiro are the bow and arrows, which they always carry. The bows are a very little shorter than those of the Papuans, but otherwise they are very similar, viz.: straight tapered strips of hard wood “strung” with a slip of rattan. The arrows are shorter and lighter and of finer workmanship than those of the Mimika Papuans, but like those they have neither feathers nor nocks. The best, which they were not at all anxious to sell to us, are ornamented with simple carvings and are tipped with a very sharp point of black wood. An arrow which ended in a curious blunt lump of wood was used, so we understood, for shooting birds.
Besides the bone daggers mentioned above, the only weapon the Tapiro have is the bow and arrows, which they always carry. The bows are slightly shorter than those of the Papuans, but otherwise, they are very similar: straight, tapered strips of hard wood "strung" with a piece of rattan. The arrows are shorter, lighter, and better crafted than those of the Mimika Papuans, but like theirs, they have neither feathers nor nocks. The best ones, which they were not keen to sell to us, are decorated with simple carvings and have very sharp tips made of black wood. An arrow that ended in a strange blunt lump of wood was used, as we understood, for shooting birds.
The Tapiro have no spears and neither they nor the Mimika Papuans know the use of the sling. They set quantities of little nooses for small animals, and we once found a rattan noose fixed to a root of a tree and evidently set with the purpose of catching a pig.
The Tapiro don’t have spears, and neither they nor the Mimika Papuans know how to use a sling. They make small nooses to catch small animals, and we once found a rattan noose tied to a tree root that was clearly set up to catch a pig.
Many of them carry in their bags a small Jew’s harp, made of a thin piece of bamboo, from which they extract faint music that is pleasing to their ears. Two men possessed instruments of a more original design: these were made of pieces of polished bone fitting together in such a way that when one was turned round over the other it produced peculiarly discordant squeaks, which were highly appreciated by the player.
Many of them have a small Jew’s harp in their bags, made from a thin piece of bamboo, which they use to produce soft music that they find enjoyable. Two men had instruments of a more unique design: they were made of polished bone pieces that fit together in such a way that when one was turned over the other, it created oddly discordant squeaks, which the player greatly appreciated.
Wamberi Merbiri or Wamberimi, the village of the204 Tapiro which was visited by different members of our party on three separate occasions, is situated on the lower slopes of Mount Tapiro, the mountain nearest to Parimau, at about 1800 feet above the sea. It is in fact within a stone’s throw of that large clearing which Rawling and I had reached with so much difficulty, but when approached by the track used by the people themselves it is an easy walk of two or three hours from the Kapare River.
Wamberi Merbiri or Wamberimi, the village of the204 Tapiro, has been visited by different members of our group on three separate occasions. It's located on the lower slopes of Mount Tapiro, the mountain closest to Parimau, at about 1800 feet above sea level. In fact, it's just a short distance from the large clearing that Rawling and I struggled to reach, but if you take the path used by the locals, it's an easy two to three-hour walk from the Kapare River.
The track climbs by a steep almost knife-edged ridge densely covered with forest to the rounded shoulder of the hill where the village lies. The first sign of the village is a flimsy fence of tall poles, which bars the track and extends for a short distance on either side of it. Passing through a narrow opening in the fence you come to a cleared space occupied by three or four houses. A couple of hundred yards beyond these and separated from them by a small gully, which is bridged by an enormous fallen tree, is a second group of six houses, constituting the village of Wamberi Merbiri.
The path ascends a steep, almost knife-edge ridge thick with trees, leading to the rounded shoulder of the hill where the village is located. The first indication of the village is a flimsy fence made of tall poles that blocks the path and runs a short distance on both sides. As you pass through a narrow gap in the fence, you reach an open area with three or four houses. A couple of hundred yards beyond this area, separated by a small gully crossed by a large fallen tree, is a second cluster of six houses, forming the village of Wamberi Merbiri.
The houses are scattered about over three or four acres of steeply sloping ground, from which most of the trees have been cleared. Between the houses the ground has been levelled in three places to form almost level terraces, measuring about fifteen by five yards, completely cleared of vegetation and covered with small stones. These terraces are held up on the lower side by logs and stumps of trees, and the labour of making them by people whose only tools are stone axes and pieces of wood is difficult to imagine; they are used, so far as we could understand, for dances and other ceremonies.
The houses are spread out over three or four acres of steep ground, most of the trees cleared away. Between the houses, the land has been leveled in three spots to create nearly flat terraces, each about fifteen by five yards, totally free of plants and covered with small stones. These terraces are supported on the lower side by logs and tree stumps, and it's hard to imagine the effort it took to create them with just stone axes and wooden tools; as far as we could tell, they're used for dances and other ceremonies.
WAMBERI-MERBIRI, THE VILLAGE OF THE TAPIRO PYGMIES.
WAMBERI-MERBIRI, THE VILLAGE OF THE TAPIRO PYGMIES.
The houses are greatly superior to those of the Mimika Papuans, from which they differ in every respect. They are built on piles, which raise the floor of the house from four to ten feet above the ground according to the steepness of the slope underneath. The walls are made of long laths of split wood with big sheets of bark fastened on to the outside. The roof is a fairly steep pitched angular structure of split wood covered with over-lapping leaves of the Fan-palm. The floor is made like the walls and covered with large sheets of bark; in the middle of the floor is a square sunken box filled with sand or earth in which a fire is kept burning, and over the fire hanging from the roof is a simple rack, on which wood is placed to dry. The house consists of one nearly square compartment, measuring about ten feet in each direction. The way of entering is by a steep ladder made of two posts tied closely together, which leads to a narrow platform or balcony in front of the front wall of the house. There are no notches on the posts, but the lashings of rattan, which tie them together, answer the purpose of steps or rungs for the feet. As well as in the excellence of their houses, the Tapiro show another point of superiority over the neighbouring Papuans in their habit of using a common retiring place at the edge of a small stream.
The houses are much better than those of the Mimika Papuans, differing in every way. They’re built on stilts, raising the floor of the house four to ten feet above the ground, depending on how steep the slope is underneath. The walls are made of long strips of split wood with large sheets of bark attached to the outside. The roof has a fairly steep pitch, made of split wood and covered with overlapping leaves from the Fan palm. The floor is constructed like the walls and covered with large sheets of bark. In the center of the floor, there's a square sunken box filled with sand or dirt where a fire is kept going, and hanging from the roof above the fire is a simple rack for drying wood. The house consists of one nearly square room, about ten feet in each direction. You enter via a steep ladder made of two closely tied posts, which leads to a narrow platform or balcony in front of the house's wall. The posts have no notches, but the rattan lashings tying them together serve as steps for your feet. In addition to the quality of their houses, the Tapiro have another advantage over the neighboring Papuans: they use a common retreat by a small stream.
There was an old man in the village, bald and white-bearded, and horribly disfigured by disease,19 who appeared to be unquestionably the headman of the place. He sat in one of the huts all day and shouted shrilly to the other men who were constantly going in and out to 206speak to him, and I think it was due to him that we were never allowed to see the women. We were particularly anxious to see some of the women of the tribe, and we offered them large rewards of knives and axes merely for the sight of them. The other men were willing enough to produce the women, and several times they were on the point of fetching them, but were always prevented by the old man. Finally we had a personal interview with him, and held out three bright axes, which made his one eye glisten with greed, but he still remained obdurate.
There was an old man in the village, bald and white-bearded, and horribly disfigured by disease, who seemed to be clearly the leader of the place. He sat in one of the huts all day and shouted sharply to the other men who were constantly going in and out to speak to him, and I think it was because of him that we were never allowed to see the women. We were really eager to see some of the women of the tribe, and we offered them large rewards of knives and axes just for a glimpse. The other men were more than willing to bring the women forward, and several times they were about to go fetch them, but the old man always stopped them. Eventually, we had a face-to-face meeting with him and offered him three shiny axes, which made his one eye shine with greed, but he still wouldn't budge.
Though we never saw the women I have no doubt that they saw us; at night we saw their camp fires up on the hillside opposite the village, and when we departed we heard their shrill voices quite close to us before we had gone a quarter of a mile from the place. They had no reason to distrust us when we assured them that our only wish was to see their women, and I think the reason for their keeping them hidden was the presence of the Papuans who accompanied us from Parimau. The supply of Papuan women is very scanty, and it is likely enough that the men would seize any chance of abducting a Tapiro woman, as indeed they boasted of having done.
Though we never saw the women, I'm sure they saw us; at night, we spotted their campfires on the hillside across from the village, and when we left, we heard their sharp voices quite close to us before we had traveled a quarter of a mile from the spot. They had no reason to doubt us when we told them that our only wish was to meet their women, and I think the reason they kept them hidden was because of the Papuans who came with us from Parimau. There aren't many Papuan women, and it's likely the men would jump at any chance to kidnap a Tapiro woman, as they actually bragged about having done.
The language of these Tapiro pygmy people is certainly different from that of the Papuans, but I regret to say that we were unable to make even the smallest vocabulary of it. Their voices are rather high-pitched and nasal, and many of their words contain curious throat sounds, which I was not able to spell much less to imitate. In talking they have a curious habit of 207protruding the lips, which recalls in a striking manner a familiar grimace of the anthropoid apes.
The language of the Tapiro pygmy people is definitely different from that of the Papuans, but I’m sorry to say that we couldn't even come up with a small vocabulary of it. Their voices are quite high-pitched and nasal, and many of their words include strange throat sounds, which I couldn’t spell or even attempt to imitate. When they talk, they have an interesting habit of 207protruding their lips, which strikingly resembles a familiar grimace of anthropoid apes.
HOUSE OF THE TAPIRO.
TAPIRO HOUSE.
They appeared to understand a good deal that the Papuans said to them, but I doubt if the latter understood them when they were talking amongst themselves. When we were trying to persuade the headman to allow the women to be produced, it was a strange experience to be using the Papuans, of whose language we knew only the rudiments, as interpreters to an even less known people.
They seemed to understand quite a bit of what the Papuans were saying, but I doubt the Papuans understood them when they spoke among themselves. When we were trying to convince the headman to let the women be brought forward, it was a weird experience to use the Papuans, whose language we only knew the basics of, as interpreters for a people we knew even less about.
In consequence of our entire lack of knowledge of their language we were not able to form a very reasonable estimate of their intelligence. When they were seen in company with the Papuans, the latter, who usually looked dull and expressionless, appeared by contrast to be full of life and animation. The Tapiro, as a rule, looks blank and rather sad, and when a smile does appear upon his face, it dawns slowly and reluctantly.
Due to our complete lack of understanding of their language, we couldn't make a reasonable assessment of their intelligence. When they were seen with the Papuans, the latter, who usually seemed dull and expressionless, came across as full of life and energy in comparison. The Tapiro generally looks blank and somewhat sad, and when a smile does appear on his face, it comes slowly and unwillingly.
A rough test of an uncivilised man’s intelligence is the extent to which he is able to count, but in the case of the Tapiro there is an unfortunate difference of evidence in this respect. Capt. Rawling (Geograph. Journal, Vol. xxxviii., page 246) affirms that they are able to count up to ten. If this is so, it is a very interesting and remarkable fact. On several occasions I tried to make these people count, with a view to learning their numeral words, and I found that like the Papuans they only had words for one and two, and that those two words were the same as the Papuan words; but it appeared that, unlike the Papuans, they had not the custom of using their fingers and toes for the higher numbers.
A basic way to test an uncivilized person’s intelligence is by seeing how well they can count, but when it comes to the Tapiro, there’s an unfortunate difference in the evidence. Capt. Rawling (Geograph. Journal, Vol. xxxviii., page 246) claims that they can count up to ten. If that’s true, it’s a very interesting and noteworthy fact. I tried several times to get these people to count in order to learn their number words, and I found that, like the Papuans, they only had words for one and two, and those two words were the same as the Papuan terms; however, it seemed that, unlike the Papuans, they didn’t have the practice of using their fingers and toes to count higher numbers.
On the credit side of their intelligence must be placed their admirably constructed houses, their decorated arrows and ingeniously woven bags, and their cultivation.
On the positive side of their intelligence, we can highlight their well-built homes, their beautifully designed arrows, cleverly woven bags, and their farming practices.
As well as the village and clearing of Wambiri Merbiri we saw other small patches of cleared ground on the spurs of Mount Tapiro, and on the slopes of Mount Tuaba we saw from a distance another large clearing which we were never able to reach. Further to the East we saw no sign of them and we were informed by the Papuans that there were no more in that direction. That is probably true, for the mountains are so excessively steep to the East of Mount Tuaba that there appears to be no country suitable for them. It seems likely that we were fortunate enough to meet these people at the Eastern limit of their range and that more of them would be found living in the hills N.W. from the Kapare River towards the Charles Louis Mountains, where the slopes are less steep than in the Nassau Range. The thick-coated dog, which was brought down to Parimau by the Tapiro (see p. 126), might suggest that they have dealings with other natives living high up in the mountains, but so far we have no definite knowledge of the existence of such a people.
Along with the village and clearing of Wambiri Merbiri, we spotted other small cleared areas on the spurs of Mount Tapiro, and from a distance on the slopes of Mount Tuaba, we saw another large clearing that we could never reach. Further to the east, we found no signs of them, and the Papuans told us there were none in that direction. That’s probably true, since the mountains to the east of Mount Tuaba are incredibly steep, making it seem like there's no suitable land for them. It seems likely that we were lucky to encounter these people at the eastern edge of their range, and that more of them might be living in the hills northwest from the Kapare River towards the Charles Louis Mountains, where the slopes are less steep than in the Nassau Range. The thick-coated dog that the Tapiro brought down to Parimau (see p. 126) could suggest that they have contact with other natives living high up in the mountains, but so far, we have no confirmed information about such a group.
This account of our observations, which were necessarily very superficial, will suffice to show that there is a most promising field for some future investigator, who has opportunity and time to spend among these most interesting people.
This account of our observations, which were necessarily very superficial, will suffice to show that there is a very promising field for some future researcher, who has the opportunity and time to spend among these fascinating people.
MOUNT TAPIRO, FROM THE VILLAGE OF THE PYGMIES.
MOUNT TAPIRO, FROM THE VILLAGE OF THE PYGMIES.
CHAPTER XVI
Communication with Amboina and Merauke—Sail in the “Valk” to the Utakwa River—Removal of the Dutch Expedition—View of Mount Carstensz—Dugongs—Crowded Ship—Dayaks and Live Stock—Sea-Snakes—Excitable Convicts—The Island River—Its Great Size—Another Dutch Expedition—Their Achievements—Houses in the Trees—Large Village—Barn-like Houses—Naked People—Shooting Lime—Their Skill in Paddling—Through the Marianne Straits—An Extract from Carstensz—Merauke—Trade in Copra—Botanic Station—The Mission—The Ké Island Boat-builders—The Natives of Merauke described—Arrival of our Third Batch of Coolies—The Feast of St. Nicholas—Return to Mimika.
Communication with Amboina and Merauke—Sailing on the “Valk” to the Utakwa River—Removal of the Dutch Expedition—View of Mount Carstensz—Dugongs—Crowded Ship—Dayaks and Livestock—Sea Snakes—Excitable Convicts—The Island River—Its Huge Size—Another Dutch Expedition—Their Achievements—Houses in the Trees—Large Village—Barn-like Houses—Naked People—Shooting Lime—Their Skill in Paddling—Through the Marianne Straits—An Excerpt from Carstensz—Merauke—Trade in Copra—Botanic Station—The Mission—The Ké Island Boat Builders—Description of the Natives of Merauke—Arrival of Our Third Batch of Laborers—The Feast of St. Nicholas—Return to Mimika.
It has been mentioned in the preceding chapters that after the expedition landed in New Guinea, a more or less regular communication was kept up between the Mimika and Amboina. The South-west coast of New Guinea as far East as the Utanata River is in the administrative district of Amboina, and beyond that, as far as the boundary of British New Guinea, the country is nominally under the control of the station of Merauke. Thus the Mimika is actually within the Merauke district, but it was for many reasons found more convenient for the Government to communicate with the expedition directly from Amboina rather than by way of Merauke; accordingly the soldiers forming our escort were attached as an outpost to the garrison of Amboina and communications were established with that place.
It has been noted in previous chapters that after the expedition arrived in New Guinea, a somewhat consistent communication was maintained between the Mimika and Amboina. The southwest coast of New Guinea, extending east to the Utanata River, falls under the Amboina administrative district, and beyond that, up to the boundary of British New Guinea, the region is formally under the control of the Merauke station. Therefore, the Mimika is technically within the Merauke district, but for various reasons, it was found to be more practical for the government to communicate with the expedition directly from Amboina rather than through Merauke; as a result, the soldiers serving as our escort were assigned as an outpost to the Amboina garrison, and communication links were established with that location.
For several months a steamer came from Amboina210 to the Mimika, bringing men and stores and letters and taking away invalids; usually it came every six or eight weeks, and the longest interval that occurred was twelve weeks, during which for one reason or another it was found impossible to send a ship to the Mimika. In October an alteration was made, and it was decided that the Merauke steamer, which was in regular communication with the Dutch expeditions on the Utakwa and Island rivers, should visit the Mimika also. It was in consequence of this new arrangement on the part of the Government that I was enabled to make the journey described below, and although these places do not fall strictly within the sphere of our expedition, yet they are so little known that I shall make no apology for giving a short description of them here.
For several months, a steamer traveled from Amboina210 to the Mimika, bringing people, supplies, and letters while taking away sick passengers. Typically, it arrived every six to eight weeks, with the longest gap being twelve weeks, during which it was impossible to send a ship to the Mimika for various reasons. In October, a change was made, and it was decided that the Merauke steamer, which regularly connected with the Dutch expeditions on the Utakwa and Island rivers, would also visit the Mimika. Because of this new plan from the Government, I was able to make the journey described below. Although these places aren't strictly part of our expedition, they're so little known that I won’t apologize for providing a brief description of them here.
Towards the end of November, the Government steamer Valk called at the Mimika on its way to the Utakwa and Island rivers to take away our sick men, who had accumulated in some numbers during the last two months. Our work was practically at a standstill, and nothing more could be done until our next batch of coolies arrived, so it was agreed that I should go down to Merauke in company with Shortridge, who was going home an invalid, and bring back our new coolies who were due to arrive there by the next boat early in December.
Towards the end of November, the government steamer Valk stopped at the Mimika on its way to the Utakwa and Island rivers to pick up our sick crew members, who had piled up over the past two months. Our work was basically at a halt, and nothing else could be done until our next group of workers showed up, so we decided that I would head down to Merauke with Shortridge, who was going home due to health issues, and bring back our new workers expected to arrive there on the next boat in early December.
A few hours’ steaming from the Mimika brought us to the mouth of the Utakwa, where we lay outside the bar all night waiting for daylight to find our way into the channel. When we had entered the river it was evident that the Utakwa was something very different211 from the Mimika, which is a mere ditch in comparison with it; it is indeed to the Mimika as the Severn is to the Wye. It was tantalising to remember that this was the river by which we had originally intended to enter the country, and one could not help regretfully wondering what would have been the result if we had followed out that plan; but it was at the best an unprofitable speculation, and one had to rest content (or as content as possible) with the course we had taken. In any case it was certain that even if we had taken the Utakwa as our point of entering into the country, we could not possibly have reached any considerable height in the Snow Mountains with the means, i.e. the men, at our disposal.
A few hours of steaming from the Mimika brought us to the mouth of the Utakwa, where we anchored outside the bar all night, waiting for daylight to find our way into the channel. Once we entered the river, it was clear that the Utakwa was something completely different211 from the Mimika, which is just a small ditch in comparison; it's like comparing the Severn to the Wye. It was frustrating to remember that this was the river we had originally planned to use to enter the country, and one couldn't help but wonder with regret how things might have turned out if we had stuck to that plan; but in the end, it was a pointless speculation, and we had to be content (or as content as possible) with the path we had chosen. In any case, it was clear that even if we had taken the Utakwa as our entry point into the country, we couldn’t have reached any significant height in the Snow Mountains with the resources we had, meaning the men at our disposal.
Near its mouth and for some miles inland the Utakwa is about half a mile wide and bounded by low banks of Mangrove and Nipa-palm. The Valk was a ship of about five hundred tons drawing twelve feet of water. We steamed up the river for about seventeen miles and there anchored, not from lack of water, but on account of the risk of turning the ship round against a strong current in the somewhat narrowing channel. From the anchorage a steam launch and boats were sent on to the base camp of the Government expedition, which had been established rather more than thirty miles further up the river.
Near its mouth and for several miles inland, the Utakwa is about half a mile wide and lined with low banks of Mangrove and Nipa-palm. The Valk was a ship of around five hundred tons, drawing twelve feet of water. We steamed up the river for about seventeen miles and then anchored, not because there was a lack of water, but due to the risk of turning the ship around against a strong current in the somewhat narrowing channel. From the anchorage, a steam launch and boats were sent on to the base camp of the Government expedition, which had been set up more than thirty miles further up the river.
We waited for three days while that expedition was being brought away, and after the first day the Valk went down to the mouth of the river on account of the mosquitoes at the anchorage; they were a small black species, and they came out of the swamps by day as well212 as by night in swarms, and attacked everybody on board so furiously that life became quite intolerable. Before we left the anchorage up the river we saw a magnificent view of the snows of Mount Carstensz towering up over the morning mists. From there the Snow Mountains, making as it were a steep wall across the view to the North, appear far more imposing than they do in the rather sidelong view from the Mimika; and the different aspect of the precipices as seen from the Utakwa was most instructive.
We waited for three days while the expedition was being brought back, and after the first day, the Valk went down to the mouth of the river because of the mosquitoes at the anchorage; they were a small black species and emerged from the swamps during the day as well as at night in swarms, attacking everyone on board so fiercely that life became unbearable. Before we left the anchorage up the river, we saw a stunning view of the snow-capped Mount Carstensz rising above the morning mist. From there, the Snow Mountains, forming a steep wall across the view to the North, look much more impressive than they do from the slightly angled view from the Mimika; and the different perspective of the cliffs seen from the Utakwa was very enlightening.
Whilst we were waiting at the mouth of the river we were visited by several parties of natives in canoes, who came, they informed us, from a large village on the Kupera Pukwa, the next river to the west of the Utakwa. They appeared to use the same, or almost the same, language as the people of Mimika, and they were very anxious that we should go and visit their village, but unfortunately we had no means of doing so.
While we were waiting at the river's mouth, several groups of locals in canoes visited us. They told us they came from a large village on the Kupera Pukwa, the river just west of the Utakwa. They seemed to speak the same, or very similar, language as the people of Mimika, and they were very eager for us to visit their village, but unfortunately, we had no way to do so.
An interesting sight at the mouth of the Utakwa were the Dugongs (Halicore australis), which were seen feeding on the weeds in the shallow water and occasionally rose up and stared at us in a curiously human manner. They are about eight feet long and are perfectly inoffensive creatures, but they have been “fished” for with nets and almost exterminated in many places on account of their valuable oil.
An interesting sight at the mouth of the Utakwa were the dugongs (Halicore australis), which we saw grazing on the weeds in the shallow water and occasionally lifting their heads to look at us in a strangely human way. They are about eight feet long and completely harmless, but they have been hunted with nets and nearly wiped out in many areas because of their valuable oil.
TYPES OF TAPIRO PYGMIES.
TYPES OF TAPIRO PYGMIES.
TYPES OF TAPIRO PYGMIES.
TYPES OF PYGMY TAPIRS.
The Dutch expedition came down to us in detachments during the three days that we waited at the mouth of the river. There were Captain Van der Bie, in command; Mr. J. M. Dumas, surveyor and naturalist; three white sergeants, about fifty native soldiers and 213convicts, and twenty Dayaks of Dutch Borneo, who came down the river in the long canoes they had built themselves. There was also an Australian collector, Mr. Meek and two assistants, who had been attached to the Dutch expedition to make collections of birds and butterflies for a private museum in England. With Mr. Meek were ten natives of Port Moresby in British New Guinea, little brown, fuzzy-headed fellows full of life and merriment; they were in every way so different from the sombre and unemotional Papuans that it was difficult to realise that they were both natives of the same island.
The Dutch expedition arrived in stages over the three days we spent waiting at the river's mouth. There was Captain Van der Bie in charge; Mr. J. M. Dumas, the surveyor and naturalist; three white sergeants; about fifty native soldiers and 213convicts; and twenty Dayaks from Dutch Borneo, who came down the river in the long canoes they had crafted themselves. An Australian collector, Mr. Meek, was also with them along with two assistants, who had joined the Dutch expedition to collect birds and butterflies for a private museum in England. Mr. Meek was accompanied by ten natives from Port Moresby in British New Guinea, lively little brown guys with fuzzy heads; they were completely different from the serious and emotionless Papuans, making it hard to believe they were both from the same island.
The Utakwa expedition had been in the country for seven months and had traversed a considerable extent of country, but those months coincided with the period of the worst weather—one cannot talk of wet and dry seasons in that region—and like us they had suffered from the shortcomings of their coolies; the Dayaks had reached them too late to be of much service to the expedition. From their base camp at the head of steam-launch navigation they had gone two days further up the river in canoes, and then had gone a distance of seven marches towards Mount Carstensz. The furthest point they reached was at an altitude of about 3000 feet, and was less than twenty miles distant from the snow, but the views of the country that they saw were not sufficient to show whether that was the best route to the highest mountains. One of the principal objects of the Government in despatching that expedition to the Utakwa was to discover a convenient way of crossing New Guinea, and when it was found that the Utakwa led apparently to the highest mountain in the island, it was214 decided to withdraw the expedition, and to concentrate all the exploring energies on the Island River, which seemed to offer a better prospect of accomplishing that purpose.
The Utakwa expedition had been in the area for seven months and had covered a lot of ground, but those months coincided with some of the worst weather—there’s no real wet and dry seasons in that region—and like us, they had faced issues with their laborers; the Dayaks had arrived too late to be much help to the expedition. From their base camp at the farthest point of steam-launch navigation, they continued two days further up the river in canoes, and then trekked for seven days towards Mount Carstensz. The highest point they reached was about 3,000 feet up, less than twenty miles from the snow, but the views they got didn’t provide enough information to determine if that was the best route to the tallest mountains. One of the main reasons the Government sent the Utakwa expedition was to find an easier way to cross New Guinea, and when it became clear that the Utakwa seemed to lead to the highest mountain on the island, it was decided to pull back the expedition and focus all exploration efforts on the Island River, which appeared to offer a better chance of achieving that goal.
When all these people had been taken on board the Valk, the decks of the little ship were crowded to overflowing with gear and men and wild animals. They had brought some young wild pigs, a number of crowned and other kinds of pigeons, and several young cassowaries. Mr. Dumas brought on board three eggs, from which were hatched pretty little cassowary chicks during the next few days. We were particularly struck by the appearance of the Dayaks, any one of whom looked more than a match for three of our Malay coolies. Apart from their apparent strength, they differed noticeably from the Malays, who like to spend their days in sleeping between meals, in their unceasing industry; they had brought on board quantities of bamboo, from which they at once started making bird cages, and pieces of hard wood, out of which they carved handles for their knives and other ornamental objects.
When everyone was finally on board the Valk, the decks of the little ship were packed full of equipment, people, and wild animals. They had brought along some young wild pigs, a bunch of crowned and other types of pigeons, and several young cassowaries. Mr. Dumas brought on board three eggs, which hatched into cute little cassowary chicks in the following days. We were particularly impressed by the Dayaks; any one of them seemed to be able to take on three of our Malay coolies. Besides their obvious strength, they were quite different from the Malays, who liked to spend their days napping between meals, due to their constant hard work. They had brought on board a lot of bamboo, which they immediately started using to make birdcages, and pieces of hardwood that they carved into knife handles and other decorative items.
The ship was so heavily laden that it was impossible to take on board all the boats that had been used by the Utakwa expedition, and three or four were towed in a long string astern. Fortunately the sea was exceptionally smooth, but even so one of these, an almost new “long-boat,” broke adrift, and we lost a day in searching for it unsuccessfully.
The ship was so weighed down that it was impossible to bring on board all the boats used by the Utakwa expedition, so three or four were towed in a long line behind. Luckily, the sea was really calm, but still, one of these boats, an almost new “long-boat,” came loose, and we wasted a day looking for it without success.
Whilst we were cruising about looking for the lost boat, one of our passengers, a fever-stricken soldier from the Mimika, caused some excitement by stabbing with215 his knife another man and then jumping hastily into the sea. The sudden plunge cooled his fever and the appearance of a sea-snake swimming not far from him made him as anxious to return to the ship as he had been to leave it.
While we were sailing around searching for the lost boat, one of our passengers, a sick soldier from the Mimika, stirred up some drama by stabbing another man with his knife and then jumping quickly into the sea. The sudden jump cooled his fever, and seeing a sea snake swimming not far from him made him just as eager to get back to the ship as he had been to leave it.
During the voyage down the coast we saw a number of sea-snakes, sometimes as far as thirty or forty miles from land, but there was no opportunity of catching one; they appeared to be yellowish with dark markings and were about three or four feet in length. I was told that they sometimes travel in large numbers together and will climb up the sides of ships at anchor, but I cannot vouch for the correctness of this statement.
During the trip down the coast, we saw several sea snakes, sometimes up to thirty or forty miles from shore, but we never had a chance to catch one; they looked yellowish with dark markings and were about three to four feet long. I heard that they sometimes travel in big groups and can climb up the sides of anchored ships, but I can't confirm if that's true.
Another episode, which enlivened the voyage down to Merauke, was caused by the strange behaviour of one of the convicts, who was being taken away from the Mimika. This man had suffered from the common form of delusion that everybody was against him, and after he had run away from the camp at Wakatimi and had spent thirty-six hours in the jungle without food I certified that he was of unsound mind and recommended that he should be sent back to Java. He was found prowling about the ship with an exceedingly sharp knife, with which (so he said) he intended to murder me, so he was promptly secured in chains. We made friends in a day or two and he was set at liberty again before we reached Merauke, but I confess I was not sorry when we were no longer together in the same ship.
Another incident that made the journey to Merauke more interesting involved the strange behavior of one of the convicts being taken away from the Mimika. This guy believed that everyone was against him, and after he escaped from the camp at Wakatimi and spent thirty-six hours in the jungle without food, I concluded that he wasn’t mentally stable and recommended that he be sent back to Java. He was found wandering around the ship with a very sharp knife, which he claimed he intended to use to murder me, so he was quickly secured in chains. We became friends in a day or two, and he was released before we reached Merauke, but I admit I was relieved when we weren't on the same ship anymore.
On the second day after leaving the Utakwa we entered the Island River by one of its many mouths,216 and after we had gone up it a few miles we realised that in the matter of size it is to the Utakwa as that river is to the Mimika. The banks are low and swampy and mostly covered with mangroves for several miles from the coast. Further on the banks are a few feet above the level of high water and we saw many trees that looked like good timber trees and others of considerable beauty, notably a wide-spreading acacia-like tree (Albizia moluccana), and a very graceful palm (Oncosperma filamentosum) like a Betel-nut palm growing in clumps by the waterside. We noticed also a number of Bread-fruit trees (Artocarpus sp.) bigger than any I have seen elsewhere, but none of them appeared to bear fruit.
On the second day after leaving the Utakwa, we entered the Island River through one of its many mouths,216 and after traveling a few miles upstream, we realized that in terms of size, it compares to the Utakwa like that river does to the Mimika. The banks are low and swampy, mostly covered with mangroves for several miles from the coast. Further along, the banks rise a few feet above high water level, and we spotted many trees that seemed like good timber sources, along with some really beautiful ones, especially a wide-spreading acacia-like tree (Albizia moluccana) and a very graceful palm (Oncosperma filamentosum) that resembled a Betel-nut palm, growing in clumps by the water's edge. We also observed several Bread-fruit trees (Artocarpus sp.) larger than any I’ve seen before, but none appeared to have fruit.
We steamed up the river for one hundred and twelve nautical miles to the Swallow, the depôt ship and base camp of the Dutch exploring expedition. The river at that point is about three hundred yards wide, but the current is swift and there are many shallow sand banks, which make further navigation impossible for a ship as large as the Valk.
We traveled up the river for one hundred and twelve nautical miles to the Swallow, the supply ship and base camp of the Dutch exploring expedition. At that point, the river is about three hundred yards wide, but the current is strong and there are many shallow sandbanks, making it impossible for a large ship like the Valk to navigate further.
A PAPUAN WITH TWO TAPIRO PYGMIES.
A Papuan with two Tepi Pygmies.
The Dutch expedition had been established for several months in the country and had made very considerable progress towards the North. From the Swallow they had proceeded up the river two days’ journey by steam launch and six days beyond that by canoes as far as the river was navigable, a distance of more than one hundred miles. Thence they had gone North, and in nine marches they had reached a height of ten thousand feet at a point which appeared to be on the watershed of the main mountain range of the island. One of the principal 217objects of the expedition was to cross New Guinea from South to North, and it was hoped that from the furthest point they had reached they would soon arrive at one of the upper tributaries of the Kaiserin Augusta, the large river which enters the sea in German territory. They were at that time busily occupied in transporting supplies up to their furthest camp with a view to continuing the journey, but shortly afterwards the expedition was crippled by sickness and the project was abandoned. We spent two days alongside of the Swallow transferring to her the stores and many of the men that we had brought from the Utakwa and taking away the sick and time-expired members of the Island River expedition, amongst them being Lieut. Van der Wenn of the Netherlands Navy, who was attached to the expedition as surveyor.
The Dutch expedition had been in the country for several months and had made significant progress northward. From the Swallow, they traveled up the river for two days by steam launch and then six days further by canoe, reaching as far as the river was navigable, a distance of over one hundred miles. They then headed north, and after nine days of marching, they reached an elevation of ten thousand feet at a point that seemed to be on the divide of the main mountain range of the island. One of the main goals of the expedition was to cross New Guinea from south to north, and it was hoped that from their furthest point, they would soon reach one of the upper tributaries of the Kaiserin Augusta, the large river that flows into the sea in German territory. At that time, they were busy transporting supplies to their furthest camp to continue the journey, but shortly after, the expedition was hindered by sickness, and the project was called off. We spent two days alongside the Swallow, transferring supplies and many of the men we had brought from the Utakwa, while taking away the sick and those whose time with the Island River expedition had ended, including Lieutenant Van der Wenn of the Netherlands Navy, who was part of the expedition as a surveyor.
On our way down the Island River we saw many things which we had missed on the way up, because we had entered the river and steamed up through several hours of darkness. First we came to isolated houses by the river bank of the same type as the Mimika houses, but larger and better built; near them we saw a few natives, who appeared to be very shy and retreated hastily into the jungle when the steamer approached.
On our way down the Island River, we saw a lot of things that we had missed on the way up because we had entered the river and spent several hours traveling through darkness. First, we came across isolated houses by the riverbank that were similar to the Mimika houses, but larger and better constructed; nearby, we spotted a few locals who seemed very shy and quickly retreated into the jungle as the steamer got closer.
Lower down, when we were within about thirty miles of the sea, we came to a large village of fifty or sixty houses, some of which were raised on piles near the edge of the river and the others were built in the trees, where they presented a most astonishing appearance. They are square and apparently well-made houses with ridgepole roof and walls of “atap,” the entrance is by a hole218 in the floor which is reached by a vertical ladder of bamboo from the ground. One house was at a height of certainly not less than sixty feet above the ground in a very slender tree, and the position of the inhabitants, when the wind blew, must have been far from enviable. Unfortunately the sun was low and directly behind the village so that I was unable to obtain photographs of the tree-dwellings. The people there showed no fear of us, but stood on the bank and shouted and waved their spears.
Lower down, when we were about thirty miles from the coast, we arrived at a large village with fifty or sixty houses. Some of these houses were raised on stilts near the river, while others were built in the trees, creating a really amazing sight. They are square, seemingly well-constructed houses with sloped roofs and walls made of “atap.” You enter through a hole in the floor, accessed by a vertical bamboo ladder from the ground. One house was definitely at least sixty feet high in a very slender tree, and the living conditions for the residents must not have been very comfortable when the wind blew. Unfortunately, the sun was low and directly behind the village, so I couldn’t take any photos of the tree houses. The people there weren’t afraid of us; they stood on the riverbank, shouting and waving their spears.
A few miles further down the river we came to another large village of yet a different character. The houses there were all built on piles, but while a few of them were of the usual small size, the majority were quite unlike anything else we had seen in that part of New Guinea. They were huge barn-like structures raised on piles ten or more feet above the ground, and the length of some of them must have been from one hundred and fifty to two hundred feet. It was quite evident that these were communal dwellings, indicating a social system entirely different from that of the surrounding districts, and it was very tantalising to pass them within a few yards and not to be able to visit them. The village extended for about a mile along the East bank and the natives that we saw must have numbered at least a thousand. The men were all entirely naked and the women were only dressed in the scantiest strip of bark-cloth. In other respects they appeared, as far as one could tell from such a rapid survey of them, to be very similar to the Mimika Papuans in their features and their short hair and their absence of adornments.
A few miles further down the river, we came to another large village with a completely different vibe. The houses there were all built on stilts; while some were small, most were nothing like anything else we had seen in that part of New Guinea. They were massive, barn-like structures raised ten feet or more off the ground, and some measured between one hundred and fifty to two hundred feet long. It was clear that these were communal homes, suggesting a social system that was totally different from the surrounding areas, and it was frustrating to pass so close and not be able to visit them. The village stretched for about a mile along the east bank, and we estimated that the population was at least a thousand. The men were completely naked, while the women wore only the scantiest strips of bark cloth. In other ways, they appeared, from our quick glance, very similar to the Mimika Papuans in their features, short hair, and lack of decorations.
Crowds of people lined the river bank and some of them, holding short bamboos in their hands, jerked them in our direction and from the end came out a white cloud of powdered lime, which looked like smoke. This custom was noticed by Rawling when he first visited the village of Nimé, and it was recorded by some of the early voyagers,20 but the meaning of it has not yet been explained. The suggestion that it is a means of imitating the appearance of fire-arms is ingenious, but it can hardly be seriously considered.
Crowds of people lined the riverbank, and some of them, holding short bamboo sticks in their hands, flicked them in our direction, sending a white cloud of powdered lime into the air that looked like smoke. Rawling noticed this custom when he first visited the village of Nimé, and it was documented by some of the early travelers,20 but its meaning has yet to be explained. The idea that it's a way of mimicking the look of firearms is clever, but it’s hard to take seriously.
While most of the people stood on the bank to see us pass, a number of men jumped into their canoes and came racing after us. The current of the river was about two, and the speed of the Valk was seven knots, so they had to move quickly, but they easily overtook us and followed us for some distance down the river. Their canoes are simple “dug-outs,” but they differ from those of the Mimika in coming to a fine point at both ends. The bow is roughly notched on the upper side, which gives it somewhat the appearance of a bird’s beak. They seem also to be considerably lighter than the Mimika craft, and so narrow that a man could hardly sit down in them. The usual number of a crew is nine or ten men, who all stand up and all paddle on the same side of the canoe. The regular swing of their bodies and the perfect precision of the paddling was a sight prettier than any “eight” I have ever seen. They called to us and waved bundles of arrows, evidently anxious to trade with us, but the captain of the Valk was unable to stop, so we 220threw overboard for them empty tins and bottles, and it was marvellous to see how they raced up to these things, and with a sudden backward stroke of their paddles brought the canoes to a standstill, while they recovered the prize, and then raced on again.
While most people stood on the riverbank to watch us pass, several men jumped into their canoes and sped after us. The river's current was about two knots, and the speed of the Valk was seven knots, so they had to paddle hard, but they quickly overtook us and followed for quite a distance down the river. Their canoes are simple "dug-outs," but unlike those of the Mimika, they come to a sharp point at both ends. The bow has a rough notch on the upper side, which gives it the look of a bird's beak. They also seem to be significantly lighter than the Mimika boats, and so narrow that a person could hardly sit in them. The typical crew has nine or ten men, all standing and paddling on the same side of the canoe. The way they swung their bodies and paddled in perfect sync was more beautiful than any crew of eight I've ever seen. They shouted at us and waved bundles of arrows, clearly eager to trade, but the captain of the Valk couldn't stop, so we 220threw empty cans and bottles overboard for them, and it was incredible to see how they raced to grab these items, skillfully halting their canoes with a quick backstroke of their paddles, retrieving the prizes, and then setting off again.
From the mouth of the Island River, as we went out to sea, we saw through a break in the clouds to the far North the snow on Mount Wilhelmina, which was reached by Mr. H. A. Lorentz in November, 1909. Steaming in a south-easterly direction we kept some way out from the land, which is so low as to be invisible at a distance of a few miles. When we were opposite the Digoel, the greatest (excepting the Fly) of all the South New Guinea rivers, we found the sea strewn with logs and trees, in some places so many together as to form floating islands, on which crowds of gulls and terns were seen to settle at nightfall.
From the mouth of the Island River, as we headed out to sea, we noticed a gap in the clouds revealing the snow on Mount Wilhelmina far to the North, which Mr. H. A. Lorentz reached in November 1909. As we traveled southeast, we stayed a good distance from the shore, which is so low that it’s not visible from a few miles away. When we were across from the Digoel, the largest river in South New Guinea aside from the Fly, we saw the sea filled with logs and trees, in some areas so densely packed that they formed floating islands, where flocks of gulls and terns were seen settling at dusk.
The tide favouring us, we chose the Marianne Strait between the mainland and Prince Frederick Henry Island. Sometimes, when the south-east monsoon has been blowing regularly for a few days, it is quite impossible for a ship of only moderate power to steam through it against the current. The Strait is a winding channel about ninety miles long and has an average width of about two miles, and it is not surprising that early voyagers, even as late as Kolff, in the Dutch brig-of-war, Dourga, in 1826, mistook it for a river. The banks are low and forest-covered, and we only saw two small clusters of houses. From one of these some men put off in a canoe to intercept us and followed us for some distance, calling “Kaya-Kaya221” (friend).21 They were tall and powerful-looking men, entirely naked except for a small shell attached to a string about the middle, and their great mats of hair extending down to the shoulders and beyond showed most clearly that we had come to yet another tribe quite distinct from the people of the Island River.
The tide was in our favor, so we chose the Marianne Strait between the mainland and Prince Frederick Henry Island. Sometimes, when the southeast monsoon has been blowing steadily for a few days, it’s almost impossible for a moderately powered ship to get through against the current. The Strait is a winding channel about ninety miles long and has an average width of about two miles, so it’s no surprise that early travelers, even as late as Kolff in the Dutch brig-of-war Dourga in 1826, mistook it for a river. The banks are low and covered in forest, and we only saw two small groups of houses. From one of these, some men came out in a canoe to catch up with us and followed us for a while, calling “Kaya-Kaya221” (friend).21 They were tall and looked strong, completely naked except for a small shell connected by a string around their midsection, and their thick mats of hair reaching down to their shoulders and beyond clearly indicated that we had encountered yet another tribe distinct from the people of the Island River.
Jan Carstensz, who visited this coast in 1623, gives a good description of the land and the people:22 “It is impossible to land here with boats or pinnaces owing to the clayey and muddy bottom into which a man will sink up to the waist, the depth of the water being no more than three or four fathoms at three or four miles distant from the land. The land is low-lying and half submerged, being quite under water at high tide; it is covered with wild trees, those on the beach resembling the fir-trees of our country, and seemingly bear no fruit. The natives are coal black like the Kaffirs and they go about stark naked. They have two holes in the midst of the nose, with fangs of hogs or sword-fishes through them, protruding at least three fingers’ breadth on either side, so that in appearance they are more like monsters than human beings, they seem to be evil-natured and malignant. The lands which we have up to now skirted and touched at not only are barren and inhabited by savages, but also the sea in these parts yields no other fish than sharks, sword-fishes, 222and the like unnatural monsters, while the birds too are as wild and shy as the men.” Further to the East he found the people “cunning and suspicious, and no stratagem on our part availed to draw them near enough to us to enable us to catch one or two with nooses which we had prepared for the purpose.” Suspicion of the unknown is in the nature of savage people, and when we read that “in order to frighten them the corporal fired a musket, which hit them both, so that they died on the spot,” we no longer wonder that they appeared to Jan Carstensz to be “evil-natured and malignant.” But times have changed and the Dutch navigator of to-day is not less humane than any other.
Jan Carstensz, who visited this coast in 1623, provides a thorough description of the land and its people:22 “It's impossible to land here with boats or small ships because the bottom is full of clay and mud, causing a person to sink up to his waist, with the water being only three or four fathoms deep three or four miles from the shore. The land is low-lying and partially submerged, completely underwater at high tide; it's covered with wild trees, and the ones on the beach look like the fir trees back home but apparently bear no fruit. The locals are coal black like the Kaffirs and walk around completely naked. They have two holes in their noses, through which they wear fangs from hogs or swordfish that stick out at least three fingers' width on either side, making them look more like monsters than humans, appearing to be hostile and malicious. The lands we've explored and touched are not only barren and home to savages, but the sea in this area yields no fish except sharks, swordfish, 222and other strange creatures, while the birds are just as wild and skittish as the people.” Further to the East, he found the locals “cunning and wary, and no trick we tried managed to bring them close enough for us to catch one or two with the snares we'd set up.” Distrust of the unknown is typical among primitive people, and when we read that “to scare them, the corporal fired a musket, which hit both of them, causing immediate death,” we no longer wonder why Jan Carstensz viewed them as “hostile and malicious.” But times have changed, and today’s Dutch navigator is as humane as anyone else.
After coming out of the Marianne Straits we noticed a change in the appearance of the land; the smoke of villages appeared at frequent intervals and the shore was seen to be fringed by a continuous belt of coco-palms in place of the mangrove to which we had become accustomed. In a few hours from the Marianne Straits we came to the mouth of the Merau River and after steaming up it for about four miles we dropped anchor opposite the Dutch station of Merauke, where we left the ship and went ashore.
After we exited the Marianne Straits, we noticed a change in the landscape; the smoke from villages appeared frequently, and the shore was lined with a continuous row of coconut palms instead of the mangroves we were used to. A few hours after leaving the Marianne Straits, we arrived at the mouth of the Merau River, and after heading up it for about four miles, we dropped anchor across from the Dutch station of Merauke, where we left the ship and went ashore.
The Dutch people have an inborn preference for low-lying land on which to place their stations, but not the most enthusiastic fenman would have voluntarily chosen Merauke as a place for a settlement. The reason of its existence is a political one. Formerly the natives of the district, the Tugeri, a very fierce and warlike people, used to have the habit of making raids to the Eastward 223into British territory, whence they brought slaves and the heads of their fallen enemies. This became such a nuisance that the Australian Government addressed protests to the Dutch about the lawless behaviour of their subjects, and in 1902 the Dutch made the station of Merauke, and established there a small garrison of about one hundred men. The place was chosen partly because it was in the centre of the district of the Tugeri, and partly because on that shallow coast the Merau River alone offered a safe harbour for ships. It is a dreary enough place on the muddy bank of the river and surrounded on the other sides by swamps, but the Dutch have made the best of a bad job, and by laborious ditching and dyking they have made the place fairly secure from floods; in spite of all their draining, however, there are more mosquitoes there than in any other inhabited place I have ever visited.
The Dutch people have a natural preference for low-lying land to build their stations, but even the most dedicated marsh dweller wouldn't have picked Merauke as a settlement location. Its existence is mainly due to political reasons. In the past, the local people, the Tugeri, who were a fierce and warlike group, regularly raided eastward into British territory, bringing back slaves and the heads of their enemies. This became such a problem that the Australian Government lodged complaints with the Dutch about the unruly behavior of their people. In 1902, the Dutch established the station of Merauke and set up a small garrison of around one hundred men there. The location was chosen partly because it was at the heart of the Tugeri's territory and partly because the shallow coastline provided the Merau River as the only safe harbor for ships. It's a pretty dreary spot on the muddy riverbank, surrounded by swamps, but the Dutch have made the best of a bad situation. Through hard work on ditches and levees, they've managed to secure the area from floods; however, despite all their efforts to drain the land, there are still more mosquitoes there than in any other inhabited place I've ever been to.
Like other Dutch settlements Merauke is laid out on a regular and spacious plan, plenty of room being left between the houses of the officials and the quarter occupied by the shops of the Chinese, of which there are about a dozen. There are (or were in 1910) sixteen Europeans23 in the place, all of them in the employment of the Government except two, the representatives of an European trading firm. The principal trade of the place is in copra obtained from the hundreds of thousands of coco-palms, which line the neighbouring sea-shore. These palms are the property of the natives, who are too lazy to take advantage of the wealth that lies (or rather 224hangs) at their doors, and they do not encourage other people to come and make use of it.
Like other Dutch settlements, Merauke is designed with a spacious and organized layout, with plenty of space between the officials' houses and the area where about a dozen Chinese shops are located. There are (or were in 1910) sixteen Europeans23 in the town, all of whom work for the Government except for two, who are representatives of a European trading company. The main trade in the area is copra, harvested from the hundreds of thousands of coconut palms that line the nearby coastline. These palms belong to the locals, who are too unmotivated to take advantage of the wealth available to them and do not encourage others to come and utilize it.
There is a small force of native police under a Dutch officer, and a few convicts are employed in keeping the station in order. It may not be out of place to remark here that the nearest Dutch settlement is at Fak-fak on the S.W. corner of the MacCluer Gulf, seven hundred miles in a straight line from Merauke. Besides these two places the only other Dutch garrison is at Manokwari (Dorei Bay) on the north coast, where there has been a mission station for more than fifty years. Apart from civilian and military officials, missionaries and two or three agents of a commercial firm there are no settlers in the huge territory of Dutch New Guinea.
There’s a small group of local police led by a Dutch officer, and a few convicts are used to help keep the station organized. It’s worth mentioning that the closest Dutch settlement is at Fak-fak, located on the southwest corner of the MacCluer Gulf, about seven hundred miles in a straight line from Merauke. Besides these two locations, the only other Dutch garrison is in Manokwari (Dorei Bay) on the north coast, where a mission station has been running for over fifty years. Other than civilian and military officials, missionaries, and a couple of agents from a commercial company, there are no settlers in the vast territory of Dutch New Guinea.
A former Resident of Merauke, who had somewhat inflated ideas of the future of the country, established an experimental botanic garden on the only patch of dry ground near Merauke. Attached to the garden is a large building containing rooms for three Europeans, laboratories, a dark room and so on, which (it was hoped) would attract scientific agriculturists and botanists from other countries to come and study the local flora. But no sane person wishes to study the flora of New Guinea in the middle of a swamp, and already the scanty soil was showing signs of exhaustion at the roots of the experimental bananas, and the practically-minded Resident was considering the removal of the house to Dobo or elsewhere as a dwelling for himself, when the contemplated abandonment of Merauke as a “Residency” should take place.
A former resident of Merauke, who had overly optimistic ideas about the future of the country, set up an experimental botanical garden on the only dry patch of land near Merauke. Attached to the garden is a large building with rooms for three Europeans, laboratories, a dark room, and so on, which (it was hoped) would draw scientific agriculturalists and botanists from other countries to study the local flora. But no sensible person wants to study the flora of New Guinea in the middle of a swamp, and already the poor soil was showing signs of wear at the roots of the experimental bananas. The practical-minded resident was thinking about moving the house to Dobo or somewhere else for himself when the planned abandonment of Merauke as a “Residency” was set to happen.
Another interesting building at Merauke is the house225 of the Mission of the Sacred Heart, an offshoot from the mission at Toeal. It must, I am afraid, be admitted that Merauke is not a favourable field for missionary enterprise, and the most notable achievements of the good fathers there are the admirable house they have built, and the herd of cattle which they contrive to keep. They teach a very small class of the native children, but nearly all of them relapse again very soon into savagery, and the adults, who have remained faithful to the mission, are very few, and they are not the best specimens of their race.
Another interesting building in Merauke is the house225 of the Mission of the Sacred Heart, which branched off from the mission at Toeal. Unfortunately, it's clear that Merauke isn't a great place for missionary work, and the most significant accomplishments of the dedicated fathers there are the impressive house they've built and the herd of cattle they manage to keep. They teach a very small group of local children, but almost all of them quickly revert back to their wild ways. The adults who have stayed loyal to the mission are very few, and they aren't the best representatives of their community.
Recently the ubiquitous Chinese have discovered that the sea in the neighbourhood of Merauke is a most profitable fishing ground, and the results of their labours are spread abroad to dry in the sun, so that there are times when the air is almost too strong to be breathed. The fishery has attracted some men from the Ké Islands, who are the best boat builders in the Eastern Archipelago, and I spent many hours watching them at their work. Their tools consist only of an axe, an adze and an auger, and no nails or metal are used in the construction of a boat. The planks are about three inches thick and are made each from a single tree hewn to the required shape. Holes are bored at intervals along the edge of the plank, and into these are fixed pegs of wood which fit into corresponding holes in the edge of the succeeding plank. When the shell of the boat is completed, the ribs, each made from a single piece of bent wood, are fitted to the inside. The fitting of the planks is so accurate that the boats require little or no caulking, and they are ready to take the water as soon as they are built.
Recently, the ever-present Chinese have found that the sea near Merauke is a highly profitable fishing area, and the results of their work are spread out to dry in the sun, making the air almost unbearable at times. The fishery has drawn some people from the Ké Islands, who are the best boat builders in the Eastern Archipelago, and I spent many hours watching them work. Their tools consist only of an axe, an adze, and an auger, and they don’t use any nails or metal in building a boat. The planks are about three inches thick and are made from a single tree shaped as needed. Holes are drilled at intervals along the edge of the plank, into which wooden pegs fit, matching holes in the edge of the next plank. Once the shell of the boat is completed, the ribs, each made from a single piece of bent wood, are fitted inside. The fitting of the planks is so precise that the boats need little or no caulking, and they are ready to go in the water as soon as they are built.
But by far the most interesting feature of Merauke are the natives of the place, whose independent mien and conservative customs fill the observer with admiration if not with approval. It is now nearly ten years since the Dutch settled at Merauke, but in all that time, apart from curbing somewhat their head-hunting propensities, they have made very little impression on the natives, who still cling (if one may use somewhat of an Irishism) to their scanty costume of nothing at all, and refuse absolutely the beads and cloth and other “trade-goods” of the invading white man. They stroll about the place in a most lordly manner, and they like to visit the houses of the Europeans, where they spend hours disdainfully watching other people at their work.
But the most fascinating aspect of Merauke is definitely the locals, whose independent attitude and traditional customs inspire admiration, if not outright approval. It's been nearly ten years since the Dutch settled in Merauke, but during that time, aside from reducing their head-hunting habits a bit, they've hardly made any impact on the natives. The locals still hold on to their minimal clothing, refusing to accept the beads, fabric, and other "trade goods" offered by the invading Europeans. They walk around with a sense of pride and enjoy visiting European homes, where they spend hours watching others work with a look of disdain.
In appearance they differ from the Papuans of the Mimika in their somewhat paler skin and in their features, which are markedly of the (so-called) “Semitic” type with prominent eyes and long, curving, fleshy nose. They are very fond of personal adornment and paint their faces with white, red, and yellow colours; a fashionable but very unsightly decoration is to paint the eyelids and eyelashes white. Through the septum of the nose is thrust a long piece of white bone or shell, and in the alae nasi, which are also pierced, are often worn the claws of a large eagle which project forwards, and give the man a most ferocious aspect (see illustration opposite).
In appearance, they differ from the Papuans of the Mimika in their slightly lighter skin and features, which are distinctly of the (so-called) “Semitic” type, characterized by prominent eyes and a long, curved, fleshy nose. They enjoy personal decoration and paint their faces with white, red, and yellow colors; a trendy yet unattractive choice is to paint the eyelids and eyelashes white. A long piece of white bone or shell is inserted through the septum of the nose, and in the pierced nostrils, they often wear the claws of a large eagle, which protrude forward, giving the person a very fierce appearance (see illustration opposite).
A NATIVE OF MERAUKE.
A MERAUKE NATIVE.
(Wearing the claws of an eagle in the nose.)
(Wearing eagle claws in the nose.)
NATIVES OF MERAUKE.
MERAUKE NATIVES.
Some of the more dandyfied individuals are loaded with necklaces of shells or teeth of dogs, sharks and crocodiles, and bands or belts of the same things are 227crossed on the chest. Rings of boars’ tusks and plaited fibres almost cover the upper arms, and in the ears are worn bunches of large rings of tortoiseshell and bamboo. The hair is long and is plaited with a mixture of mud and grass and feathers into a solid bunch, which hangs down beyond the level of the shoulders. In some of these head-dresses I saw plumes of the Greater, the Red and the King birds of Paradise; it appears that when once they are made these head-dresses may be added to, but they can never be undone, and they are accordingly indescribably dirty. These people are characterised by a pungent and most disagreeable odour, quite different from the sickly sweet smell of the sago-eating Mimika people.
Some of the more extravagant individuals are decked out with necklaces made of shells or the teeth of dogs, sharks, and crocodiles, and bands or belts made of the same materials are crossed over their chests. Rings made from boar tusks and woven fibers almost cover their upper arms, and in their ears, they wear large rings made of tortoiseshell and bamboo. Their hair is long and braided with a mixture of mud, grass, and feathers into a solid bundle that hangs down past their shoulders. In some of these headpieces, I saw plumes from the Greater, Red, and King birds of Paradise; it seems that once created, these headpieces can be added to but never undone, making them incredibly dirty. These people are marked by a strong and very unpleasant odor, quite different from the sickly sweet smell of the sago-eating Mimika people.
Another curious custom of the Merauke natives is their habit of wearing round the waist a belt of pigskin, which cannot be removed, and is so tight that it constricts the man to an (apparently) most painful degree; the women of the tribe do not indulge in this practice.
Another interesting custom of the Merauke natives is their practice of wearing a tight pigskin belt around their waists that can't be removed. It's so tight that it seems to cause a lot of pain, but the women of the tribe don't participate in this custom.
Two days after our arrival the monthly mail-steamer came bringing our forty-eight new coolies from Macassar, and on the following day it sailed again, taking Shortridge on his way back to England. For a week longer I received the most kind hospitality from the Resident, Mr. E. Kalff, until we returned to the Mimika. During that week of waiting our new coolies, who had heard terrible stories of the Mimika, declared that they would never go there, and they attacked with knives the guards who were placed to keep them in order. When I told them that if they had no liking for the Mimika228 they were perfectly at liberty to go and live near Merauke, the stories they heard of the habits of the Tugeri put an immediate end to the strike, and they came contentedly enough to the Mimika. They were more fortunate than some of their predecessors, and all returned to their homes at the end of the expedition.
Two days after we arrived, the monthly mail steamer came, bringing us forty-eight new workers from Macassar. The next day, it left again, taking Shortridge back to England. I received warm hospitality from the Resident, Mr. E. Kalff, for another week until we returned to the Mimika. During that week, our new workers, who had heard scary stories about the Mimika, insisted they would never go there, and they attacked the guards assigned to keep them in line with knives. When I told them that if they didn’t want to go to the Mimika228, they could go and live near Merauke, the stories they heard about the Tugeri quickly made them change their minds, and they came to the Mimika willingly enough. They were luckier than some of their predecessors, and all returned home at the end of the expedition.
The Dutch have a pleasant sentiment with regard to the customs of their native land, and at Merauke, the most remote outpost of Holland, the feast of S. Nicholas was celebrated with due ceremony. All the Europeans in the place, as well as the Javanese sergeants and clerks and their children, assembled to meet the Saint, a huge Dutchman disguised out of all recognition, and all of us, brown and white alike, received at his hands a present or a mock flogging according to our deserts.
The Dutch have a fondness for the traditions of their homeland, and in Merauke, the farthest outpost of Holland, the feast of St. Nicholas was celebrated with great enthusiasm. All the Europeans in the area, along with the Javanese sergeants, clerks, and their kids, came together to greet the Saint, a large Dutchman dressed up so he was unrecognizable. Both brown and white individuals among us received either a gift or a playful spanking based on our behavior.
After spending ten very agreeable days at Merauke we sailed on December 18th and going by way of the Island River, where we landed fresh men for that expedition, we arrived again at the Mimika on the 22nd December.
After spending ten pleasant days in Merauke, we set sail on December 18th. We stopped at the Island River to bring in new crew members for the expedition and arrived back at the Mimika on December 22nd.
CHAPTER XVII
Difficulty of Cross-country Travel—Expedition moves towards the Mountains—Arrival at the Iwaka River—Changing Scenery—The Impassable Iwaka—A Plucky Gurkha—Building a Bridge—We start into the Mountains—Fording Rivers—Flowers—Lack of Water on Hillside—Curious Vegetation—Our highest Point—A wide View—Rare Birds—Coal—Uninhabitable Country—Dreary Jungle—Rarely any Beauty—Remarkable Trees—Occasional Compensations.
Challenges of Traveling Across the Country—Expedition heads toward the Mountains—Reaching the Iwaka River—Changing Landscapes—The Impassable Iwaka—A Brave Gurkha—Building a Bridge—We start our climb into the Mountains—Crossing Rivers—Flowers—Lack of Water on the Hillside—Interesting Plant Life—Our highest Elevation—A wide View—Unique Birds—Coal—Uninhabitable Area—Gloomy Jungle—Rarely any Beauty—Notable Trees—Occasional Rewards.
When our third and last batch of forty-eight coolies reached the Mimika towards the end of December, it was at once evident from their appearance that the majority of them would not last very long, and as we had ourselves been already for a year in the country, it was agreed that we should make a final effort to penetrate as far as possible towards the mountains, and that when our means of transport came to an end we should take our departure from New Guinea.
When our third and final group of forty-eight workers arrived in Mimika in late December, it was immediately clear from their appearance that most of them wouldn't last long. Since we had already been in the country for a year, we decided to make one last push to travel as far as possible toward the mountains, and when our transportation resources ran out, we would leave New Guinea.
We had long realised the impossibility of reaching the Snow Mountains from our present base. If we had possessed an efficient steam-launch or motor boat, the Mimika was still too small a river and too frequently unnavigable to be useful as a route for water transport. Another consideration even more important than this was the fact that had the Mimika been ten times the size it was, it would still have taken us in a direction many miles to the West of the mountains we hoped230 to reach. The result of these two circumstances was that we travelled by water with great labour to a place (Parimau), which was still in low and often flooded country, and from there we had to travel across country for many miles before we came to the first rising ground.
We had long realized that it was impossible to get to the Snow Mountains from where we were. Even if we had an efficient steam launch or motorboat, the Mimika was still too small of a river and too often unnavigable to be a viable route for water transport. An even more important consideration was that, even if the Mimika had been ten times its size, it would still have taken us many miles west of the mountains we wanted230 to reach. Because of these two issues, we traveled by water with a lot of effort to a place (Parimau) that was still in low and often flooded land, and from there we had to cross the country for many miles before we reached the first higher ground.
It is difficult enough in New Guinea to make a way up a river valley, but you always have the comforting reflection that the river itself leads you back to your base, when stores are exhausted and it is time to return. But when you attempt to make a cross-country journey, not only is the trouble of cutting a track much greater than it is in a river bed, but there is the difficult and often somewhat dangerous business of crossing the rivers; added to this is the risk, which increases with every river you cross, of being cut off for a longer or shorter period from your base camp and supplies by a sudden flood in those same rivers. For this reason, when coolies were sent back from an advanced camp to the base, they had to be supplied with an extra allowance of food in the event of their being stopped by floods on the way; such a proceeding meant diminishing to some extent the store of food they had carried out and a consequent waste of labour. It is essential, therefore, in trying to make a long journey in such a country, to discover beforehand the river valley which will take you nearest to your goal and thus avoid the risks of a long cross-country journey.
It’s already pretty challenging in New Guinea to navigate up a river valley, but you can find some comfort in knowing that the river will eventually guide you back to your camp when your supplies run low and it’s time to head back. However, if you try to travel cross-country, not only is it much harder to create a path compared to following a riverbed, but you also face the tricky and often risky task of crossing rivers. On top of that, there’s the increasing risk with every river crossed of being cut off from your base camp and supplies for a longer or shorter time due to sudden floods. For this reason, when coolies were sent back from an advanced camp to the base, they needed to be given extra food just in case floods delayed their return; this meant reducing the food supply they carried out, resulting in some wasted effort. So, it’s crucial when planning a long journey in that kind of terrain to find out in advance which river valley gets you closest to your destination, helping you avoid the dangers of a lengthy cross-country trek.
No time was lost in sending a fleet of canoes heavily laden with stores up the river from Wakatimi, and early in January the whole expedition was assembled231 at Parimau with supplies sufficient for three months. On the 14th January Marshall and Grant with two Dayak collectors, forty-six coolies, thirty-one Papuans, and about forty soldiers and convicts, by far the largest number of men we had ever sent off at one time, set out for the Wataikwa river. A few of them went on with the Europeans to the Iwaka, where a track was cut for two marches up the valley of that river, while the rest, after leaving their loads at the Wataikwa depôt, returned to Parimau to fetch more loads of stores. From the Wataikwa the coolies carried on the stores to the upper camp on the Iwaka river, a three days’ march, and at the beginning of February Cramer and I went up there with the last party. About a hundred and fifty loads of one kind or another had been carried up from Parimau in these various excursions, but unhappily the coolies ate up a good many of the loads on the way, and still more unhappily many of the coolies fell sick, so that if we had wished to send back to Parimau for yet another transport of stores, it would probably have ended in our having no coolies to carry them any further.
No time was wasted sending a fleet of canoes loaded with supplies up the river from Wakatimi, and by early January, the entire expedition was gathered231 at Parimau with enough supplies for three months. On January 14th, Marshall and Grant, along with two Dayak collectors, forty-six coolies, thirty-one Papuans, and about forty soldiers and convicts—the largest group we had ever dispatched at once—set out for the Wataikwa river. A few of them accompanied the Europeans to the Iwaka, where a path was cut for two days' march up the valley of that river, while the rest, after dropping off their loads at the Wataikwa depot, returned to Parimau to fetch more supplies. From the Wataikwa, the coolies transported the supplies to the upper camp on the Iwaka river, a journey that took three days, and at the beginning of February, Cramer and I went up there with the last group. About one hundred fifty loads of various items had been transported from Parimau during these trips, but unfortunately, the coolies consumed a good portion of the loads along the way, and even more unfortunately, many of the coolies fell ill. So, if we had wanted to send back to Parimau for yet another shipment of supplies, it likely would have resulted in having no coolies left to carry them any further.
The nett result of all this carrying was that when we arrived with the last loads at the Iwaka depôt we found that we had only twelve days’ provisions for our party of three Europeans, two Dayaks and the twenty-two coolies who survived from the forty-eight of a month earlier. Cramer had food for about the same number of days for his party of soldiers and convicts. Such a meagre supply of provisions as that obviously made it out of the question for us to232 penetrate far into the mountains; but you must in New Guinea, as elsewhere, cut your coat according to your cloth.
The end result of all this carrying was that when we arrived with the last loads at the Iwaka depot, we found we had only twelve days’ worth of supplies for our group of three Europeans, two Dayaks, and the twenty-two coolies who survived from the forty-eight we had a month ago. Cramer had food for about the same number of days for his group of soldiers and convicts. Such a small amount of provisions obviously made it impossible for us to232 venture far into the mountains; but in New Guinea, like anywhere else, you have to make do with what you have.
The Iwaka at the place where we first came to it is a tremendous torrent flowing in rather a narrow stony bed. A little way further down it spreads out into a wider channel like that of the Wataikwa, but it is much larger than that river and though we searched down stream for three or four miles, we found no place where it was possible to cross.
The Iwaka, where we first encountered it, is a powerful rush of water flowing through a narrow, rocky bed. A bit further downstream, it widens into a broader channel similar to the Wataikwa, but it's much larger than that river. Despite searching downstream for three or four miles, we couldn't find any spot where it was possible to cross.
As we went up the river we very soon found that the river banks became steeper, and it was soon evident that we were at last among the hills. There was a peculiar satisfaction in bending one’s legs to go up hill after having been for so many months on almost level ground. The track was not at all easy, for it appeared that in many places large slices of the hillside had slipped down, bringing with them a chaos of dead and living trees over which we had to pick a precarious way. In some places we crept along the edge of the torrent, and in others we climbed high up the hillside to avoid a precipice where the river ran through a narrow gorge; but it was all a pleasant change from the monotonous jungle of the plains. There was more variety in the vegetation too as we went on; creepers arranged themselves prettily on the rocky river bank, and Fan-palms, which we had not seen before, grew in groups in the more level places. There was a tree growing in many places whose lower branches were covered at that season with small pink flowers, which lent a grateful splash of colour to the usually gloomy 233green of the jungle. There was an invigorating air of mountains in the river as it came thundering over the huge boulders in its bed, and now and again we even got a glimpse through the trees of the mountains themselves, apparently not so very far distant from us.
As we traveled up the river, we quickly noticed that the banks became steeper, and it was clear that we were finally among the hills. There was a unique satisfaction in using our legs to climb after spending so many months on nearly flat ground. The path was quite challenging, as large sections of the hillside had slid down in many areas, creating a jumble of dead and living trees that we had to carefully navigate. In some spots, we crept along the edge of the rushing water, and in others, we climbed higher up the hill to avoid a cliff where the river flowed through a narrow gorge; but it was all a refreshing change from the monotonous jungle of the plains. The vegetation also became more varied as we continued; vines arranged themselves beautifully on the rocky riverbank, and Fan-palms, which we hadn’t seen before, grew in clusters in the flatter areas. There was a tree found in many places whose lower branches were adorned this season with small pink flowers, adding a welcome splash of color to the typically dark green of the jungle. The air felt invigoratingly mountainous as the river thundered over the massive boulders in its path, and occasionally, we caught glimpses through the trees of the mountains themselves, seemingly not too far away from us.
LOOKING UP THE MIMIKA RIVER FROM THE CAMP AT PARIMAU.
LOOKING UP THE MIMIKA RIVER FROM THE CAMP AT PARIMAU.
Two days’ scrambling up the valley brought us to the rest of the party at the depôt camp, and there we learnt the very unwelcome news of a discovery, which seemed likely to put an immediate end to our explorations. The advanced party had climbed up a spur to the west of the river and had seen that the Iwaka, instead of flowing (as we imagined) from the North-east by an apparently wide valley, actually flowed from the North through a deep, and in some places precipitous gorge, which we could not possibly attempt to traverse with our feeble coolies in the short time that remained to us.
Two days of hiking up the valley finally brought us to the rest of the group at the supply camp, where we received the very unwelcome news of a discovery that could put an immediate stop to our explorations. The advanced team had climbed up a ridge to the west of the river and realized that the Iwaka, instead of flowing from the northeast through what seemed to be a wide valley, actually flowed from the north through a deep, and in some places steep, gorge that we could never hope to cross with our weak coolies in the limited time left to us.
If we were to advance at all, it was necessary for us to go in a North-easterly direction, but there we seemed to be completely cut off by the torrent of the Iwaka River. Attempts were made both upstream and downstream to wade across, but nobody succeeded in doing it, and no better luck attended those who tried to make a bridge by felling a tree across the river, the bridge was at once swept away. As a last expedient a large reward of money was offered to the first man who should find a way across the river, and again they all set out full of hope and armed with axes. The luck fell to two of the Gurkhas, who cleverly felled a large tree straight across the river. Had it fallen a few feet234 to one side or the other it would not have been long enough to reach the other bank, and if it had bent a little more in the middle, the water would have snatched it up like a straw and carried it away in a moment. But it kept just clear above the water and made a safe temporary bridge by which they could cross, and before nightfall a single rope of rattan was securely tied across the narrowest part of the river.
If we were going to make any progress at all, we needed to head in a northeast direction, but it seemed like we were completely blocked by the fast-moving Iwaka River. We tried to wade across both upstream and downstream, but no one succeeded, and those who attempted to build a bridge by cutting down a tree were also out of luck because it was quickly swept away. As a last resort, a big cash reward was offered to the first person who could find a way across the river, and everyone set out again, hopeful and armed with axes. The luck went to two Gurkhas, who skillfully felled a large tree directly across the river. If it had landed a few feet to one side or the other, it wouldn't have been long enough to reach the opposite bank, and if it had bent a little more in the middle, the water would have whisked it away like a piece of straw in no time. But it stayed just high enough above the water to create a safe temporary bridge for crossing, and before night fell, a single rattan rope was securely tied across the narrowest part of the river.
During the night the river rose and carried away the tree, and it seemed that with only one strand of rattan across the river the prospect of our reaching the other side was not very good. Nobody seemed inclined to risk the passage, even with the promise of a large reward, until one of the Gurkhas, Jangbir by name, said he would go. “There was only one way to go over—hand over hand, with a rattan round his waist held by us in case the bridge strand broke, a very likely thing, for it was extremely flimsy. Again the rope to hold him had to be very thin, or the weight would tear him from his hold. He got across finely, being dragged out straight by the torrent, until nearly over, when he could make no more headway. The rope tied to his waist was paid out fast, but was caught by the current, and then it was touch and go. Thus he hung for half a minute, dragged out in a horizontal position. If both rattans gave, it meant certain death; if he let go, the great strain would snap the rope round him with a like result. The rope was pulled in as quickly as possible, and then the lucky thing occurred. The strain was too great, and the rope we were pulling on snapped. 235This freed him, and he pulled himself up further and gained the bank.”24
During the night, the river rose and swept the tree away, and it felt like with just one piece of rattan across the river, our chances of getting to the other side weren’t great. No one wanted to take the risk, even with the promise of a big reward, until one of the Gurkhas, named Jangbir, volunteered. “There was only one way to cross—hand over hand, with a rattan around his waist held by us in case the bridge strand broke, which was very likely since it was incredibly flimsy. Also, the rope holding him had to be really thin, or the weight would pull him off. He made it across well, being dragged straight by the current, until he was almost over, when he could no longer move forward. The rope tied to his waist was being released quickly but got caught in the current, and it became a dangerous situation. He hung there for half a minute, pulled out horizontally. If both rattan strands broke, it would mean certain death; if he let go, the huge strain would snap the rope around him with the same result. The rope was pulled in as fast as possible, and then luck struck. The strain was too much, and the rope we were pulling snapped. 235 This freed him, and he managed to pull himself up further and reach the bank.”24
BRIDGE MADE BY THE EXPEDITION ACROSS THE IWAKA RIVER.
BRIDGE BUILT BY THE EXPEDITION OVER THE IWAKA RIVER.
When once a man was on the other side, it was simple to throw over another rattan, and so to pull over many more which he tied to the trees on his bank. On our side of the river was a large boulder with a hole conveniently bored through it, into which stout posts were jammed Y-fashion, and over them the rattans were strained and fastened to the trees behind. When more men were able to cross the river, a similar structure was erected on the other bank.
When a man was on the other side, it was easy to throw over another rattan and pull over many more, which he tied to the trees on his side. On our side of the river was a large boulder with a hole conveniently drilled through it, where strong posts were jammed in a Y-shape, and over them the rattans were tightened and secured to the trees behind. As more men crossed the river, a similar setup was built on the other bank.
The plan of the bridge was very simple, two hand-rails made of a number of twisted rattans, and a foot piece made of a long thin tree, which was secured to the hand-rails by loops of rattan. The span of the bridge was about one hundred feet, and there must have been several hundred yards of rattan used in its construction. The credit of the idea and of most of the work in making the bridge is due to the Gurkhas, without whose help we should never have crossed the Iwaka.
The design of the bridge was quite straightforward: two handrails made of twisted rattan, and a footboard made from a long, thin tree, secured to the handrails with rattan loops. The bridge spanned about one hundred feet, and there must have been several hundred yards of rattan used to build it. The idea and most of the work in constructing the bridge were thanks to the Gurkhas, without whom we would never have crossed the Iwaka.
But all this work had occupied valuable time, and when the bridge was finished we found that we had provisions left for only eight days longer. On February 8th Rawling, Marshall and I, with three Gurkhas and nineteen coolies, and Cramer with a small party of convicts, crossed the Iwaka and made a way Eastwards. After crossing a moderately steep ridge we came down to a stream of marvellously clear water, which brought us in a short time to another large river flowing out of the mountains in a Southerly direction.
But all this work had taken up valuable time, and when the bridge was finished, we realized we only had enough supplies for eight more days. On February 8th, Rawling, Marshall, and I, along with three Gurkhas and nineteen coolies, and Cramer with a small group of convicts, crossed the Iwaka and headed East. After crossing a moderately steep ridge, we came down to a stream of incredibly clear water, which quickly led us to another large river flowing out of the mountains to the South.
So many rivers are there in this region that this was in some places separated by less than two miles from the Iwaka; it was eventually found that this was a branch of the Wania, a large river which enters the sea in a common mouth with the Kamura, of which the Iwaka is a tributary. It was evident that this river came from the slopes of Mount Godman (9,500 ft.) a huge mass immediately to the North of us, and it was our intention to climb up on to the ridge of that mountain in the hopes of obtaining a view of the country to the North of it, and of the Snow Mountains.
There are so many rivers in this area that, in some places, it was less than two miles from the Iwaka; it was eventually discovered that this was a branch of the Wania, a large river that flows into the sea at the same mouth as the Kamura, which the Iwaka feeds into. It was clear that this river came from the slopes of Mount Godman (9,500 ft.), a massive peak directly to our north, and we planned to climb up to the ridge of that mountain, hoping to get a view of the land to the north and the Snow Mountains.
Going up the valley we found ourselves in the midst of really beautiful scenery. The mountains soon closed in about us, and the river, though not running through an actual gorge, was walled by precipices of white limestone rock, now on one side and now on the other. This necessitated our frequently crossing the river, a task by no means easy even when the water is low, as it happened to be at that time. The best way of crossing those rapid rivers is not to fight your way upwards and across the stream, but to go rather with the stream in a sloping direction towards the other bank, and to go as quickly as may be. The bottom is made of very slippery stones, and a false step means disaster, as we all found at different times, but in that way you cross with far less exertion than by breasting the stream.
Going up the valley, we found ourselves surrounded by truly beautiful scenery. The mountains quickly closed in around us, and the river, although not flowing through a real gorge, was flanked by steep cliffs of white limestone, alternating on either side. This meant we had to cross the river frequently, which was no easy task even when the water was low, as it was at that time. The best way to cross those fast rivers isn't to struggle against the current but to go with the flow at an angle toward the opposite bank and move as quickly as possible. The riverbed consists of very slippery stones, and one wrong step can lead to disaster, as we all discovered at different times. However, this method allows you to cross with much less effort than if you were battling the current.
In this valley, for the first time since we came to New Guinea, we found several flowering plants; among the rocks by the river grew clumps of a large pink Balsam, and on the moss at the foot of the tree trunks was a beautiful scarlet Begonia with a remarkably hairy leaf.
In this valley, for the first time since we arrived in New Guinea, we discovered several flowering plants; near the rocks by the river, there were clusters of a large pink Balsam, and on the moss at the base of the tree trunks was a stunning scarlet Begonia with a noticeably hairy leaf.
There was a curious green-flowered aroid with a large blotched leaf, and growing everywhere over the cliffs and the tree trunks were Pitcher plants (Nepenthes) of two species.
There was a strange green-flowered aroid with a large spotted leaf, and Pitcher plants (Nepenthes) of two species were growing all over the cliffs and tree trunks.
On the second day we camped on a sort of shelf on the hillside, two or three hundred feet above the river, and as our progress up the valley had been so slow, it was certain that we should not be able to reach the summit ridge before we were obliged to turn back by lack of food. So it was decided to go straight up the spur on which we then were in the hope that from the top we might see a view of the surrounding country. On the following day we climbed up about two thousand feet; the hillside was exceedingly steep, and the men had to haul themselves up by the roots of the trees above them.
On the second day, we set up camp on a shelf on the hillside, a couple of hundred feet above the river. Since our progress up the valley had been so slow, it was clear we wouldn’t reach the summit ridge before we had to turn back because of a lack of food. So, we decided to head straight up the spur we were on, hoping that from the top we’d get a view of the surrounding area. The next day, we climbed about two thousand feet; the hillside was extremely steep, and the men had to pull themselves up by the roots of the trees above them.
At our camp on the hillside—there was not a square yard of level ground—we were troubled for the first time in New Guinea by a lack of water. No rain had fallen for two days, and the ground was so steep that all the water had run off, and it was a long time before the Gurkhas found a trickle of water in a gully some distance away, whence a supply was laboriously fetched to the camp.
At our camp on the hillside—there wasn't a single square yard of flat ground—we faced our first water shortage in New Guinea. It hadn't rained for two days, and the terrain was so steep that all the water had drained away. It took a while for the Gurkhas to find a small trickle of water in a gully some distance away, from which they carefully brought a supply back to the camp.
On the fourth day we climbed up about two thousand feet further, but with a great deal more difficulty. The trees became smaller as we went up, but infinitely denser, and for a great part of the way we scrambled up, not along the ground, but over a fantastic network of roots and trunks of dead and living trees, all of them covered with mosses and festooned238 with a wonderful variety of creepers. In some places we were clambering over the topmost branches of the tangle of vegetation, and in others we were burrowing into mossy caves and grottoes among the roots. It was a weird and rather uncanny place and, except that it lacked the beauty of colour that is found there, it recalled the forest at ten thousand feet in Ruwenzori more than any other place I have seen.
On the fourth day, we climbed up about two thousand feet more, but it was a lot harder. The trees got smaller as we went higher, but they were way denser, and for most of the way, we scrambled up, not along the ground, but over a crazy network of roots and trunks from dead and living trees, all covered with moss and adorned238 with a beautiful variety of vines. In some areas, we were climbing over the top branches of the thick vegetation, and in others, we were crawling into mossy caves and grottoes among the roots. It was a strange and kinda eerie place, and even though it lacked the beautiful colors found there, it reminded me more of the forest at ten thousand feet in Ruwenzori than any other place I've seen.
At 5,000 feet we found ourselves on the ridge, a narrow knife-edged spur of Mount Godman, and there we camped. It was a most unlikely looking spot for a camp, but the ridge beyond was a great deal worse—it took the Gurkhas many hours to cut the narrowest track along it for half a mile—so we had to make the best of the place that we had reached. A number of trees were cut down and the irregularities of the ground were more or less filled up with the branches, and there we pitched our tents and spread our beds. There was a small shrub (a species of Erica, I think), which, when burnt, filled the air with a delicious smell of incense, strangely out of keeping with our surroundings.
At 5,000 feet, we found ourselves on the ridge, a narrow knife-edged spur of Mount Godman, and set up camp there. It was an incredibly unlikely spot for a camp, but the ridge beyond was even worse—it took the Gurkhas many hours to carve out the narrowest track along it for half a mile—so we had to make the best of the place we had reached. We cut down several trees, and the uneven ground was mostly leveled with their branches, and there we pitched our tents and laid out our beds. There was a small shrub (a type of Erica, I think), which, when burned, filled the air with a delightful smell of incense, oddly out of place with our surroundings.
Though we had been surrounded by dense clouds since we reached the ridge, it obstinately refused to rain for the third day in succession, a thing quite unprecedented in our experience of the country. Happily the mosses, which clothed everything, were full of moisture and we had only to squeeze them like sponges to get water in plenty; the coolies of course complained of the dirty colour of their rice when it was cooked in mossy water, but we found that it gave to ours an unfamiliar and not unpleasant taste.
Though we had been surrounded by thick clouds since reaching the ridge, it stubbornly refused to rain for the third day in a row, which was something we had never experienced in this area before. Fortunately, the mosses covering everything were full of moisture, and we just had to squeeze them like sponges to get plenty of water. The coolies, of course, complained about the muddy color of their rice when it was cooked in mossy water, but we found that it gave ours an unusual and not unpleasant taste.
LOOKING WESTWARDS FROM ABOVE THE IWAKA RIVER.
LOOKING WEST FROM ABOVE THE IWAKA RIVER.
THE COCKSCOMB MOUNTAIN (10,050 FT.) SEEN FROM MOUNT GODMAN.
THE COCKSCOMB MOUNTAIN (10,050 FT.) SEEN FROM MOUNT GODMAN.
The greater part of the next day was spent in cutting a way along the ridge to a point (5800 ft.) from which it was hoped that a view of the country might be seen. Long before the track was cut the clouds were down upon us, and no view could be seen, so we decided to stay for another day, although we had only one day’s food remaining. But the view that we saw on the following day was more than compensation for our rather scanty fare.
The majority of the next day was spent carving a path along the ridge to a spot (5800 ft.) where we hoped to get a view of the landscape. Long before the trail was ready, the clouds rolled in, and visibility was gone, so we opted to stay for another day, even though we had only one day’s worth of food left. However, the view we experienced the next day was more than enough to make up for our limited supplies.
Due North of us, and rising from the spur on which we stood, was the great mass of Mount Godman, and to the West of that the even more imposing peak of Wataikwa Mountain (9923 ft.). Between the two could be seen a part of the tremendous cliffs of Mount Leonard Darwin (13,882), the southern face of which appears to show an almost vertical precipice of upwards of ten thousand feet. To the West ridge beyond ridge of forest-covered heights stretched away to the ranges of the Charles Louis Mountains in the far distance. To the East rose the beautiful three-topped mountain called the Cock’s Comb (10,050 ft.), behind and to the North of which heavy banks of clouds showed where the snows of Mount Carstensz lay hidden. Five thousand feet below us the mountains ended almost abruptly, and the southern half of the circuit of our view was occupied by the hideous plain of dull green jungle to a hazy line of the sea forty miles away. Here and there the sunlight caught the waters of innumerable rivers, and we could distinctly see those that we had crossed, the Tuaba, Kamura, Wataikwa, and the Iwaka. Further to the East was a still bigger river, the Wania, which we240 could trace down to its lagoon-like estuary, and beyond it was the Aiika, and a very distant river, possibly the Newerip.
Due north of us, and rising from the ridge where we stood, was the massive Mount Godman, and to the west of that was the even more impressive Wataikwa Mountain (9,923 ft.). Between the two, we could see part of the enormous cliffs of Mount Leonard Darwin (13,882 ft.), whose southern face appeared to showcase an almost vertical drop of over ten thousand feet. To the west, ridges of forest-covered heights stretched out towards the Charles Louis Mountains in the far distance. To the east rose the beautiful three-peaked mountain known as the Cock’s Comb (10,050 ft.), behind which and to the north, thick clouds indicated where the snows of Mount Carstensz were hidden. Five thousand feet below us, the mountains dropped off almost steeply, and the southern half of our view was filled with the dreary plain of dull green jungle leading to a hazy line of the sea forty miles away. Here and there, the sunlight sparkled on the waters of countless rivers, and we could clearly see the ones we had crossed: the Tuaba, Kamura, Wataikwa, and Iwaka. Further east was an even larger river, the Wania, which we could trace down to its lagoon-like estuary, beyond which lay the Aiika and a very distant river, possibly the Newerip.
Nobody who has not spent a year and more in a dreary jungle country, where you are seldom more than a yard or two from the nearest tree, and where the limit of your view is the opposite bank of a stagnant river, can realise the rest, to the mind and to the eye alike, that a wide horizon gives. Although there were points of interest to be seen by the cartographical eye, there was nothing, excepting the outlines of some of the nearer mountains, of beauty in that view; there were no striking features of the land and no gorgeous effects of colour, but one will always treasure a recollection of the physical delight of seeing far and wide to the horizon, and of the feeling of satisfaction in looking down godlike on the world that we had so painfully traversed.
Nobody who hasn’t spent over a year in a dull jungle can truly understand the mental and visual relief that a wide horizon brings. When you’re rarely more than a few feet from the nearest tree, and your view is limited to the other side of a stagnant river, the contrast is striking. While there were some interesting details for a geography enthusiast to appreciate, there wasn’t much beauty in that view aside from the shapes of the nearby mountains. There were no dramatic landscapes or vibrant colors, but you will always remember the physical joy of seeing so far to the horizon and the satisfying feeling of looking down on the world we had struggled to cross.
But views, like all other good things, have their ends, and ours was all too soon interrupted by the daily thick blanket of white cloud, which rolled up and enveloped us until nightfall. We groped our way back to the camp where we found our coolies very miserable and shivering with cold—poor wretches, they had never before endured, nor even imagined, a temperature so low as 50° F. To us the coolness was very pleasant, and it provoked a hunger to which we had long been strangers; very small quantities of boiled rice, and chupatties made by the Gurkhas of mildewed and weevilly flour, only served to stimulate our appetites for more.
But views, like all other good things, eventually come to an end, and ours was cut short by the daily thick blanket of white clouds that rolled in and surrounded us until nightfall. We stumbled our way back to the camp, where we found our porters very miserable and shivering with cold—poor guys, they had never experienced, nor even imagined, a temperature this low at 50° F. For us, the coolness was quite pleasant, sparking a hunger we hadn't felt in a while; the tiny portions of boiled rice and chupatties made by the Gurkhas from moldy and weevily flour only made us crave more.
On the following day we retreated hastily downhill by the way we had come, and by forced marches, perhaps a little accelerated by our lack of food, in two days we arrived at the Iwaka camp. In the meantime Grant had been camped with the two Dayak collectors on a hill about three thousand feet high above the Iwaka, where they had made a very fine collection of birds. Among them was a new dwarf species of Cassowary (Casuarius claudi) and specimens of the rare Six-plumed Bird of Paradise (Parotia meeki). Another bird very characteristic of the Iwaka and neighbouring valleys is the Moustached Swift (Macropteryx mystacea), which measures more than two feet across the wings, and is remarkable for its long pointed tail and its tapering white moustache. This bird seldom appears until late in the afternoon, when it is seen sailing majestically with outstretched wings at a height over the river.
On the next day, we quickly made our way back down the path we had taken, pushing ourselves forward, perhaps a bit faster due to our hunger. In two days, we reached the Iwaka camp. Meanwhile, Grant had been camped with the two Dayak collectors on a hill about three thousand feet above the Iwaka, where they managed to collect a great variety of birds. Among them was a new dwarf species of cassowary (Casuarius claudi) and specimens of the rare six-plumed bird of paradise (Parotia meeki). Another bird that is very representative of the Iwaka and surrounding valleys is the Moustached Swift (Macropteryx mystacea), which has a wingspan of more than two feet and is noted for its long pointed tail and tapering white mustache. This bird rarely appears until later in the afternoon when it can be seen soaring gracefully with its wings stretched out high above the river.
Near the Iwaka on a hillside laid bare by a landslip we found two seams of coal a few inches in thickness; it was poor stuff and only burnt with difficulty when put into a fire. Mr. Lorentz found combustible coal in the hills near Mount Wilhelmina, and it is probable that a careful search would reveal the existence of better coal in this region too. Near the same place, as well as in one or two other localities, we found indications of petroleum, but all our searches for gold and other precious metals resulted in nothing except occasional traces of copper.
Near the Iwaka on a hillside stripped bare by a landslide, we found two coal seams just a few inches thick. It was low-quality coal and only burned with difficulty in a fire. Mr. Lorentz discovered some decent coal in the hills near Mount Wilhelmina, and it's likely that a thorough search would uncover better quality coal in this area as well. In the same vicinity, along with a couple of other spots, we found signs of petroleum, but all our efforts to find gold and other precious metals yielded nothing more than occasional traces of copper.
During the following days, while we were stumbling back to Parimau along the now familiar track, we242 wondered whether we should be the last as well as being the first Europeans to penetrate into that forsaken region. It has been mapped now, and our wanderings have shown that it is not the way by which any sane person would go who wished to explore the Snow Mountains. It is a region absolutely without inhabitants, and the Papuans, who live on the upper waters of the Mimika and Kamura rivers, shun it even as a hunting ground. There are no precious metals or other products of the soil to be won, and not until all the other forests in the world are cut down will its timber be of value. So it may safely be supposed that it will long be left untouched; the Birds of Paradise will call by day, the cassowaries will boom by night, and the leeches will stretch themselves anxiously on their leaves, but it will be a long time before another white man comes to disturb them.
Over the next few days, as we stumbled back to Parimau along the now-familiar path, we242 wondered if we would be the last as well as the first Europeans to venture into that desolate area. It’s been mapped out now, and our journey showed that it’s definitely not a route any sensible person would take if they wanted to explore the Snow Mountains. It’s a place completely devoid of inhabitants, and the Papuans living along the upper waters of the Mimika and Kamura rivers avoid it even as a hunting ground. There are no valuable metals or resources to be found, and its timber won’t be worth anything until all other forests in the world are gone. So it’s safe to say that it will remain untouched for a long time; the Birds of Paradise will call during the day, the cassowaries will boom at night, and the leeches will stretch out eagerly on their leaves, but it will be a long time before another white man comes to disturb them.
Many people have the idea that a tropical forest is full of gorgeous flowers, about which brilliant butterflies are constantly flitting and birds of splendid plumage flash from tree to tree. This idea is no doubt due in a great measure to the habit of gathering together in hothouses the flowering plants of all the Tropics, though they may have come from Central America, from Africa and from Borneo or Java. It is true that there are many splendid birds, but the vegetation is so dense that you seldom, if ever, see them; the brilliant butterflies are mostly out of sight near the topmost branches of the trees; and you may travel for days together without seeing a single flowering plant. Many of the trees are covered with orchids on all their branches, but 243they very seldom flower, and the flowers of most of them are so insignificant that they do not attract your attention.
Many people think of a tropical forest as being full of beautiful flowers, with vibrant butterflies constantly fluttering around and vividly colored birds moving from tree to tree. This perception likely comes from the way flowering plants from all over the Tropics are often displayed together in greenhouses, even though they might come from Central America, Africa, or places like Borneo and Java. While it's true that there are many stunning birds, the dense vegetation means you rarely see them; the vibrant butterflies are mostly hidden up in the highest branches; and you could travel for days without spotting a single flowering plant. Many trees are covered in orchids on all their branches, but 243 they rarely bloom, and most of their flowers are so small and plain that they don't catch your eye.
THE SUPPORTS OF A PANDANUS (30 FEET HIGH).
THE SUPPORTS OF A PANDANUS (30 FEET TALL).
Occasionally you may see high above your head the white flower of a Dendrobium or the long spike of the gigantic Grammatophyllum, but I have only once (in a small island on the North coast of New Guinea) seen such a mass of flowering orchids as to make a splash of colour in the view. In the Tropics there is nothing comparable in colour with the blue hyacinths, the fields of buttercups, or the gorse and hawthorns of this country.
Sometimes you might spot high above you the white bloom of a Dendrobium or the tall spike of the massive Grammatophyllum, but I've only seen once (on a small island off the North coast of New Guinea) such a large display of blooming orchids that it created a splash of color in the scenery. In the Tropics, there's nothing that matches the vibrant colors of blue hyacinths, fields of buttercups, or the gorse and hawthorns found in this country.
But if there is little that is beautiful in the jungle vegetation, there is a great deal that is curious and interesting. The ubiquitous Rattans, climbing Palms, are a constant source of wonder for their snake-like meanderings through the jungle until they climb to the top of some tree where they end in a bunch of leaves. We found three species of Screw Pines (Pandanus), fantastic trees on stilts, and branching like irregular candelabra. The wood of the Pandanus is very tough, and is used by the natives for making bows and spears; the long ribbon-like leaves are used for mats and the walls of their huts, and the fruits of some are eatable, but exceedingly hard. One species bears a cluster of small red fruit about the size of a banana; and another bears a huge melon-shaped fruit of a brilliant scarlet colour and weighing as much as thirty pounds and upwards.
But while there isn't much that's beautiful in the jungle vegetation, there's plenty that's curious and interesting. The ever-present rattans, climbing palms, are a constant source of amazement with their snake-like twists through the jungle until they reach the top of some tree, where they end in a cluster of leaves. We found three species of screw pines (Pandanus), incredible trees on stilts that branch out like irregular candelabras. The wood of the Pandanus is really tough and is used by the locals to make bows and spears; the long, ribbon-like leaves are used for mats and walls of their huts, and some of the fruits are edible, though extremely hard. One species has a cluster of small red fruit about the size of a banana, while another produces a huge, melon-shaped fruit that is a brilliant scarlet color and can weigh thirty pounds or more.
Equally remarkable are the trees which stand propped on a number of aerial roots and seem, as Mr.244 Wallace noted,25 to have started growing in mid air; where several of these trees grow together, it is difficult to say where one ends and another begins. Too rarely you come across a magnificent forest tree (usually, I believe, a species of Dammara) supported on huge buttresses, which begin twenty or more feet above the ground and spread out for many yards from the foot of the tree. We had occasion to cut down some of these trees, and found the wood intensely hard; if there were seven or eight buttresses a single one would still hold up the tree after all the rest had been cut. When the tree had been felled, the stump looked like a great starfish sprawling over the ground with a centre not more than a foot across, while the trunk a few feet up had been a yard or more in thickness.
Equally impressive are the trees that are supported by several aerial roots and seem, as Mr. 244 Wallace pointed out, to have started growing in mid-air. When several of these trees grow close together, it can be hard to tell where one ends and the next begins. You rarely encounter a stunning forest tree (usually, I think, a type of Dammara) that stands on huge buttresses, which start twenty or more feet above the ground and extend out for many yards from the base of the tree. We had the chance to cut down some of these trees and found the wood to be incredibly hard; even if there were seven or eight buttresses, one alone could still support the tree after all the others had been removed. Once the tree was cut down, the stump resembled a large starfish sprawling on the ground, with a center no bigger than a foot across, while the trunk a few feet up had been about a yard thick.
It has happened to me to walk through many hundreds of miles of forest in different parts of the world, but I have never seen any so dreary as that New Guinea jungle with its mud, its leeches, its almost unbroken stillness, and its universal air of death. Happily the mind of man is of a curiously selective habit, and it chooses to retain only the more pleasant things; you forget the long wet weeks of rain and mud, the hunger and the nasty food, and remember rather those glorious moments when you came out of the twilit jungle into an open river bed and saw the distant mountains, or those rare sunny afternoons when the “implacable cicala” creaked in the treetops above your tent.
I’ve walked through countless miles of forests in different parts of the world, but I’ve never encountered one as gloomy as the New Guinea jungle with its mud, its leeches, its almost complete silence, and its pervasive vibe of death. Fortunately, the human mind is strangely selective, and it tends to hold onto only the nicer memories; you forget the long, wet weeks of rain and mud, the hunger and the terrible food, and instead remember those breathtaking moments when you emerged from the dim jungle into an open riverbed and saw the distant mountains, or those rare sunny afternoons when the "relentless cicada" buzzed in the treetops above your tent.
There are indeed a thousand things to interest one 245in the jungle, however blank and monotonous it may seem to be. The trouble is that so much of your attention in these places must be devoted to the trivial duties of the day, the eternal question of food, the care of the sick, the precautions against floods, and so on, that but little time is left over for studying the hidden wonders of the world about you. The geographers and the naturalists of the future will live in comfortable ships on the coast, whence they will fly daily into the heart of New Guinea where they will find things undreamt of now. But the time for that is not yet, and in the meantime those who plod on foot do the best they can.
There are definitely a thousand things to capture your interest in the jungle, no matter how bland and repetitive it might appear. The problem is that a lot of your focus in these places has to go toward the everyday tasks—like figuring out food, taking care of the sick, and preventing floods—which leaves very little time for exploring the hidden wonders around you. The geographers and naturalists of the future will live in comfortable ships along the coast, from where they’ll fly daily into the heart of New Guinea and discover things we can't even imagine now. But that time hasn't arrived yet, so for now, those who trek on foot are doing the best they can.
CHAPTER XVIII
Departure from Parimau—Parting Gifts—Mock Lamentation—Rawling explores Kamura River—Start for the Wania—Lose the Propeller—A Perilous Anchorage—Unpleasant Night—Leave the Motor Boat—Village of Nimé—Arrival of “Zwaan” with Dayaks—Their Departure—Waiting for the Ship—Taking Leave of the People of Wakatimi—Sail from New Guinea—Ké Islands—Banda—Hospitality of the Netherlands Government—Lieutenant Cramer—Sumbawa—Bali—Return to Singapore and England—One or Two Reflexions.
Leaving Parimau—Farewell Gifts—Feigned Grief—Rawling explores the Kamura River—Journey to the Wania—Propeller Issues—Hazardous Anchorage—Unpleasant Night—Abandon the Motor Boat—Village of Nimé—Arrival of “Zwaan” with Dayaks—Their Departure—Waiting for the Ship—Saying Goodbye to the People of Wakatimi—Set sail from New Guinea—Ké Islands—Banda—Hospitality from the Dutch Government—Lieutenant Cramer—Sumbawa—Bali—Return to Singapore and England—A Few Reflections.
After our return to Parimau in February, Rawling and Grant went down to Wakatimi, while Marshall and I spent a week in visiting the village of the Tapiro in a last but vain attempt to see the pygmy women. The first few days of March were occupied in packing up the accumulated odds and ends of our year’s occupation and on the 9th of March we were ready to depart. We had told the natives that we were going away and for days before we went they pestered us with questions as to whether we were coming back and what we would give them when we went, and they quickly decided which of our houses they intended to occupy.
After we got back to Parimau in February, Rawling and Grant went to Wakatimi, while Marshall and I spent a week visiting the village of the Tapiro in a final but unsuccessful attempt to see the pygmy women. The first few days of March were spent packing up the various things we had accumulated over the year, and by March 9th, we were ready to leave. We had informed the locals that we were leaving, and in the days leading up to our departure, they constantly bombarded us with questions about whether we would return and what we would give them before we left. They quickly decided which of our houses they planned to take over.
BUTTRESSED TREES.
Supportive trees.
On the morning of our departure from Parimau we allowed no natives to come into the camp until all the canoes were loaded up and ready for a start. Then we called out to them to come over and about forty men and boys splashed across the river and came swarming into the camp. We had kept for them a 247number of axe-heads, knives and other pieces of steel and iron, and when the people saw what they were going to be given they became a crowd of madmen. I distributed the things, while Marshall stood by with a big piece of wood and kept them from rushing into the place and seizing everything at once. They shouted and raved and screamed and grew almost pale with excitement, and the various expressions of greed and cunning and anger and delight in their faces were most interesting to watch.
On the morning of our departure from Parimau, we didn't allow any locals into the camp until all the canoes were fully loaded and ready to go. Then, we called out to them, and about forty men and boys splashed across the river and came rushing into the camp. We had set aside a number of axe heads, knives, and other pieces of steel and iron for them, and when the people saw what they were going to receive, they went wild. I handed out the items while Marshall stood by with a large piece of wood, preventing them from rushing in and grabbing everything at once. They shouted, yelled, and screamed, their faces almost pale with excitement, and the mix of greed, cunning, anger, and delight on their faces was really fascinating to watch.
After we had given them their presents we walked towards the canoes, and then they began to set up their horrible wail. A few of them picked up pieces of cloth and matting, through the middle of which they thrust their heads and then began to howl with their hands over their eyes. I took a last look round the houses to see that nothing of value had been left behind and on going to the store-house I met a man, one of our best friends, coming out of it with a tin of rice under his arm. He immediately put down the tin, tore off from a climbing bean that grew by the house a trail of leaves a yard or two long, and wound them about his head and body. Then he burst into tears and the most heartrending sobs, which changed in a moment, when he caught my eye, into a shout of laughter.
After we gave them their presents, we walked toward the canoes, and then they started their terrible wailing. A few of them picked up pieces of cloth and matting, sticking their heads through the middle and then howling with their hands over their eyes. I took one last look around the houses to make sure nothing valuable was left behind, and when I went to the storehouse, I ran into a man, one of our closest friends, coming out with a tin of rice under his arm. He immediately set down the tin, tore a length of leaves from a climbing bean plant growing by the house, and wrapped them around his head and body. Then he burst into tears and sobbed heartbreakingly, which changed in an instant, when he saw me, into a shout of laughter.
When we finally got into the canoes all the men came down to the water’s edge and wailed, while some of them sat down in the water and smeared themselves with mud. In the meantime we could see their women going off into the jungle carrying tins full of their possessions to hide there, and it is probable that248 after we left there was a good deal of quarrelling and fighting over the spoil. The wailing is a purely perfunctory politeness, but I think there were a few men who were genuinely sorry to lose us. On the following day a strong ebb-tide bore us quickly down to Wakatimi and our navigations of the upper Mimika river were at an end.
When we finally got into the canoes, all the men gathered by the water and cried out, while some of them sat down in the water and covered themselves in mud. Meanwhile, we could see their women heading into the jungle, carrying cans full of their stuff to hide there, and it's likely that248 after we left, there was a lot of arguing and fighting over the loot. The crying was mainly just a formality, but I think there were a few men who were truly sad to see us go. The next day, a strong outgoing tide quickly carried us down to Wakatimi, marking the end of our travels on the upper Mimika river.
In the meantime Rawling had made an interesting exploration of the coast and of the river mouths to the East of the Mimika. The motor boat, which had been badly damaged some months earlier, had been repaired by two Dutch pioneer soldiers and was more or less sea-worthy. In a four days’ trip he had entered the Atuka river, or rather the Atuka mouth of the Kamura river, a few miles up which he came to Atuka, a large village of about six hundred huts surrounded by coconut palms and tobacco plantations. Proceeding up the river into the main Kamura river he went on almost to the junction with the Wataikwa river, thus filling in a large gap of unknown river. On his way back he chose the left (East) branch and after passing the village of Kamura, where the inhabitants showed an inclination to plunder the boat, he came to the lake-like estuary of the Kamura and Wania rivers and entered the sea by a deep channel. It is worth noting that the inhabitants of Atuka and Kamura villages, many of whom visited us two or three times at Wakatimi, are of a decidedly lower type (in appearance) than the people of the Mimika district, though the distance that separates them is only a few miles. They have a fiercer and more brutal aspect249 and many of them, both men and women go completely naked, a habit which is never practised by the people of Wakatimi. Scarcity of petrol and an irregularly sparking plug brought that excursion to an untimely end, before the lower waters of the Wania had been investigated.
In the meantime, Rawling conducted an interesting exploration of the coast and the river mouths to the east of the Mimika. The motorboat, which had been badly damaged a few months earlier, was fixed by two Dutch pioneer soldiers and was more or less seaworthy. During a four-day trip, he entered the Atuka River, or rather the Atuka mouth of the Kamura River. A few miles up, he reached Atuka, a large village with about six hundred huts surrounded by coconut palms and tobacco plantations. Continuing up the river towards the main Kamura River, he ventured almost to the junction with the Wataikwa River, thus mapping a significant stretch of unknown river. On his way back, he chose the left (east) branch and, after passing the village of Kamura—where the locals showed a tendency to plunder the boat—he arrived at the lake-like estuary of the Kamura and Wania rivers and entered the sea via a deep channel. It's worth noting that the inhabitants of Atuka and Kamura villages, many of whom visited us two or three times at Wakatimi, have a distinctly lower appearance compared to the people of the Mimika district, despite the fact that they are only a few miles apart. They have a fiercer and more brutal look, and many of them, both men and women, are completely naked—a practice that the people of Wakatimi do not engage in. A shortage of gasoline and a faulty spark plug abruptly ended that excursion before the lower waters of the Wania could be explored.
From our hill-top (see p. 239) the Wania was evidently by far the most considerable of all the rivers of the district, and apart from our desire to see the people of the Wania, of whom the Mimika natives always spoke with great respect, we felt bound to explore that river as far as possible. Accordingly on March 14, Rawling, Marshall and I, with a Dutch pioneer, two Gurkhas and three coolies, set off in the motor boat towing the yawl, a ship’s boat about twenty feet long, laden with tents and provisions for a week. In a few hours we arrived at the mouth of the Wania river and found that owing to the low tide there was no way of crossing the sand-bar that lay across the entrance. This circumstance was the more remarkable, because only a few days earlier Rawling had come through this bar by a very deep channel. The frequent changes in the banks make the navigation of this coast and particularly of the river mouths exceedingly difficult.
From our hilltop (see p. 239), the Wania was clearly the largest river in the area. Besides our interest in meeting the Wania people, who the Mimika natives always spoke of with great respect, we felt it was important to explore the river as far as we could. So, on March 14, Rawling, Marshall, and I, along with a Dutch pioneer, two Gurkhas, and three laborers, set out in the motorboat, towing a yawl—a ship’s boat about twenty feet long—packed with tents and supplies for a week. A few hours later, we reached the mouth of the Wania river and discovered that due to the low tide, there was no way to cross the sandbar blocking the entrance. This was particularly surprising since just a few days before, Rawling had navigated this bar using a very deep channel. The constant changes in the riverbanks make navigating this coast, especially the river mouths, extremely challenging.
On this occasion the sea was already rather rough, so that we could not anchor and wait until the tide rose, and as the wind was increasing in force there was nothing for it but to turn back and try to take shelter in one of the rivers between the Wania and the Mimika, if not in the Mimika itself. All went well250 for a few miles and then, as happened frequently, the leather band jumped off the driving wheel and the engine was stopped. When it was replaced and the engine was started again, there was no churning of water in the stern and we realized with some consternation that we had lost our propeller. We were about twelve miles from the mouth of the Mimika, in a shallow sea of less than three fathoms, with a strong wind blowing towards the shore where the waves began to break within a few hundred yards of us, and we were ten men with a heavy motor boat and a heavily-laden yawl to get along somehow. We put four men into the yawl to row and they tried to tow, but the current was so strong against them that they made no headway at all, so we had to anchor where we were and hoped for better things. We pitched and rolled and bumped about most horribly and soon most of the party were deadly sea-sick, perhaps luckily for them, because in that condition one cares nothing for the prospect of shipwreck.
On this occasion, the sea was already pretty rough, so we couldn’t anchor and wait for the tide to rise. With the wind picking up, we had no choice but to turn back and seek shelter in one of the rivers between the Wania and the Mimika, or possibly in the Mimika itself. Everything was going fine for a few miles, and then, as often happened, the leather belt slipped off the driving wheel, and the engine stopped. Once it was fixed and we restarted the engine, there was no churn of water at the stern, and we realized with some alarm that we had lost our propeller. We were about twelve miles from the mouth of the Mimika, in shallow water of less than three fathoms, with a strong wind blowing toward the shore where the waves started breaking just a few hundred yards from us. We were ten men with a heavy motorboat and a heavily-loaded yawl trying to navigate somehow. We put four men in the yawl to row, and they attempted to tow us, but the current was so strong against them that they made no progress at all. So we had to anchor where we were and hoped for better conditions. We pitched and rolled and bumped around terribly, and soon most of the group were terribly seasick, which was perhaps a blessing for them, since in that state, you don’t care much about the possibility of shipwreck.
SCREW PINES (Pandanus).
Screw pines (Pandanus).
Our anchor rope was short and none too strong, and the rope between us and the yawl was thoroughly rotten—it had snapped once earlier in the day—and we expected that every sudden jerk of the lumpy sea would break it again. Had that happened, there might have been a nasty accident, as the men were too sick to row, even if they had known the art, and their chances of swimming ashore through a sea swarming with sharks were not very bright. Our own predicament in the helpless motor boat would have been unpleasant too, if the yawl had gone adrift, but happily the ropes 251held. Another drawback was that the motor boat leaked like a sieve, so that a man was kept constantly at work baling her out, and we did not know that the strain might not open her old timbers even more. There was a glorious full moon which one would have enjoyed seeing from the smooth deck of a steamer, but there we could only think how uncomfortable it was lying (without having had dinner) on boxes and tins and gear of all sorts huddled in the bottom of the boat.
Our anchor rope was short and pretty weak, and the rope connecting us to the yawl was completely rotten—it had snapped earlier in the day—and we expected that every sudden jerk of the rough sea would break it again. If that happened, it could have led to a serious accident since the men were too sick to row, even if they knew how, and their chances of swimming to shore through a sea infested with sharks weren't great. Our own situation in the helpless motorboat would have been unpleasant too if the yawl had drifted away, but luckily the ropes 251held. Another issue was that the motorboat leaked like a sieve, so someone had to constantly bail her out, and we didn't know if the strain might open her old timbers even more. There was a beautiful full moon that would have been nice to see from the smooth deck of a steamer, but here we could only think about how uncomfortable it was lying (without having had dinner) on boxes and tins and all sorts of gear crammed in the bottom of the boat.
The wind continued all through the night and the sea did not moderate, so at daylight, after having been for sixteen hours at anchor, we decided to leave the motor boat hoping that it would not be swamped before we were able to come back and fetch it. We all got into the yawl, which we pulled through quite a nasty sea for about three miles to a sand-bank in the estuary of the Timura river, where we camped until the rising tide enabled us to reach the mainland about midnight. On the following day, the sea having become calmer, we rescued the motor boat, which was by that time half full of water, and towed it slowly to the Timura.
The wind blew all night, and the sea didn’t calm down, so at daybreak, after being anchored for sixteen hours, we decided to leave the motorboat, hoping it wouldn’t get swamped before we could return to get it. We all climbed into the yawl and managed to navigate through some rough seas for about three miles to a sandbank in the estuary of the Timura River, where we camped until the rising tide allowed us to reach the mainland around midnight. The next day, with the sea much calmer, we retrieved the motorboat, which by then was half-filled with water, and towed it slowly back to the Timura.
But it was a most arduous business and without the help of a party of natives, who fortunately came along the coast in canoes and were prevailed upon to assist us in paddling, we should never have been able to bring back both of the boats. The arrival of the motor boat at the Mimika on the fifth day, propelled by native paddles instead of by its own power, was not a very dignified affair—it resembled rather the formerly familiar sight of the motor-car in tow of a horse from the plough252 —but it was a piece of good fortune that it and we returned at all.
But it was a really tough job, and without the help of a group of locals who luckily showed up along the coast in canoes and agreed to help us paddle, we would never have managed to bring both boats back. The motorboat's arrival at the Mimika on the fifth day, powered by the paddles of the locals instead of its own engine, wasn't exactly a graceful sight—it looked more like an old-school motor car being pulled by a horse from the plow252—but we were fortunate that both it and we made it back at all.
We stopped for a night on the way at Nimé, a village at the mouth of the Keaukwa River. This is a very large village—I counted four hundred and thirty huts—but there were hardly a dozen people in the place, the whole population having gone off on one of their periodical migrations to a vegetable diet up the river. It was evident from the immense piles of fishbones and empty shells about the houses that the inhabitants must live largely by fishing, when they are there. The houses are better made than those at Wakatimi, and they are arranged in terraces and crescents along the water’s edge. It was there that we saw the elaborate dancing-houses described above (p. 143).
We stopped for the night in Nimé, a village at the mouth of the Keaukwa River. It's a pretty big village—I counted four hundred and thirty huts—but there were hardly a dozen people around since the whole population had gone off on one of their regular migrations for plant-based food up the river. It was clear from the huge piles of fish bones and empty shells around the houses that the residents must rely heavily on fishing when they are home. The houses are better built than those at Wakatimi, and they are arranged in terraces and crescents along the water’s edge. It was there that we saw the impressive dancing halls mentioned earlier (p. 143).
Just as we paddled laboriously into the Mimika estuary we saw far down on the horizon the smoke of a steamer, and in an hour or two a white painted vessel, which turned out to be the Dutch Government ship Zwaan, drew inshore and anchored outside the bar. We naturally supposed that this was a ship that had come to take away the expedition, as we had informed the Government some months earlier that we hoped to be ready to leave the country by the end of March. But that communication had taken a long time, as everything does in those regions, in reaching its destination, and the Zwaan had come, not to take away the expedition, but to bring the means of prolonging the expedition still further.
Just as we paddled hard into the Mimika estuary, we spotted smoke from a steamer on the horizon. In an hour or two, a white-painted vessel, which turned out to be the Dutch Government ship Zwaan, came ashore and anchored outside the bar. We naturally thought this ship was there to take away the expedition, since we had informed the Government months earlier that we expected to be ready to leave the country by the end of March. However, that message took a long time to arrive, as everything does in those areas, and the Zwaan had come, not to take away the expedition, but to bring the means to extend the expedition even further.
AT SUMBAWA PESAR.
In Sumbawa Besar.
It appeared that in the previous December the Committee of the Expedition at home, hearing of our 253scarcity of coolies some months earlier, had decided that a further supply of coolies should be sent to us without delay. Though cables work quickly enough between London and Singapore, communications beyond that are matters of days and weeks, and it was not until the 18th of March that the party of Dayak coolies, who had been engaged in Sarawak by the kind permission of H.H. the Raja, arrived at the Mimika. They were in the charge of Mr. C. B. Kloss, Curator of the Government Museum at Kuala Lumpor, who had brought with him six months’ provision for himself and the men. Almost at the same time that the Committee in England had taken this step, we in New Guinea had decided that three months more was as long as we were prepared to stay in the country, and a request had been sent to the Dutch Government to take us away at the end of that time.
It seemed that back in December, the Committee of the Expedition at home, hearing about our 253 shortage of coolies a few months earlier, decided that more coolies should be sent to us immediately. While cables travel quickly enough between London and Singapore, communication beyond that takes days or weeks, and it wasn’t until March 18th that the group of Dayak coolies, who had been hired in Sarawak with the kind permission of H.H. the Raja, arrived in Mimika. They were led by Mr. C. B. Kloss, Curator of the Government Museum in Kuala Lumpur, who had brought six months' worth of supplies for himself and the men. Almost at the same time the Committee in England made this decision, we in New Guinea had concluded that three more months was the longest we were willing to stay in the country and had sent a request to the Dutch Government to arrange our departure at the end of that period.
When the Zwaan arrived we were all ready to depart, and Cramer’s party, numbering more than a hundred men, were chafing with impatience to get away; it would have been impossible for the Government to keep them there yet another six months. Even if there had been a possibility of our staying on in the country, the number of Dayaks, thirty-eight, was quite insufficient for a long journey into the interior and the prospect of reaching the moderately high ground of Tapiro Mountain, the best that could be hoped for, was not sufficient inducement to tempt any one to paddle again up the Mimika river. Added to this was the further consideration that in a week or two the more rainy season would begin and that for254 five or six months very little progress would be possible even with an unlimited supply of the best coolies.
When the Zwaan arrived, we were all set to leave, and Cramer’s group, which had over a hundred men, was impatient to get going; it would have been impossible for the Government to keep them there for another six months. Even if there was a chance we could stay in the country, the thirty-eight Dayaks we had were far too few for a long journey into the interior, and the chance of reaching the moderately high ground of Tapiro Mountain, which was the best we could hope for, wasn’t enough to convince anyone to paddle back up the Mimika river. On top of that, we had to consider that in a week or two the rainy season would start, and for254 the next five or six months, it would be nearly impossible to make any significant progress, even with an unlimited supply of the best porters.
So there was nothing for it but for Mr. Kloss and the Dayaks to go back in the Zwaan, which sailed for Amboina on the following day, taking also Marshall, as many sick and useless coolies and soldiers as could be crammed on board, and an urgent request to the authorities to remove us as soon as might be. The Dayak episode was altogether an unfortunate one; had the men reached us six months earlier, we should have made a very good use of them, few though they were; but coming as they did when we were on the point of leaving the country they merely illustrated the uselessness of attempting to conduct an expedition from the other side of the world.
So there was no choice but for Mr. Kloss and the Dayaks to head back on the Zwaan, which was leaving for Amboina the next day, taking along Marshall, as many sick and unfit workers and soldiers as could fit on board, and an urgent request to the authorities to get us out of there as soon as possible. The Dayak situation was completely unfortunate; if the men had arrived six months earlier, we could have put them to good use, despite their small number. But since they arrived just as we were about to leave the country, they only highlighted how ineffective it is to try to run an expedition from the other side of the world.
During the next three weeks we waited for the ship with what patience we could. By that time we were all somewhat stale and disinclined for any exertion, and those days of waiting at Wakatimi seemed interminably long. The only pleasant moments were when on fine evenings we could sit outside and watch the sun go down behind the palm trees across the river and hope each time that that would be the last. There were times when for two or three days a strong wind blew and we could hear the surf thundering on the beach, and we knew that even if the ship came it could not approach the shore. Then there were false alarms of whistles having been heard, or of boats seen coming up the river, but our suspense at last came to an end on April 5th, when a steam-launch towing a string of empty boats came puffing up to the camp,255 where they were received with immense enthusiasm. They came from the Dutch gunboat Mataram, which had been despatched to take away the native escort, and the next day came boats from the Zwaan, which had come to transport us and our men and the remaining stores of the expedition to Amboina. There followed two days of busy loading and coming and going of boats, during which our impatience to be off was a little allayed by the forethought of one of the officers of the Mataram, who stayed ashore with us and had brought with him that rare luxury, bread, and one or two other welcome delicacies.
During the next three weeks, we waited for the ship with whatever patience we could muster. By that time, we were all feeling a bit stale and didn't want to do much, and those days of waiting at Wakatimi felt endlessly long. The only enjoyable moments were on nice evenings when we could sit outside and watch the sunset behind the palm trees across the river, hoping each time that it would be the last. There were days when a strong wind blew for two or three days, and we could hear the surf crashing on the beach, knowing that even if the ship arrived, it couldn't get close to the shore. Then came false alarms of whistles being heard or boats spotted coming up the river, but our suspense finally ended on April 5th, when a steam-launch towing a line of empty boats came puffing into the camp,255 greeted with huge enthusiasm. They were from the Dutch gunboat Mataram, which had been sent to take away the native escort, and the next day, boats from the Zwaan arrived to transport us, our men, and the remaining supplies of the expedition to Amboina. This led to two days of hectic loading and the comings and goings of boats, during which our impatience to leave was somewhat eased by one of the officers from the Mataram, who stayed with us on land and brought along that rare luxury: bread, along with a couple of other welcome treats.
Before sunset on April 7th the last boat was loaded and ready to go, and we had an amusing leave-taking with the people of Wakatimi. It was known that we were going to depart and for some days people from other villages had been crowding into Wakatimi. A large number of men were waiting outside the fence of the camp, but when we invited them to come inside they became unaccountably shy and would not venture. So I went outside and took one bolder fellow, a man whom we knew well, and led him by the arm to a hut, where there were a quantity of old mosquito nets; he seized one and bolted as fast as he could run, apparently thinking that there was something suspicious in this unwonted generosity. Then a few more came very warily after him and then fifty or sixty men dashed into the house and out again as soon as they had snatched up something, it mattered not what. Most of them were armed with spears or bows and arrows, and as there were men fighting to get into and out of the256 house at the same time it was wonderful that nobody was damaged.
Before sunset on April 7th, the last boat was loaded and ready to go, and we had a funny goodbye with the people of Wakatimi. Everyone knew we were leaving, and for several days, folks from nearby villages had been gathering in Wakatimi. A lot of men were waiting outside the camp's fence, but when we invited them in, they surprisingly got shy and wouldn’t come inside. So, I went out, took one brave guy we knew well by the arm, and led him to a hut filled with old mosquito nets; he grabbed one and ran as fast as he could, seemingly thinking there was something fishy about this unusual generosity. Then a few more cautiously followed him, and soon after, fifty or sixty men rushed into the hut and quickly darted out again after grabbing whatever they could find. Most of them were armed with spears or bows and arrows, and with people fighting to get in and out of the house at the same time, it was amazing that nobody got hurt.
When the people in Wakatimi saw what was going on in the camp they began to yell with excitement, and in a few seconds twenty or more canoes packed with men came paddling madly across the river; they were so excited that some of them upset the canoes, a thing they very seldom do, and they had to swim to the shore. For ten minutes or so the camp was a pandemonium. About two hundred raving lunatics were dashing madly from one house to another and carrying off boxes, sacks, mosquito nets, cases of empty bottles, bits of iron, tables, beds, mats and everything they could possibly move. They howled and raved and fought like wild beasts in a manner horrible to see.
When the people in Wakatimi saw what was happening in the camp, they erupted with excitement, and in just a few seconds, twenty or more canoes filled with men came paddling furiously across the river; they were so thrilled that some of them tipped their canoes over, which is something they rarely do, and they had to swim to the shore. For about ten minutes, the camp was total chaos. Around two hundred frenzied people were running wildly from one house to another, hauling away boxes, sacks, mosquito nets, cases of empty bottles, bits of iron, tables, beds, mats, and anything else they could grab. They howled and yelled, fighting like wild animals in a scene that was horrifying to witness.
Several women came over and danced and sang in a canoe just in front of the camp, while the crowd of people who had not been able to find a place in the canoes shrieked from the opposite bank. When they could carry no more, they loaded their canoes to the brim with miscellaneous cargoes and went back across the river to the village. There they at once began to squabble over the spoils, and the last we heard of Wakatimi, as darkness came down, were the shrill shrieks of quarrelsome women and the angry shouts of men.
Several women came over and danced and sang in a canoe right in front of the camp, while the crowd of people who couldn’t get a spot in the canoes shouted from the other side of the river. When they could carry no more, they filled their canoes to the top with various loads and headed back across the river to the village. There, they immediately started arguing over the loot, and the last we heard of Wakatimi, as darkness fell, were the loud cries of fighting women and the angry shouts of men.
New Guinea treated us kindly in farewell, and we steamed down the river in a glorious starlight, the kind of night which many people think is usual in the tropics, but is in fact most lamentably rare. We left Cramer on board the Mataram and went on to the 257 Zwaan, where we soon were lulled to sleep by the pleasant music of the screw. Early the next morning a dull cloud on the northern horizon was our last view of New Guinea, and before night we had reached civilisation again in the anchorage of Dobo.
New Guinea bid us a warm goodbye, and we cruised down the river under a beautiful starry sky, the kind of night that many people believe is typical in the tropics, but is actually quite rare. We left Cramer on board the Mataram and moved on to the 257 Zwaan, where we were soon lulled to sleep by the soothing sound of the engine. Early the next morning, a gloomy cloud on the northern horizon was our final glimpse of New Guinea, and by nighttime, we had returned to civilization at the anchorage of Dobo.
NEAR BULELING. ISLAND OF BALI.
Near Buleling, Bali.
Two days later we came to the Ké Islands and went ashore to visit the Catholic Mission at Toeal. There is nothing of great interest to see there except the magnificent “iron wood” timber, which is cut in the forests of the larger island, and is used for boat-building; it is obtained in larger pieces than teak, and it is said to be equally good. The fathers occupy themselves with carpentry and boat-building and with teaching a class of small children. The few people whom we saw appeared to be of a mixed Malay-Papuan race and were dressed in unspeakably dirty clothes.
Two days later, we arrived at the Ké Islands and went ashore to visit the Catholic Mission at Toeal. There's really nothing much to see there except the impressive “iron wood” timber, which is sourced from the larger island's forests and used for boat-building; it's obtained in larger pieces than teak and is said to be just as good. The missionaries focus on carpentry and boat-building, as well as teaching a class of small children. The few people we encountered seemed to be of mixed Malay-Papuan descent and were dressed in extremely dirty clothing.
From Toeal we went on to Banda, where we spent a day of pouring rain, a great pity, for a walk through the nutmeg woods of Banda is one of the pleasantest excursions in the islands, and a day later we dropped anchor in the harbour of Amboina.
From Toeal, we moved on to Banda, where we had a day of heavy rain, which was a real shame because a walk through the nutmeg woods of Banda is one of the nicest outings in the islands. A day later, we anchored in the harbor of Amboina.
It will be fitting to remark here that on the outward journey from Java to New Guinea and on our return from the Mimika to Amboina, the members of the expedition were the guests of the Netherlands Government. The thanks of the Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs have been conveyed to the captains of the ships and to the other officials, who helped the expedition in a hundred different ways.
It’s worth mentioning that on the trip from Java to New Guinea and on our return from the Mimika to Amboina, the members of the expedition were hosted by the Netherlands Government. The Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs has expressed gratitude to the ship captains and other officials who supported the expedition in numerous ways.
At Amboina, where we waited a few days for the arrival of a steamer to Singapore, we parted with258 Cramer, who was prevented by a sharp attack of fever from coming with us. He was the one other man, beside Rawling, Marshall and myself, who remained with the expedition from the beginning to the end, and it is not paying him an empty compliment to say that few other people would have managed more successfully than he did to live with a party of foreigners in circumstances, which were often exceedingly difficult.
At Amboina, where we waited a few days for a steamer to Singapore, we said goodbye to258 Cramer, who couldn’t join us due to a bad fever. He was one of the few men, alongside Rawling, Marshall, and me, who stayed with the expedition from start to finish, and it’s not just flattery to say that few others would have handled living with a group of foreigners in often very challenging situations as well as he did.
We sailed from Amboina on April 17th in the mail steamer Van Riebeeck, and amongst our fellow-passengers we found Captain Van der Bie and Lieut. Van der Wenn (Netherlands Navy), both of whom were returning to Java invalided from the expedition to the Island River in New Guinea. The expedition had penetrated a long way into the interior of the country, but all the Europeans fell ill and the expedition was withdrawn a few months later.
We left Amboina on April 17th aboard the mail steamer Van Riebeeck, and among our fellow passengers were Captain Van der Bie and Lieutenant Van der Wenn (Netherlands Navy), both returning to Java after being discharged from the expedition to the Island River in New Guinea. The expedition had ventured deep into the interior of the country, but all the Europeans got sick and the expedition was called off a few months later.
After calling at Macassar we went South past the Postilion Islands to the little known island of Sumbawa, where we went ashore for a few hours at Sumbawa Pesar. It looked a pretty country with well-wooded hills and level cultivated plains. We were much struck by the appearance of the natives, who have a longer type of face and a much fairer skin than any other of the Malay races I have seen. The men all go armed with a kris, and they smoke cigars of an incredible length.
After stopping at Macassar, we headed south past the Postilion Islands to the lesser-known island of Sumbawa, where we landed for a few hours at Sumbawa Pesar. It seemed like a beautiful place with wooded hills and flat, cultivated fields. We were really impressed by the locals, who have longer faces and lighter skin compared to other Malay groups I've seen. The men all carry a kris, and they smoke cigars that are astonishingly long.
From Sumbawa we steamed along the Northern shore of Lombok, from whose Peak (12,000 feet), the clouds rolled off magnificently at sunset, and early the next morning we came into the harbour of Buleling259 in the island of Bali. There we took a native carriage (sado), and drove a few miles out into the country to see a very interesting Hindu temple, where there are some remarkable good stone carvings, which shew signs of being carefully tended. The Hindu religion still survives, though it cannot be said to flourish, both in this island and in Lombok. The native villages that we saw have quite characteristic features of their own; they are surrounded by a high mud wall with a brick coping and are guarded by a swarm of fiercely barking dogs. Inside the wall, if you are bold enough to enter, you find a neatly swept compound, round the sides of which are well-made dwelling-houses, and in the middle are granaries of rice; both the houses and the granaries are raised on posts several feet above the ground and all are neatly thatched with rice straw. In the corner of the compound is a place set apart for a number of little stone shrines, some of them very elaborately carved, in which votive offerings of flowers and fruit are placed.
From Sumbawa, we sailed along the northern coast of Lombok. From its peak (12,000 feet), the clouds rolled off beautifully at sunset. Early the next morning, we arrived at the harbor of Buleling259 on the island of Bali. There, we took a native carriage (sado) and drove a few miles into the countryside to visit a fascinating Hindu temple with some remarkable stone carvings that showed signs of being well cared for. The Hindu religion still exists here, though it can’t be said to thrive, both on this island and in Lombok. The native villages we saw each have distinct features; they’re surrounded by tall mud walls topped with bricks and guarded by a pack of fiercely barking dogs. Inside the walls, if you’re brave enough to enter, you find a neatly swept yard with well-built houses along the sides and rice granaries in the middle. Both the houses and granaries are elevated on posts several feet above the ground and are neatly thatched with rice straw. In one corner of the yard, there’s a designated area for a number of small stone shrines, some of which are quite intricately carved, where offerings of flowers and fruit are placed.
The Balinese seem to be a sturdy and industrious people; they have a free and independent appearance, very different from that of their somewhat grovelling neighbours, the Javanese. The roads are picturesquely lined with shady trees, and a very pleasant feature of them is the number of little mouse-coloured ponies, which carry panniers on a high-peaked saddle and are the coolies of Bali; most of them have an elaborate leather harness and many carry a large number of little bells, which make a pretty music along the roads. They appear to be hungry little animals, and they have260 the rare and valuable faculty of being able to eat out of a basket tied round their necks as they walk along. The country, what little we saw of it, looks extremely prosperous, and the beauty of the cultivated lands, interrupted here and there by groves of trees and backed by mountains, is beyond dispute.
The Balinese seem to be a strong and hardworking people; they have a free and independent look, quite different from their more submissive neighbors, the Javanese. The roads are charmingly lined with shady trees, and a really nice feature is the number of little gray ponies that carry baskets on high-peaked saddles and serve as the laborers of Bali; most of them have elaborate leather harnesses, and many wear a lot of small bells, which create a lovely sound as they move along the roads. They seem to be eager little animals, and they have260 the unique ability to eat from a basket tied around their necks as they walk. The countryside, from what little we saw, appears very prosperous, and the beauty of the farmland, interrupted here and there by groves of trees and backed by mountains, is undeniable.
From Bali to Java is only a few hours’ steaming, and from Batavia another ship brought us to Singapore, where we arrived on May 2nd. A month later we landed in England and the English Expedition to Dutch New Guinea, 1910-11, was a thing of the past.
From Bali to Java is just a few hours by boat, and from Batavia, another ship took us to Singapore, where we arrived on May 2nd. A month later, we reached England and the English Expedition to Dutch New Guinea, 1910-11, was behind us.
It is not easy to put down in words what were our thoughts on our homeward journey from the Mimika River to Plymouth Sound. Naturally enough there were feelings of pleasant anticipation in returning to the comforts of civilised life, and there were feelings of profound thankfulness that we had left behind us neither our bones nor our health, as too many others less fortunate had done. There was also a sense of (I think pardonable) satisfaction at having accomplished something; the surveyors had made an accurate map of a large tract of quite unknown country; the naturalists had made valuable collections of birds and animals, and some most interesting races of men had been visited and studied.
It's not easy to express what we felt on our journey home from the Mimika River to Plymouth Sound. Naturally, there was a sense of excitement about returning to the comforts of modern life, along with deep gratitude that we had come home with our health and without any fatalities, unlike many who were less fortunate. There was also a sense of (I think understandably) pride in having achieved something; the surveyors had created an accurate map of a vast, previously uncharted area; the naturalists had gathered valuable collections of birds and animals, and we had met and studied some really interesting groups of people.
But beneath these was another feeling of vague disappointment. We had set out full of hope, if not of confidence, of reaching the Snow Mountains, and the disappointment of not having set foot on them was aggravated by the fact that we had been so long in sight of them. It was exasperating beyond words261 to see the mountains month after month only forty miles away and not to be able to move a foot in their direction; to study them so that we came to know the changing patches of lower snow and almost the very crevasses in the glaciers, and still to be forced to be content with looking and longing for “the hills and the snow upon the hills.”
But underneath that, there was another feeling of general disappointment. We had set out full of hope, even if not entirely confident, about reaching the Snow Mountains, and the letdown of not having stepped onto them was made worse by the fact that we had been so close for so long. It was incredibly frustrating261 to see the mountains month after month from just forty miles away and not be able to move toward them; to study them so closely that we learned the shifting patches of lower snow and almost memorized the crevasses in the glaciers, yet still had to settle for just looking and yearning for “the hills and the snow upon the hills.”
To look for fifteen months at that great rock precipice, and those long fields of snow untrodden yet by foot of man, to anticipate the delight of attaining to the summits and to wonder what would be seen beyond them on the other side, those were pleasures that kept one’s hopes alive through long periods of dull inaction. The aching disappointment of turning back and leaving the mountains as remote and as mysterious as they were before words of mine cannot express; but happily there is always comfort to be found in the reflexion that
To gaze for fifteen months at that massive rock cliff and those vast, untouched fields of snow, to look forward to the joy of reaching the peaks and to imagine what might be seen beyond them, those were the pleasures that kept hope alive during long stretches of tedious inactivity. The deep disappointment of having to turn back and leave the mountains as distant and mysterious as ever is something I can't fully put into words; but thankfully, there is always solace in the thought that
“Some falls are means the happier to arise.”
“Some falls are the way to rise happier.”
APPENDIX A
NOTES ON THE BIRDS COLLECTED; BY THE B.O.U. EXPEDITION TO DUTCH NEW GUINEA
NOTES ON THE BIRDS COLLECTED; BY THE B.O.U. EXPEDITION TO DUTCH NEW GUINEA
By W. R. OGILVIE-GRANT
By W. R. OGILVIE-GRANT
Our knowledge of the Birds of New Guinea is based mainly on Count T. Salvadori’s monumental work Ornitologia della Papuasia e delle Molluche, which appeared in three large volumes in 1880-82, and on his Aggiunte to the above work published in three parts in 1887-89. Since that date our knowledge of the avi-fauna has vastly increased and a very large number of splendid Birds-of-Paradise and other remarkable new species have been discovered.
Our understanding of the Birds of New Guinea relies primarily on Count T. Salvadori’s extensive work Ornitologia della Papuasia e delle Molluche, published in three large volumes from 1880 to 1882, and his Aggiunte to that work released in three parts between 1887 and 1889. Since then, our knowledge of the birdlife has grown significantly, with many beautiful Birds-of-Paradise and other astonishing new species being discovered.
A list of the principal works subsequently published, placed in chronological order, will be found at the end of this chapter, the most important papers being no doubt those by the Hon. Walter Rothschild and Dr. E. Hartert, which have appeared from time to time in the Tring Museum periodical Novitates Zoologicæ. Mr. Rothschild is to be congratulated on the success which has attended the efforts of his various collectors in New Guinea and on the energy which he has displayed in obtaining birds from unknown districts of the most interesting island in the world.
A list of the main works published later, organized by date, can be found at the end of this chapter. The most significant papers are undoubtedly those by Hon. Walter Rothschild and Dr. E. Hartert, which have been published from time to time in the Tring Museum journal Novitates Zoologicæ. Mr. Rothschild deserves congratulations for the success achieved by his various collectors in New Guinea and for the dedication he has shown in acquiring birds from unexplored areas of the world’s most fascinating island.
To give in a single chapter a brief and partly scientific, partly popular, summary of the ornithological work accomplished by our Expedition in Dutch New Guinea is a more difficult task than might be imagined, for there is not only an immense number of species to be dealt264 with, but in most instances very little is known about their habits. The jungles of South-western New Guinea are so dense that white men can scarcely traverse them, and most of the collecting had to be done by the trained natives from the Malay Peninsula, kindly supplied by Mr. H. C. Robinson, and by the Gurkhas who accompanied the Expedition.
To provide a brief summary of the ornithological work done by our Expedition in Dutch New Guinea in just one chapter is a tougher job than one might think. There are not only a huge number of species to cover, but in many cases, very little is known about their behavior. The jungles of Southwestern New Guinea are so thick that white men can hardly navigate through them, so most of the collecting had to be done by the skilled natives from the Malay Peninsula, who were generously provided by Mr. H. C. Robinson, along with the Gurkhas who were part of the Expedition.
By dealing with each family in turn, I shall endeavour to refer to all the more important species in the collection in their proper scientific order, briefly describing some of the more beautiful, so that those without any special knowledge of birds may, if they care to do so, form some idea of the marvellous types which have been brought home from the interior of South-western New Guinea.
By addressing each family one at a time, I will try to mention all the more significant species in the collection in their proper scientific order, briefly describing some of the more striking ones, so that those without any specialized knowledge of birds may, if they wish, get an idea of the amazing types that have been brought back from the interior of South-western New Guinea.
It is certain that the resources of that wonderful island are not nearly exhausted: on the contrary, every fresh collecting expedition sent to the interior produces remarkable novelties, and large chains of high mountains are still unexplored. The members of our Expedition were fortunate in procuring no less than 2,200 skins of birds in New Guinea, representing about 235 species, of which ten proved to be new to Science. A number of new birds were also obtained by the late Mr. Wilfred Stalker in the mountains of Ceram, which he visited before joining the main Expedition at Amboina. His premature death by drowning, a few days after he landed in New Guinea, was an immense loss to the Expedition, though his place was ably filled by Mr. Claude Grant, who worked with his characteristic zeal and enthusiasm.
It’s clear that the resources of that amazing island are far from depleted: on the contrary, every new collecting trip into the interior uncovers remarkable discoveries, and extensive mountain ranges are still uncharted. Our Expedition members were lucky enough to collect 2,200 bird skins in New Guinea, representing about 235 species, ten of which were new to science. Several new bird species were also gathered by the late Mr. Wilfred Stalker in the mountains of Ceram, which he explored before joining the main Expedition in Amboina. His untimely death by drowning just days after arriving in New Guinea was a huge loss to the Expedition, although Mr. Claude Grant stepped in effectively, bringing his usual zeal and enthusiasm to the team.
It will be noticed that the great bulk of the birds inhabiting New Guinea belong to a comparatively small number of families, but that each of these is represented by a large number of different species, especially in such groups as the Pigeons, Parrots, Flycatchers, and Honey-eaters.
It will be noticed that most of the birds living in New Guinea belong to a relatively small number of families, but each of these families has a large variety of different species, especially in groups like Pigeons, Parrots, Flycatchers, and Honey-eaters.
Amongst the Pigeons of which no fewer than twenty-seven different kinds were obtained, it would seem as though, in some instances at least, Nature had almost come to the end of her resources in devising new and wonderful arrangements of colour and markings; for in some of the smaller Fruit-Pigeons, such as Ptilopus gestroi and P. zonurus we find two perfectly distinct species, occurring side by side, possessing almost exactly the same remarkable scheme of colouration, and only differing in certain minor points to be found in the markings of the wing-coverts. Another very similar instance is to be seen in Ptilopus coronulatus and P. nanus almost the same colours and pattern being repeated in both.
Among the Pigeons, which included at least twenty-seven different kinds, it seems that, in some cases at least, Nature had nearly exhausted her options in creating new and amazing color patterns; for in some of the smaller Fruit-Pigeons, like Ptilopus gestroi and P. zonurus, we find two completely distinct species living side by side, showcasing almost exactly the same impressive color scheme, differing only in a few minor details found in the wing-coverts' markings. Another similar example can be seen in Ptilopus coronulatus and P. nanus, where nearly the same colors and patterns are repeated in both.
The collection obtained by our expedition is a very valuable one, and has added many new and interesting forms of bird-life to the incomparable series in the Natural History Museum, to which the bulk of the specimens have been presented by the subscribers. A large proportion of the birds were obtained at low elevations from sea-level to 2,000 feet, only a comparatively small number being procured at from 3000-4000 feet. It is to be regretted that the immense physical difficulties encountered and other causes prevented our collectors from reaching a higher zone between 5000 and 10,000 feet, where no doubt much of interest remains to be discovered by those who are fortunate enough to get there.
The collection gathered by our expedition is very valuable and has added many new and interesting bird species to the amazing series in the Natural History Museum, where most of the specimens have been donated by our supporters. A large number of the birds were collected at low elevations, ranging from sea level to 2,000 feet, with only a relatively small number obtained at elevations between 3,000 and 4,000 feet. It's unfortunate that the significant physical challenges we faced, along with other factors, prevented our collectors from reaching a higher elevation zone between 5,000 and 10,000 feet, where there is likely much of interest still to be discovered by those lucky enough to get there.
TABLE SHOWING THE NUMBER OF SPECIES COLLECTED AND THE FAMILIES TO WHICH THEY BELONG
| Family. | No. of species. | ||
| Corvidæ | Crows | 2 | |
| Paradiseidæ | Birds-of-Paradise, Bower-Birds and Manucodes | 13 | |
| Eulabetidæ | Tree-Starlings | 4 | |
| Dicruridæ | Drongos | 2 | |
| Oriolidæ | Orioles | 1 | |
| Ploceidæ | Weaver-Finches | 1 | |
| Motacillidæ | Wagtails | 2 | |
| Meliphagidæ | Honey-eaters | 26 | |
| Nectariniidæ | Sun-birds | 2 | |
| Dicæidæ | Flower-peckers | 2 | |
| Zosteropidæ | White-eyes | 1 | |
| Laniidæ | Shrikes | 8 | |
| Prionopidæ | Wood-Shrikes | 4 | |
| Artamidæ | Swallow-Shrikes | 1 | |
| Timeliidæ | Babblers | 4 | |
| Campophagidæ | Cuckoo-Shrikes | 11 | |
| Muscicapidæ | Flycatchers | 30 | |
| Hirundinidæ | Swallows | 2 | |
| Pittidæ | Pittas or Ant-Thrushes | 2 | |
| Cuculidæ | Cuckoos | 11 | |
| Cypselidæ | Swifts | 4 | |
| Caprimulgidæ | Nightjars | 2 | |
| Podargidæ | Frog-mouths | 3 | |
| Bucerotidæ | Hornbills | 1 | |
| Meropidæ | Bee-eaters | 1 | |
| Coraciidæ | Rollers | 2 | |
| Alcedinidæ | Kingfishers | 11 | |
| Psittacidæ | Parrots | } | 22 |
| Loriidæ | Lories or Brush-tongued Parrots | ||
| Bubonidæ | Horned and Wood-Owls | 7 | |
| Phalacrocoracidæ | Cormorants | 1 | |
| Anatidæ | Ducks | 2 | |
| Ibididæ | Ibises | 1 | |
| Ardeidæ | Herons | 4 | |
| Œdicnemidæ | Stone-Plovers | 1 | |
| Charadriidæ | Plovers | 8 | |
| Laridæ | Gulls and Terns | 2 | |
| Rallidæ | Rails | 1 | |
| Columbidæ | Pigeons | 26 | |
| Megapodiidæ | Megapodes or Mound-builders | 3 | |
| Casuariidæ | Cassowaries | 3 | |
| —— | |||
| Total | 235 | ||
From the above table it will be seen that out of 235 species procured, 150 are included in eight of the Families; viz. Birds-of-Paradise 13; Honey-eaters 26; Cuckoo-Shrikes 11; Flycatchers 30; Cuckoos, 11; Kingfishers 11; Parrots, 22; Pigeons, 26.
From the table above, it can be seen that out of 235 species collected, 150 belong to eight of the families: namely Birds-of-Paradise 13; Honey-eaters 26; Cuckoo-Shrikes 11; Flycatchers 30; Cuckoos 11; Kingfishers 11; Parrots 22; Pigeons 26.
FAMILY CORVIDAÆ—CROWS.
Though the true Crows are never brightly coloured birds, many are extremely handsome, but this epithet cannot be applied to the Bare-faced Crow (Gymnocorax senex) which is common on the Mimika River and distributed over New Guinea generally.
Though true crows aren't brightly colored birds, many are quite handsome. However, this description doesn't apply to the Bare-faced Crow (Gymnocorax senex), which is common along the Mimika River and found throughout New Guinea.
The adult is brownish-black with a slight purplish or bluish gloss on the wings, but is generally in worn and shabby plumage. Even when freshly moulted it is rather a disreputable looking bird, its naked pink face, pale watery blue eyes, slate-coloured bill and livid feet adding to its dissipated appearance. Young birds in their first year’s plumage are even plainer than their parents, being dull drab-brown inclining to brownish-white on the head and neck, and appear to be clad in sackcloth and ashes. They have a weak uncrow-like call pitched in a high key and their flight is feeble and seldom sustained.
The adult bird is a brownish-black color with a slight purplish or bluish shine on its wings, but it usually looks worn and shabby. Even when it has just molted, it appears rather disheveled, with a bare pink face, pale watery blue eyes, a slate-colored bill, and dull feet that all contribute to its unkempt look. Young birds in their first year are even less striking than their parents, being a dull drab-brown that leans toward brownish-white on the head and neck, making them look like they’re dressed in rags. They have a weak, crow-like call that is pitched high, and their flight is unsteady and rarely sustained.
In addition to this Crow of unprepossessing appearance, there is a handsome Raven (Corvus orru), much like our familiar bird but smaller, which was met with in pairs on the coast.
In addition to this Crow with its unremarkable look, there is a striking Raven (Corvus orru), quite similar to our common bird but smaller, which was seen in pairs along the coast.
FAMILY PARADISEIDÆ—BIRDS-OF-PARADISE AND BOWER-BIRDS.
Closely allied to the well-known Greater Bird-of-Paradise (Paradisea apoda) from the Aru Islands is the New Guinea form P. novæ-guineæ, the males being distinguished by their smaller size and by having the long ornamental side-plumes of a much richer orange-yellow. Though the call of this bird was frequently heard on the upper parts of the Mimika, it was rarely seen; but on the Wataikwa quite a number were procured in all stages of plumage. The species was, however, nowhere plentiful and confined to the foot-hills.
Closely related to the well-known Greater Bird-of-Paradise (Paradisea apoda) from the Aru Islands is the New Guinea form P. novæ-guineæ. The males are smaller and have long decorative side-plumes that are a much deeper orange-yellow. Although the call of this bird was often heard in the upper areas of the Mimika, it was rarely seen. However, several were collected in various stages of plumage on the Wataikwa. The species was, nonetheless, not abundant and was limited to the foothills.
The Pygmies often brought plumes of the Lesser Bird-of-Paradise (P. minor) to Parimau and traded them with the natives, but the species was not found on the Mimika, the Charles Louis mountains probably forming its southern boundary.
The Pygmies often brought feathers from the Lesser Bird-of-Paradise (P. minor) to Parimau and traded them with the locals, but this species didn’t exist in the Mimika; the Charles Louis mountains likely marked its southern limit.
My account of the display of that species, as witnessed in the Zoological Gardens, Regent’s Park, will be found in the Ibis, 1905, p. 429, accompanied by various drawings and a coloured plate by Mr. G. E. Lodge. The display resembles that of the Greater Bird-of-Paradise (P. apoda) and the Red Bird-of-Paradise (P. raggiana) and no doubt also that of P. novæ-guineæ. It is a wonderful and beautiful sight to see these birds erect their splendid side-plumes in an arch over the back, which is concealed in a shivering cascade of colour, orange and white, or red according to the species.
My account of the display of that species, as seen in the Zoological Gardens, Regent’s Park, can be found in the Ibis, 1905, p. 429, along with various drawings and a colored plate by Mr. G. E. Lodge. The display is similar to that of the Greater Bird-of-Paradise (P. apoda) and the Red Bird-of-Paradise (P. raggiana), and also likely resembles that of P. novæ-guineæ. It's an amazing and beautiful sight to watch these birds raise their stunning side-plumes in an arch over their backs, which is hidden in a shimmering cascade of color, orange and white, or red depending on the species.
Numbers of the beautiful little King Bird-of-Paradise (Cicinnurus regius) were brought home in all stages of plumage from the young to the fully adult male, with its scarlet head, shading into glittering carmine on the back and wings and into purplish-carmine on the throat, which is bordered below by a rich dark green band. The sides of the chest are ornamented with fan-like arrangements of grey feathers tipped with glittering golden green; the breast and the rest of the under-parts are of the purest white: the outer tail-feathers are earthy-brown edged with orange-red, while the middle pair, which cross one another, have the bare shafts enormously lengthened, and terminate in a tightly curled disc, golden green above and reddish-brown beneath.
Numbers of the beautiful little King Bird-of-Paradise (Cicinnurus regius) were brought home in all stages of plumage from young to fully adult male, featuring its scarlet head, which transitions into sparkling carmine on the back and wings, and into purplish-carmine on the throat, bordered below by a rich dark green band. The sides of the chest have fan-like arrangements of gray feathers tipped with shiny golden green; the breast and the rest of the under-parts are pure white. The outer tail feathers are earthy-brown edged with orange-red, while the middle pair, which cross over each other, have bare shafts that are extremely lengthened and end in a tightly curled disc, golden green on top and reddish-brown underneath.
These beautiful ornaments are seen to the greatest advantage when the King is displaying, the green-tipped fan-like feathers on the sides and the white feathers of the breast being spread out to form a circular shield in front of the bird, while the green269 metallic discs of the long middle tail-feathers are erected and waved overhead. An interesting description of the display of this species is given by Sir William Ingram in the Ibis, 1907, p. 225, with a coloured plate and figures drawn by Mr. G. E. Lodge from a living specimen.
These stunning ornaments look their best when the King is showing off, with the green-tipped, fan-like feathers on the sides and the white breast feathers fanned out to create a circular shield in front of the bird, while the green metallic discs of the long middle tail feathers are raised and waved above. An intriguing description of this species' display is provided by Sir William Ingram in the Ibis, 1907, p. 225, featuring a colored plate and figures illustrated by Mr. G. E. Lodge from a living specimen.
Mr. Walter Goodfellow made an interesting observation on the habits of this species. While watching some Pigeons on the opposite bank of the river through his glasses he saw a small bird rise from the top of a tree and soar into the air like a Sky-Lark. After it had risen about 30 feet, it suddenly seemed to collapse and dropped back into the tree as though it had been shot. It proved to be a King Bird-of-Paradise and probably this soaring habit is a part of the display not indulged in by captive birds confined in comparatively small cages.
Mr. Walter Goodfellow made an interesting observation about this species' habits. While watching some pigeons on the opposite bank of the river through his binoculars, he noticed a small bird rise from the top of a tree and soar into the air like a skylark. After climbing about 30 feet, it suddenly appeared to collapse and dropped back into the tree as if it had been shot. It turned out to be a King Bird-of-Paradise, and this soaring behavior is likely part of a display that captive birds, kept in relatively small cages, do not exhibit.
A Rifle-Bird (Ptilorhis magnifica) was fairly common both on the coast and near the mountains and its call consisting of two long-drawn notes, one ascending, the other descending, might be heard at all hours of the day. Its plumage is mostly velvety black on the head and upper-parts, but the crown, middle of the throat and chest, as well as the middle pair of tail-feathers, are metallic blue and a bronze-green band separates the chest from the deep purplish-maroon under-parts. The outer flight feathers are curiously pointed and strongly falcate and some of the side-feathers terminate in long, narrow decomposed plumes. The long curved bill and the legs are black, while the inside of the mouth is pale apple-green as is the case in several other species of Paradise-Birds.
A Rifle-Bird (Ptilorhis magnifica) was quite common both along the coast and near the mountains, and its call, which consists of two extended notes—one rising and the other falling—could be heard at all times of the day. Its feathers are mostly velvety black on the head and upper body, but the crown, middle of the throat, and chest are metallic blue, and a bronze-green band separates the chest from the deep purplish-maroon underbelly. The outer flight feathers are oddly pointed and strongly curved, and some of the side feathers end in long, thin, feather-like plumes. Its long, curved bill and legs are black, while the inside of its mouth is a light apple-green, similar to several other species of Paradise-Birds.
Though a well-known species, we must not omit to mention the splendid Twelve-wired Bird-of-Paradise (Seleucides niger). The plumage of the male is like dark brown plush shot with bronze-green on the back and270 deep violet on the wings, while the long dark breast-feathers are edged with rich metallic emerald-green. The long ornamental side-plumes and the rest of the under-parts are beautiful bright cinnamon-yellow when freshly moulted, but this colour is so volatile that it soon fades to nearly white in skins which have been kept for a few years. The shafts of six of the long side-plumes on either side extend far beyond the vane of the feather and look like twelve recurved wires, hence the bird’s popular name. The eye is crimson, the bill black, the gape bright apple-green, and the legs and toes yellowish flesh-colour.
Though a well-known species, we must mention the amazing Twelve-wired Bird-of-Paradise (Seleucides niger). The male's plumage is like dark brown velvet with hints of bronze-green on the back and270deep violet on the wings, while the long dark breast feathers are edged with rich metallic emerald-green. The long decorative side-plumes and the rest of the underparts are a beautiful bright cinnamon-yellow when freshly molted, but this color fades quickly to nearly white in specimens that have been kept for a few years. The shafts of six of the long side-plumes on each side extend far beyond the feather's vane and look like twelve curved wires, which is where the bird gets its common name. The eye is crimson, the bill is black, the gape is bright apple-green, and the legs and toes are a yellowish flesh color.
The Expedition procured three examples of a new form of Parotia or Six-plumed Paradise-Bird on the Iwaka River, but unfortunately did not succeed in shooting a fully adult male. Simultaneously A. S. Meek, who was collecting for Mr. Rothschild, procured specimens of the same bird on the Oetakwa River a few miles to the east, but he likewise did not secure the fully adult male. The species has been named Parotia carolæ meeki by Mr. Rothschild.
The expedition collected three examples of a new type of Parotia or Six-plumed Paradise-Bird along the Iwaka River, but unfortunately, they weren’t able to shoot a fully mature male. At the same time, A. S. Meek, who was gathering specimens for Mr. Rothschild, obtained samples of the same bird on the Oetakwa River a few miles to the east, but he also didn’t manage to secure a fully mature male. Mr. Rothschild named the species Parotia carolæ meeki.
The plumage of this bird is like brownish-black plush and equally soft to the touch. The head is ornamented very wonderfully; on either side behind the eye there are three long racket-like plumes on long bare shafts, (a character common to all the members of this remarkable genus of Paradise-Birds): the middle of the crown is of a beautiful “old” gold colour in a setting of silvery white and golden brown: on the occiput there is a marvellous patch of stiff metal-like feathers, golden-green bordered with deep violet; the sides of the head before and behind the eye are golden-brown, the chin and upper part of the throat deep brown, and the lower part whitish, spotted with rufous. A lovely metallic breast-plate of bronze-green and violet feathers with dark middles covers the chest and the long flank-feathers are271 white. The two outer flight feathers are curiously attenuated near the extremity and terminate in a sharp point, the shaft bearing only a very narrow web. No doubt all these ornaments are displayed in a similar manner to those of P. lawesi from British New Guinea, males of which have been living for some years in the Zoological Gardens, Regent’s Park.
The feathers of this bird resemble soft brownish-black velvet and feel just as smooth. The head is adorned beautifully; on each side behind the eye, there are three long, racket-like plumes on long bare stems, a trait shared by all members of this remarkable genus of Paradise Birds. The center of the crown is a stunning "old" gold color set against silvery white and golden brown. On the back of the head, there's an amazing patch of stiff, metallic-looking feathers, golden-green edged with deep violet. The sides of the head, both in front of and behind the eye, are golden-brown, the chin and upper throat are deep brown, and the lower throat is whitish with rufous spots. A beautiful metallic breastplate made of bronze-green and violet feathers with dark centers covers the chest, and the long flank feathers are white. The two outer flight feathers are uniquely thin near the tip and end in a sharp point, with the shaft having only a very narrow web. It's likely that all these decorations are displayed similarly to those of P. lawesi from British New Guinea, males of which have been living for several years in the Zoological Gardens, Regent’s Park.
Another very handsome species is the Golden-winged Diphyllodes chrysoptera. The male has the bill and a bare space behind the eye bluish-white, the inside of the mouth apple-green and the feet Prussian blue. The head is clad in short velvety reddish-brown feathers with two metallic green spots between the eyes; the nape bears a frill of lengthened brown-tipped plumes; the mantle is light golden-yellow like spun glass and forms a lengthened tippet; the inner secondary quills and shoulder-feathers are orange-yellow, and the back carmine and dull orange shading into sooty black on the upper tail-coverts. The throat is deep velvety brown, the neck and breast rich dark green bordered below with metallic bluish-green, and with a row of metallic green bars like steps down the middle of the neck and chest; the rest of the under-parts are black. The short outer tail-feathers are sooty brown, while the middle pair which cross one another are very long and narrow and of a metallic bluish-green. The female is very soberly clad, dull brown above and narrowly barred with brown and buff below.
Another very handsome species is the Golden-winged Diphyllodes chrysoptera. The male has a bluish-white bill and a bare area behind the eye, an apple-green inside of the mouth, and Prussian blue feet. The head is covered in short, velvety reddish-brown feathers with two metallic green spots between the eyes; the nape has a frill of elongated brown-tipped plumes; the mantle is a light golden-yellow, resembling spun glass, and forms a long tippet; the inner secondary quills and shoulder feathers are orange-yellow, while the back is carmine and dull orange that fades into sooty black on the upper tail-coverts. The throat is deep, velvety brown, the neck and chest are a rich dark green bordered below with metallic bluish-green, and there’s a row of metallic green bars like steps running down the neck and chest; the rest of the underparts are black. The short outer tail feathers are sooty brown, while the middle pair that cross each other are very long and narrow, and have a metallic bluish-green color. The female is dressed much more simply, with dull brown on top and narrowly barred with brown and buff underneath.
The Bower-Birds have received their name from their peculiar habit of constructing bowers or runs where the males meet to play or pay their court to the females. The bowers are built long before the birds begin to build their nests which are placed in trees.
The Bower Birds got their name from their unique behavior of creating bowers or display areas where the males gather to socialize or court the females. The bowers are constructed well in advance of the birds starting to build their nests, which are located in trees.
One of the most noteworthy species procured by the Expedition was the gorgeously coloured Bower-Bird, Xanthomelus ardens. The male has the eye yellow and272 the head, sides of the neck and mantle orange-scarlet, the feathers of the latter being very long and loose and forming a dense cape; the rest of the plumage is orange-yellow above and golden-yellow below: the ends of the quills and the tail-feathers, being black.
One of the most notable species collected by the Expedition was the beautifully colored Bower-Bird, Xanthomelus ardens. The male has a yellow eye and the head, sides of the neck, and mantle in orange-scarlet, with the feathers of the latter being very long and loose, creating a dense cape. The rest of the plumage is orange-yellow on top and golden-yellow underneath, with the ends of the quills and tail feathers being black.
The female has the iris brown and is more sombrely clad, the head and upper-parts, including the wings and tail, being earthy-brown, while the under-parts, under wing-coverts and wing-lining, are yellow, like those of the male, but less bright.
The female has brown irises and is dressed more conservatively, with her head and upper body, including the wings and tail, being earthy brown, while the underside, under wing-coverts, and wing-lining are yellow, like the male's, but less vibrant.
This beautiful species was originally described from an imperfect native-made skin obtained by the Italian naturalist, D’Albertis, on the Fly River. Subsequently, Dr. H. A. Lorentz shot two adult males on the Noord River, which were described and figured by Dr. Van Oort. Our expedition was fortunate enough to secure not only adult males, but also the immature male and adult female, these latter being hitherto unknown.
This beautiful species was originally described from an incomplete native-made skin obtained by the Italian naturalist, D’Albertis, on the Fly River. Later, Dr. H. A. Lorentz shot two adult males on the Noord River, which were described and illustrated by Dr. Van Oort. Our expedition was lucky enough to secure not only adult males but also an immature male and an adult female, which had not been known until now.
The display of the male bird must be a very beautiful sight, his scarlet cape being no doubt erected, and forming a great hood over the head.
The display of the male bird must be a stunning sight, his bright red cape proudly raised, creating a large hood over his head.
Among the Bower-Birds, one of the most interesting was a remarkable female example of a species of Chlamydodera procured on the Kamura River. Unlike any of the allied forms, it has the under-surface washed with yellow, and appears to be the female of C. lauterbachi, of which the brilliantly coloured male was described by Dr. Reichenow from an example procured in German New Guinea.
Among the Bower-Birds, one of the most interesting was an impressive female of a species of Chlamydodera found on the Kamura River. Unlike any related species, it has a yellow under-surface and seems to be the female of C. lauterbachi, whose vividly colored male was described by Dr. Reichenow from a specimen obtained in German New Guinea.
The male has the crown and sides of the face golden-orange, the upper-parts olive-brown, edged with yellowish, and the under-parts bright yellow. It is a very striking bird and much the most brightly coloured member of the genus.
The male has a golden-orange crown and sides of the face, olive-brown upper parts edged with yellowish, and bright yellow under parts. It's a very striking bird and by far the most colorful member of the genus.
Though the two specimens were obtained in localities so far apart, there seems to be no reason why they should273 not be male and female of the same species. The female obtained by the Expedition possesses many characteristics in common with the male type of C. lauterbachi and the differences in plumage are just what one would expect to find in the female of that species.
Though the two specimens were collected from locations so far apart, there doesn't seem to be any reason why they shouldn't be male and female of the same species. The female acquired by the Expedition has many traits in common with the male type of C. lauterbachi, and the differences in plumage are exactly what you would expect to see in the female of that species.
The beautiful Cat-bird (Ælurœdus stonei) was fairly plentiful, and is remarkable on account of its peculiar colouring. The cap is brown, the back grass-green, and the neck and under-parts buff, spotted with black, or green on the longer flank-feathers. The eye is hazel and the bill and legs slate-blue. The sexes are alike in plumage. It derives its popular name from its peculiar hissing alarm note, not unlike the sound made by an angry cat.
The beautiful Cat-bird (Ælurœdus stonei) was quite common and stands out because of its unique coloring. Its cap is brown, the back is grass-green, and its neck and underparts are buff, with spots of black or green on the longer flank feathers. The eye is hazel, and the bill and legs are slate-blue. Both males and females look the same in terms of plumage. It gets its common name from its unusual hissing alarm call, which sounds somewhat like an angry cat.
Of the Manucodes, four different kinds were met with. They are all crow-like birds with brilliant metallic black plumage glossed with purple, green or blue, and form a link between the Paradise-Birds and the true Crows. The Purple-and-Violet Manucode (Phonygama jamesi) is distinguished by possessing tufts of long, narrow metallic green plumes behind the eye, and by having the neck-feathers similarly lengthened; while the other three belonging to the genus Manucodia have the head and neck covered with short curly feathers. These curly-headed species are much alike in general appearance, but M. orientalis has the short curly feathers on the chest and breast glittering golden-green, while in M. jobiensis and M. altera the same parts are dark steel-blue. Inter se the two latter kinds differ considerably, both structurally and in colour. M. jobiensis is smaller and has the feathers of the throat rounded and crinkled, and the upper-parts glossed with a strong shade of violet; while M. altera is larger and has the throat-feathers short but rather pointed, and the general colour above purplish-blue or steel-blue.
Of the Manucodes, four different types were found. They are all crow-like birds with shiny metallic black feathers that shine with purple, green, or blue hues, forming a connection between the Paradise-Birds and the true Crows. The Purple-and-Violet Manucode (Phonygama jamesi) is notable for having tufts of long, narrow metallic green plumes behind the eye and elongated neck feathers; while the other three, belonging to the genus Manucodia, have short curly feathers on the head and neck. These curly-headed species look quite similar overall, but M. orientalis has the short curly feathers on the chest and breast shining golden-green, whereas in M. jobiensis and M. altera, the same areas are dark steel-blue. Comparatively, the two latter species differ significantly in both structure and color. M. jobiensis is smaller, with rounded and crinkled throat feathers, and its upperparts have a strong violet sheen; whereas M. altera is larger, has shorter but pointier throat feathers, and generally appears purplish-blue or steel-blue above.
In most of the Manucodes the trachea is very long274 and convoluted, that of the Purple-and-Violet species possessing no fewer than twelve coils which lie between the skin and the pectoral muscles. In spite of this marvellous instrument its cries are not nearly so loud as those of the Birds-of-Paradise of the genus Paradisea.
In most Manucodes, the trachea is very long274 and twisted, with the Purple-and-Violet species having at least twelve coils that sit between the skin and the pectoral muscles. Despite this amazing structure, their calls are not nearly as loud as those of the Birds-of-Paradise from the genus Paradisea.
Mr. Claude Grant discovered a nest of M. altera with two eggs at Parimau, an interesting find, as no properly authenticated eggs of that species had hitherto been obtained.
Mr. Claude Grant found a nest of M. altera with two eggs at Parimau, which was an exciting discovery since no verified eggs of that species had been collected before.
FAMILY EULABETIDÆ—TREE-STARLINGS.
Among the smaller Glossy Starlings we must specially mention a new species, Calornis mystacea, discovered by the Expedition. It has the plumage purplish-bronze and is especially remarkable in having long semi-erect plumes on the forehead as well as long neck-hackles. Three specimens were obtained flying in company with large flocks of C. metallica, a rather widely distributed species, which ranges to North Australia, the Moluccas and the Solomon Islands.
Among the smaller Glossy Starlings, we should specifically highlight a new species, Calornis mystacea, discovered by the Expedition. It has purplish-bronze plumage and is particularly notable for its long semi-erect plumes on the forehead and long neck feathers. Three specimens were collected while flying together with large flocks of C. metallica, a species that is relatively widespread, found in northern Australia, the Moluccas, and the Solomon Islands.
The Grackles or Talking Starlings are represented by two lovely species, the first being the well-known Dumont’s Grackle (Mino dumonti) a dark glossy greenish-black bird with a yellow belly and white under tail-coverts. It has a brown eye surrounded by a large naked orange patch partially covered with short stiff filaments. The second species Robertson’s Golden Grackle (Melanopyrrhus robertsoni) is an equally handsome, but much rarer bird, and the fine series of adults obtained by the Expedition proves that it is a species quite distinct from M. orientalis, the form found in British New Guinea which has a large black patch on the occiput.
The Grackles, or Talking Starlings, include two beautiful species. The first is the well-known Dumont's Grackle (Mino dumonti), a dark, glossy greenish-black bird with a yellow belly and white under tail-coverts. It has a brown eye surrounded by a large bare orange patch, partially covered with short, stiff filaments. The second species, Robertson's Golden Grackle (Melanopyrrhus robertsoni), is just as striking but much rarer, and the impressive collection of adults obtained by the Expedition confirms that it is a species distinct from M. orientalis, which is found in British New Guinea and has a large black patch on its head.
Robertson’s Grackle has the cheeks and upper part of the throat, as well as the back, wings and breast, black glossed with green; the rest of the head, neck and chest,275 as well as the lower back, rump, upper tail-coverts and belly, are orange-yellow. In the adult there is no trace of a black patch on the occiput, but the quite young bird has the entire crown black and specimens which have not assumed the fully adult plumage and still retain some black feathers on the occiput might be mistaken for M. orientalis. That they have been is proved by the fact that Count Salvadori and many others have regarded M. robertsoni, Sharpe, as a synonym of M. orientalis, Schlegel, but they are really quite distinct.
Robertson’s Grackle has black feathers with a greenish sheen on its cheeks, upper throat, back, wings, and breast; the rest of its head, neck, and chest, as well as the lower back, rump, upper tail-coverts, and belly, are orange-yellow. In adults, there’s no sign of a black patch on the back of the head, but younger birds have a completely black crown. Specimens that haven’t fully transitioned to adult plumage and still have some black feathers on the back of the head might be confused with M. orientalis. This confusion is supported by Count Salvadori and others who considered M. robertsoni, Sharpe, to be a synonym for M. orientalis, Schlegel, but they are actually quite different.
A few very high trees left standing near the huts at Wakatimi were the resort, morning and evening, of these Starlings and various other species of birds. For a long time during the hot mid-day hours Mr. Goodfellow had observed that some bird, possessing a remarkably sweet Thrush-like song, rested there, and, after many days of watching, he found it to be Robertson’s Golden Grackle. He says that the notes of this Starling would not pass unnoticed, even in countries where the birds, as a rule, have sweeter voices than those inhabiting New Guinea.
A few tall trees still standing near the huts at Wakatimi were a favorite spot for these Starlings and several other bird species, both morning and evening. During the hot midday hours, Mr. Goodfellow noticed that a bird with a beautifully sweet Thrush-like song would rest there. After many days of observation, he identified it as Robertson’s Golden Grackle. He remarked that the calls of this Starling wouldn't go unnoticed, even in places where most birds generally sing more melodiously than those in New Guinea.
FAMILY DICRURIDÆ—DRONGOS.
The Drongos, small Crow-like Flycatchers with pugnacious habits, are represented in the collection by two species—Chibia carbonaria and Chælorhynchus papuensis.
The Drongos, small crow-like flycatchers with aggressive behaviors, are represented in the collection by two species—Chibia carbonaria and Chælorhynchus papuensis.
FAMILY ORIOLIDÆ—ORIOLES.
The Orioles are represented by one species only, Mimeta striata, belonging to the dull coloured brown-backed group with heavily streaked under-parts and the sexes alike in plumage. It was commonest in the mangrove swamps near the coast.
The Orioles have just one species, Mimeta striata, which falls into the category of dull-colored brown-backed birds with heavily streaked underparts, and both males and females look the same in terms of plumage. This species was most commonly found in the mangrove swamps along the coast.
FAMILY PLOCEIDÆ—WEAVER-BIRDS.
This widely distributed group of Weaver-Finches is not very numerous in New Guinea and the only representative met with was a small species, Munia tristissima, which was common in the clearing round the camp at Wakatimi.
This commonly found group of Weaver-Finches isn't very numerous in New Guinea, and the only one we encountered was a small species, Munia tristissima, which was common in the clearing around the camp at Wakatimi.
FAMILY MOTACILLIDÆ—WAGTAILS.
The Grey Wagtail (Motacilla melanope) and the Blue-headed Wagtail (M. flava) were both met with on the Mimika and other rivers. It is interesting to note that both species are included in the British List, the former being a regular breeding-species in our islands. The birds wintering in far-off New Guinea, no doubt formed part of the eastern colonies of these species which nest in Siberia and visit the Indo-Malayan Islands in winter.
The Grey Wagtail (Motacilla melanope) and the Blue-headed Wagtail (M. flava) were both found along the Mimika and other rivers. It’s worth noting that both species are on the British List, with the former being a regular breeding species in our islands. The birds that winter in distant New Guinea are likely part of the eastern colonies of these species that breed in Siberia and travel to the Indo-Malayan Islands in winter.
FAMILY MELIPHAGIDÆ—HONEY-EATERS.
The Honey-eaters are very numerously represented in South-western New Guinea and no fewer than twenty-seven species were met with by our Expedition.
The Honey-eaters are highly prevalent in South-western New Guinea, and our Expedition encountered no fewer than twenty-seven species.
The family is divided in two sections, the first including the comparatively brightly coloured genus Myzomela the members of which resemble true Sun-birds (Nectariniidæ) in general appearance. Seven species were met with; the most brilliantly coloured being M. cruentata which has the plumage of the body scarlet and the wings washed with the same colour, another species M. obscura has the entire plumage smoky-grey, and four forms are intermediate between these two types of colouration, being partly scarlet and partly grey. The seventh is a very small and very rare species (Œdistoma pygmæum), which was described by Count Salvadori from the Arfak Peninsula.
The family is divided into two sections, the first includes the relatively brightly colored genus Myzomela, whose members look similar to true sunbirds (Nectariniidæ) in general appearance. Seven species were identified; the most vividly colored is M. cruentata, which has scarlet body plumage and wings that are washed with the same color. Another species, M. obscura, has completely smoky-grey plumage, and four forms fall in between these two color types, showing both scarlet and grey features. The seventh is a very small and rare species (Œdistoma pygmæum), which was described by Count Salvadori from the Arfak Peninsula.
The other section contains a number of larger species, mostly with dull greenish or brownish plumage and nearly all with a yellow tuft or patch on the ear-coverts. Though rather uninteresting-looking birds several are really of great scientific value, being new to the National Collection, and one, Ptilotis mimikæ proved to be new to Science. The largest form is the curious Friar-bird (Philemon novæ-guineæ) with the bare sides of the face and neck black and a swollen knob on the base of the bill. It was generally met with in pairs and inhabited the tops of the tallest forest trees whence its peculiar cry might constantly be heard.
The other section has several larger species, mostly with dull green or brown feathers and almost all featuring a yellow tuft or patch on the ear coverts. Although these birds might seem pretty ordinary, a few are actually very important scientifically, being new to the National Collection, and one, Ptilotis mimikæ, turned out to be new to Science. The biggest one is the interesting Friar-bird (Philemon novæ-guineæ) with the bare sides of its face and neck black and a swollen knob at the base of its bill. It was often seen in pairs and lived in the tallest trees of the forest, where its distinctive call could frequently be heard.
FAMILY NECTARINIIDÆ—SUN-BIRDS.
The Sun-birds are represented by two species Cinnyris aspasiæ and C. frenata. The male of the former is deep black with a dark metallic green cap, shoulders and lower back, and purple throat, while the female is olive above, and dull yellow below, with a grey head and throat. The latter species is dull yellow above, brilliant yellow below, with a purple throat in the male, which is absent in the female.
The Sun-birds include two species: Cinnyris aspasiæ and C. frenata. The male of the first species is deep black with a dark metallic green cap, shoulders, and lower back, along with a purple throat, while the female is olive on top and dull yellow underneath, featuring a grey head and throat. The second species has dull yellow on top and bright yellow underneath, with a purple throat for the male, which the female lacks.
Mr. Goodfellow tells us that among the riot of parasitic plants which covered the trees a few Sun-birds and Honey-eaters might always be seen. The nests of the former, suspended from fallen and partially submerged dead trees, were continuously swinging from side to side, the strong current in the river keeping the trees in perpetual motion. These nests might easily be mistaken for a handful of drift left there by the river.
Mr. Goodfellow tells us that among the chaotic growth of parasitic plants that covered the trees, you could always spot a few Sun-birds and Honey-eaters. The nests of the Sun-birds, hanging from fallen and partly submerged dead trees, were constantly swaying from side to side, with the strong current in the river keeping the trees in constant motion. These nests could easily be mistaken for a bunch of debris left there by the river.
FAMILY DICÆIDÆ—FLOWER-PECKERS.
Dicæum diversum and Melanocharis chloroptera, a dull-looking greenish-grey species described by Count278 Salvadori, were the only Flower-peckers met with. They are small Tit-like birds allied to the Sun-birds, but with a short bill serrated along the edges of the mandibles. Both species were very common everywhere except on the coast and were extremely tame.
Dicæum diversum and Melanocharis chloroptera, a plain greenish-grey species described by Count278 Salvadori, were the only Flower-peckers encountered. They are small birds similar to Tits and related to Sun-birds, but they have short bills with serrated edges. Both species were very common everywhere except on the coast and were remarkably tame.
FAMILY ZOSTEROPIDÆ—WHITE-EYES.
Zosterops chrysolæma, a beautiful little species with the upper-parts golden-olive, the throat and under tail-coverts yellow, and the breast and belly pure white, was the only species met with of this most numerous and widely distributed group. The popular name White-eye is derived from the ring of tiny white plumes which encircles the eye in all. They resemble Titmice both in their mode of life and notes. The only pair observed were met with on the Iwaka River, and the species is probably more numerous in the higher parts of the mountains.
Zosterops chrysolæma, a stunning little bird with golden-olive upper parts, yellow throat and under tail-coverts, and a pure white breast and belly, was the only species encountered from this large and widely distributed group. The common name White-eye comes from the ring of small white feathers that surrounds the eye of all individuals. They are similar to Titmice in both their lifestyle and calls. The only pair spotted was found along the Iwaka River, and this species is likely more abundant in the higher regions of the mountains.
FAMILY LANIIDÆ—SHRIKES.
The large Shrike-like birds with powerful hooked bills known as the Piping-Crows are represented by two members of the genus Cracticus; C. cassicus, a black and white species, and C. quoyi, with uniform black plumage. Both are much like their well-known Australian representatives, but smaller. C. cassicus was much the commoner bird and was generally observed feeding on berries and fruits in high trees, its actions being very Crow-like.
The large Shrike-like birds with strong hooked bills known as the Piping-Crows include two species from the genus Cracticus: C. cassicus, a black and white species, and C. quoyi, which has all-black feathers. Both are similar to their well-known Australian counterparts but are smaller. C. cassicus was the more common bird and was usually seen eating berries and fruits in tall trees, behaving very much like a Crow.
The Pachycephaline group of birds allied to the true Shrikes is represented by half-a-dozen species, two of which proved to be undescribed: a grey form with a white throat Pachycephala approximans and a black species with a white breast and belly, P. dorsalis. Brilliantly coloured orange-yellow and black, or orange279yellow and grey species were represented by Pachycephala aurea and Pachychare flavogrisea.
The Pachycephaline group of birds related to the true Shrikes includes about six species, two of which were previously undiscovered: a gray form with a white throat, Pachycephala approximans, and a black species with a white breast and belly, P. dorsalis. Brightly colored orange-yellow and black, or orange-yellow and gray species were represented by Pachycephala aurea and Pachychare flavogrisea.
FAMILY PRIONOPIDÆ—WOOD-SHRIKES.
This group is represented by Rhectes cristatus and R. ferrugineus in which both sexes are rufous and by R. nigripectus with the sexes different, the male being partly black and partly chestnut. Pinarolestes megarhynchus, an allied species with the sexes alike, is brown above and dull rufous below. Some of these Wood-Shrikes lay peculiar looking eggs of a long oval shape and large for the size of the bird. The ground-colour is purplish- or pinkish-grey with scattered spots or small blotches of dark purplish-brown or maroon-brown, often blurred at the edges and running into the ground-colour. These eggs have on several occasions been palmed off on travellers in British New Guinea as eggs of the Red Bird-of-Paradise, which they do not in any way resemble.
This group is represented by Rhectes cristatus and R. ferrugineus, where both sexes are rufous, and by R. nigripectus, which has different sexes, with the male being partly black and partly chestnut. Pinarolestes megarhynchus, a related species with similar-looking sexes, is brown on top and dull rufous underneath. Some of these Wood-Shrikes lay unusually shaped eggs that are long ovals and larger than you'd expect for their size. Their base color is purplish or pinkish-grey, with scattered spots or small blotches of dark purplish-brown or maroon-brown, often blurred at the edges, blending into the base color. These eggs have occasionally been passed off to travelers in British New Guinea as those of the Red Bird-of-Paradise, which they don’t resemble at all.
FAMILY ARTAMIDÆ—SWALLOW-SHRIKES.
These birds which closely resemble Swallows in their mode of life are represented by one species only, Artamus leucopygialis, a grey bird with the breast and rump white. It was common along the coast, and was generally seen either perched on some dead tree or skimming swiftly over the sands.
These birds, which are very similar to swallows in their lifestyle, are represented by just one species, Artamus leucopygialis, a gray bird with a white breast and rump. It was common along the coast and was usually spotted either resting on a dead tree or flying quickly over the sand.
FAMILY TIMELIIDÆ—BABBLERS.
We now come to the Timeline group of birds: of these we may mention two striking-looking species of Eupetes. One, E. nigricrissus, with the plumage slate-blue and the throat white, edged with black, was met with on the Mimika; the other, E. pulcher, was only280 seen further east on the Wataikwa River. It is very similar to the above, but has the crown and back rich-chestnut, instead of slate. Both species are ground-birds and usually found in pairs; they are rather difficult to procure as, when disturbed, they instantly conceal themselves among the trunks of the trees and vegetation. The Scimitar Babblers were represented by the reddish-brown Pomatorhinus isidori.
We now come to the Timeline group of birds: among them, we should highlight two striking-looking species of Eupetes. One, E. nigricrissus, has slate-blue plumage with a white throat edged in black and was found on the Mimika; the other, E. pulcher, was only280 spotted further east along the Wataikwa River. It looks very similar to the first but has a rich-chestnut crown and back instead of slate. Both species are ground-dwelling birds often found in pairs; they are quite hard to catch since when disturbed, they immediately hide among the tree trunks and vegetation. The Scimitar Babblers were represented by the reddish-brown Pomatorhinus isidori.
FAMILY CAMPOPHAGIDÆ—CUCKOO-SHRIKES.
The Cuckoo-Shrikes are well represented in the collection, no fewer than eleven species having been obtained. They belong to four genera and vary much in colour: the large Graucalus cæruleogrisea has the entire plumage bluish-grey, except the axillaries and under wing-coverts which are pale cinnamon and the male has a black patch in front of eye. Another genus Edoliisoma is represented by E. melas of which the male is entirely black, and the female chestnut and brown. A very attractive and brilliantly coloured species is Campochæra sloetii, forming a marked contrast to other members of the group. The greater part of its plumage is orange-yellow, the forehead white, the middle of the crown yellow and the wings black and white; the male has the cheeks, throat and chest black glossed with dull green, while in the female these parts are dull grey. Several examples of this very rare Cuckoo-Shrike were procured on the Mimika River. It is no doubt most nearly allied to the Minivets (Pericrocotus) which inhabit the Indo-Chinese countries and islands, the predominant colour of most of the males being scarlet and of the females yellow.
The Cuckoo-Shrikes are well represented in the collection, with a total of eleven species collected. They belong to four genera and vary significantly in color: the large Graucalus cæruleogrisea has bluish-grey plumage all over, except for the axillary feathers and under wing-coverts which are a light cinnamon color; the male also has a black patch in front of its eye. Another genus, Edoliisoma, includes E. melas, where the male is fully black, while the female has chestnut and brown colors. A particularly striking species is Campochæra sloetii, which stands out starkly from the other members of the group. Most of its plumage is orange-yellow, with a white forehead, yellow middle of the crown, and black and white wings; the male has black cheeks, throat, and chest with a dull green sheen, whereas in the female these areas are dull grey. Several specimens of this very rare Cuckoo-Shrike were found along the Mimika River. It is likely most closely related to the Minivets (Pericrocotus) that inhabit the Indo-Chinese regions and islands, with most males being scarlet and most females yellow.
FAMILY MUSCICAPIDÆ—FLYCATCHERS.
Flycatchers are very numerously represented and among them two new forms were discovered, a Fan281tailed Flycatcher (Rhipidura streptophora) and a broad-billed species Myiagra mimikæ. Among the more notable forms we may mention Monarcha aruensis, a brilliant yellow and black species; Todopsis bonapartei, the male being vivid ultramarine-blue, purple and black, while the female differs in having the back and sides dark chestnut and the breast mostly white; lastly Peltops blainvillei, a black bird with the rump, vent and tail-coverts scarlet, a large white patch on each side of the head and another on the middle of the mantle; the sexes are alike in plumage.
Flycatchers are very numerous, and among them, two new forms were discovered: the Fan-tailed Flycatcher (Rhipidura streptophora) and a broad-billed species Myiagra mimikæ. Among the more notable forms, we should mention Monarcha aruensis, a striking yellow and black species; Todopsis bonapartei, with the male being a bright ultramarine-blue, purple, and black, while the female differs with a dark chestnut back and sides, and a mostly white breast; lastly, Peltops blainvillei, a black bird with a scarlet rump, vent, and tail-coverts, a large white patch on each side of the head, and another on the middle of the mantle; the two sexes have the same plumage.
The Fan-tailed Flycatchers were commonly seen on the Mimika River in May and June when numbers were busy hawking the canary-coloured May-flies which swarmed at that time.
The Fan-tailed Flycatchers were often spotted on the Mimika River in May and June when they were actively catching the bright yellow May-flies that swarmed during that period.
The Black-and-white Flycatcher (Malurus alboscapulatus) frequented the tall grasses near the camp on the Wataikwa River. It was a delightful little bird, very tame and might constantly be seen crossing the open spaces with an undulating flight.
The Black-and-white Flycatcher (Malurus alboscapulatus) was often seen in the tall grasses by the camp on the Wataikwa River. It was an adorable little bird, quite tame, and you could frequently spot it gliding across the open areas with a smooth, wave-like flight.
FAMILY HIRUNDINIDÆ—SWALLOWS.
Two species of Swallows were met with Hirundo javanica and H. gutturalis.
Two species of swallows were encountered: Hirundo javanica and H. gutturalis.
FAMILY PITTIDÆ—PITTAS OR ANT-THRUSHES.
Of the Ant-Thrushes or Pittas two species were met with, both brilliantly plumaged birds. Pitta mackloti which was far the commoner of the two, has a dark crown, reddish-chestnut nape, and greenish-blue upper-parts; the throat is black, the chest shining greyish-blue and the breast and belly scarlet, divided from the chest by a wide black band.
Of the Ant-Thrushes or Pittas, two species were found, both of which are stunningly colorful birds. Pitta mackloti, which was by far the more common of the two, has a dark crown, reddish-chestnut nape, and greenish-blue upper parts; the throat is black, the chest is a shiny greyish-blue, and both the breast and belly are scarlet, separated from the chest by a broad black band.
The other species, Pitta novæ-guineæ, which was much282 less frequently met with, has the head and neck black and the rest of the plumage dark green washed with bluish on the breast, which is black down the middle. The shoulders are shining silvery-blue and the vent and under tail-coverts scarlet.
The other species, Pitta novæ-guineæ, which was much282 less commonly seen, has a black head and neck, while the rest of its feathers are dark green with a bluish tint on the breast, which is black in the center. The shoulders are a shiny silvery-blue, and the vent and under tail-coverts are scarlet.
These long-legged Thrush-like birds are entirely terrestrial in their habits and frequent the depths of the forests. They can hop with great agility and escape on the slightest alarm, but are easily taken in snares.
These long-legged thrush-like birds are completely ground-dwelling and often found deep in the forests. They can hop with impressive agility and flee at the slightest disturbance, but they are easily caught in traps.
FAMILY CUCULIDÆ—CUCKOOS.
Among the Cuckoos, the largest is a species of “Crow-pheasant” or “Lark-heeled” Cuckoo, Centropus menebiki, a bird of black plumage glossed with dark green, with a large whitish-horn bill and heavy slate-coloured legs and toes.
Among the Cuckoos, the largest is a type of “Crow-pheasant” or “Lark-heeled” Cuckoo, Centropus menebiki, a bird with black feathers that have a dark green sheen, a large whitish horn-like bill, and heavy slate-colored legs and toes.
An allied, but smaller and rarer species, C. bernsteini, was met with near the mouth of the Mimika. It is very similar in plumage to the above, but is easily distinguished by its smaller size, black bill and long, nearly straight hind-claw. Both are almost entirely ground-birds of skulking habits. Several other species of Cuckoo were met with, and among these Cuculus micropterus, the eastern form of the Common Cuckoo, closely resembling our familiar bird. The rarest species obtained was Microdynamis parva, a remarkable little Cuckoo about the size of a Thrush, first described by Count Salvadori in 1875. The origin of the type specimen is uncertain, but it is believed to have been obtained by Beccari in the Moluccas. Subsequently, Dr. H. O. Forbes procured female examples in the Astrolabe Mountains. Mr. Claude Grant obtained an adult male and female which form a valuable addition to the National Collection. The general plumage is brown, but in the male the top of the head and the malar283 stripe are black, glossed with steel-blue and the cheeks and throat are cinnamon. In both sexes the bill is short, thick and curved. The male has the eye bright red, while in the female it is hazel.
An allied, but smaller and rarer species, C. bernsteini, was found near the mouth of the Mimika. It is very similar in plumage to the one mentioned earlier, but it's easy to tell apart because of its smaller size, black bill, and long, nearly straight hind claw. Both species are mostly ground-dwelling birds that tend to be secretive. Several other species of cuckoo were encountered, including Cuculus micropterus, the eastern version of the Common Cuckoo, which closely resembles the familiar bird we know. The rarest species collected was Microdynamis parva, a remarkable little cuckoo about the size of a thrush, first described by Count Salvadori in 1875. The origin of the type specimen is unclear, but it is thought to have been collected by Beccari in the Moluccas. Later, Dr. H. O. Forbes acquired female specimens in the Astrolabe Mountains. Mr. Claude Grant obtained an adult male and female, which are a valuable addition to the National Collection. The general plumage is brown, but in the male, the top of the head and the malar stripe are black, shining with steel blue, while the cheeks and throat are cinnamon. In both sexes, the bill is short, thick, and curved. The male has bright red eyes, while the female has hazel eyes.
FAMILY CYPSELIDÆ—SWIFTS.
The Swifts, though of especial interest, are not very numerously represented in the collection. The commonest species was that known as the Esculent Swiftlet (Collocalia fuciphaga) which produces the best kind of edible nest.
The Swifts, while particularly interesting, aren't very plentiful in the collection. The most common species is the Esculent Swiftlet (Collocalia fuciphaga), which makes the highest quality edible nest.
A very interesting discovery was the existence in New Guinea of the large fork-tailed species Collocalia whiteheadi originally described by myself from the highlands of Luzon, Philippine Islands.
A really interesting discovery was the existence in New Guinea of the large fork-tailed species Collocalia whiteheadi, which I originally described from the highlands of Luzon in the Philippines.
A remarkable Spine-tailed Swift (Chætura novæ-guineæ) is new to the National Collection. It was fairly common on the Mimika River and originally described by Count Salvadori from specimens procured by D’Albertis on the Fly River.
A remarkable Spine-tailed Swift (Chætura novæ-guineæ) is now part of the National Collection. It was quite common along the Mimika River and was originally described by Count Salvadori based on specimens collected by D’Albertis from the Fly River.
A pair of the magnificent Moustached Swift (Macropteryx mystacea) with a wing expanse of more than two feet were also procured. The plumage of this bird is mostly grey, but the crown, wings, and long deeply-forked tail are black glossed with purplish-blue. The eye-brows and moustache-stripes as well as the scapulars are white, the two former being composed of lengthened, narrow, pointed plumes. The male has a small chestnut spot behind the ear-coverts which is absent in the female. The nesting-habits of this species are very curious, it makes a very small exposed half-saucer-shaped nest of bark and feathers gummed by saliva to a branch or stump barely large enough to contain the single white egg, and ridiculously small in comparison with the size of the bird. When incubating, the greater part of the284 bird’s body must rest on the branch to which the nest is attached.
A pair of the impressive Moustached Swift (Macropteryx mystacea) with a wingspan of over two feet was also obtained. The feathers of this bird are mostly grey, but the crown, wings, and long deeply-forked tail are black with a purplish-blue sheen. The eyebrows and moustache stripes, as well as the scapulars, are white, with the former two made up of elongated, narrow, pointed feathers. The male has a small chestnut spot behind the ear-coverts, which is not present in the female. The nesting habits of this species are quite unusual; it builds a very small, exposed half-saucer-shaped nest made of bark and feathers glued together with saliva, situated on a branch or stump that’s barely large enough to hold the single white egg, which seems ridiculously small compared to the size of the bird. While incubating, most of the bird’s body has to rest on the branch where the nest is secured.
FAMILIES CAPRIMULGIDÆ AND PODARGIDÆ—NIGHTJARS AND FROG-MOUTHS.
The common Nightjar of the country found along the shingly banks of the rivers was Caprimulgus macrurus, a widely distributed species. After the ground had been cleared for the base camp at Wakatimi it was visited every evening by a number of Nightjars, which no doubt found such a large open space an admirable hunting-ground and the members of the Expedition derived great pleasure from watching their graceful evolutions. Another very rare Nightjar was Lyncornis papuensis, not previously included in the National Collection. Frog-mouths were represented by the larger species Podargus papuensis and the smaller, P. ocellatus. At some of the stopping places on the river night was made hideous by their mournful cries repeated to distraction on every side, and ending up with a sharp snap.
The common Nightjar found in the country along the gravelly riverbanks was Caprimulgus macrurus, a species that's found in many places. After we cleared the ground for the base camp at Wakatimi, a number of Nightjars visited it every evening, clearly enjoying the large open space as a great hunting ground, and the members of the Expedition took great pleasure in watching their graceful movements. Another very rare Nightjar was Lyncornis papuensis, which hadn’t been included in the National Collection before. Frog-mouths were represented by the larger species Podargus papuensis and the smaller P. ocellatus. At some stopping points along the river, the night was filled with their mournful cries echoing all around, ending with a sharp snap.
A single example of the rare Wallace’s Owlet-Nightjar (Ægotheles wallacei) was collected by Mr. G. C. Shortridge on the Wataikwa River. It has a peculiar uniform blackish upper plumage, without any trace of a distinct nuchal collar. No doubt, like its Australian ally, it roosts in holes in trees during the daytime and captures its prey on the wing at night, like the true Nightjars, though the flight is said to be less tortuous.
A single example of the rare Wallace’s Owlet-Nightjar (Ægotheles wallacei) was collected by Mr. G. C. Shortridge on the Wataikwa River. It has a unique, consistent blackish upper plumage, with no sign of a distinct nuchal collar. Like its Australian counterpart, it likely roosts in tree hollows during the day and catches its prey in flight at night, similar to true Nightjars, although its flight is said to be less winding.
FAMILY BUCEROTIDÆ—HORNBILLS.
The only representative of the Bucerotidæ is the Wreathed Hornbill (Rhytidoceros plicatus) a large bird with a casque formed of overlapping plates on the base of the upper mandible. The male is black with the head and neck chestnut and the tail white, while the female285 differs in having the head and neck black. It was plentiful everywhere and its flesh was reported to be good eating. It frequented the fruit-bearing trees in company with various species of Pigeons and Mr. Claude Grant on one or two occasions observed pairs at what he took to be their nesting-holes high up in the bare trunks of very tall trees. Their heavy noisy flight and raucous call, continually repeated, renders these birds difficult to overlook.
The only representative of the Bucerotidæ is the Wreathed Hornbill (Rhytidoceros plicatus), a large bird with a casque made of overlapping plates at the base of its upper mandible. The male is black with a chestnut head and neck and a white tail, while the female285 differs by having a black head and neck. It was commonly found everywhere, and people said its meat was tasty. It often hung out in fruit-bearing trees alongside various types of pigeons, and Mr. Claude Grant spotted pairs near what he believed were their nesting holes high up in the bare trunks of very tall trees on one or two occasions. Their heavy, noisy flight and harsh calls, which they repeatedly make, make these birds hard to miss.
FAMILY MEROPIDÆ—BEE-EATERS.
A species of Bee-eater, Merops ornata, was common about the base camp. It ranges to Australia, the Moluccas and westwards to the Lesser Sunda group. Mr. Goodfellow says it swarmed in some places after the month of April; though previous to that date none had been met with.
A type of Bee-eater, Merops ornata, was common around the base camp. It is found in Australia, the Moluccas, and westward to the Lesser Sunda group. Mr. Goodfellow mentions that it became abundant in some areas after April; however, none were spotted before that time.
FAMILY CORACIIDÆ—ROLLERS.
Two species of Rollers inhabit the Mimika district Eurystomus crassirostris, a greenish-blue species with brilliant ultramarine throat, quills and tail-feathers and vermilion bill and feet; and a smaller species E. australis with brownish-green upper-parts, verditer-blue breast and bluish-green bases to the tail-feathers.
Two species of Rollers live in the Mimika district: Eurystomus crassirostris, a greenish-blue bird with a vibrant ultramarine throat, wing feathers, and tail-feathers, along with a bright red bill and feet; and a smaller species, E. australis, which has brownish-green upper parts, a verditer-blue breast, and bluish-green bases on its tail-feathers.
Both Bee-eaters and Rollers were common in flocks along the banks of the Mimika during April and May when preying on the canary-coloured May-fly, which swarmed on the waters at that season.
Both Bee-eaters and Rollers were often found in flocks along the banks of the Mimika during April and May, hunting the bright yellow May-fly that swarmed in the waters during that time.
FAMILY ALCEDINIDÆ—KINGFISHERS.
Kingfishers were well represented in the Mimika district and Mr. Goodfellow says that the Sacred Kingfisher (Halcyon sanctus) was undoubtedly the most286 conspicuous bird about the base camp, where its harsh cry could be heard all through the hot hours of the day. The huts and storehouses were infested by myriads of black crickets, which take the place of the cockroaches found in other countries and commit fearful havoc among stores and personal possessions. The constant packing up of goods to send up river drove thousands of these insects to seek shelter in other parts of the camp, and, at such times, Kingfishers became very tame and darted in and out among the buildings, taking advantage of the feast thus afforded. Mr. Claude Grant shot a single specimen of the lovely Kingfisher H. nigrocyanea, the only one obtained. It has the crown, wings, upper tail-coverts, tail, and breast dark ultramarine blue, the rump cobalt-blue, the throat and a band across the breast pure white, and the remainder of the plumage black. Another species met with at the base camp was H. macleayi with purple head, wings and tail, verditer-blue back, white lores, collar and under-parts, and cinnamon flanks. Only one example of this fine bird was procured. Others were the dark purplish-blue and chestnut Alcyone lessoni, about the size of our Common Kingfisher and the much smaller A. pusilla similarly coloured above, but with the under-parts pure white.
Kingfishers were abundant in the Mimika district, and Mr. Goodfellow notes that the Sacred Kingfisher (Halcyon sanctus) was definitely the most286 noticeable bird around the base camp, where its harsh call echoed throughout the hot hours of the day. The huts and storage areas were overrun by countless black crickets, which replace the cockroaches found in other countries and cause significant damage to supplies and personal belongings. The constant packing of goods for transport up river pushed thousands of these insects to find shelter in other parts of the camp, and during those times, Kingfishers became quite tame, darting in and out among the buildings to take advantage of the feast. Mr. Claude Grant shot a single specimen of the beautiful Kingfisher H. nigrocyanea, the only one captured. It has a crown, wings, upper tail-coverts, tail, and breast of dark ultramarine blue, a cobalt-blue rump, a pure white throat and band across the breast, with the rest of its plumage being black. Another species spotted at the base camp was H. macleayi, which has a purple head, wings, and tail, a verditer-blue back, white lores, collar, and under-parts, and cinnamon flanks. Only one example of this striking bird was obtained. Other sightings included the dark purplish-blue and chestnut Alcyone lessoni, about the size of our Common Kingfisher, and the much smaller A. pusilla, similarly colored on top but with pure white under-parts.
Ceyx solitaria, a closely allied species, with purple spangled upper-parts and cinnamon-yellow under-parts was also found on the Mimika and Mr. Goodfellow was surprised to find this diminutive species which he had believed to be exclusively a fish-eater, greedily devouring a canary-coloured May-fly which swarmed on the waters of the Mimika during April and May.
Ceyx solitaria, a closely related species, had purple-spangled upper parts and cinnamon-yellow under parts. It was also discovered in the Mimika, and Mr. Goodfellow was surprised to see this small species, which he thought only ate fish, eagerly consuming a canary-colored May-fly that swarmed over the waters of the Mimika during April and May.
On the river a few specimens of the large “Jackass” Kingfisher (Dacelo intermedia) were obtained, but the species was by no means common. The most conspicuous bird was Gaudichaud’s Kingfisher (Sauromarptis gaudichaudi) and its loud grating call might be heard in all287 directions. The adult is a very handsome bird, the black of the upper-parts being relieved by the electric-blue tips to the wing-coverts and feathers of the lower back and rump, the wings and tail are washed with dull purplish-blue, the throat is white and extends in a buff collar round the neck, the under wing-coverts are buff and the breast and rest of the under-parts deep chestnut. The natives brought numbers of the half-fledged young of this species to the base camp during May and June and many were purchased by the Javanese soldiers and convicts; but as they fed them on boiled rice only, their lives were brief. The great Shoe-billed Kingfisher (Clytoceyx) was not met with by the members of our Expedition, but Dr. Van Oort has described a new form which he calls Clytoceyx rex imperator, from a specimen procured by Dr. Lorentz on the Noord River. Another large species, Melidora macrorhinus, with a curious brown spotted plumage above was not uncommon; it usually frequented the lower branches and undergrowth within a few feet of the ground and when disturbed merely mounted to a more conspicuous perch.
On the river, we found a few examples of the large “Jackass” Kingfisher (Dacelo intermedia), but this species wasn’t very common. The most noticeable bird was Gaudichaud’s Kingfisher (Sauromarptis gaudichaudi), and its loud, harsh call could be heard in all287 directions. The adult is a very striking bird, with the black upper parts highlighted by electric-blue tips on the wing coverts and the feathers of the lower back and rump. Its wings and tail have a dull purplish-blue wash, the throat is white and forms a buff collar around the neck, the under wing coverts are buff, and the breast and other underparts are a deep chestnut. The locals brought many half-fledged young of this species to the base camp during May and June, and many were bought by Javanese soldiers and convicts; unfortunately, since they only fed them boiled rice, their lives were short. The great Shoe-billed Kingfisher (Clytoceyx) wasn’t seen by our Expedition, but Dr. Van Oort described a new form he calls Clytoceyx rex imperator, based on a specimen collected by Dr. Lorentz on the Noord River. Another large species, Melidora macrorhinus, with a unique brown spotted plumage on top was fairly common; it usually stayed in the lower branches and undergrowth just a few feet off the ground, and when disturbed, it just moved to a more visible perch.
The lovely Racquet-tailed species of the genus Tanysiptera were not procured, though Dr. H. A. Lorentz met with a specimen on the Noord River.
The beautiful Racquet-tailed species of the genus Tanysiptera were not collected, although Dr. H. A. Lorentz encountered a specimen on the Noord River.
FAMILIES PSITTACIDÆ AND LORIIDÆ—PARROTS AND LORIES.
Another very numerously represented group is the Parrots of which twenty-two different species were procured, varying in size from the Great Black Cockatoo (Microglossus aterrimus), which is about the size of a Raven and has an enormously powerful bill, to the tiny Pygmy Parrot (Nasiterna keiensis) which is about the size of a Golden-crested Wren. This latter species has recently been described by Mr. Walter Rothschild as new, under the name of Nasiterna viridipectus from288 specimens obtained by A. S. Meek in the Oetakwa district, but they do not seem to differ from the birds found on the Kei and Aru Islands and also in the neighbourhood of the Fly River. The plumage is green, paler below, the crown dull orange, the shoulders spotted with black, the middle-tail feathers blue and the outer pairs black with yellow and green tips. A few solitary Black Cockatoos might be seen on the lower River, sitting on the tops of the highest trees; their loud whistle always attracted attention and even on their high perches their red faces and erect crests were conspicuous. The Common Cockatoo of the country was Cacatua triton, a moderate sized species with a yellow crest which was met with in small numbers throughout the mangrove belt, but it was a shy bird and when approached always flew away, screaming. Lories of different kinds were numerous and included some of the most brilliantly coloured species, Lorius erythrothorax combining in its plumage black, crimson, scarlet, purple, blue, green and bright yellow. The adult has the under wing-coverts uniform scarlet in marked contrast to the bright yellow inner webs of the primary quills, but in younger birds the smaller under wing-coverts are mottled with scarlet, blue, black, green and yellow and the long outer series are yellow with greyish-black ends, making a dark band at the base of the quills. In this stage the bird has been described by Dr. A. B. Meyer as Lorius salvadorii.
Another very common group is the Parrots, with twenty-two different species found, ranging in size from the Great Black Cockatoo (Microglossus aterrimus), which is about the size of a Raven and has an incredibly strong beak, to the tiny Pygmy Parrot (Nasiterna keiensis), roughly the size of a Golden-crested Wren. This latter species was recently described by Mr. Walter Rothschild as new, under the name Nasiterna viridipectus from288 specimens collected by A. S. Meek in the Oetakwa district, but they don’t seem to be different from the birds found on the Kei and Aru Islands and also near the Fly River. The feathers are green, lighter underneath, with a dull orange crown, black-spotted shoulders, blue middle-tail feathers, and the outer pairs are black with yellow and green tips. A few solitary Black Cockatoos could be seen along the lower River, perched on the tops of the tallest trees; their loud whistles always drew attention, and even from their high perches, their red faces and upright crests stood out. The Common Cockatoo in the area was Cacatua triton, a medium-sized species with a yellow crest that was seen in small numbers throughout the mangrove belt, but it was a shy bird that always flew away, screaming, when approached. Lories of various kinds were numerous, including some of the most vividly colored species, with Lorius erythrothorax showcasing black, crimson, scarlet, purple, blue, green, and bright yellow in its plumage. The adult has uniform scarlet under wing-coverts, contrasting sharply with the bright yellow inner webs of the primary feathers, while younger birds have mottled smaller under wing-coverts of scarlet, blue, black, green, and yellow, and the long outer series are yellow with grayish-black tips, creating a dark band at the base of the feathers. In this stage, the bird has been described by Dr. A. B. Meyer as Lorius salvadorii.
A less brilliantly coloured and more common species in the neighbourhood of the Mimika was Eos fuscatus which has the general colour above sooty-black shaded on the middle of the crown, neck, etc. with reddish-orange and the under-parts widely banded with scarlet. A lovely species with a longer tail was Trichoglossus cyanogrammus which is green with a blue face and greenish-yellow collar, and has the scarlet chest-feathers edged289 with purple, while the belly and flanks are yellow barred with green.
A less vividly colored and more common species in the Mimika area is Eos fuscatus, which has a general sooty-black color on the top, with reddish-orange shading on the middle of the crown, neck, and other areas. Its underparts are widely banded with scarlet. Another beautiful species with a longer tail is Trichoglossus cyanogrammus, which is green with a blue face and a greenish-yellow collar. It has scarlet chest feathers edged289 with purple, while the belly and flanks are yellow with green bars.
The tiniest Lory is Loriculus meeki, a minute species, about the size of a Blue Titmouse, with brilliant green plumage, orange-yellow forehead, and the rump and upper tail-coverts as well as a spot on the throat scarlet. The female differs in having the forehead and cheeks verditer-green.
The smallest Lory is Loriculus meeki, a tiny species, about the size of a Blue Titmouse, with bright green feathers, an orange-yellow forehead, and a scarlet rump, upper tail-coverts, and a spot on the throat. The female differs by having a verditer-green forehead and cheeks.
The genus Geoffroyus is represented by two species: the commoner G. aruensis with the plumage green, the male having the crown and nape violet-blue and the rest of the head and neck scarlet, while in the female these parts are brown; also the much rarer G. simplex which is entirely green with a dull lilac blue ring round the neck. This latter is a very rare bird in collections, but was seen on the higher parts of the mountains above the Iwaka River in flocks of upwards of twenty individuals.
The genus Geoffroyus includes two species: the more common G. aruensis, which has green plumage, with the male sporting a violet-blue crown and nape, and the rest of the head and neck in scarlet, while the female has these parts in brown; and the much rarer G. simplex, which is entirely green with a dull lilac-blue ring around its neck. The latter is a very rare bird in collections, but was spotted in flocks of over twenty individuals in the higher parts of the mountains above the Iwaka River.
Other small and brilliantly coloured species of Lories are Charmosynopsis pulchella and C. multistriata, the latter a remarkable new species with green plumage, and the whole of the under-parts streaked with bright yellow. It was recently described by Mr. Rothschild from a male, shot by A. S. Meek on the Oetakwa River; a second specimen, a female, was obtained on the Mimika by Mr. Goodfellow. We must also mention Chalcopsittacus scintillans, Hypocharmosyna placens, Charmosyna josephinæ, the rare Glossopsittacus goldiei, and three species of Cyclopsittacus, viz. C. melanogenys, which is green with a white throat, black cheeks, deep orange breast, and ultramarine wings; C. diophthalmus; and C. godmani, a new and handsome species with the general colour green, the head and nape orange-scarlet, the upper mantle orange-yellow, the cheeks covered with long, pointed, yellowish feathers, and the chest verditer-blue.
Other small and brightly colored species of Lories are Charmosynopsis pulchella and C. multistriata, the latter being a striking new species with green feathers, and the entire underside marked with bright yellow. It was recently described by Mr. Rothschild based on a male that was shot by A. S. Meek on the Oetakwa River; a second specimen, a female, was obtained on the Mimika by Mr. Goodfellow. We should also mention Chalcopsittacus scintillans, Hypocharmosyna placens, Charmosyna josephinæ, the rare Glossopsittacus goldiei, and three species of Cyclopsittacus, namely C. melanogenys, which is green with a white throat, black cheeks, a deep orange breast, and ultramarine wings; C. diophthalmus; and C. godmani, a new and beautiful species that is generally green, with an orange-scarlet head and nape, an orange-yellow upper mantle, cheeks covered with long, pointed, yellowish feathers, and a verditer-blue chest.
Behind the camp at Wakatimi lay a swamp which290 Mr. Goodfellow tells us was every night the roosting-place of thousands of Lories, chiefly Eos fuscatus, and there were also smaller flocks of Trichoglossus cyanogrammus. Long before sunset and until it was quite dusk flocks of many hundred birds coming from all directions flew over with a deafening noise. Often some weak branch would give way under their weight, causing a panic just as the noise was beginning to subside, and clouds of these birds would again circle around, seeking a fresh roosting place and keeping up a continual din.
Behind the camp at Wakatimi was a swamp that290 Mr. Goodfellow says was the nightly roost for thousands of Lories, mainly Eos fuscatus, along with smaller groups of Trichoglossus cyanogrammus. Long before sunset and until it was completely dark, flocks of hundreds of birds flew in from all directions, creating a deafening noise. Often, a weak branch would snap under their weight, causing a panic just as the sound was starting to die down, and clouds of these birds would circle back, looking for a new roosting spot and keeping up a constant racket.
One of the most peculiar Parrots, and bearing a marked external resemblance to the Kea of New Zealand, is the Vulturine Parrot (Dasyptilus pesqueti) which has the black skin of the face almost entirely bare, the plumage black and scarlet on the wings, rump and belly, the breast feathers having pale sandy margins. Its hoarse, grating call, quite unlike that of any other species, could be heard a long way off, and was continually uttered when on the wing. Mr. Goodfellow says it usually moves about in parties of four or five individuals, and that occasionally as many as seven may be seen together. When not feeding they always select the tallest trees to rest in, preferring dead ones which tower about the general level of the jungle, and in which they remain for hours at a time in rain or sunshine. They do not climb after the usual manner of Parrots, but jump from branch to branch with a jerky movement, like the Lories, and with a rapid flicking movement of the wings. They feed entirely on soft fruits, chiefly wild figs. Apparently the species feeds on the plains and retires to the mountains to roost, for every evening flocks or pairs were observed passing high over the camp at Parimau, and making their way towards the Saddle-peak range.
One of the most interesting parrots, which closely resembles the Kea of New Zealand, is the Vulturine Parrot (Dasyptilus pesqueti). It has mostly bare black skin on its face, with black and scarlet plumage on its wings, rump, and belly, and the breast feathers have light sandy edges. Its rough, grating call, unlike that of any other species, can be heard from a distance and is often heard while flying. Mr. Goodfellow notes that they typically travel in groups of four or five, but sometimes up to seven can be spotted together. When they're not feeding, they prefer to rest in the tallest trees, especially dead ones that stand above the general jungle level, where they can spend hours, whether it's raining or sunny. Instead of climbing like typical parrots, they hop from branch to branch with a jerky movement, similar to Lories, and with quick flaps of their wings. They exclusively eat soft fruits, mainly wild figs. It seems this species forages on the plains and heads to the mountains to roost, as flocks or pairs were seen flying high over the camp at Parimau every evening, heading toward the Saddle-peak range.
A handsome new Parroquet of the genus Aprosmictus was discovered, and has been named A. wilhelminæ, in291 honour of the Queen of Holland. The male has the head, neck and under-parts scarlet, the wings green, with a pale yellow green band across the coverts, the mantle and back mostly deep purplish-blue, and the tail black tinged with purplish.
A beautiful new parrot from the genus Aprosmictus has been discovered and named A. wilhelminæ in291 honor of the Queen of Holland. The male has a scarlet head, neck, and underparts, with green wings featuring a pale yellow-green band across the coverts. The mantle and back are mostly deep purplish-blue, and the tail is black with a purplish tint.
Finally, the Eclectus Parrot (Eclectus pectoralis) was common. The remarkable difference in the colouration of the sexes might lead some to believe that they belonged to quite different species, the male being mostly green with scarlet sides and under wing-coverts, while the female is maroon with the head, neck and breast scarlet, and the mantle, belly, sides and under wing-coverts blue.
Finally, the Eclectus Parrot (Eclectus pectoralis) was common. The striking difference in coloration between the sexes might make some think they were entirely different species, with the male predominantly green and having red sides and underwing coverts, while the female is maroon with a scarlet head, neck, and breast, and blue mantle, belly, sides, and underwing coverts.
FAMILIES BUBONIDÆ AND STRIGIDÆ—WOOD-OWLS AND BARN-OWLS.
The only Owl of which examples were obtained was a small species of Brown Hawk-Owl (Ninox theomaca), with the upper-parts, back, wings and tail uniform dark brown, and the under-parts deep chestnut. It was a strictly nocturnal species, and confined to the jungle along the base of the mountains, where its weird double call “yon-yon” might constantly be heard after dark.
The only owl for which examples were collected was a small species of Brown Hawk-Owl (Ninox theomaca), with dark brown upper parts, back, wings, and tail, and deep chestnut lower parts. It was a strictly nocturnal species, found only in the jungle at the base of the mountains, where its eerie double call “yon-yon” could be heard regularly after dark.
A form of the Barn-Owl (Strix novæ-hollandiæ), which occurs in the district, was not obtained by the Expedition.
A type of Barn Owl (Strix novæ-hollandiæ) that is found in the area was not captured by the Expedition.
FAMILY FALCONIDÆ—EAGLES AND HAWKS.
New Guinea possesses a very remarkable Harpy-Eagle (Harpyopsis novæ-guineæ) allied to the Harpy Eagles of America and to the Great Monkey-eating Eagle (Pithecophaga jefferyi) which inhabits the forests of the Philippine Islands. The New Guinea bird is like a large Goshawk, having a long tail and comparatively short and rounded wings; the feet are armed with very powerful claws, but in strength and power it is far inferior to its292 great Philippine ally or to the still more powerful species inhabiting Central America. Mr. Claude Grant says that this species was seldom met with; it has a rather loud cry and a beautiful soaring flight, often in ascending circles. Besides this large Eagle, two species of Goshawk Astur etorques and A. poliocephalus were met with, likewise a small chestnut and white Brahminy Kite (Haliastur girrenera). A small Sparrow-Hawk was obtained near the mouth of the Mimika River, but being in immature plumage its identification is at present uncertain. Reinwardt’s Cuckoo-Falcon (Baza reinwardti) with a crested head and banded breast, was rather a rare bird and appears to feed largely on insects.
New Guinea has a remarkable Harpy Eagle (Harpyopsis novæ-guineæ) that's related to the Harpy Eagles of America and the Great Monkey-eating Eagle (Pithecophaga jefferyi) found in the forests of the Philippine Islands. The New Guinea bird resembles a large Goshawk, with a long tail and relatively short, rounded wings; its feet are equipped with very strong claws, but it is much weaker compared to its292 powerful Philippine counterpart or the even more powerful species in Central America. Mr. Claude Grant mentions that this species is rarely seen; it has a loud call and a beautiful soaring flight, often flying in rising circles. In addition to this large Eagle, two Goshawk species, Astur etorques and A. poliocephalus, were also spotted, along with a small chestnut and white Brahminy Kite (Haliastur girrenera). A small Sparrow-Hawk was found near the mouth of the Mimika River, but since it was in immature plumage, its identification is currently uncertain. Reinwardt’s Cuckoo-Falcon (Baza reinwardti), with its crested head and banded breast, was quite rare and seems to mainly feed on insects.
FAMILY PHALACROCORACIDÆ—CORMORANTS.
The small black-backed white-breasted species Phalacrocorax melanoleucus is the only representative of this group. Several specimens were shot on the upper waters of the Mimika, at Parimau and at the base camp at Wakatimi.
The small black-backed white-breasted species Phalacrocorax melanoleucus is the only member of this group. Several specimens were collected from the upper waters of the Mimika, at Parimau, and at the base camp in Wakatimi.
FAMILY ANATIDÆ—DUCKS.
The handsome white-necked Sheld-duck (Tadorna radjah) differs from the Australian form in being much darker on the back, the plumage being practically black with indistinct mottlings of dull rufous on the mantle. This dark form, found also in the Moluccas, was common about the mouth of the Mimika River. The more rufous-backed Australian form has been named T. rufitergum by Dr. Hartert.
The attractive white-necked Sheld-duck (Tadorna radjah) is different from the Australian version because it's much darker on its back, with feathers that are almost black and have subtle patches of dull reddish-brown on the mantle. This darker variety, which is also found in the Moluccas, was common around the mouth of the Mimika River. The lighter rufous-backed Australian version has been classified as T. rufitergum by Dr. Hartert.
The only other species of duck brought home was an immature male Garganey (Querquedula discors) shot on the Kapare River.
The only other type of duck brought home was an immature male Garganey (Querquedula discors) shot on the Kapare River.
FAMILY IBIDIDÆ—IBISES.
The Eastern form of the Sacred Ibis (Ibis stictipennis) was met with at the mouth of the Mimika. It is easily distinguished from its western ally by having the innermost secondaries mottled with black and white.
The Eastern type of the Sacred Ibis (Ibis stictipennis) was found at the mouth of the Mimika. It's easily recognized from its western counterpart by having the innermost secondary feathers spotted with black and white.
FAMILY ARDEIDÆ—HERONS.
Several different species of Herons were procured including the Night Heron (Nycticorax caledonica); the Yellow-necked Heron (Dupetor flavicollis); the White Heron (Herodias timoriensis); and a Tiger-Bittern (Tigrisoma heliosylus). The last named is a very fine bird with the general colour above black boldly barred with rufous and buff; the under-parts buff barred on the neck and chest with black. The feathers on the neck and chest are very long and broad and no doubt form a most imposing ruff when the bird is displaying.
Several different species of herons were acquired, including the Night Heron (Nycticorax caledonica), the Yellow-necked Heron (Dupetor flavicollis), the White Heron (Herodias timoriensis), and a Tiger-Bittern (Tigrisoma heliosylus). The last one is a very striking bird, with a black color on top that is boldly striped with rufous and buff. The underparts are buff, with black bars on the neck and chest. The feathers on the neck and chest are very long and wide, and they likely create a stunning ruff when the bird is displaying.
FAMILIES ŒDICNEMIDÆ, CHARADRIIDÆ AND LARIDÆ—STONE-PLOVERS, PLOVERS, AND GULLS.
A number of small wading birds were also procured near the mouth of the river, and two species of Terns, but as all belong to well-known, widely distributed species, there is no special interest attaching to them. I may however mention that the great Australian Curlew (Numenius cyanopus), and the large Australian Thicknee (Esacus magnirostris) were among the species found at the mouth of the Mimika.
A number of small wading birds were also collected near the mouth of the river, along with two types of terns, but since all of them are well-known and widely distributed species, there isn’t anything particularly interesting about them. However, I should mention that the great Australian curlew (Numenius cyanopus) and the large Australian thicknee (Esacus magnirostris) were among the species found at the mouth of the Mimika.
FAMILY RALLIDÆ—RAILS.
The only Rail met with was an example of Rallina tricolor which has the head, neck and chest bright chestnut, and the rest of the plumage dark brown with white bars on the wing-feathers. It is also met with in some of the Papuan Islands and in North-eastern Australia.
The only Rail encountered was an example of Rallina tricolor, which has a bright chestnut head, neck, and chest, while the rest of the plumage is dark brown with white bars on the wing feathers. It can also be found in some of the Papuan Islands and in northeastern Australia.
FAMILY COLUMBIDÆ—PIGEONS.
Pigeons were very numerously represented, no fewer than twenty-six different species being obtained by the Expedition. Some of the smaller forms are among the most beautifully coloured birds met with in New Guinea. The Crowned Pigeons (Goura) are represented by G. sclateri which was fairly common near the base camp and met with in all places visited by the Expedition. In spite of the numbers shot for food during the whole time the Expedition remained in the country, the supply did not appear to diminish. This fine Pigeon and a few others afforded the only fresh meat to be had. On the canoe-journeys up the river Sclater’s Goura was frequently met with in the early mornings in parties of two or three searching for aquatic life along the muddy banks. When disturbed they did not immediately take flight, but with raised wings pirouetted around for a few seconds and then flew to the nearest high tree. Mr. Goodfellow found the remains of small crabs in their stomachs and a large percentage of the birds shot were infested by a small red parasite, the same, or similar to that which is known in other parts of New Guinea as “Scrub-itch.”
Pigeons were very plentiful, with no fewer than twenty-six different species collected by the Expedition. Some of the smaller varieties are among the most beautifully colored birds found in New Guinea. The Crowned Pigeons (Goura) are represented by G. sclateri, which was fairly common near the base camp and encountered in all locations visited by the Expedition. Despite the number of birds hunted for food during the entire duration of the Expedition in the country, the supply didn't seem to decrease. This beautiful Pigeon and a few others provided the only fresh meat available. During the canoe trips up the river, Sclater’s Goura was often seen in the early mornings in groups of two or three looking for aquatic life along the muddy banks. When startled, they didn’t fly away immediately; instead, they raised their wings and spun around for a few seconds before flying to the nearest tall tree. Mr. Goodfellow found small crabs in their stomachs, and a significant percentage of the birds shot were infested with a small red parasite, the same or similar to what is known in other parts of New Guinea as “Scrub-itch.”
Another very handsome bird is the Ground-Pigeon (Otidiphaps nobilis) with the head bluish-black, the nape dull metallic green, the mantle and wings purplish-chestnut and the rest of the plumage deep purple, all being more or less metallic. Its long legs and the upward carriage of its long tail give it much the appearance of a Bantam hen. It was fairly common, but being extremely shy was rarely met with.
Another really handsome bird is the Ground-Pigeon (Otidiphaps nobilis) with a bluish-black head, a dull metallic green nape, purplish-chestnut mantle and wings, and deep purple plumage that all has a somewhat metallic sheen. Its long legs and the way its long tail is held up make it look quite a bit like a Bantam hen. It was fairly common, but because it was incredibly shy, it was rarely seen.
Among the larger Fruit-Pigeons we must specially mention Carpophaga pinon which has the general appearance of a large Wood-Pigeon. It was met with in large flocks and proved an excellent bird for the table. Another295 very striking species, of rather lesser proportions and very much rarer, was Muller’s Fruit-Pigeon (Carpophaga mulleri) easily distinguished by its white throat, the bold black ring round its neck and its shining chestnut mantle. Among the handsomest was Carpophaga rufiventris, a bird with the breast cinnamon and the wings and back metallic green, copper and purple. Lastly a very striking form was the large creamy-white Pigeon (Myristicivora spilorrhoa) with the flight feathers, tips of the tail-feathers and under tail-coverts blackish. It appears to be entirely confined to the mangrove swamps and was observed breeding in May along the creeks near the mouth of the river, no less than seven nests being found in one tree.
Among the larger fruit pigeons, we should especially mention Carpophaga pinon, which looks like a large wood pigeon. It was found in big flocks and was great for eating. Another295 striking species, smaller and much rarer, was Muller’s fruit pigeon (Carpophaga mulleri), easily recognized by its white throat, the bold black ring around its neck, and its shiny chestnut back. One of the most attractive was Carpophaga rufiventris, a bird with a cinnamon-colored breast and metallic green, copper, and purple wings and back. Lastly, a very eye-catching form was the large creamy-white pigeon (Myristicivora spilorrhoa), with blackish flight feathers, tail feather tips, and under tail-coverts. It seems to be completely limited to the mangrove swamps and was seen breeding in May along the creeks near the mouth of the river, where seven nests were found in one tree.
As already stated among the smaller Fruit-Pigeons many are very beautifully marked and brilliantly coloured, but always with the most harmonious shades. It would seem as though Nature had almost exhausted her scheme of colouration in dealing with some of these birds; for we find two totally different species, Ptilopus zonurus and P. gestroi, occurring together in which the markings and colours of the plumage are almost identical; on the under-surface the two species are practically alike, both have the chin and throat pale lavender, extending in a ring round the neck, the throat orange, the chest washed with vinous and the remainder of the under-parts green; on the upper-surface, the top of the head and nape are greenish-yellow and the rest of the upper-parts green, but in P. zonurus the median wing-coverts are green with a subterminal spot of bright pink, while in P. gestroi the least wing-coverts are crimson and the next series grey fringed with greenish-yellow. Another parallel case of close resemblance is found between the small Ptilopus nanus and the larger P. coronulatus. Though really extremely distinct species the under-parts are very similarly coloured both being green with a bright296 magenta patch on the middle of the breast and the belly and under-tail coverts mostly bright yellow: viewed from the upper surface the two birds are, however, very different, P. coronulatus having the crown lilac-pink, edged posteriorly with bands of crimson and yellow, while P. nanus has the head green, but the ends of the scapulars and secondaries are deep shining bluish-green, tipped with bright yellow. Even more brilliantly coloured species than the above are Ptilopus pulchellus, P. superbus, P. aurantiifrons and P. bellus.
As already mentioned, among the smaller Fruit-Pigeons, many are very beautifully patterned and brightly colored, always with the most harmonious shades. It seems like Nature has almost exhausted her color scheme with some of these birds; we find two completely different species, Ptilopus zonurus and P. gestroi, living together that have almost identical plumage markings and colors. On the underside, the two species are practically the same, both have a pale lavender chin and throat that form a ring around the neck, an orange throat, a vinous wash on the chest, and green on the remaining underparts. On the upper side, the top of the head and nape are greenish-yellow, with the rest of the upper parts being green. However, in P. zonurus, the median wing-coverts are green with a bright pink spot near the end, while in P. gestroi, the least wing-coverts are crimson, and the next series are grey edged with greenish-yellow. Another similar case of close resemblance can be seen between the small Ptilopus nanus and the larger P. coronulatus. Although they are truly distinct species, their underparts are very similarly colored, both being green with a bright magenta patch in the center of the breast, and the belly and under-tail coverts are mostly bright yellow. When viewed from above, however, the two birds are quite different: P. coronulatus has a lilac-pink crown edged in crimson and yellow bands, while P. nanus has a green head, but the ends of the scapulars and secondaries are deep shining bluish-green, tipped with bright yellow. Even more brightly colored species than these are Ptilopus pulchellus, P. superbus, P. aurantiifrons, and P. bellus.
Near the camp at Wataikwa large flocks of D’Albertis’ Pigeon (Gymnophaps albertisii) were observed coming in every evening from their feeding-grounds on the high mountains to roost on the plains below. Mr. Goodfellow tells us that their flight is extremely rapid and that their strange aerial evolutions remind one of the common “Tumbler” Pigeons.
Near the camp at Wataikwa, large groups of D'Albertis' Pigeon (Gymnophaps albertisii) were seen returning each evening from their feeding areas in the high mountains to roost on the plains below. Mr. Goodfellow mentions that their flight is very fast and that their unusual maneuvers in the air are reminiscent of the common "Tumbler" Pigeons.
The Long-tailed Cuckoo-Doves were represented by the very large Reinwardtœnas griseotincta and the smaller chestnut-plumaged Macropygia griseinucha; the former being a large and abnormally long-tailed bird with the head, mantle and under-parts grey, and the back and tail chestnut.
The Long-tailed Cuckoo-Doves included the very large Reinwardtœnas griseotincta and the smaller chestnut-colored Macropygia griseinucha; the former is a large bird with an unusually long tail, having a grey head, mantle, and underparts, while its back and tail are chestnut.
FAMILY MEGAPODIIDÆ—MEGAPODES OR MOUND-BUILDERS.
The Game-birds are represented by three species of Mound-builders, two being Brush-Turkeys and the other a true Megapode (Megapodius freycineti). The fact that two closely allied species of Brush-Turkeys are found in the same district is of considerable interest. The common species of the country Talegallus fuscirostris has a very wide coastal range, being also found in S.E. New Guinea and extending along the north coast to the middle of Geelvinck Bay. The other species T. cuvieri297 is of western origin being hitherto known from the Arfak Peninsula, and the islands of Salwatti, Mysol and Gilolo. Its occurrence on the Iwaka river was quite unexpected and no doubt the range of the two species overlap in the neighbourhood of the Mimika in the south and in the vicinity of Rubi on Geelvinck Bay in the north. In both the plumage is black, but T. cuvieri is a larger bird than T. fuscirostris and is easily recognised by having the tibia feathered right down to the tibio-tarsal joint and the bill orange-red instead of sooty-brown.
The game birds include three species of mound-builders: two are brush-turkeys and the other is a true megapode (Megapodius freycineti). It's quite interesting that two closely related species of brush-turkeys are found in the same area. The common species in the region, Talegallus fuscirostris, has a broad coastal range, also appearing in Southeast New Guinea and extending along the north coast to the middle of Geelvinck Bay. The other species, T. cuvieri297, originates from the west, previously known only from the Arfak Peninsula and the islands of Salwatti, Mysol, and Gilolo. Its presence along the Iwaka River was unexpected, and it’s likely that the ranges of the two species overlap near Mimika in the south and around Rubi on Geelvinck Bay in the north. Both have black plumage, but T. cuvieri is larger than T. fuscirostris and can be easily identified by its feathers extending down to the tibio-tarsal joint and its orange-red bill instead of the sooty-brown bill of T. fuscirostris.
All these species are of the greatest interest on account of their remarkable nesting habits, and their nesting mounds of decaying vegetable matter were conspicuous objects in the jungle. The eggs, which are very large for the size of the birds, are buried among the débris which the birds rake together into a large heap, the young being hatched, as in an incubator, by the warmth of the decaying leaves. The parent bird, after burying its eggs, takes no further notice of them, but the young on leaving the shell are fully feathered and able to fly and take care of themselves.
All these species are really interesting because of their unique nesting habits, and their nests made from decaying plant material stood out in the jungle. The eggs, which are quite large compared to the size of the birds, are buried among the debris that the birds gather into a big pile, with the warmth from the rotting leaves incubating them. After burying the eggs, the parent bird doesn't pay any more attention to them, but the young birds leave the shell fully feathered and can fly and take care of themselves.
FAMILY CASUARIIDÆ—CASSOWARIES.
The discovery made by Mr. Walter Goodfellow that two distinct forms of two-wattled Cassowary occur side by side on the Mimika River has greatly modified Mr. Rothschild’s views on the classification of the genus, and he now finds that the ten forms possessing two wattles, when placed side by side fall naturally into two groups, one consisting of the Common Cassowary (Casuarius casuarius), divisible into six sub-species or races, and the other of C. bicarunculatus which may be divided into four sub-species. The large forms found on the Mimika are C. sclateri, representing the first group, and C. intensus representing the second. Both these birds298 have a large elevated casque or helmet and differ chiefly in the pattern and colouration of the bare neck-wattles.
The discovery by Mr. Walter Goodfellow that two distinct types of two-wattled Cassowary coexist along the Mimika River has significantly changed Mr. Rothschild's views on how to classify the genus. He now realizes that the ten types with two wattles, when compared side by side, naturally divide into two groups: one that includes the Common Cassowary (Casuarius casuarius), which can be broken down into six sub-species or races, and another consisting of C. bicarunculatus, which can be divided into four sub-species. The large forms found on the Mimika are C. sclateri, representing the first group, and C. intensus, representing the second. Both of these birds298 have a large raised casque or helmet and differ mainly in the pattern and color of their bare neck-wattles.
These Cassowaries were seen at various times searching for food in the pools and shallow waters of the river-beds, and during the cross-country marches would sometimes dash across the trail, affording but a momentary glimpse.
These cassowaries were spotted at different times looking for food in the pools and shallow waters of the riverbeds, and during the cross-country hikes, they would sometimes sprint across the path, offering just a brief glimpse.
The natives have distinct names for the male and female birds and judging from the quantities of feathers in their possession must often succeed in capturing them. Eggs and newly-hatched chicks were brought in during January and February. On one occasion at Parimau some eggs must have been kept by the natives for a few days before they hatched, for young were brought to the camp which had evidently just emerged from the shells.
The locals have specific names for both male and female birds, and judging by the number of feathers they have, they must often catch them. Eggs and newly-hatched chicks were brought in during January and February. One time at Parimau, it seems some eggs were kept by the locals for a few days before hatching, as young birds were brought to the camp that had clearly just come out of their shells.
A very interesting discovery was made by Mr. Claude Grant on the foot-hills, where he met with a new dwarf species of Cassowary, C. claudii. It is allied to C. papuanus, but has the hind part of the crown and occiput black instead of white. Like that bird it has a low triangular casque and belongs to a different section of the genus from the two larger species already mentioned.
A really interesting discovery was made by Mr. Claude Grant in the foothills, where he encountered a new dwarf species of Cassowary, C. claudii. It's related to C. papuanus, but has a black hind part of the crown and back of the head instead of white. Like that bird, it features a low triangular casque and belongs to a different section of the genus than the two larger species already mentioned.
C. claudii has very brilliantly coloured soft parts. The occiput and sides of the head are entirely black; between the gape and the ear is a patch of deep plum-colour; the upper half of the back of the neck is electric-blue, shading into violet-blue on the sides and fore-part of the neck including the throat; the lower half of the back of the neck is orange-chrome, this colour extending down the upper margin of a bare magenta-coloured area situated on each side of the feathered part of the neck. This fine bird is now mounted and on exhibition in the Bird Gallery at the Natural History Museum.
C. claudii has very brightly colored soft parts. The back of the head and sides of the face are completely black; between the mouth and the ear is a patch of deep plum color; the upper half of the back of the neck is electric blue, fading into violet-blue on the sides and front of the neck, including the throat; the lower half of the neck is orange-chrome, and this color extends down the top edge of a bare magenta area located on each side of the feathered part of the neck. This beautiful bird is now mounted and on display in the Bird Gallery at the Natural History Museum.
LIST OF THE PRINCIPAL PAPERS RELATING TO THE BIRDS OF NEW GUINEA, INCLUDING THE KEI AND ARU ISLANDS.
| 1875-88. | Gould. Birds of New Guinea and the adjacent Papuan Islands. (Completed by R. B. Sharpe) (1875-88). Gould. Birds of New Guinea and the nearby Papuan Islands. (Finished by R. B. Sharpe) (1875-88). |
| 1880-82 & 1889-91. | Salvadori. Ornitologia della Papuasia e delle Molluche. Vols. I-III. (1880-82). Aggiunte, pts. I.-III. (1889-91). Salvadori. Ornithology of Papua and the Moluccas. Vols. I-III. (1880-82). Additions, pts. I.-III. (1889-91). |
| 1883. | Ramsay. Proc. Linn. Soc. N.S.W. VIII. pp. 15-29 (1883). Ramsay. Proc. Linn. Soc. N.S.W. VIII. pp. 15-29 (1883). |
| 1884. | Sharpe. Journ. Linn. Soc. Zool. XVII. pp. 405-408 (1884). Sharpe. Journ. Linn. Soc. Zool. XVII. pp. 405-408 (1884). |
Meyer. Zeit. Ges. Orn 1. pp. 269-296, pls. XIV.-XVIII. (1884). Meyer. Zeit. Ges. Orn 1. pp. 269-296, pls. XIV.-XVIII. (1884). | |
| 1885. | Finsch and Meyer. Zeit. ges. Orn. II. pp. 369-391, pls. XV.-XXII. (1885). Finsch and Meyer. Zeit. ges. Orn. II. pp. 369-391, pls. XV.-XXII. (1885). |
Guillemard. P.Z.S. 1885, pp. 615-665, pl. XXXIX. Guillemard. P.Z.S. 1885, pp. 615-665, pl. XXXIX. | |
| 1886. | Meyer. Monat. Schutze Vogelw. 1886, pp. 85-88, pl. Meyer. Month. Protection of Birds. 1886, pp. 85-88, pl. |
Meyer. P.Z.S. 1886, pp. 297-298. Meyer. P.Z.S. 1886, pp. 297-298. | |
Finsch and Meyer. Zeit. ges. Orn. III. pp. 1-29, pls. I.-VI. (1886). Finsch and Meyer. Zeit. ges. Orn. III. pp. 1-29, pls. I.-VI. (1886). | |
Meyer. Zeit. ges. Orn. III. pp. 30-38 (1886). Meyer. Zeit. ges. Orn. III. pp. 30-38 (1886). | |
Salvadori. Ibis 1886, pp. 151-155. Salvadori. Ibis 1886, pp. 151-155. | |
| 1887. | Ramsay. Proc. Linn. Soc. N.S.W. (2) II. pp. 239-240 (1887). Ramsay. Proc. Linn. Soc. N.S.W. (2) II. pp. 239-240 (1887). |
Bartlett. P.Z.S. 1887, p. 392. Bartlett. P.Z.S. 1887, p. 392. | |
Oustalet. Le Nat. I. pp. 180-182 (1887). Oustalet. Le Nat. I. pp. 180-182 (1887). | |
| 1888. | Meyer. Reisen in Kaiser Wilhelms-Land und Englisch New-Guinea
in dem Jahren 1884 u. 1885 an Bord des Deutschen Damfers Meyer. Travels in Kaiser Wilhelm's Land and English New Guinea in the years 1884 and 1885 aboard the German steamship |
Cabanis. J.f.O. 1888, p. 119. Cabanis. J.f.O. 1888, p. 119. | |
| 1889. | Cabanis. J.f.O. 1889, p. 62, pls. 1 & 2. Cabanis. J.f.O. 1889, p. 62, pls. 1 & 2. |
Meyer. J.f.O. 1889, pp. 321-326. Meyer. J.f.O. 1889, pp. 321-326. | |
De Vis. Proc. Roy. Soc. Queensland VI. pp. 245-248 (1889). De Vis. Proc. Roy. Soc. Queensland VI. pp. 245-248 (1889). | |
| 1890. | De Vis. British New Guinea. Report of the Administration for the
period 4th Sept. 1888 to 30th June, 1889. De Vis. British New Guinea. Report of the Administration for the period from September 4, 1888, to June 30, 1889. |
Goodwin. Ibis 1890, pp. 150-156. Goodwin. Ibis 1890, pp. 150-156. | |
Meyer. Ibis 1890, p. 412, pl. XII. Meyer. Ibis 1890, p. 412, pl. XII. | |
Salvad. Ann. Mus. Civ. Genov. (2) IX. pp. 554-592 (1890). Salvad. Ann. Mus. Civ. Genov. (2) IX. pp. 554-592 (1890). | |
| 1891. | Oustalet. Le Nat. V. pp. 260-261 (1891). Oustalet. Le Nat. V. pp. 260-261 (1891). |
Sclater. Ibis 1891, p. 414, pl. X. Sclater. Ibis 1891, p. 414, pl. X. | |
Meyer. Abh. Zool. Mus. Dresden 1891, No. 4, pp. 1-17. Meyer. Abh. Zool. Mus. Dresden 1891, No. 4, pp. 1-17. | |
| 1891-98. | Sharpe. Monogr. Paradiseidæ and Ptilonorhynchidæ (1891-98) Sharpe. Monogr. Paradiseidæ and Ptilonorhynchidæ (1891-98) |
| 1892. | De Vis. Ann. Queensland Mus. II. pp. 4-11 (1892). De Vis. Ann. Queensland Mus. II. pp. 4-11 (1892). |
De Vis. Annual Report Brit. New Guinea, 1890-91. App. CC. pp. 93-97. pl. (1892). De Vis. Annual Report British New Guinea, 1890-91. App. CC. pp. 93-97. pl. (1892). | |
Salvad. Ann. Mus. Civ. Genov. (2) X. pp. 797-834 (1892). Salvad. Ann. Mus. Civ. Genov. (2) X. pp. 797-834 (1892). | |
Meyer. J.f.O. 1892, pp. 254-266. Meyer. J.f.O. 1892, pp. 254-266. | |
Crowley. Bull. B.O.C. 1. p. XVI. (1892). Crowley. Bull. B.O.C. 1. p. XVI. (1892). | |
| 1893. | Meyer. Abh. Zool. Mus. Dres. 1892-93, No. 3. pp. 1-33, pls. 1 & 2. Meyer. Abh. Zool. Mus. Dres. 1892-93, No. 3. pp. 1-33, pls. 1 & 2. |
Oustalet. Nouv. Archiv. Mus. Paris, (3) IV. pp. 218-220, pl. XV.; V. pp. 295-299, pl. VI. Oustalet. Nouv. Archiv. Mus. Paris, (3) IV. pp. 218-220, pl. XV.; V. pp. 295-299, pl. VI. | |
Sclater. Ibis 1893, pp. 243-246, pl. VII. text fig. Sclater. Ibis 1893, pp. 243-246, pl. VII. text fig. | |
Finsch. Ibis 1893, pp. 463-464. Finsch. Ibis 1893, pp. 463-464. | |
Meyer. Ibis 1893, pp. 481-483, pl. XIII. Meyer. Ibis 1893, pp. 481-483, pl. XIII. | |
| 1894. | De Vis. Annual Report, Brit. New Guinea, 1894, pp. 99-105. De Vis. Annual Report, British New Guinea, 1894, pp. 99-105. |
Salvad. Ann. Mus. Civ. Genov. (2) XIV. pp. 150-152 (1894). Salvad. Ann. Mus. Civ. Genov. (2) XIV. pp. 150-152 (1894). | |
Meyer. Bull. B.O.C. IV. pp. VI., VII., XI., XII. (1894). Meyer. Bull. B.O.C. IV. pp. VI., VII., XI., XII. (1894). | |
| 1894.300 | Rothschild. Bull. B.O.C. IV. p. XI. (1894). Rothschild. Bull. B.O.C. IV. p. XI. (1894). |
Sharpe. Bull. B.O.C. IV. pp. XII.-XV. (1894). Sharpe. Bull. B.O.C. IV. pp. XII.-XV. (1894). | |
Reichenow. Orn. Monatsb. II. p. 22 (1894). Reichenow. Orn. Monatsb. II. p. 22 (1894). | |
Meyer. Abh. Zool. Mus. Dres. 1894-95. No. 2. pp. 1-4. pl. (1894). Meyer. Abh. Zool. Mus. Dres. 1894-95. No. 2. pp. 1-4. pl. (1894). | |
Büttikofer. Notes Leyden Mus. XVI. pp. 161-165 (1894). Büttikofer. Notes Leyden Mus. XVI. pp. 161-165 (1894). | |
Mead. Amer. Natural. XXVIII. pp. 915-920. pls. XXIX.-XXXI. (1894). Mead. Amer. Natural. XXVIII. pp. 915-920. pls. XXIX.-XXXI. (1894). | |
| 1895. | Meyer. Bull. B.O.C. IV. p. XVII. (1895). Meyer. Bull. B.O.C. IV. p. XVII. (1895). |
Meyer. Abh. Zool. Mus. Dres. 1894-95, no. 5. pp. 1-11. pls. 1 & 2. No. 10. pp. 1-2, pl. I. figs. 1-4 (1895). Meyer. Abh. Zool. Mus. Dres. 1894-95, no. 5. pp. 1-11. pls. 1 & 2. No. 10. pp. 1-2, pl. I. figs. 1-4 (1895). | |
Rothschild. Nov. Zool. II. pp. 22, 59, 480, pls. III. & V. (1895). Rothschild. Nov. Zool. II. pp. 22, 59, 480, pls. III. & V. (1895). | |
Hartert. Nov. Zool. II. p. 67 (1895). Hartert. Nov. Zool. II. p. 67 (1895). | |
Rothschild. Bull. B.O.C. IV. pp. XXI., XXVI., XLII. (1895). Rothschild. Bull. B.O.C. IV. pp. XXI., XXVI., XLII. (1895). | |
Ogilvie-Grant. Bull. B.O.C. V. p. XV. (1895). Ogilvie-Grant. Bull. B.O.C. V. p. XV. (1895). | |
Mead. Amer. Natural. XXIX. pp. 1-9, 409-417, 627-636, 1056-1065, pl. VII. (1895). Mead. Amer. Natural. XXIX. pp. 1-9, 409-417, 627-636, 1056-1065, pl. VII. (1895). | |
Sanyal. P.Z.S. 1895, pp. 541-542. Sanyal. P.Z.S. 1895, pp. 541-542. | |
Oustalet. Bull. Mus. Paris. 1895, pp. 47-50. Oustalet. Bull. Mus. Paris. 1895, pp. 47-50. | |
Sclater. Ibis 1895, pp. 343, 344, pl. VIII. Sclater. Ibis 1895, pp. 343, 344, pl. VIII. | |
| 1896. | Rothschild and Hartert. Nov. Zool. III., pp. 8, 252, 530, 534, pl. I. (1896). Rothschild and Hartert. Nov. Zool. III., pp. 8, 252, 530, 534, pl. I. (1896). |
Rothschild. Nov. Zool. III., pp. 10-19 (1896). Rothschild. Nov. Zool. III., pp. 10-19 (1896). | |
Salvadori. Ann. Mus. Civ. Gen. (2) XVI., pp. 55-120 (1896). Salvadori. Ann. Mus. Civ. Gen. (2) XVI., pp. 55-120 (1896). | |
Salvadori. Bull. B.O.C. V. p. XXII. (1896). Salvadori. Bull. B.O.C. V. p. XXII. (1896). | |
Rothschild. Bull. B.O.C. VI. pp. XV.-XVI. (1896). Rothschild. Bull. B.O.C. VI. pp. XV.-XVI. (1896). | |
Oustalet. Nouv. Archiv. Mus. Paris (3) VIII. pp. 263-267, pls. XIV. & XV. (1896). Oustalet. Nouv. Archiv. Mus. Paris (3) VIII. pp. 263-267, pls. XIV. & XV. (1896). | |
| 1897. | Rothschild. Bull. B.O.C. VI. pp. XV., XVI., XXIV., XXV., XL., XLV., LIV. (1897). Rothschild. Bull. B.O.C. VI. pp. XV., XVI., XXIV., XXV., XL., XLV., LIV. (1897). |
Rothschild. Bull. B.O.C. VII. pp. XXI.-XXII. (1897). Rothschild. Bull. B.O.C. VII. pp. XXI.-XXII. (1897). | |
Reichenow. Orn. Monatsb. V. pp. 24-26, 161, 178, 179 (1897). Reichenow. Orn. Monatsb. V. pp. 24-26, 161, 178, 179 (1897). | |
Kleinschmidt. Orn. Monatsb. V. p. 46 (1897). Kleinschmidt. Orn. Monatsb. V. p. 46 (1897). | |
Kleinschmidt. J.f.O. 1897, pp. 174-178, text-fig. Kleinschmidt. J.f.O. 1897, pp. 174-178, text-fig. | |
Reichenow. J.f.O. 1897, pp. 201-224, pls. V. & VI. Reichenow. J.f.O. 1897, pp. 201-224, pls. V. & VI. | |
Rothschild. Nov. Zool. IV. p. 169, pl. II. fig. 2 (1897). Rothschild. Nov. Zool. IV. p. 169, pl. II. fig. 2 (1897). | |
Hartert. Nov. Zool. IV. p. 396 (1897). Hartert. Nov. Zool. IV. p. 396 (1897). | |
De Vis. Ibis 1897, pp. 250-252, 371-392, pl. VII. De Vis. Ibis 1897, pp. 250-252, 371-392, pl. VII. | |
Madarasz. Termes, Füzetek XX. pp. 17-54, pls. 1 & 2 (1897). Madarasz. Termes, Füzetek XX. pp. 17-54, pls. 1 & 2 (1897). | |
Mead. Amer. Natural. XXXI. pp. 204-210 (1897). Mead. Amer. Natural. XXXI. pp. 204-210 (1897). | |
| 1898. | Hartert. Bull. B.O.C. VIII. pp. VIII. & IX. (1898). Hartert. Bull. B.O.C. VIII. pp. VIII. & IX. (1898). |
Rothschild. Bull. B.O.C. VIII. p. XIV. (1898). Rothschild. Bull. B.O.C. VIII. p. XIV. (1898). | |
Rothschild. Das Tierreich Paradiseidæ, 52 pp. Berlin, 1898. Rothschild. The Animal Kingdom Paradiseidæ, 52 pp. Berlin, 1898. | |
De Vis. Annual Report, New Guinea, App. AA. Report on birds for 1896-97, pp. 81-90 (1898). De Vis. Annual Report, New Guinea, App. AA. Report on birds for 1896-97, pp. 81-90 (1898). | |
Finsch. Notes Leyden Mus. XX. pp. 129-136 (1898). Finsch. Notes Leyden Mus. XX. pp. 129-136 (1898). | |
Rothschild. Nov. Zool. V. pp. 84-87, 418, 509, 513, pl. XVIII. (1898). Rothschild. Nov. Zool. V. pp. 84-87, 418, 509, 513, pl. XVIII. (1898). | |
Reichenow. J.f.O. 1898, pp. 124-128, pl. 1. Reichenow. J.f.O. 1898, pp. 124-128, pl. 1. | |
Caley-Webster. Through New Guinea and the Cannibal Countries. Appendices on birds by Messrs. Rothschild and Hartert (1898). Caley-Webster. Through New Guinea and the Cannibal Countries. Appendices on birds by Messrs. Rothschild and Hartert (1898). | |
| 1899. | Salvadori. Ann. Mus. Civ. Genov. (2) XIX. pp. 578-582 (1899). Salvadori. Ann. Mus. Civ. Genov. (2) XIX. pp. 578-582 (1899). |
Rothschild. Nov. Zool. VI. pp. 75 & 218, pls. II. & III. (1899). Rothschild. Nov. Zool. VI. pp. 75 & 218, pls. II. & III. (1899). | |
Hartert. Nov. Zool. VI. p. 219, pl. IV. (1899). Hartert. Nov. Zool. VI. p. 219, pl. IV. (1899). | |
Madarasz. Termes, Füzetek. XXII. pp. 375-428, pls. XV.-XVII. (1899). Madarasz. Termes, Füzetek. XXII. pp. 375-428, pls. XV.-XVII. (1899). | |
| 1900. | Finsch. Notes Leyden Mus. XXII. pp. 49-69 & 70 (1900). Finsch. Notes Leyden Mus. XXII. pp. 49-69 & 70 (1900). |
Rothschild. Bull. B.O.C. X. pp. C. CI. (1900). Rothschild. Bull. B.O.C. X. pp. C. CI. (1900). | |
Rothschild. Bull. B.O.C. XI. pp. 25, 26, 30 (1900). Rothschild. Bull. B.O.C. XI. pp. 25, 26, 30 (1900). | |
Madarasz. Orn. Monatsb. VIII. pp. 1-4 (1900). Madarasz. Orn. Monatsb. VIII. pp. 1-4 (1900). | |
Renshaw. Nature Notes XI. pp. 164-167 (1900). Renshaw. Nature Notes XI. pp. 164-167 (1900). | |
Currie. P.U.S. Nat. Mus. XXII. pp. 497-499, pl. XVII. (1900). Currie. P.U.S. Nat. Mus. XXII. pp. 497-499, pl. XVII. (1900). | |
| 1900.301 | Le Souëf. Ibis 1900, pp. 612, 617, text-fig. 1. Le Souëf. Ibis 1900, pp. 612, 617, text-fig. 1. |
| 1901. | Rothschild. Bull. B.O.C. XII. p. 34 (1901). Rothschild. Bull. B.O.C. XII. p. 34 (1901). |
Reichenow. Orn. Monatsb. IX. pp. 185-186 (1901). Reichenow. Orn. Monatsb. IX. pp. 185-186 (1901). | |
Madarasz. Termes Füzetek, XXIV. p. 73 (1901). Madarasz. Termes Füzetek, XXIV. p. 73 (1901). | |
Hartert. Nov. Zool. VIII. pp. 1, 93 (1901). Hartert. Nov. Zool. VIII. pp. 1, 93 (1901). | |
Rothschild and Hartert. Nov. Zool. VIII. pp. 53, 102, pls. II.-IV. (1901). Rothschild and Hartert. Nov. Zool. VIII. pp. 53, 102, pls. II.-IV. (1901). | |
| 1902. | Weiske. Ein Beitrag zur Naturgeschichte der Laubenvogel. Monat. Schutze Vogelw. XXVII. pp. 41-45 (1902). Weiske. A Contribution to the Natural History of the Bowerbird. Monthly Protection of Birds. XXVII. pp. 41-45 (1902). |
Sclater. Bull. B.O.C. XIII. p. 23 (1902). Sclater. Bull. B.O.C. XIII. p. 23 (1902). | |
| 1903. | Rothschild. Bull. B.O.C. XIII. p. 32 (1903). Rothschild. Bull. B.O.C. XIII. p. 32 (1903). |
Finsch. Orn. Monatsb. XI. p. 167 (1903). Finsch. Orn. Monatsb. XI. p. 167 (1903). | |
Renshaw. Avicult. Mag. (2) II. pp. 26-27, fig. (1903). Renshaw. Avicult. Mag. (2) II. pp. 26-27, fig. (1903). | |
Rothschild and Hartert. Nov. Zool. X. pp. 65-89, pl. I. 196-231, 435-480, pls. XIII. & XIV. (1903). Rothschild and Hartert. Nov. Zool. X. pp. 65-89, pl. I. 196-231, 435-480, pls. XIII. & XIV. (1903). | |
Hartert. Nov. Zool. X. pp. 232-254 (1903). Hartert. Nov. Zool. X. pp. 232-254 (1903). | |
| 1904. | Rothschild. Bull. B.O.C. XIV. pp. 38-40 (1904). Rothschild. Bull. B.O.C. XIV. pp. 38-40 (1904). |
Ogilvie-Grant. Bull. B.O.C. XIV. p. 40 (1904). Ogilvie-Grant. Bull. B.O.C. XIV. p. 40 (1904). | |
| 1905. | Ogilvie-Grant. Ibis 1905, pp. 429-440, pl. VIII. text-figs. 22-26. Ogilvie-Grant. Ibis 1905, pp. 429-440, pl. VIII. text-figs. 22-26. |
Pycraft. Ibis 1905, pp. 440-453. Pycraft. Ibis 1905, pp. 440-453. | |
Sharpe. Bull. B.O.C. XV. p. 91 (1905). Sharpe. Bull. B.O.C. XV. p. 91 (1905). | |
Salvadori. Ibis 1905, pp. 401-429, 535-542. Salvadori. Ibis 1905, pp. 401-429, 535-542. | |
| 1905-10. | Salvadori. In Wytsman, Genera Avium. Psittaci, pts. 5, 11, & 12 (1905-1910). Salvadori. In Wytsman, Genera Avium. Psittaci, pts. 5, 11, & 12 (1905-1910). |
| 1906. | Salvadori. Ibis, 1906, pp. 124-131, 326-333; 451-465, 642-659. Salvadori. Ibis, 1906, pp. 124-131, 326-333; 451-465, 642-659. |
Rothschild. Bull. B.O.C. XIX. pp. 7-8, 27 (1906). Rothschild. Bull. B.O.C. XIX. pp. 7-8, 27 (1906). | |
Foerster and Rothschild. Two new birds of Paradise Zool. Mus. Tring. 3 pp. Tring. 1st October, 1906. Foerster and Rothschild. Two new Birds of Paradise Zool. Mus. Tring. 3 pp. Tring. October 1, 1906. | |
Van Oort. Notes Leyden Mus. XXVIII. p. 129-130 (1906). Van Oort. Notes Leyden Mus. XXVIII. p. 129-130 (1906). | |
Ogilvie-Grant. Bull. B.O.C. XIX. p. 39 (1906). Ogilvie-Grant. Bull. B.O.C. XIX. p. 39 (1906). | |
North. Vict. Nat. XXII. pp. 147, 156-8, pl. (1906). North. Vict. Nat. XXII. pp. 147, 156-8, pl. (1906). | |
| 1907. | Salvadori. Ibis 1907, pp. 122-151; 311-322. Salvadori. Ibis 1907, pp. 122-151; 311-322. |
Ingram, (Sir W.). Ibis 1907, pp. 225-229, pl. V. text-figs. 8 & 9. Ingram, (Sir W.). Ibis 1907, pp. 225-229, pl. V. text-figs. 8 & 9. | |
Simpson. Ibis 1907, pp. 380-387, text-figs. Simpson. Ibis 1907, pp. 380-387, text figures. | |
Rothschild and Hartert. Nov. Zool. XIV. pp. 433, 447 (1907). Rothschild and Hartert. Nov. Zool. XIV. pp. 433, 447 (1907). | |
Rothschild. Nov. Zool. XIV. p. 504, pls. V.-VII. (1907). Rothschild. Nov. Zool. XIV. p. 504, pls. V.-VII. (1907). | |
Rothschild. Bull. B.O.C. XXI. p. 25 (1907). Rothschild. Bull. B.O.C. XXI. p. 25 (1907). | |
Hartert. Bull. B.O.C. XXI. p. 26 (1907). Hartert. Bull. B.O.C. XXI. p. 26 (1907). | |
North. Vict. Nat. XXIV. p. 136 (1907). North. Vict. Nat. XXIV. p. 136 (1907). | |
Ingram, (C.). Avicult. Mag. (2) V. p. 364, pl. (1907). Ingram, (C.). Avicult. Mag. (2) V. p. 364, pl. (1907). | |
Le Souëf. Emu. VI. p. 119-120 (1907). Le Souëf. Emu. VI. p. 119-120 (1907). | |
| 1908. | Van Oort. Notes Leyden Mus. XXIX. pp. 170-180, 2 pls. pp. 204-206 1 pl. (1908). Van Oort. Notes Leyden Mus. XXIX. pp. 170-180, 2 pls. pp. 204-206 1 pl. (1908). |
Van Oort. Notes Leyden Mus. XXX. pp. 127-128 (1908). Van Oort. Notes Leyden Mus. XXX. pp. 127-128 (1908). | |
Rothschild. Nov. Zool. XV. p. 392 (1908). Rothschild. Nov. Zool. XV. p. 392 (1908). | |
Sharpe. Bull. B.O.C. XXI. p. 67 (1908). Sharpe. Bull. B.O.C. XXI. p. 67 (1908). | |
Rothschild. Bull. B.O.C. XXIII. p. 7 (1908). Rothschild. Bull. B.O.C. XXIII. p. 7 (1908). | |
Goodfellow. Bull. B.O.C. XXIII. pp. 35-39 (1908). Goodfellow. Bull. B.O.C. XXIII. pp. 35-39 (1908). | |
| 1909. | Beaufort. Nova Guinea V. Zoologie Livr. 3, pp. 389-420 (1909). Beaufort. Nova Guinea V. Zoology Vol. 3, pp. 389-420 (1909). |
Van Oort. Nova Guinea IX., Zoologie Livr. 1. Birds from South-western and Southern New Guinea, pp. 51-107, pl. III. (1909). Van Oort. Nova Guinea IX., Zoology Vol. 1. Birds from Southwestern and Southern New Guinea, pp. 51-107, pl. III. (1909). | |
Van Oort. Notes Leyden Mus. XXX. pp. 225-244 (1909). Van Oort. Notes Leyden Mus. XXX. pp. 225-244 (1909). | |
Horsbrugh, (C. B.). Ibis, 1909, pp. 197-213. Horsbrugh, (C. B.). Ibis, 1909, pp. 197-213. | |
Sassi. J.f.O. 1909, pp. 365-383. Sassi. J.f.O. 1909, pp. 365-383. | |
Nehrkorn. Orn. Monatsb. XVII. p. 44 (1909). Nehrkorn. Orn. Monatsb. XVII. p. 44 (1909). | |
Astley. Avicult. Mag. (2) VII. pp. 156-158 (1909). Astley. Avicult. Mag. (2) VII. pp. 156-158 (1909). | |
| 1910. | Van Oort. Notes Leyden Mus. XXXII. pp. 78-82, 211-216 (1910). Van Oort. Notes Leyden Mus. XXXII. pp. 78-82, 211-216 (1910). |
Madarasz. Ann. Hist. Nat. Mus. Nat. Hung. Budapest VIII., pp. 172-174, pl. II. (1910). Madarasz. Ann. Hist. Nat. Mus. Nat. Hung. Budapest VIII., pp. 172-174, pl. II. (1910). | |
Goodfellow. Avicult. Mag. (3) 1, pp. 277-286 (1910). Goodfellow. Avicult. Mag. (3) 1, pp. 277-286 (1910). | |
| 1910.302 | Ogilvie-Grant. Bull. B.O.C. XXVII. p. 10 (1910). Ogilvie-Grant. Bull. B.O.C. XXVII. p. 10 (1910). |
Rothschild. Bull. B.O.C. XXVII. pp. 13, 35, 36, 45 (1910). Rothschild. Bull. B.O.C. XXVII. pp. 13, 35, 36, 45 (1910). | |
Hartert. Nov. Zool. XVII. p. 484, pl. X. (eggs) (1910). Hartert. Nov. Zool. XVII. p. 484, pl. X. (eggs) (1910). | |
| 1911. | Rothschild. Ibis 1911, pp. 350-367, pls. V. & VI. Rothschild. Ibis 1911, pp. 350-367, pls. V. & VI. |
Rothschild and Hartert. Nov. Zool. XVIII. pp. 159-167 (1911). Rothschild and Hartert. Nov. Zool. XVIII. pp. 159-167 (1911). | |
Ogilvie-Grant. Bull. B.O.C. XXVII. pp. 66, 68, 83, 84 (1911). Ogilvie-Grant. Bull. B.O.C. XXVII. pp. 66, 68, 83, 84 (1911). | |
| 1912. | Rothschild. Ibis 1912, pp. 109-112, pl. II. Rothschild. Ibis 1912, pp. 109-112, pl. II. |
Ogilvie-Grant. Ibis 1912, pp. 112-118, pl. III. Ogilvie-Grant. Ibis 1912, pp. 112-118, pl. III. | |
Hartert. Nov. Zool. XVIII. p. 604. pls. VII. & VIII. (1912). Hartert. Nov. Zool. XVIII. p. 604. pls. VII. & VIII. (1912). | |
Rothschild. Bull. B.O.C. XXIX. pp. 50-52 (1912). Rothschild. Bull. B.O.C. XXIX. pp. 50-52 (1912). |
APPENDIX B
THE PYGMY QUESTION
By Dr. A. C. HADDON, F.R.S.
By Dr. A. C. HADDON, F.R.S.
Pygmies, as their name implies, are very short men, and the first question to decide is whether this short stature is normal or merely a dwarfing due to unfavourable environment. Although stature cannot be taken as a trustworthy criterion of race, since it is very variable within certain limits among most races, there are certain peoples who may be described as normally tall, medium, or short. The average human stature appears to be about 1·675 m. (5 ft. 6 ins.). Those peoples who are 1·725 (5 ft. 8 ins.) or more in height are said to be tall, those below 1·625 m. (5 ft. 4 ins.) are short, while those who fall below 1·5 m. (4 ft. 11 ins.) are now usually termed pygmies. One has only to turn to the investigations of the Dordogne district by Collignon and others to see how profoundly la misère can affect the stature of a population living under adverse conditions, for example in the canton of Saint Mathieu there are 8·8 per cent. with a stature below 1·5 m. But when one finds within one area, as in the East Indian region, distinct peoples of medium, short and pygmy stature, living under conditions which appear to be very similar, one is inclined to suspect a racial difference between them, and the suspicion becomes confirmed if we find other characters associated with pygmy stature.
Pygmies, as their name suggests, are very short people, and the first question to consider is whether this short height is typical or just a result of an unfavorable environment. While height shouldn't be seen as a reliable indicator of race since it varies among different groups, there are definitely populations that can be categorized as normally tall, average, or short. The average height for humans seems to be around 1.675 m (5 ft. 6 in.). People who are 1.725 m (5 ft. 8 in.) or taller are considered tall, those below 1.625 m (5 ft. 4 in.) are classified as short, and individuals under 1.5 m (4 ft. 11 in.) are generally referred to as pygmies. Studies in the Dordogne region by Collignon and others reveal how significantly poverty can impact the height of a population living in harsh conditions; for example, in the canton of Saint Mathieu, 8.8 percent of individuals are under 1.5 m. However, when you find groups of medium, short, and pygmy stature all living in similar conditions, such as in the East Indian region, it raises the suspicion of racial differences among them, especially if there are other characteristics linked to pygmy stature.
Pygmy peoples are widely distributed in Central304 Africa, but these Negrillos, as they are often termed, do not concern us now.
Pygmy groups are found all over Central304 Africa, but these Negrillos, as they are often called, aren't our focus right now.
Asiatic pygmies have long been known, but it is only comparatively recently that they have been studied seriously, and even now there remains much to be discovered about them. There are two main stocks on the eastern border of the Indian Ocean, who have a very short stature and are respectively characterised by curly or wavy hair and by hair that grows in close small spirals—the so-called woolly hair.
Asiatic pygmies have been recognized for a long time, but it’s only in recent years that they’ve been studied in-depth, and even now, there’s still a lot to learn about them. There are two main groups along the eastern edge of the Indian Ocean, known for their very short height and distinguished by either curly or wavy hair, or by hair that grows in tight, small spirals—commonly referred to as woolly hair.
(i.) The Sakai or Senoi of the southern portion of the Malay Peninsula are typical examples of the former stock, their average stature is slightly above the pygmy limit, but they need not detain us longer as they belong to a different race of mankind from the woolly-haired stock. It may be mentioned however that cymotrichous (curly-haired), dolichocephalic (narrow-headed), dark-skinned peoples of very short stature, racially akin to the Sakai, have been found in East Sumatra and in Celebes (Toala) more or less mixed with alien blood; and quite recently Moszkowski, as will be mentioned later, has suggested that the islands of Geelvink Bay, Netherlands New Guinea, were originally inhabited by the same stock. All these peoples together with the Vedda and some jungle tribes of the Deccan are now regarded as remnants of a once widely distributed race to which the term Pre-Dravidian has been applied; it is also believed by many students that the chief element in the Australians is of similar origin.
(i.) The Sakai or Senoi from the southern part of the Malay Peninsula are typical examples of the earlier group. Their average height is just above the pygmy range, but we won't focus on them for long since they belong to a different race from the woolly-haired groups. It's worth noting, though, that curly-haired, narrow-headed, dark-skinned people of very short stature, who are racially related to the Sakai, have been found in East Sumatra and in Celebes (Toala), mixed with other bloodlines. Recently, Moszkowski has suggested that the islands of Geelvink Bay, in Netherlands New Guinea, were originally inhabited by the same group. All these peoples, along with the Vedda and some forest tribes of the Deccan, are now seen as remnants of a once widely spread race referred to as Pre-Dravidian; many researchers also believe that the main component of the Australians has a similar origin.
(ii.) For a long time it has been known that there are three groups of ulotrichous (woolly-haired), brachycephalic (broad-headed), dark-skinned, pygmy peoples inhabiting respectively the Andaman Islands, the Malay Peninsula and the Philippines; to this race the name Negrito is universally applied. We can now include in it a fourth element from New Guinea. The physical305 characters of these several groups may be summarised as follows:
(ii.) For a long time, it has been recognized that there are three groups of ulotrichous (woolly-haired), brachycephalic (broad-headed), dark-skinned, pygmy peoples living in the Andaman Islands, the Malay Peninsula, and the Philippines; this group is commonly referred to as Negrito. We can now add a fourth group from New Guinea. The physical305 characteristics of these various groups can be summarized as follows:
1. The Andamanese, who are sometimes erroneously called Mincopies, inhabit the Andaman Islands in the Bay of Bengal. Their head hair is extremely frizzly (woolly), fine in texture, lustreless and seldom more than two or three inches long, or five inches when untwisted, its colour varies between black, greyish black, and sooty, the last perhaps predominating. Hair only occasionally grows on the face and then but scantily. There is little or no hair over the surface of the body. The skin has several shades of colour between bronze or dark copper, sooty, and black, the predominating colour being a dull leaden hue like that of a black-leaded stove. The average stature of 48 males is 1·492 m. (4 ft. 10-3/4 ins.), the extremes being 1·365 m. (4 ft. 5-3/4 ins.) and 1·632 m. (5 ft. 4-1/4 ins.). The head is moderately brachycephalic, the average cranial index (i.e. the ratio of the breadth to the length, the length being taken as 100) in male skulls is 81, thus the cephalic index of the living would be about 83. The features may be described as: face broad at the cheek-bones; eyes prominent; nose much sunken at the root, straight and small; lips full but not everted; chin small; the jaws do not project.
1. The Andaman Islanders, often incorrectly referred to as Mincopies, live in the Andaman Islands in the Bay of Bengal. Their head hair is very frizzy (woolly), fine in texture, lacks shine, and is usually no more than two or three inches long, or five inches when stretched out. Its color ranges from black to grayish-black to sooty, with the last possibly being the most common. Facial hair grows only occasionally and is sparse. There is little to no hair on their bodies. The skin has various shades between bronze, dark copper, sooty, and black, with the most common shade being a dull leaden color similar to that of a black-leaded stove. The average stature of 48 males is 1.492 m. (4 ft. 10-3/4 ins.), with the shortest being 1.365 m. (4 ft. 5-3/4 ins.) and the tallest 1.632 m. (5 ft. 4-1/4 ins.). The head is moderately brachycephalic, with the average cranial index (the ratio of breadth to length, with length at 100) in male skulls being 81, so the cephalic index of living individuals would be about 83. The features can be described as having a face that is broad at the cheekbones; prominent eyes; a nose that is much sunken at the root, straight, and small; full but not protruding lips; a small chin; and jaws that do not project.
2. The Semang live in the central region of the Malay Peninsula, some of them are known under the names of Udai, Pangan, Hami and Semán. The hair of the head is short, universally woolly, and black. Skeat says it is of a brownish black, not a bluish black like that of the Malays, and Martin alludes to a reddish shimmer when light falls on it, but says there is not a brownish shimmer as in the Sakai. Hair is rare and scanty on face and body. Skeat describes the skin colour as dark chocolate brown approximating in some Kedah Negritos to glossy black, and Martin says the306 skin of the chest is dark brown with reddish tinges, while that of the face is mainly dark brown, the remainder being medium brown, with reddish or pure brown tinges. The data for the stature are not very satisfactory, the best are a series of 17 males by Annandale and Robinson, the average being 1·528 m. (5 ft. 0-1/4 in.), with extreme, of 1·372 m. (4 ft. 6 ins.) and 1·604 (5 ft. 3 ins.). The average cephalic index is about 78 or 79, the extremes ranging from about 74 to about 84. The Semang are thus mesaticephalic on the average. According to Skeat the face is round; the forehead rounded, narrow and projecting, or as it were “swollen”; the nose short and flattened, the nostrils much distended, the breadth remarkably great, five adult males having an average nasal index of 101·2, the 20 measured by Annandale and Robinson varied from 81·3 to 108·8 with an average of 97·1, but four men measured by Martin had an average index of 83·5. The cheek-bones are broad; jaws often protrude slightly; lips not as a rule thick, Martin remarks that very characteristic of both the Semang and the Sakai is the great thickening of the integumental part of the upper lip, the whole mouth region projecting from the lower edge of the nose; this convexity occurs in 70 per cent., and is well shown in his photographs.
2. The Semang live in the central region of the Malay Peninsula, and some of them are known by names like Udai, Pangan, Hami, and Semán. The hair on their heads is generally short, curly, and black. Skeat mentions it as a brownish black, not the bluish black typical of Malays, and Martin notes a reddish shine when light hits it, but says it doesn’t have the brownish tint seen in the Sakai. Hair is scarce and thin on the face and body. Skeat describes the skin color as dark chocolate brown, similar to a glossy black in some Kedah Negritos, while Martin says the306 skin on the chest is dark brown with reddish hues, and the face is mostly dark brown, with some medium brown and reddish or pure brown tones. The information on stature isn’t very reliable; the best data comes from a series of 17 males by Annandale and Robinson, with an average height of 1.528 m. (5 ft. 0-1/4 in.), and extremes of 1.372 m. (4 ft. 6 ins.) and 1.604 (5 ft. 3 ins.). The average cephalic index is about 78 or 79, with extremes ranging from about 74 to about 84, indicating that the Semang are typically mesaticephalic. According to Skeat, the face is round; the forehead is rounded, narrow, and protruding, giving it a "swollen" appearance; the nose is short and flat, with greatly distended nostrils, and the average nasal index for five adult males is 101.2. The 20 measured by Annandale and Robinson ranged from 81.3 to 108.8, averaging 97.1, while four men measured by Martin had an average index of 83.5. Their cheekbones are broad, jaws often stick out slightly, and lips are generally not thick. Martin notes that a distinctive feature of both the Semang and the Sakai is the significant thickening of the upper lip's skin, making the entire mouth area project from just below the nose; this convex shape occurs in 70 percent of individuals and is well represented in his photographs.
3. The Aeta live in the mountainous districts of the larger islands and in some of the smaller islands of the Philippines. It is convenient to retain this name for the variously named groups of Philippine Negritos, many of whom show admixture with other peoples. The hair of the head is universally woolly except when mixture may be suspected or is known; Reed says it is uniformly of a dirty black colour, sometimes sunburnt on the top to reddish brown; Worcester describes it as usually black but it may be reddish brown, and Meyer as a dark seal-brown to black. Reed says that the beard is307 very scanty but all adult males have some and that there is very little body hair, but Worcester states that the men often have abundant beards and a thick growth of hair on the arms, chest and legs. The skin is described as being of a dark chocolate brown, rather than black, with a yellowish tinge on the exposed parts (Reed), sooty black (Sawyer), or dark, sooty brown (Worcester). The average stature of 48 men is 1·463 m. (4 ft. 9-1/2 ins.), ranging from 1·282 m. (4 ft. 2-1/2 ins.) to 1·6 m. (5 ft. 3 ins.), but some of these were not pure breeds (Reed); other observations also show a considerable range in height. The cephalic index of 16 males averages 82·2, ranging from 78·8 to 92·3, ten range between 80 and 85 (Reed). Features: typically the nose is broad, flat, bridgeless, with prominent arched alæ and nostrils invariably visible from the front. Of 76 persons measured by Reed 4 males and 3 females had nasal indices below 89, 10 and 3 of 90-99, 20 and 13 of 100-109, 7 and 7 of 110-119, 6 and 3 above 120; the median of the males is 102, the extremes being 83·3 and 125, the median of the females is 105, their extremes being 79·5 and 140·7; in other words they are extremely platyrhine. The eyes are round. The lips are moderately thick, but not protruding. A somewhat pronounced convexity is sometimes seen between the upper lip and the nose in the photographs of Meyer’s and Folkmar’s Albums. Meyer says the projecting jaw gives an ape-like appearance to the face, but Reed says the Aeta have practically no prognathism, a statement which is borne out by his and Folkmar’s photographs.
3. The Aeta live in the mountainous areas of the larger islands and in some of the smaller islands of the Philippines. It's useful to keep this name for the various groups of Philippine Negritos, many of whom show some mix with other ethnicities. The hair on their heads is generally woolly unless there's known or suspected mixing; Reed notes it's usually a dirty black color, sometimes sunburned on top to a reddish brown. Worcester describes it as generally black, though it can be reddish brown, and Meyer describes it as dark seal-brown to black. Reed mentions that the beard is307 quite sparse, but all adult males have some, and there's very little body hair. However, Worcester states that the men often have thick beards and a dense growth of hair on their arms, chests, and legs. The skin is described as a dark chocolate brown, rather than black, with a yellowish tint on the exposed areas (Reed), sooty black (Sawyer), or dark, sooty brown (Worcester). The average height of 48 men is 1.463 m. (4 ft. 9-1/2 ins.), ranging from 1.282 m. (4 ft. 2-1/2 ins.) to 1.6 m. (5 ft. 3 ins.), though some of these are not pure breeds (Reed); other observations also indicate a significant height variation. The cephalic index of 16 males averages 82.2, ranging from 78.8 to 92.3, with ten falling between 80 and 85 (Reed). Facial Features: typically, the nose is broad, flat, bridgeless, with prominent arched sides and nostrils always visible from the front. Of 76 individuals measured by Reed, 4 males and 3 females had nasal indices below 89, 10 males and 3 females were between 90-99, 20 males and 13 females between 100-109, 7 males and 7 females between 110-119, and 6 males and 3 above 120; the median for males is 102, with extremes at 83.3 and 125, and the median for females is 105, with extremes of 79.5 and 140.7. In other words, they are extremely platyrhine. The eyes are round. The lips are moderately thick, but not protruding. A slight convexity is sometimes seen between the upper lip and the nose in the photographs from Meyer’s and Folkmar’s Albums. Meyer notes that the projecting jaw gives the face an ape-like appearance, but Reed argues that the Aeta show practically no prognathism, which is supported by his and Folkmar’s photographs.
4. The discovery of pygmies in Netherlands New Guinea by the Expedition has drawn public attention to a problem of perennial interest to ethnologists. Nearly twenty-five years ago Sir William Flower stated, “that it (the Negrito race) has contributed considerably to form the population of New Guinea is unquestionable. In308 many parts of that great island, small round-headed tribes live more or less distinct from the larger and longer-headed people who make up the bulk of the population.” (Lecture at the Royal Institution, April 13, 1888, reprinted in Essays on Museums, 1898, p. 302.) No further information is given, nor are his authorities mentioned. Perhaps he was alluding to the following statement by de Quatrefages, “L’extension des Négritos en Mélanésie est bien plus considérable. Ici leurs tribus sont mêlées et juxtaposées à celles des Papouas probablement dans toute la Nouvelle Guinée” (Rev. d’Ethn., 1882, p. 185); subsequently he wrote, “La confusion regrettable (namely the confusion of the brachycephalic Negrito-Papuans with the dolichocephalic Papuans, of which Earl, Wallace, Meyer and others have been guilty) est cause que l’on n’a pas recherché les traits differentiels qui peuvent distinguer les Negritos-Papous des vrais Papouas au point de vue de l’état social, des mœurs, des croyances, des industries.” (Les Pygmées, 1887, p. 97, English Translation, 1895, p. 62.) Dr. A. B. Meyer, from whose essay these quotations have been taken, adds, “No, the confusion has not been in this case in the heads of the travellers; a Negritic race, side by side with the Papuan race, nobody has been able to discover, just because it does not exist, and it does not exist because the Papuan race, in spite of its variability, is on the one hand a uniform race, and on the other as good as identical with the Negritos.” (The Distribution of the Negritos, 1899, p. 85.) When reviewing this essay in Nature (Sept. 7, 1899, p. 433), I stated that I was inclined to adopt the view that the various types exhibited by the natives of New Guinea “point to a crossing of different elements,” and do not “simply reveal the variability of the race,” as Dr. Meyer provisionally believed. While agreeing with Dr. Meyer that the “different conditions of existence” (p. 80) in New Guinea probably309 have reacted on the physical characters of the natives (about which, however, we have extremely little precise information), we have now sufficient evidence to prove that the indigenous or true Papuan population has been modified in places by intrusions from elsewhere, and of late years data have been accumulating which point to the existence of a pygmy population. Shortly before his death, Dr. Meyer drew my attention to a more recent statement of his views, in which he says, “Although I formerly stated (Negritos, p. 87) that the question whether the Papuans, i.e. the inhabitants of New Guinea, are a uniform race with a wide range of variation or a mixed race is not yet ripe for pronouncement, I am now more inclined, after Mr. Ray’s discovery of the Papuan linguistic family, to look upon them as a mixed race of ‘Negritos’ and Malays in the wider sense. I am eagerly looking forward to the exploration of the interior of that great island, for may it not be possible there to discover the Negrito element in that old and more constant form in which it persists in the Philippines, Andamans, and in Malakka.” (Globus, XCIV., 1908, p. 192.) This later view appears to me to be less tenable than his earlier one, as it is difficult to see how a mixture of pygmy, woolly-haired brachycephals with short, straight-haired brachycephals (Malays) could give rise to the taller, woolly-haired dolichocephalic Papuans.
4. The discovery of pygmies in Netherlands New Guinea by the Expedition has attracted public interest in a topic that has long fascinated ethnologists. Nearly twenty-five years ago, Sir William Flower stated, “that it (the Negrito race) has significantly contributed to forming the population of New Guinea is unquestionable. In308 many parts of that large island, small round-headed tribes exist more or less separately from the larger and longer-headed people who make up most of the population.” (Lecture at the Royal Institution, April 13, 1888, reprinted in Essays on Museums, 1898, p. 302.) No additional information is provided, nor are his sources mentioned. He may have been referring to de Quatrefages’ statement, “The spread of the Négritos in Melanesia is much more significant. Here their tribes are mixed and juxtaposed with those of the Papuans probably throughout all of New Guinea” (Rev. d’Ethn., 1882, p. 185); he later wrote, “The regrettable confusion (namely the mix-up of the brachycephalic Negrito-Papuans with the dolichocephalic Papuans, which Earl, Wallace, Meyer, and others have made) is the reason why the differential traits that can distinguish Negritos-Papous from true Papuans regarding social status, customs, beliefs, and industries have not been sought.” (Les Pygmées, 1887, p. 97, English Translation, 1895, p. 62.) Dr. A. B. Meyer, from whose essay these quotes are taken, adds, “No, the confusion has not been in this case in the minds of the travelers; a Negritic race, alongside the Papuan race, has not been discovered by anyone, simply because it does not exist, and it does not exist because the Papuan race, despite its variability, is both a uniform race and practically identical to the Negritos.” (The Distribution of the Negritos, 1899, p. 85.) When reviewing this essay in Nature (Sept. 7, 1899, p. 433), I mentioned that I was inclined to support the view that the various types shown by the natives of New Guinea “indicate a mix of different elements” and do not “simply demonstrate the variability of the race,” as Dr. Meyer tentatively believed. While I agree with Dr. Meyer that the “different conditions of existence” (p. 80) in New Guinea have likely influenced the physical characteristics of the natives (about which, however, we have very little precise information), we now have enough evidence to prove that the indigenous or true Papuan population has been altered in some areas by outside intrusions, and in recent years, data have been accumulating that suggest the existence of a pygmy population. Shortly before his death, Dr. Meyer pointed out a more recent statement of his views, in which he says, “Although I previously stated (Negritos, p. 87) that the debate over whether the Papuans, i.e. the inhabitants of New Guinea, are a uniform race with significant variation or a mixed race is not yet settled, I am now more inclined, after Mr. Ray’s discovery of the Papuan linguistic family, to see them as a mixed race of ‘Negritos’ and Malays in a broader sense. I am eagerly anticipating the exploration of the interior of that massive island, because it may be possible to find the Negrito element in that older and more stable form in which it remains in the Philippines, Andamans, and in Malacca.” (Globus, XCIV., 1908, p. 192.) This later viewpoint seems to me less defensible than his earlier one, as it's hard to see how a mix of pygmy, woolly-haired brachycephals with short, straight-haired brachycephals (Malays) could lead to the taller, woolly-haired dolichocephalic Papuans.
The racial history of New Guinea has proved to be unexpectedly complicated. We are now justified in recognising at least two indigenous elements, the Negrito and Papuan; the effect of the island populations to the east has not yet been determined, but in the south-west two immigrations at least from Melanesia have taken place, which, with Seligmann, we may term Papuo-Melanesian. (Journ. R. Anth. Inst., XXXIX. 1909, pp. 246, 315; and The Melanesians of Brit. New Guinea, 1910.) It is, however, almost certain that future310 researches will reveal that the problem is not so simple as that just indicated.
The racial history of New Guinea has turned out to be surprisingly complex. We can now acknowledge at least two indigenous groups: the Negrito and Papuan. The impact of the island populations to the east is still unclear, but in the south-west, there have been at least two immigrations from Melanesia, which, following Seligmann, we can call Papuo-Melanesian. (Journ. R. Anth. Inst., XXXIX. 1909, pp. 246, 315; and The Melanesians of Brit. New Guinea, 1910.) However, it's almost certain that future310 research will show that the issue is more complicated than what has been suggested.
Writing in 1902, Dr. Weule states (Globus, LXXXII. p. 247) that he has no further doubts as to the existence of pygmies in New Guinea, though it is not yet clear whether they live in definite groups or as scattered remnants among the taller peoples. He points out that information as to the pygmies was of necessity scanty, as expeditions had always followed the course of rivers where encounter with them might least be expected, since they are for the most part mountain people. Through the activity of Sir William MacGregor and others, British New Guinea is “the least unknown” part of the whole island; there is therefore more likelihood of pygmy peoples being discovered in German or Netherlands New Guinea, the latter being entirely a terra incognita from the geographical standpoint. Dr. Weule’s article contains various references to previous literature on the pygmy question, and three photographs of pygmies from the middle Ramu are reproduced, which show three men well under 142 cm. (4 ft. 8-3/4 ins.) in height.
Writing in 1902, Dr. Weule states (Globus, L82. p. 247) that he has no doubt about the existence of pygmies in New Guinea, although it's still unclear whether they live in distinct groups or as scattered remnants among the taller populations. He notes that information about the pygmies is limited, as expeditions have always followed river routes where encounters with them would be least likely, since they mainly inhabit the mountains. Thanks to the efforts of Sir William MacGregor and others, British New Guinea is “the least unknown” area of the entire island; thus, there’s a greater chance of discovering pygmy populations in German or Netherlands New Guinea, the latter being completely a terra incognita from a geographical perspective. Dr. Weule’s article includes various references to earlier literature on the pygmy issue, and it features three photographs of pygmies from the middle Ramu, showing three men who are all under 142 cm. (4 ft. 8-3/4 ins.) tall.
The later history of the discovery of a pygmy substratum in the population of parts of New Guinea is as follows:—
The later history of discovering a pygmy background in the population of certain areas of New Guinea is as follows:—
Dr. M. Krieger had visited the Sattelberg and the neighbourhood of Simbang where he heard reports of dwarfs from natives, but no European had seen them (Neu Guinea, 1899, p. 143); subsequently Dr. R. Pöch stayed from December 1904 to February 1905 in the Kai area, which lies inland from Finschhafen in German New Guinea. In the Mitt. aus den deutschen Schutzgebieten, 1907, he writes (p. 225): “During the first part of the time I remained chiefly on the Sattelberg itself, and observed and measured the various Kai frequenting the Mission Station. In them I became acquainted with a311 mountain tribe entirely different from the coast peoples previously visited. In fifty men I found the average height to be 152·5 cm. (5 ft.); the skulls are, as a rule, mesocephalic to brachycephalic. Towards the coast (Jabim) dolichocephaly becomes more usual and the type also changes. Very small people are not infrequently met with among the Kai.” Among 300 adult males he found twelve ranging from 133 to 145·6 cm. (4 ft. 4-1/2 ins. to 4 ft. 9-1/4 ins.). “For the present,” he adds, “it cannot be determined whether this is merely a variation in stature or whether we have here survivals of an older smaller race not yet entirely merged in the Kai” (cf. also Sitzungsber. der Anth. Gesellschaft in Wien, 1905, pp. 40 ff.). In the Zeitschr. f. Ethnol. XXXIX., 1907, p. 384, he states that on the north coast of British New Guinea and in Normanby Island he often came across very small people. Dr. O. Reche, in describing a journey up the Kaiserin-Augusta river, says that, “the population consists of three clearly distinguishable types or races, two of which have long, very narrow skulls, and one a short broad skull. Inland from the river bank there seems to be in addition to these a pygmy-like people of small growth; at all events, I found in some of the villages situated on the upper river, among other skulls, some which were remarkably small and of a special type, and which must have been taken from enemies living further inland.” (Globus, XCVII. 1910, p. 286.)
Dr. M. Krieger had visited Sattelberg and the area around Simbang, where he heard stories from locals about dwarfs, although no Europeans had actually seen them (Neu Guinea, 1899, p. 143). Later, Dr. R. Pöch spent time from December 1904 to February 1905 in the Kai region, which is located inland from Finschhafen in German New Guinea. In the Mitt. aus den deutschen Schutzgebieten, 1907, he writes (p. 225): “During the first part of my stay, I primarily focused on Sattelberg itself, where I observed and measured the various Kai people visiting the Mission Station. I encountered a mountain tribe that was completely different from the coastal communities I had previously visited. Among fifty men, I found that the average height was 152.5 cm (5 ft.); the skulls were generally mesocephalic to brachycephalic. Closer to the coast (Jabim), dolichocephaly became more common, and the type also changed. Very short individuals are not uncommon among the Kai.” Among 300 adult males, he found twelve whose heights ranged from 133 to 145.6 cm (4 ft. 4.5 in. to 4 ft. 9.25 in.). “For now,” he adds, “it can't be determined whether this is just a variation in stature or if we have remnants of an older, shorter race that hasn’t fully blended with the Kai” (cf. also Sitzungsber. der Anth. Gesellschaft in Wien, 1905, pp. 40 ff.). In the Zeitschr. f. Ethnol. XXXIX., 1907, p. 384, he mentions that along the north coast of British New Guinea and on Normanby Island, he often encountered very small people. Dr. O. Reche, while describing a journey up the Kaiserin-Augusta river, states that, “the population consists of three clearly distinct types or races, two of which have long, very narrow skulls, and one has a short, broad skull. Inland from the river, there seems to be, in addition to these, a pygmy-like group of shorter individuals; at any rate, I found in several of the villages located along the upper river, among other skulls, some that were remarkably small and of a unique type, which must have come from enemies living further inland.” (Globus, XCVII. 1910, p. 286.)
Neuhauss studied the Sattelberg natives and is very certain that a pygmy element occurs there. He notes the stockiness of certain individuals, who have a long powerful trunk and short limbs, whereas the Papuans are lean and slender; the shortest man measured by him was 1·355 m. (4 ft. 5-1/2 ins.). Again, the cephalic index of 260 Papuans averages 76·8, while that of thirty-two short individuals averages 78·8, and on the Sattelberg 79·7, some even ranging from 83-84·6. He also noticed that312 the ears were short, wide and without lobe; the hands and feet were unusually small. Von Luschan draws attention to the convexity of the whole upper lip area as in African pygmies. Neuhauss insists that the pygmies are almost merged into the rest of the population, and that their low stature is not due to poor conditions. (Zs. f. Ethnol. XLIII., 1911, p. 280.)
Neuhauss studied the Sattelberg natives and is very sure that there is a pygmy element among them. He notes the stockiness of certain individuals, who have long powerful torsos and short limbs, whereas the Papuans are lean and slender; the shortest man he measured was 1.355 m (4 ft. 5-1/2 ins.). Additionally, the cephalic index of 260 Papuans averages 76.8, while that of thirty-two shorter individuals averages 78.8, and on the Sattelberg it is 79.7, with some even ranging from 83-84.6. He also observed that312 the ears were short, wide, and lacked lobes; the hands and feet were unusually small. Von Luschan points out the convexity of the entire upper lip area, similar to that of African pygmies. Neuhauss insists that the pygmies are almost blended into the rest of the population and that their short stature is not due to poor conditions. (Zs. f. Ethnol. XLIII., 1911, p. 280.)
Dr. M. Moszkowski found that in Geelvink Bay the hair is not always ulotrichous (woolly), as is usual with Papuans, especially on Biak and Padeido Islands the hair often recalls the cymotrichous (curly) hair of Veddas. Other points of resemblance with wild tribes of Further Asia are:—A very dainty graceful bone-structure, small hands and feet, relatively short limbs compared to the trunk, low stature, few being above 156 cm. and most below 150 cm. (4 ft. 11 ins.), and now and then the characteristic convex upper lip of the wild tribes (Zs. f. Ethnol. XLIII. 1911, pp. 317, 318). On these grounds Moszkowski inclines to think that the islands of Geelvink Bay were originally peopled by pre-Malayan wild tribes allied to the Vedda, Sakai, Toala, etc., and thus the present population is the result of crossing between these and immigrant Melanesians; true Malays came later. Moszkowski has not yet published any head measurements of these interesting people, and the evidence is insufficient to decide whether this is a Pre-Dravidian or a Negrito element in the population of these islands, the curly character of the hair may be due as elsewhere in New Guinea to racial mixture; the photograph of a “Vedda-type” from Padeido island is by no means convincing (l.c. p. 318).
Dr. M. Moszkowski discovered that in Geelvink Bay, hair isn't always woolly, which is typical for Papuans. On Biak and Padeido Islands, the hair often resembles the curly hair of the Veddas. Other similarities with wild tribes from Further Asia include a delicate and elegant bone structure, small hands and feet, relatively short limbs compared to the torso, and a low height, with few people being taller than 156 cm and most below 150 cm (4 ft. 11 in.). Occasionally, there is also the distinctive convex upper lip found in wild tribes (Zs. f. Ethnol. XLIII. 1911, pp. 317, 318). For these reasons, Moszkowski believes that the islands of Geelvink Bay were originally populated by pre-Malayan wild tribes related to the Vedda, Sakai, Toala, etc., and the current population is the result of interbreeding between these groups and immigrant Melanesians; true Malays arrived later. Moszkowski has not yet published any head measurements of these intriguing people, and the evidence is not enough to determine whether there is a Pre-Dravidian or Negrito component in the population of these islands. The curly hair could be due to racial mixing, similar to what is seen in other parts of New Guinea; the photograph of a “Vedda-type” from Padeido Island isn't convincing (l.c. p. 318).
Finally Guppy, Ribbe and Rascher report the occurrence of very short people in the interior of the larger islands of the Bismarck Archipelago and of the Solomon Islands; recently Thurnwald refers to very small people in the mountainous interior of Bougainville who speak a313 non-Melanesian language, one man from Mari mountain had a stature of 1·39 m. (4 ft. 6-1/2 ins.). In the mountains the mixed population consists of types recalling the Solomon Islanders and “representatives of a small short-legged, broad-faced, short-skulled, very hairy, wide-nosed people.” (Zs. f. Ethnol. XLII. 1910, p. 109.)
Finally, Guppy, Ribbe, and Rascher report the presence of very short people in the interior of the larger islands of the Bismarck Archipelago and the Solomon Islands. Recently, Thurnwald mentioned very small people in the mountainous interior of Bougainville who speak a313 non-Melanesian language; one man from Mari mountain stood at just 1.39 m (4 ft. 6-1/2 in.). In the mountains, the mixed population includes types resembling Solomon Islanders and “representatives of a small short-legged, broad-faced, short-skulled, very hairy, wide-nosed people.” (Zs. f. Ethnol. XLII. 1910, p. 109.)
Discussing the pygmies of Melanesia von Luschan referred in 1910 (Zs. f. Ethnol. XLII., p. 939) to bones brought a century ago from the Admiralty Islands which must have belonged to individuals 1·32-1·35 m. (4 ft. 4 ins.-4 ft. 5 ins.) in stature; it is unlikely that the type persists, though Moseley mentions an unusually short man, a little over 5 ft. (Journ. Anth. Inst. 1877, p. 384). In the collection made by the German Marine Expedition there are a number of extremely small skulls from New Ireland, which von Luschan is convinced belong to pygmies. Finsch brought from New Britain over thirty years ago the smallest known skull of a normal adult person; it came from the S.W. coast of Gazelle Peninsula. Like four other extremely small feminine skulls from New Britain this one is dolichocephalic (ceph. index 73). Von Luschan is of opinion that the small people of Melanesia represent an older stratum of population than their tall neighbours.
Discussing the pygmies of Melanesia, von Luschan noted in 1910 (Zs. f. Ethnol. XLII., p. 939) bones that were brought a century ago from the Admiralty Islands, which must have belonged to individuals measuring 1.32-1.35 m. (4 ft. 4 ins.-4 ft. 5 ins.) in height. It’s unlikely that this type still exists, although Moseley mentions an unusually short man, a bit over 5 ft. (Journ. Anth. Inst. 1877, p. 384). In the collection made by the German Marine Expedition, there are several very small skulls from New Ireland, which von Luschan believes belong to pygmies. Finsch brought back the smallest known skull of a normal adult from New Britain over thirty years ago; it was found on the S.W. coast of the Gazelle Peninsula. Like four other very small female skulls from New Britain, this one is dolichocephalic (ceph. index 73). Von Luschan believes that the small people of Melanesia represent an older population layer than their taller neighbors.
While other travellers have come across what is now accepted as a pygmy element in the population, the members of this Expedition have for the first time proved the existence of a pygmy people, known as the Tapiro, who may be regarded as predominantly Negritos. The hair is short, woolly and black, but seemed brown in two or three cases, there is a good deal of hair on the face and of short downy hair scattered about the body. The skin is of a lighter colour than that of the neighbouring Papuans, some individuals being almost yellow. The stature averages 1·449 m. (4 ft. 9 ins.), ranging from 1·326 m. (4 ft. 4-1/4 ins.) to 1·529 m. (5 ft. 0-1/4in.). The314 cephalic index averages 79·5, varying from 66·9 to 85·1. Features: The nose is straight and though described as “very wide at the nostrils,” the mean of the indices is only 83, the extremes being 65·5 to 94. The eyes are noticeably larger and rounder than those of Papuans. “The upper lip of many of the men is long and curiously convex.”
While other travelers have encountered what is now recognized as a pygmy element in the population, the members of this Expedition have for the first time confirmed the existence of a pygmy people known as the Tapiro, who can be considered predominantly Negritos. The hair is short, woolly, and black, but appeared brown in a couple of cases; there is a significant amount of hair on the face and short downy hair scattered across the body. The skin is lighter in color than that of the nearby Papuans, with some individuals being almost yellow. The stature averages 1.449 m. (4 ft. 9 ins.), ranging from 1.326 m. (4 ft. 4-1/4 ins.) to 1.529 m. (5 ft. 0-1/4 in.). The 314 cephalic index averages 79.5, varying from 66.9 to 85.1. Features: The nose is straight, and although described as “very wide at the nostrils,” the mean of the indices is only 83, with extremes ranging from 65.5 to 94. The eyes are noticeably larger and rounder than those of Papuans. “The upper lip of many of the men is long and oddly convex.”
At the same time that the Expedition discovered pygmies in Netherlands New Guinea, Mr. R. W. Williamson was investigating the Mafulu, a mountain people on the upper waters of the Angabunga river in the Mekeo District. He has shown (The Mafulu Mountain People of British New Guinea, 1912) that in all probability these and some neighbouring tribes are a mixture of Negritos, Papuans and Papuo-Melanesians. Their invariably woolly hair is generally dark brown, often quite dark, approaching to black and sometimes perhaps quite black, but frequently it is lighter and often not what we in Europe should call dark; a beard and moustache are quite unusual. The skin is dark sooty-brown. The average stature is 1·551 m. (5 ft. 1 in.) ranging from 1·47 m. (4 ft. 10 ins.) to 1·63 m. (5 ft. 4 ins.). They are fairly strong and muscular, but rather slender and slight in development. The average cephalic index is 80 and ranges from 74·7 to 86·8. Features: The average nasal index is 84·3, the extremes being 71·4 and 100. The eyes are dark brown and very bright. The lips are fine and delicate.
At the same time that the Expedition discovered pygmies in Netherlands New Guinea, Mr. R. W. Williamson was studying the Mafulu, a mountain people living near the upper waters of the Angabunga River in the Mekeo District. He has shown (The Mafulu Mountain People of British New Guinea, 1912) that these and some neighboring tribes are likely a mix of Negritos, Papuans, and Papuo-Melanesians. Their hair is usually woolly and generally a dark brown, often very dark, close to black, and sometimes entirely black, but frequently it can be lighter and often wouldn’t be considered dark by European standards; having a beard and mustache is quite rare. Their skin has a dark sooty-brown tone. The average height is 1.551 m. (5 ft. 1 in.), ranging from 1.47 m. (4 ft. 10 in.) to 1.63 m. (5 ft. 4 in.). They are fairly strong and muscular, but rather slender and slight in build. The average cephalic index is 80, ranging from 74.7 to 86.8. Features: The average nasal index is 84.3, with extremes between 71.4 and 100. Their eyes are dark brown and very bright. They have fine and delicate lips.
It is worth noting that Pöch had in 1906 measured two Fergusson Island men with statures 1·403 and 1·425 m. (4 ft. 7-1/4 ins., 4 ft. 8 ins.), who told him that “all the people in that tribe were as small or smaller.” (Zs. f. Ethnol. XLII. 1910, p. 941.)
It’s important to point out that in 1906, Pöch measured two men from Fergusson Island, whose heights were 1.403 and 1.425 m (4 ft. 7-1/4 ins. and 4 ft. 8 ins.), and they told him that “everyone in that tribe was just as small or smaller.” (Zs. f. Ethnol. XLII. 1910, p. 941.)
On reading through the brief synopses which I have given it is apparent that, with the possible exception of the Andamanese, each of the Negrito peoples shows315 considerable diversity in its physical characters and this is more evident when more detailed accounts and photographs are studied. There appears to be sufficient evidence to show that a very ancient ulotrichous, low brachycephalic, pygmy population once extended over the Malay Peninsula and a great part (at least) of Melanesia and New Guinea, but the existing groups do not appear to be homogeneous judging from the diversity in stature, head index and nasal index. Stature, as has already been stated, is always recognised as subject to considerable variation, but the bulk of the measurements of these peoples fall below 1·5 m., and therefore indicate a predominant very short population. The head indices mainly show low brachycephaly; the occasional very low indices may be due either to a Pre-Dravidian mixture or in New Guinea, at all events, to a Papuan strain. The former existence of a Pre-Dravidian stock in New Guinea is highly probable, nor must it be overlooked that there may have been a hitherto undescribed pygmy or very short dolichocephalic ulotrichous stock in New Guinea and Melanesia. The nasal index of these Negrito peoples is very suggestive of racial complexity. Judging from photographs, in the absence of measurements, the Andamanese have by no means a broad nose, and a mesorhine index is found in all the other groups, some of the Tapiro and Mafulu are even leptorhine. A constantly recurring feature is the convex upper lip, but that also occurs among the Sakai. The problem now is to determine what foreign elements have modified these pygmies, and whether the Negrito stock itself will not have to be subdivided into at least two groups.
Upon reading the brief summaries I’ve provided, it’s clear that, with the possible exception of the Andamanese, each of the Negrito peoples shows315 significant diversity in their physical traits, which becomes even more apparent when examining more detailed accounts and photographs. There’s enough evidence to suggest that a very ancient population, characterized by curly hair, low skull shape, and pygmy stature, once spread across the Malay Peninsula and much of Melanesia and New Guinea. However, the current groups do not seem to be homogeneous, as indicated by the variations in height, head shape, and nasal shape. Height, as noted earlier, is known to vary widely, but most measurements of these peoples are below 1.5 meters, indicating a predominantly very short population. The head shapes primarily indicate low brachycephaly; occasionally very low measurements might be due to a Pre-Dravidian mix or, in New Guinea at least, a Papuan influence. It’s highly likely that a Pre-Dravidian population once existed in New Guinea, and it’s also important to consider that there may have been an as-yet-undescribed population of pygmies or very short individuals with long heads and curly hair in New Guinea and Melanesia. The nasal shapes of these Negrito peoples suggest a complex racial background. Based on photographs, lacking actual measurements, the Andamanese do not appear to have broad noses, and all the other groups show a mesorhine index; some of the Tapiro and Mafulu even have narrow noses. A common characteristic is the convex upper lip, which also appears among the Sakai. The challenge now is to identify what external factors have influenced these pygmies, and whether the Negrito population itself should be divided into at least two distinct groups.
The Negritos have certain cultural characters more or less in common, some of which differentiate them from their neighbours. There is very little artificial deformation of the person. The Tapiro and Mafulu alone do not tattoo or scarify the skin; Skeat says that316 the Semang “do not appear as a race to tattoo or scarify,” and the Aeta scarify only occasionally. The nasal septum is not pierced for a nose-stick by the Andamanese and Aeta nor among the purer Semang tribes, but the Tapiro and Mafulu do so. The Semang women possess numerous bamboo combs which are engraved with curious designs of a magical import, similar combs are possessed by nearly every Aeta man and woman. The Andamanese have no combs.
The Negritos share some cultural traits but also have differences that set them apart from their neighbors. There’s very little intentional alteration of the body. Only the Tapiro and Mafulu do not practice tattooing or scarification; Skeat notes that the Semang “do not seem to be a group that tattoos or scars,” and the Aeta only do it on rare occasions. The Andamanese and Aeta do not pierce their nasal septum for a nose stick, nor do the pure Semang tribes, while the Tapiro and Mafulu do. Semang women have many bamboo combs engraved with intricate designs that hold magical significance, and similar combs are common among nearly all Aeta men and women. The Andamanese don’t use combs.
With regard to clothing, the male Andamanese are nude, the females wear a small apron of leaves or a single leaf, but one tribe, the Jarawa, go nude. The male Semang frequently wear a loin-cloth, or simply leaves retained by a string girdle, sometimes the women wear this too or a fringed girdle made of the long black strings of a fungus, but more usually a waist-cloth. The Aeta men wear a loin-cloth and the women a waist-cloth. The Mafulu men and women wear a perineal band of bark cloth, while the Tapiro men wear a unique gourd penis-sheath. A gourd or calabash is also worn by men on the north coast of New Guinea, but not further west than Cape Bonpland, in this case the hole is in the side and not at the end as among the Tapiro.
In terms of clothing, the male Andamanese are nude, while the females wear a small apron made of leaves or a single leaf, although one tribe, the Jarawa, is also nude. The male Semang often wear a loincloth or just leaves held in place by a string girdle; sometimes, the women wear this as well or a fringed girdle made from the long black strands of a fungus, but more often, they wear a waistcloth. The Aeta men wear a loincloth, and the women wear a waistcloth. The Mafulu men and women wear a perineal band made of bark cloth, while the Tapiro men have a distinctive gourd penis sheath. Men on the north coast of New Guinea also wear a gourd or calabash, but not beyond Cape Bonpland; in this case, the opening is on the side rather than at the end like with the Tapiro.
The Negritos are collectors and hunters, and never cultivate the soil unless they have been modified by contact with more advanced peoples.
The Negritos are foragers and hunters, and they only engage in farming if they have interacted with more developed societies.
The Andamanese make three kinds of simple huts on the ground and large communal huts are sometimes built. The Semang construct “bee-hive” and long communal huts and weather screens similar to those of the Andamanese. They also erect tree shelters, but direct evidence is very scanty that pure Semang inhabit huts with a flooring raised on piles; they sleep on bamboo platforms. The Aeta usually make very simple huts sometimes with a raised bamboo sleeping platform inside. The pile dwellings of the Tapiro have evidently been317 copied from those of other tribes in the interior. The Mafulu build a different kind of pile dwelling which has a peculiar hood-like porch.
The Andamanese build three types of simple huts on the ground, and they sometimes construct large communal huts. The Semang make "bee-hive" and long communal huts, as well as weather screens similar to those used by the Andamanese. They also set up tree shelters, but there's very little evidence that pure Semang actually live in huts with raised flooring; they sleep on bamboo platforms. The Aeta usually create very basic huts, sometimes featuring a raised bamboo sleeping platform inside. The pile dwellings of the Tapiro seem to have been317 copied from those of other tribes in the interior. The Mafulu build a different type of pile dwelling that has a unique hood-like porch.
All the Negritos have the bow and arrow. The Great Andamanese bow is peculiar while that of the Little Andamanese appears to resemble that of the Semang. The Great Andamanese and the Tapiro have very long bows. Harpoon arrows with iron points are used by the Andamanese and Aeta, the arrows of the Andamanese, Semang and Aeta are nocked, but only those of the two latter are feathered. No nocked or feathered arrows occur in New Guinea. Only the Semang and Aeta are known to poison their arrows, and they may have borrowed the idea from the poisoned darts of the blow-pipe. Some Semang have adopted the blow-pipe.
All Negritos use bows and arrows. The Great Andamanese bow is unique, while the Little Andamanese bow looks similar to that of the Semang. Both the Great Andamanese and Tapiro have very long bows. The Andamanese and Aeta use harpoon arrows with iron tips; the arrows of the Andamanese, Semang, and Aeta are nocked, but only the latter two have feathers. There are no nocked or feathered arrows in New Guinea. Only the Semang and Aeta are known to poison their arrows, likely inspired by the poisoned darts used in blowpipes. Some Semang have started to use blowpipes.
The Andamanese appear to be one of the very few people who possess fire but do not know how to make it afresh. The Semang usually make fire by “rubbing together short blocks of wood, bamboo or cane. A common method consists in passing a rattan line round the portion of a dried branch, and holding the branch down by the feet whilst the line is rapidly worked to and fro with the hands.” Flint and steel are also used. (The Sakai employ similar methods.) (Skeat and Blagden, I, pp. 111-114, 119.) Among the Aeta flint and steel have almost replaced the old method of making fire by one piece of split bamboo being sawed rapidly across another piece. Semper collected from Negritos of N.E. Luzon, a split stick, bark fibre and a strip of rattan used in fire-making, these are described and figured by A. B. Meyer (Publ. der K. Ethn. Mus. zu. Dresden, IX, Negritos, p. 5, pl. 11, fig. 7 a-c). It is interesting to find that the Tapiro employ the same method and apparatus (p. 200). Thus there occurs among Negritos in the Philippines and New Guinea the method of making fire by partly splitting a dry stick, keeping the ends318 open by inserting a piece of wood or a stone in the cleft, stuffing some tinder into the narrow part of the slit and then drawing rapidly a strip of rattan to and fro across this spot till a spark ignites the tinder. Pöch found it among the Poum, dwelling in the mountains inland from the Kai (Geog. Jnl. XXX, 1907, p. 612, and Mitt. Anth. Ges. in Wien, XXXVII. 1907, p. 59, fig. 2, 3). Precisely the same method was described by the Rev. Dr. W. G. Lawes who found it among the Koiari of Tabure on Mt. Warirata (Proc. R. Geog. Soc. V, 1883, p. 357). Finsch collected the apparatus from the same people (Ann. des K.K. naturhist. Hofmus. in Wien, III, 1888, p. 323; Leo Frobenius, The Childhood of Man, 1909, fig. 313, but Frobenius is mistaken in representing the rattan as going twice round the stick). Dr. H. O. Forbes had found it at Ubumkara on the Naoro, also in the Central Division (P.R.G.S. XII. 1890, p. 562). Mr. C. A. W. Monckton noticed it in 1906 among the Kambisa tribe, in the valley of the Chirima, Mt. Albert Edward (Ann. Rep. Brit. New Guinea, 1907). Pöch suggests that N. von Miklucho-Maclay was wrong in thinking that the strip was rubbed in the split of a stick (l.c. p. 61); this is the earliest Papuan record (1872).
The Andamanese seem to be one of the few groups of people who have fire but don’t know how to create it themselves. The Semang typically start fire by “rubbing together short blocks of wood, bamboo, or cane. A common method involves wrapping a rattan line around a section of a dried branch and holding the branch down with one’s feet while quickly moving the line back and forth with the hands.” They also use flint and steel. (The Sakai use similar techniques.) (Skeat and Blagden, I, pp. 111-114, 119.) Among the Aeta, flint and steel have mostly replaced the traditional technique of making fire by rapidly sawing one piece of split bamboo against another. Semper collected from Negritos of N.E. Luzon a split stick, bark fiber, and a strip of rattan used for fire-making, and these are described and illustrated by A. B. Meyer (Publ. der K. Ethn. Mus. zu. Dresden, IX, Negritos, p. 5, pl. 11, fig. 7 a-c). It's interesting to note that the Tapiro use the same method and tools (p. 200). This method of making fire is also found among Negritos in the Philippines and New Guinea, involving partially splitting a dry stick, keeping the ends open by inserting a piece of wood or stone in the split, putting some tinder into the narrow part of the slit, and then quickly rubbing a strip of rattan across this spot until a spark ignites the tinder. Pöch discovered it among the Poum, living in the mountains inland from the Kai (Geog. Jnl. XXX, 1907, p. 612, and Mitt. Anth. Ges. in Wien, XXXVII. 1907, p. 59, fig. 2, 3). The exact same method was described by the Rev. Dr. W. G. Lawes, who found it among the Koiari of Tabure on Mt. Warirata (Proc. R. Geog. Soc. V, 1883, p. 357). Finsch collected the tools from the same group (Ann. des K.K. naturhist. Hofmus. in Wien, III, 1888, p. 323; Leo Frobenius, The Childhood of Man, 1909, fig. 313, but Frobenius mistakenly represented the rattan as going around the stick twice). Dr. H. O. Forbes found it at Ubumkara on the Naoro, also in the Central Division (P.R.G.S. XII. 1890, p. 562). Mr. C. A. W. Monckton observed it in 1906 among the Kambisa tribe in the Chirima Valley, Mt. Albert Edward (Ann. Rep. Brit. New Guinea, 1907). Pöch suggests that N. von Miklucho-Maclay was incorrect in believing that the strip was rubbed in the split of a stick (l.c. p. 61); this is the earliest recorded instance from Papua (1872).
From the above account it is possible that the split stick and rattan strip method of fire-making may be a criterion of Negrito culture, but it should be noted that the stick is not reported as split among the Semang, and that the unsplit stick is found among the Sakai and the Kayans and Kenyahs of Sarawak who are not Negritos. Also the split stick is found at several spots in the mountainous interior of the south-east peninsula of New Guinea where Negrito influence has not yet been recorded, but Mr. Williamson’s observations are very suggestive in this respect. Pöch (l.c. p. 62) points out that this method is nearest akin to “fire-sawing with bamboo, both in principle and distribution,” of which he gives details. A319 somewhat similar method is that described by W. E. Roth. A split hearth-stick is held by the feet, but fire is made by sawing with another piece of wood, a device which appears to be widely spread in Queensland and occurs also on the Lachlan River, N.S.W. (N. Queensland Ethnogr. Bull. 7, 1904, sect. 9, pl. II. figs. 17, 18).
From the account above, it seems that the split stick and rattan strip method of making fire might be a feature of Negrito culture. However, it's important to note that the stick isn’t reported as split among the Semang, and the unsplit stick is found among the Sakai and the Kayans and Kenyahs of Sarawak, who are not Negritos. Additionally, the split stick is spotted in several locations in the mountainous interior of the southeastern peninsula of New Guinea, where Negrito influence hasn't been recorded yet. Mr. Williamson's observations are quite insightful in this regard. Pöch (l.c. p. 62) mentions that this method is most similar to “fire-sawing with bamboo, both in principle and distribution,” and provides details about it. A319 somewhat similar method is described by W. E. Roth, where a split hearth-stick is held by the feet, but fire is created by sawing with another piece of wood. This technique seems to be widely practiced in Queensland and is also found along the Lachlan River, N.S.W. (N. Queensland Ethnogr. Bull. 7, 1904, sect. 9, pl. II. figs. 17, 18).
So far as is known the social structure of the Negritos is very simple. Among the Andamanese there is no division of the community into two moieties, no clan system nor totemism, neither has a classificatory system of kinship been recorded; the social unit appears to be the family, and the power of the head-man is very limited. Our knowledge concerning the Semang and Aeta is extremely imperfect but they probably resemble the Andamanese in these points. The Andamanese and Semang are strictly monogamous, polygyny is allowed among the Aeta, but monogamy prevails. The only restriction at all on marriage appears to be the prohibition of marriage between near kindred, and divorce is very rare. All bury their dead, but it is considered by the Andamanese more complimentary to place the dead on a platform which is generally built in a large tree, and the more honourable practice of the Semang is to expose the dead in trees. The Mafulu bury ordinary people, but the corpses of chiefs are placed in an open box either on a platform or in the fork of a kind of fig tree. Nothing is known about the social life of the Tapiro, and Williamson says, “The very simple ideas of the Mafulu, as compared with the Papuans and Melanesians, in matters of social organization, implements, arts and crafts, religion and other things may well, I think, be associated with a primitive Negrito origin” (l.c. p. 306).
As far as we know, the social structure of the Negritos is quite simple. Among the Andamanese, there’s no division of the community into two groups, no clan system or totemism, and no recorded system of kinship classification; the social unit seems to be the family, and the authority of the head-man is very limited. Our understanding of the Semang and Aeta is not very clear, but they likely share similar characteristics with the Andamanese. The Andamanese and Semang practice strict monogamy, while the Aeta allow polygyny, though monogamy is more common. The only marriage restriction seems to be the prohibition against marrying close relatives, and divorce is very rare. All of them bury their dead, but the Andamanese prefer to place the dead on a platform, typically built in a large tree, while the Semang honorably expose their dead in trees. The Mafulu bury ordinary people, but the bodies of chiefs are placed in an open box either on a platform or in the fork of a kind of fig tree. Nothing is known about the social life of the Tapiro, and Williamson states, “The very simple ideas of the Mafulu, compared to the Papuans and Melanesians, in social organization, tools, arts and crafts, religion, and other aspects may well, I think, be linked to a primitive Negrito origin” (l.c. p. 306).
SHORT BIBLIOGRAPHY.
This is not the place to attempt to give a record of the very voluminous bibliography of the Negritos, and most of the works here recorded are those from which the foregoing facts have been collected. Books referred to in the text are, with one or two exceptions, not here repeated.
This is not the place to try to provide a comprehensive bibliography of the Negritos, and most of the works listed here are those from which the previous facts have been gathered. The books mentioned in the text are, with one or two exceptions, not repeated here.
The General Question.
The Big Question.
Danielli, G., “Studi di Antropogeografia generale.” Memorie Geografiche, N. 18. Vol. VI. 1912.
Danielli, G., “Studies in General Anthropogeography.” Geographical Memoirs, N. 18. Vol. VI. 1912.
Flower, W. H. The Pygmy Races of Men. Royal Inst. Lecture, 1888, reprinted in Essays on Museums, 1898.
Flower, W. H. The Pygmy Races of Men. Royal Inst. Lecture, 1888, reprinted in Essays on Museums, 1898.
Lapicque, L. “La Race Negrito.” Ann. de Géographie, 1896, p. 407.
Lapicque, L. “The Negrito Race.” Ann. de Géographie, 1896, p. 407.
Meyer, A. B. The Distribution of the Negritos, 1899; translation with additions from Publikationen d. K. Ethn. Mus. zu Dresden, IX. 1893.
Meyer, A. B. The Distribution of the Negritos, 1899; translation with additions from Publications of the Royal Ethnological Museum in Dresden, IX. 1893.
Quatrefages, A. de. The Pygmies, 1895. (English Translation).
Quatrefages, A. de. The Pygmies, 1895. (English Translation).
Schmidt, W. Die Stellung der Pygmäenvölker in der Entwicklungsgeschichte des Menschen, 1910.
Schmidt, W. The Position of the Pygmy Peoples in the Development History of Humans, 1910.
Pater W. Schmidt has gone into the whole pygmy question with great thoroughness. He extends his comparison to the African pygmies (Negrillos), between whom and the Asiatic pygmies he attempts to prove a connection through Southern India. Emphasis is laid on the “infantile” physical characters of both African and Asiatic pygmies and the extremely primitive features of their culture. He is inclined to regard the Pre-Dravidian Vedda, Senoi and Toala as of mixed pygmy origin, finding support for this theory in the proximity of the Senoi to the Semang in the Malay Peninsula. The eastward extension of the pygmies into Melanesia and New Guinea is not dealt with.
Pater W. Schmidt has thoroughly explored the entire pygmy issue. He compares African pygmies (Negrillos) with Asiatic pygmies, attempting to prove a connection through Southern India. He highlights the “childlike” physical traits of both African and Asiatic pygmies, as well as their very primitive cultural features. He leans towards seeing the Pre-Dravidian Vedda, Senoi, and Toala as having mixed pygmy ancestry, finding evidence for this theory in the closeness of the Senoi to the Semang in the Malay Peninsula. The eastward expansion of the pygmies into Melanesia and New Guinea is not addressed.
Tyson, E. A Philological Essay concerning the Pygmies of the Ancients, 1699. Edited by B. C. A. Windle, 1894.
Tyson, E. A Philological Essay concerning the Pygmies of the Ancients, 1699. Edited by B. C. A. Windle, 1894.
The Andamanese.
The Andamanese.
Dobson, G. E., “On the Andamans and Andamanese.” Journ. Anth. Inst. IV. 1875, p. 457.
Dobson, G. E., “On the Andamans and Andamanese.” Journ. Anth. Inst. IV. 1875, p. 457.
Flower, W. H., “On the Osteology and Affinities of the Natives of the Andaman Islands,” J.A.I., IX. 1879, p. 108, cf. also X., p. 124, XIV., p. 115, XVIII., p. 73.
Flower, W. H., “On the Bone Structure and Relationships of the Natives of the Andaman Islands,” J.A.I., IX. 1879, p. 108, cf. also X., p. 124, XIV., p. 115, XVIII., p. 73.
Lane Fox, A., “Observations on Mr. Man’s Collection of Andamanese and Nicobarese Objects,” J.A.I., VII. 1877, p. 434.
Lane Fox, A., “Observations on Mr. Man’s Collection of Andamanese and Nicobarese Objects,” J.A.I., VII. 1877, p. 434.
Man, E. H., “On the Aboriginal Inhabitants of the Andaman Islands,” J.A.I., XII. 1882-3, pp. 69, 117, 327, cf. also VII. p. 105, XI. p. 268.
Man, E. H., “On the Indigenous People of the Andaman Islands,” J.A.I., XII. 1882-3, pp. 69, 117, 327, see also VII. p. 105, XI. p. 268.
Portman, M. V., “Notes on the Andamanese,” J.A.I., XXV. 1896, p. 361.
Portman, M. V., “Notes on the Andamanese,” J.A.I., XXV. 1896, p. 361.
The Semang.
The Semang.
Skeat, W. W., and Blagden, C. O., Pagan Races of the Malay Peninsula, 1906.
Skeat, W. W., and Blagden, C. O., Pagan Races of the Malay Peninsula, 1906.
Martin, R., Die Inlandstämme der Malayischen Halbinsel, 1905.
Martin, R., The Indigenous Tribes of the Malay Peninsula, 1905.
Annandale, N., and Robinson, H. C., Fasciculi Malayensis, Anthropology, Part I, 1903, p. 105.
Annandale, N., and Robinson, H. C., Fasciculi Malayensis, Anthropology, Part I, 1903, p. 105.
The Aeta.
The Aeta.
Folkmar, D., Album of Philippine Types, Manila, 1904.
Folkmar, D., Album of Philippine Types, Manila, 1904.
Koeze, G. A., “Crania Ethnica Philippinica,” Publicatiën uit ’s rijks ethnographisch Museum, Serie II. No. 3, Haarlem, 1901-1904.
Koeze, G. A., “Crania Ethnica Philippinica,” Publications from the National Ethnographic Museum, Series II. No. 3, Haarlem, 1901-1904.
Meyer, A. B., Album of Filipino Types, 1885, Vol. II., 1891, and Vol. III., 1904, with photographs taken by Dr. A. Schadenberg.
Meyer, A. B., Album of Filipino Types, 1885, Vol. II, 1891, and Vol. III, 1904, with photos taken by Dr. A. Schadenberg.
Meyer, A. B., “Die Philippinen, II., Negritos,” Publikationen des K. Ethnogr. Mus. zu Dresden, IX. 1893 (and cf. J.A.I., XXV. p. 172).
Meyer, A. B., “The Philippines, II., Negritos,” Publications of the K. Ethnogr. Mus. in Dresden, IX. 1893 (and see J.A.I., XXV. p. 172).
Reed, W. A., “Negritos of Zambales,” Department of the Interior, Ethnological Survey Publications, II. Manila, 1904.
Reed, W. A., “Negritos of Zambales,” Department of the Interior, Ethnological Survey Publications, II. Manila, 1904.
Sawyer, F. H., The Inhabitants of the Philippines, 1900.
Sawyer, F. H., The Inhabitants of the Philippines, 1900.
Worcester, Dean C., “The Non-Christian Tribes of Northern Luzon,” The Philippine Journal of Science, I. 1906, p. 791.
Worcester, Dean C., “The Non-Christian Tribes of Northern Luzon,” The Philippine Journal of Science, I. 1906, p. 791.
Measurements of 22 Tapiro Pygmies (Males).
Measurements of 22 male Tapiro Pygmies.
| KEY: | ||
| A. No. of man. | ||
| B. Height of stature. | ||
| C. Girth of chest. | ||
| D. Vertexto tragus. | ||
| E. Head length. | ||
| F. Head breadth. | ||
| G. Face breadth. | ||
| H. Bigonial breadth. | ||
| I. Face length. | ||
| J. Nose length. | ||
| K. Nose breadth. | ||
| L. Interocular breadth. | ||
| Indices. | { | a. Head index. |
| b. Face Index. | ||
| c. Nasal Index. | ||
| A. | B. | C. | D. | E. | F. | G. | H. | I. | J. | K. | L. | Indices ╭━━━^━━━╮ | ||
| a. | b. | c. | ||||||||||||
| 17 | 152·7 | 80·5 | 13·0 | 18·2 | 14·1 | 13·6 | 12·7 | 10·7 | 5·1 | 3·9 | 3·4 | 77·5 | 78·7 | 76·5 |
| 18 | 148·0 | 77·5 | 12·7 | 17·7 | 13·8 | 13·4 | 12·7 | 10·0 | 4·7 | 4·1 | 2·8 | 78·0 | 74·6 | 87·2 |
| 19 | 142·5 | 71·0 | 11·2 | 18·1 | 13·9 | 13·1 | 11·1 | 11.5 | 5·5 | 3·6 | 3·4 | 76·8 | 87·8 | 65·5 |
| 20 | 142·1 | 71·5 | 11·0 | 17·2 | 11·5 | 13·0 | 12·0 | 10·3 | 4·8 | 4·1 | 3·1 | 66·9 | 79·5 | 85·4 |
| 21 | 147·9 | 78·0 | 12·6 | 17·4 | 13·7 | 12·5 | 9·3 | 11·7 | 6·0 | 4·5 | 3.2 | 78·7 | 93·6 | 75·0 |
| 22 | 140·2 | 74·0 | 11·2 | 17·7 | 14·2 | 13·0 | 10·7 | 10·6 | 5·2 | 4·2 | 3·4 | 80·2 | 81·5 | 80·8 |
| 23 | 145·4 | 74·5 | 12·9 | 17·8 | 14·3 | 13·6 | 12·5 | 10·6 | 4·5 | 3·9 | 3·3 | 80·3 | 77·9 | 86·7 |
| 24 | 152·9 | 78·5 | 12·1 | 17·7 | 14·3 | 12·7 | 11·1 | 11·6 | 5·2 | 4·4 | 3·2 | 80·8 | 91·3 | 84·6 |
| 25 | 138·9 | 74·5 | 12·6 | 16·7 | 14·1 | 11·8 | 9·6 | 10·4 | 5·0 | 4·4 | 2·8 | 84·4 | 88·1 | 88·0 |
| 26 | 149·0 | 72·7 | 12·6 | 17·4 | 13·6 | 12·3 | 11·8 | 10·7 | 4·8 | 3·9 | 3·2 | 78·2 | 87·0 | 81·3 |
| 27 | 148·2 | 81·4 | 11·3 | 18·5 | 13·9 | 12·8 | 11·0 | 11·3 | 5·2 | 4·4 | 3·2 | 75·1 | 88·3 | 84·6 |
| 28 | 132·6 | 72·8 | 12·8 | 17·5 | 14·7 | 12·8 | 9·8 | 11·2 | 5·1 | 4·1 | 3·0 | 84·0 | 87·5 | 80·4 |
| 29 | 150·7 | 79·5 | 13·6 | 17·4 | 14·8 | 13·6 | 12·3 | 11·1 | 5·5 | 4·4 | 3·4 | 85·1 | 81·6 | 80·0 |
| 30 | 148·8 | 74·0 | 13·0 | 18·1 | 14·1 | 12·6 | 11·0 | 10·6 | 4·9 | 4·4 | 3·3 | 77·9 | 84·1 | 89·8 |
| 31 | 150·1 | 79·0 | 13·5 | 17·8 | 14·8 | 13·1 | 11·0 | 12·2 | 5·5 | 4·4 | 3·1 | 83·2 | 93·1 | 80·0 |
| 32 | 139·8 | 76·5 | 12·5 | 17·4 | 14·7 | 13·4 | 10·8 | 10·4 | 5·5 | 4·1 | 3·1 | 84·5 | 77·6 | 74·6 |
| 33 | 134·3 | 71·8 | 12·2 | 16·2 | 13·4 | 13·2 | 11·7 | 10·6 | 4·8 | 4·1 | 3·1 | 82·7 | 80·3 | 85·4 |
| 34 | 150·6 | 78·0 | 12·8 | 18·2 | 14·6 | 13·8 | 11·4 | 11·6 | 5·9 | 5·0 | 3·6 | 80·2 | 84·1 | 84·8 |
| 35 | 144·2 | 79·0 | 12·0 | 17·8 | 13·7 | 13·5 | 12·8 | 11·2 | 4·8 | 4·1 | 3·1 | 77·0 | 83·0 | 85·4 |
| 36 | 144·8 | 77·7 | 11·1 | 18·1 | 13·9 | 13·0 | 12·2 | 11·0 | 5·1 | 4·8 | 3·3 | 76·8 | 84·6 | 94·1 |
| 37 | 140·5 | 71·3 | 12·2 | 18·4 | 14·6 | 13·0 | 9·7 | 12·5 | 5·5 | 3·9 | 3·3 | 80·7 | 96·2 | 70·9 |
| 38 | 142·8 | 79·0 | 11·5 | 18·1 | 14·2 | 13·4 | 11·9 | 12·1 | 6·1 | 4·3 | 3·0 | 78·5 | 90·3 | 70·5 |
APPENDIX C
NOTES ON LANGUAGES IN THE EAST OF NETHERLANDS NEW GUINEA
NOTES ON LANGUAGES IN THE EAST OF NETHERLANDS NEW GUINEA
By SIDNEY H. RAY, M.A.
By SIDNEY H. RAY, M.A.
I. INTRODUCTION
In considering the languages of Netherlands New Guinea it is convenient to divide the territory into six geographical divisions. These are:—
When looking at the languages of Netherlands New Guinea, it's helpful to split the territory into six geographical divisions. These are:—
1. The North-western Coast and Islands (Waigiu, Salawati, and Misol).
1. The Northwestern Coast and Islands (Waigiu, Salawati, and Misol).
2. The Western shore of Geelvink Bay and the islands adjacent (Mefor, Biak, and Jobi).
2. The western shore of Geelvink Bay and the nearby islands (Mefor, Biak, and Jobi).
3. The Peninsula of Kumava (Orange Nassau) with the islands between Ceram and the Ké group.
3. The Kumava Peninsula (Orange Nassau) and the islands located between Ceram and the Ké group.
4. The Southern and Eastern Shores of Geelvink Bay.
4. The Southern and Eastern Shores of Geelvink Bay.
5. The North Coast from Kurudu Islands to Humboldt Bay.
5. The North Coast from Kurudu Islands to Humboldt Bay.
6. The South-eastern Coast from Kamrau Inlet to the Bensbach River on the boundary between Netherlands and British territory.
6. The South-eastern Coast from Kamrau Inlet to the Bensbach River on the border between Dutch and British territory.
The present notice only refers to languages in the three last of these divisions.
The current notice only pertains to languages in the last three of these divisions.
At the Western end of the South shore of Geelvink Bay is the district of Wandammen, of which the language is fairly well known. For this we have a vocabulary with grammatical examples (9),26 and also for Windessi, 323which is the same language, a mission text-book. Eastward from Wandammen the numerals only are recorded (7), but at the Southern point of the Bay, in the district around Jamur Lake we have the collections made by Van der Sande during the Wichmann Expedition of 1903 (8). He gives a vocabulary of Angadi, an island in the Jamur Lake, some words of the Nagramadu dialect on the North-west, and the numerals of Goreda on the South of the lake. The languages of the Western Shore of Geelvink Bay are represented only by numerals (7) but there is more information of the language of Pauwi at the mouth of the Wamberam or Amberno or Mamberamo River, where F. van Braam Morris collected a vocabulary published by Robidé van der Aa in 1885 (6). This was considered faulty by de Clercq.27
At the western end of the southern shore of Geelvink Bay is the Wandammen district, where the language is fairly well-documented. For this, we have a vocabulary with grammatical examples (9),26 and also for Windessi, 323 which is the same language, a mission text-book. East of Wandammen, only the numerals are recorded (7), but at the southern point of the bay, in the area around Jamur Lake, we have collections made by Van der Sande during the Wichmann Expedition of 1903 (8). He provides a vocabulary of Angadi, an island in Jamur Lake, some words from the Nagramadu dialect in the northwest, and the numerals from Goreda in the south of the lake. The languages of the western shore of Geelvink Bay are represented only by numerals (7), but there is more information about the language of Pauwi at the mouth of the Wamberam or Amberno or Mamberamo River, where F. van Braam Morris collected a vocabulary published by Robidé van der Aa in 1885 (6). De Clercq considered this vocabulary to be inaccurate.27
Westward along the Northern coast very little linguistic material is available, and the few words recorded show great differences. The places of which the speech is known are, on the mainland: Takar, Tarfia and Tana Merah, and on the islands: Liki (in the Kumamba Group), Moar (called also Wakde), Masimasi and Jamna (4, 5).
Westward along the Northern coast, there's very little linguistic material available, and the few recorded words show significant differences. The areas where the language is known are, on the mainland: Takar, Tarfia, and Tana Merah, and on the islands: Liki (in the Kumamba Group), Moar (also called Wakde), Masimasi, and Jamna (4, 5).
For the region about Humboldt Bay we have short vocabularies of Jotafa by various collectors, and a fuller one by G. L. Bink (2), also Sentani lists by P. E. Moolenburg (3) and van der Sande (8). Moolenburg also gives a list from Seka, West of the Bay.
For the area around Humboldt Bay, we have brief vocabularies of Jotafa collected by various people, along with a more comprehensive one by G. L. Bink (2). There are also Sentani lists by P. E. Moolenburg (3) and van der Sande (8). Moolenburg also provides a list from Seka, located west of the Bay.
For the Southern shore of Netherlands New Guinea, we have nothing but vocabularies, none of very large extent, the most extensive being that of Merauke in the extreme West (15) which has also been ably discussed by Dr. N. Adriani.28
For the southern coast of Netherlands New Guinea, we only have vocabularies, and none are very extensive. The most comprehensive one is from Merauke in the far west (15), which has also been thoroughly analyzed by Dr. N. Adriani.28
Commencing at Kamrau Inlet, the languages of the 324shore and islands are illustrated by the Kowiai vocabularies of Miklucho-Maclay (13), the papers of G. W. Earl29 and the lists of S. Muller (10), the last two being derived from the collections made during the voyage of the Triton under Lieut. Modera in 1828. The following languages are named:—
Starting at Kamrau Inlet, the languages of the shore and islands are represented by the Kowiai vocabularies of Miklucho-Maclay (13), the papers of G. W. Earl29 and the lists of S. Muller (10), with the last two coming from the collections made during the voyage of the Triton under Lieut. Modera in 1828. The following languages are listed:—
Lobo at Triton Bay (including Namatote, Aiduma, Mawara, and Kaju-Mera).
Wuaussirau, inland on the Kamaka-Wallar Lake.
Mairassis, inland from Lobo.
Lakahia, on Telok Lakahia.
Kiruru, on Telok Kiruru.
Utanata, on the Utanata River.
Lobo at Triton Bay (including Namatote, Aiduma, Mawara, and Kaju-Mera).
Wuaussirau, inland on the Kamaka-Wallar Lake.
Mairassis, inland from Lobo.
Lakahia, on Telok Lakahia.
Kiruru, on Telok Kiruru.
Utanata, on the Utanata River.
Westward of the Utanata a vocabulary of the language spoken on the Mimika River people was obtained by Mr. Wollaston in 1910-11. A list of the same language is given also in the account of the South-west New Guinea Expedition of the Royal Netherlands Geographical Association.30 The latter work contains a few words of the language used at the mouth of the Kupĕra Pukwa River.
West of the Utanata, Mr. Wollaston collected a vocabulary of the language spoken by the people along the Mimika River in 1910-11. There's also a list of this language in the report of the South-west New Guinea Expedition by the Royal Netherlands Geographical Association.30 This report includes a few words from the language used at the mouth of the Kupĕra Pukwa River.
The language of Mĕraukĕ has been recorded by J. Seijne Kok (15), and by J. C. Montague and E. F. Bik,[C] that of Toro by S. Bik.31
The language of Mĕraukĕ has been documented by J. Seijne Kok (15), and by J. C. Montague and E. F. Bik,[C] while the language of Toro has been recorded by S. Bik.31
II. CLASSIFICATION OF THE LANGUAGES.
Of the three languages in the northern part of Eastern Netherlands New Guinea that of the Jotafa of Humboldt Bay has been ably discussed by Dr. Kern,32 who decides that in phonology, construction, numeration and word store it presents many points of agreement with the Mefoor or Nufōr of the North-west. But it undoubtedly also contains many words which are of non-Indonesian 325 origin. The Sentani and Pawi languages seem to have very few or no words similar to the Indonesian, and may probably be found to be Papuan languages. But nothing is known of the grammar. The language of Wandammen presents agreements with the Mefoor (or Nufōr) in vocabulary and also in some points of grammar. It will probably be found to fall into the same class as the Nufōr and Jotafa. The languages of the north coast and islands also show a mixture of Indonesian with other words. So little is known of the structure of the languages in the Kumava Peninsula that their place cannot be determined with certainty. The numerals and much of the vocabulary appear to be Indonesian,33 but there are Papuan forms in the Grammar.
Of the three languages in the northern part of Eastern Netherlands New Guinea, the Jotafa language of Humboldt Bay has been thoroughly analyzed by Dr. Kern,32 who concludes that in terms of phonology, structure, numeration, and vocabulary, it shares many similarities with the Mefoor or Nufōr of the Northwest. However, it definitely also includes many words of non-Indonesian origin. The Sentani and Pawi languages appear to have very few, if any, words that are similar to Indonesian, and they might actually be classified as Papuan languages. But nothing is known about their grammar. The language of Wandammen shows similarities with Mefoor (or Nufōr) in vocabulary and certain grammatical aspects. It will likely be categorized alongside Nufōr and Jotafa. The languages of the north coast and islands also display a mix of Indonesian words with others. Very little is known about the structure of the languages in the Kumava Peninsula, making it impossible to determine their classification with certainty. The numerals and much of the vocabulary seem to be Indonesian,33 but there are Papuan forms in the grammar.
The Lobo languages of the Kowiai district on the south coast appear to be Indonesian, but those inland and south of Geelvink Bay have a distinct connection with those on the south coast west of the Kowiai district, and with those at the Utanata River and beyond the Mimika, at least as far as the Kupera Pukwa River. Beyond this point nothing is recorded until Princess Marianne Strait is reached, and here of two words known, one is Mĕraukĕ.34 The latter language extends to the Boundary. All west of the Lobo appear to be Papuan.
The Lobo languages in the Kowiai district on the south coast seem to be Indonesian, but those found inland and south of Geelvink Bay have a clear connection with the languages on the south coast west of the Kowiai district, as well as with those along the Utanata River and beyond the Mimika, at least reaching the Kupera Pukwa River. From this point on, there’s no record until you get to Princess Marianne Strait, where there are two known words, one being Mĕraukĕ.34 The latter language continues to the Boundary. Everything to the west of the Lobo seems to be Papuan.
Using the scanty means available, the languages of the Eastern part of Netherlands New Guinea may be thus provisionally classified:—
Using the limited resources available, the languages of the eastern part of Netherlands New Guinea can be temporarily classified as follows:—
NORTH COAST AND ISLANDS (INCLUDING EAST AND SOUTH SHORE OF GEELVINK BAY).
| Papuan. | Seka | West of Lake Sentani. |
| Sentani | Lake Sentani. | |
| Moki (?) | Hinterland of Tana Mera Bay. | |
| ... | Tana Mera. | |
| Tarfia (?) | Coast West of Tana Mera Bay. | |
| Takar | Mainland East of Mamberamo R. | |
| Wamberan | ? Mamberamo R. | |
| Pauwi | Villages on Lower Mamberamo R. | |
| Angadi | Island in Jamur Lake. | |
| Goreda | South of Lake Jamur. | |
| Nagramadu | North-West of L. Jamur. | |
| Manikion | North of McCleur Inlet (Telok Berau). | |
| Indonesian35 | Jotafa | Humboldt Bay. |
| Jamna | Island opposite Takar. | |
| Masimasi | Island West of Jamna. | |
| Moar | Islands West of Masimasi. | |
| Kumamba | Islands and Coast West of Moar and Takar. | |
| Waropin | East shore of Geelvink Bay. | |
| Mohr | Island opposite Waropin. | |
| Tandia | Coast South of Waropin. | |
| Jaur | South-West shore of Geelvink Bay. | |
| Dasener | West of Jaur. | |
| Wandammen | North of Dasener. |
SOUTH COAST.
| Papuan. | Mairassis | Inland from Lobo. |
| Wuaussirau | On Kamaka Wallar Lake. | |
| Lakahia | On Telok Lakahia. | |
| Kiruru | On Telok Kiruru. | |
| Utanata | Inland from Utanata River. | |
| Mimika | Inland from Mimika River. | |
| Kupera Pukwa | Kupera Pukwa River. | |
| Mĕraukĕ | Coast between the Kumbĕ River and the British Boundary. | |
| Toro | Bensbach R. | |
| Indonesian. | Onin | North of Kumava Peninsula. |
| Kapauer | North-West of Kumava Peninsula. | |
| Karufa | South of Kumava Peninsula. | |
| Lobo | Kowiai Coast and Islands of Namatote, Mawara, Aiduma, and Kaju-mera. |
III. COMPARATIVE NOTES ON THE ANGADI-MIMIKA GROUP OF LANGUAGES.
This group consists of the Angadi, Nagramadu, Goreda, Utanata, Lakahia, Mimika and Kupera Pukwa dialects, and perhaps also Kiruru.
This group includes the Angadi, Nagramadu, Goreda, Utanata, Lakahia, Mimika, and Kupera Pukwa dialects, and possibly Kiruru as well.
A comparison of vocabularies shows a certain amount of sound change between the dialects. Thus Angadi m becomes b in Utanata and Mimika and vice versa.37
A comparison of vocabularies shows some sound changes between the dialects. For example, Angadi m becomes b in Utanata and Mimika, and it works the other way around too.37
| Ex. | Angadi muti, Mimika and Utanata buïti, bamboo. Angadi mopere, Nagramadu mobere(bu), Mimika bopere, navel. Angadi mirimoi, Utanata birimbu, Mimika birim, nose. Angadi mau, Utanata mouw, Mimika bauwe, foot. Angadi tohoma-pare, Mimika to-mari, arm. |
The Angadi m is represented sometimes by mb in Mimika, but is retained in Lakahia and Kiruru. Utanata examples are not found.
The Angadi m is sometimes shown as mb in Mimika, but it is kept in Lakahia and Kiruru. No examples are found in Utanata.
| Ex. |
Angadi mi, Lakahia mu, Kiruru mi, Mimika mbi, mbu, water. Angadi metaho, Mimika mbatau, spit. Angadi imiri, Mimika imbiri, shin. Mimika amuri is Kupera Pukwa ambori. |
Angadi in some words loses k or g which appears in Mimika and Lakahia.
Angadi sometimes drops k or g, which can be found in Mimika and Lakahia.
| Ex. | Angadi irĕa, Mimika irĕka, Utanata eriki, fish. Angadi kauwa, Mimika kaukwa, woman. Angadi maare, Mimika makarĕ, armlet. Angadi măe, Mimika mbage, Utanata make, cry, weep. Angadi hehe, Lakahia eika, finger-nail. Angadi (nata)pairi, Mimika pigeri, skin. |
A few words show an interchange of r and n between Mimika and Lakahia.
A few words demonstrate an interchange of r and n between Mimika and Lakahia.
|
Mimika marĕ, Lakahia mana, finger. (Utanata to-mare, Angadi mahare, hand.) Mimika iribu, Utanata and Angadi iripu, Lakahia ini-fa, knee. Mimika amuri, Utanata amure, Angadi amore, Lakahia amuno, bow, Kupera Pukwa ambori. |
2. Vocabulary.
2. Words.
The great likeness of the dialects may be illustrated by the following examples:—
The strong similarity of the dialects can be shown through the following examples:—
| Angadi. | Utanata. | Mimika. | ||
| Arm. | to (in compounds) | tō | to | Lakahia esu-rua (?) |
| Arrow. | ka-tiaro (in bundle) | tiăre | tiari | |
| Boat. | ku | ku | ku | |
| Chin. | kepare | .. | kepare | |
| Coconut. | utiri | uteri | uteri | Kupera Pukwa otiri. |
| Dog. | uwiri | wuri | wiri | Lakahia iwora, Nagramadu iwŏra, Kupera Pukwa uweri. |
| Ear. | ihani | iänī | ene | |
| Eye. | măme | mame | mame | |
| Fire. | utămai | uta | uta | Lakahia ŭsia, Kiruru uta, Nagramadu uha. |
| Give. | kema | .. | kema | |
| Hair. | rup-ere | uirī | viri | Kupera Pukwa, uïri |
| Hand. mahare | tu-mare | marĕ | Lakahia, mana (finger). | |
| Head. | rupau | upauw | kapa-uĕ | Lakahia uwua. |
| House. | kăme | kamī | kamĕ | |
| Iron. | jau (pot) | (puruti) | tau | |
| Laugh. | oko | oku | oko | |
| Lip. | iri | iri (mouth) | iri | Kiruru uru (mouth). |
| Moon. | pură | uran | pura | Lakahia bura. |
| Mountain | .. | (pamogo) | pukare | Lakahia bugura, Wuaussirau wara. |
| Neck. | amoiï | ema | ima | Lakahia umia, Nagramadu umeke. |
| Paddle. | pá | pō | poh | Lakahia boa. |
| Pig. | ŏhŏ | ū | u | Lakahia u(fa), Nagramadu ŏhă, Kupera Pukwa uwĕ. |
| Rain. | keke | komak | ke | Lakahia ge(fa), Kiruru kē. |
| Sago. | amata | (kinani) | amota | Lakahia ama, Nagramadu ĕma, Kupera Pukwa amĕta. |
| Sleep. | ete | ete | ete | Kupera Pukwa ete. |
| Sugarcane. | .. | mone | mŏni | Lakahia moni(fa). |
| Sun. | jăū | youw | yau | Lakahia aya. |
| Tongue. | mere | mare | malī | Lakahia mara. |
| Tooth. | titi | titi | titi | Nagramadu si. |
| Wind. | kimiri | lowri | kimire | Kiruru kemuru. |
3. Pronouns. These are given only in Mimika for the singular number, and in Utanata for the first person singular, but the words for “I,” Mimika doro and Utanata area are unlike. In Mimika the possessive is shown by the suffix -ta, which is used also with other words. Dorota, mine, oro-ta, yours, amare-ta his, wehwaída-ta of another man. Wehwaída is compounded apparently of uwe (rí) man and awaída other. In Mairassis “I” is omona.
3. Pronouns. These are used only in Mimika for the singular form, and in Utanata for the first person singular, but the words for “I,” Mimika doro and Utanata area, are different. In Mimika, possession is indicated by the suffix -ta, which is also used with other words. Dorota means mine, oro-ta means yours, amare-ta means his, wehwaída-ta means of another man. Wehwaída seems to be a combination of uwe (rí) meaning man and awaída meaning other. In Mairassis, “I” is omona.
4. Numerals. No numerals are given by Müller or Earl for Utanata. “People of Utanata had very little knowledge of counting. When wishing to make known329 any number, they made use of the word awerí and counted on their fingers and toes.”38 In Angadi, Nagramadu, Goreda, Lakahia and Mimika, the numbers appear as follows:
4. Numerals. Neither Müller nor Earl provided any numerals for Utanata. “The people of Utanata had very little understanding of counting. When they wanted to express a number, they used the word awerí and counted on their fingers and toes.”38 In Angadi, Nagramadu, Goreda, Lakahia, and Mimika, the numbers are as follows:
| Angadi. | Nagramadu. | Goreda. | Lakahia. | Mimika. | |
| 1. | janăūwă | nadi | unakwa | onarawa | inakwa |
| 2. | jaminatia | ăbåmă | jămanini | aboma | yamani |
| 3. | jaminati-janăūwa | ăbåmă-nadi | .. | (torua) | yamani-inakwa |
| 4. | awaitămă-jaminatia | abama-båmŏ | .. | (fāt) | ama-yamani |
| 5. | măhăre-ajăherauri | măma-riba | maheri-herori | (rim) | .. |
| 6. | măhăre-janăūwa | mariba-nadi | .. | rim-onarawa | .. |
| 10. | măhăre-jăminatia | măma răbåmă | tăoru | .. | .. |
These show a numeration only as far as two. “Three” and “four” are made by additions, 2 + 1 = 3 and 2 + 2 = 4, except in Angadi where awaitămă-jaminatia means “another two” with which cf. the Mimika awaida, other. Măhăre, maheri, mari in the words for “five” also mean “hand,” abbreviated to mă in măma of Nagramadu. The Goreda tăoru given for “ten,” is the Angadi tăöru, much, Mimika takiri, many. In Lakahia the words for “three,” “four,” “five,” “six” have the Ceram numerals which are also used in Lobo and Namatote. The Mairassis and Wuaussirau numerals agree with one another, but differ entirely from those of the Angadi-Mimika group.
These only show a count up to two. “Three” and “four” are formed by addition, 2 + 1 = 3 and 2 + 2 = 4, except in Angadi where awaitămă-jaminatia means “another two,” which is similar to the Mimika awaida, meaning other. Măhăre, maheri, and mari in the terms for “five” also mean “hand,” shortened to mă in măma from Nagramadu. The Goreda tăoru for “ten” is comparable to the Angadi tăöru, meaning much, and the Mimika takiri, which means many. In Lakahia, the words for “three,” “four,” “five,” and “six” use the Ceram numerals, which are also utilized in Lobo and Namatote. The Mairassis and Wuaussirau numerals are consistent with each other but are completely different from those of the Angadi-Mimika group.
| One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Ten | |
| Mairassis | tangauw | amoōi | karia | āi | iworo | iwora-mōi | werowa-mōi |
| Wuaussirau | anau | amōi | karia | aiwera | iworo | iwor-tanau | iwor-toki-tani |
The low numeration in all these languages may be regarded as an indication of their Papuan character.
The low numbers in all these languages can be seen as a sign of their Papuan nature.
5. Construction.
5. Building.
A few grammatical forms which appear to be indicated in the vocabularies may be noted here.
A few grammatical forms that seem to be mentioned in the vocabularies can be noted here.
a. The possessive with pronouns and pronominal words is indicated by a suffix -ta. Mimika, doro-ta, of me, mine; oro-ta, thine; amare-ta, his; wehwaída-ta, of 330another man. In Angadi several compound words end in nata, which thus appears to be a noun, na (thing?), with the possessive suffix; and it seems possible to explain such words as ută-nata, firewood; kara nata, head of javelin—i.e. fire-thing-of, javelin-thing-of. Cf. also nata pairi given by v. d. Sande for “skin,” with Mimika pīgīri, skin, which suggests that nata pairi means skin of something.
a. The possessive with pronouns and pronominal words is shown by a suffix -ta. Mimika, doro-ta, of me, mine; oro-ta, yours; amare-ta, his; wehwaída-ta, of 330another man. In Angadi, several compound words end with nata, which appears to be a noun, na (thing?), along with the possessive suffix; and it seems possible to explain such words as ută-nata, firewood; kara nata, head of javelin—i.e. fire-thing-of, javelin-thing-of. Cf. also nata pairi given by v. d. Sande for “skin,” with Mimika pīgīri, skin, which suggests that nata pairi means skin of something.
b. The adjective follows the noun. Utanata warari napetike, water big, river.
b. The adjective comes after the noun. Utanata warari napetike, big water, river.
c. A noun in the genitive relation precedes its substantive. Mimika bau mame, leg’s eye, ankle; iwau makarĕ, belly’s band. Angadi mahare hehe, finger nail; māū hehe, toe nail; mirimoi ipa, nose hole, nostril; ihani ipa, hole in ear lobe; ămore eme, bow’s rattan, bowstring.
c. A noun in the genitive case comes before its related noun. Mimika bau mame, leg’s eye, ankle; iwau makarĕ, belly’s band. Angadi mahare hehe, finger nail; māū hehe, toe nail; mirimoi ipa, nose hole, nostril; ihani ipa, hole in ear lobe; ămore eme, bow’s rattan, bowstring.
d. The subject precedes the verb. Angadi jăū hinau-mara, sun rises (?), morning; jăū emapojemia, sun sets (?), evening.
d. The subject comes before the verb. Angadi jăū hinau-mara, the sun rises (?), in the morning; jăū emapojemia, the sun sets (?), in the evening.
e. The object also precedes the verb. Angadi ihani aimeri, ear pierce; mirimoi aimeri, nose pierce.
e. The object comes before the verb. Angadi ihani aimeri, ear pierce; mirimoi aimeri, nose pierce.
These five points indicate a Papuan structure of the languages.
These five points show a Papuan structure of the languages.
6. Comparison with Merauke and the Languages of British New Guinea West of the Fly River.
6. Comparison with Merauke and the Languages of British New Guinea West of the Fly River.
The Papuan languages usually show so few agreements in vocabulary that the likeness of words, unless frequent, cannot be held to establish relationship. In the comparative vocabulary, words and numerals are added from the languages on British Territory.39 These show a few likenesses, which may, however, be accidental.
The Papuan languages generally show so few similarities in vocabulary that unless the resemblance of words is common, it can't be used to prove a relationship. In the comparative vocabulary, words and numbers are included from the languages in British Territory.39 These show a few similarities, which may be coincidental.
Arm. Mimika to, Dungerwab tond, Dabu tang, Miriam tag, Kiwai tu
Arm. Mimika to, Dungerwab tond, Dabu tang, Miriam tag, Kiwai tu
Arrow. Mimika tiari, Kiwai tere.
Arrow. Mimika tiari, Kiwai tere.
Arrow barb. Mimika imari, Kiwai were.
Arrow barb. Mimika imari, Kiwai were.
Basket. Mimika temone, Kunini diba, Jibu dimba, Mimika eta, Kiwai sito, Mowata hito.
Basket. Mimika temone, Kunini diba, Jibu dimba, Mimika eta, Kiwai sito, Mowata hito.
Bird. Mimika pateru, Bugi pa (?), Dabu papa (?).
Bird. Mimika pateru, Bugi pa (?), Dabu papa (?).
Earth. Mimika tiri, Bangu tiritari.
Earth. Mimika tiri, Bangu tiritari.
Eat. Mimika namuka, Bangu jamukwa.
Eat. Mimika namuka, Bangu jamukwa.
Elbow. Mimika to-mame, Mowata tu-pape.
Elbow. Mimika to-mame, Mowata tu-pape.
Fire. Mimika uta, Miriam ur.
Fire. Mimika sings, Miriam plays.
Forehead. Mimika metar(re), Bangu mithago, Miriam mat.
Forehead. Mimika metar(re), Bangu mithago, Miriam mat.
Head. Mimika kapane, Bangu kambu.
Head. Mimika kapane, Bangu kambu.
Iron. Mimika tau, Dungerwab tod.
Iron. Mimika tau, Dungerwab tod.
Nose. Mimika birim, Dabu murung, Saibai, Miriam pit.
Nose. Mimika birim, Dabu murung, Saibai, Miriam pit.
Pig. Mimika ap, Meranke sapi.
Pig. Mimika ap, Meranke sapi.
Rat. Mimika kemako, Bugi makata, Saibai makas, Miriam mokeis.
Rat. Mimika kemako, Bugi makata, Saibai makas, Miriam mokeis.
Shore. Mimika tiri, Dungerwab tredre.
Shore. Mimika tiri, Dungerwab tredre.
Sleep. Mimika ete, Bangu ete-betha, Dungerwab eda-bel, Miriam ut-eid.
Sleep. Mimika ete, Bangu ete-betha, Dungerwab eda-bel, Miriam ut-eid.
Tree. Mimika uti, Kiwai ota.
Tree. Mimika uti, Kiwai ota.
IV. MALAYAN INFLUENCE ON THE SOUTH COAST OF NETHERLANDS NEW GUINEA.
In a discussion of the languages of the south-eastern shores of Netherlands New Guinea, the extent of Malay influence in that region must be taken into account. Mr. William Churchill has lately put forward a theory that the Polynesian people entered the Pacific not only by coasting along the northern shores of New Guinea to the Solomon Group, but also by a passage through Torres Straits, and thence along the south-eastern coast of British New Guinea to the New Hebrides.40 On tracing the languages westward from Polynesia, it is an indisputable fact that many words which are identical with Polynesian are found in use along the shores of British New Guinea, though they are not used in a Polynesian syntax, or in the simplified forms usual in the Eastern tongues. It is also a fact that many of these same words are current also in the western islands of Indonesia. For example, hua, fruit; ina, mother; lala, blood; lau, leaf; au, I; ruma, house; inu, drink; utu, louse; tohu, sugar 332cane, and many other words are identical in the south-east of British New Guinea and in Ceram. But in British New Guinea the languages which show likeness to Polynesian end abruptly at Cape Possession, and are not found west of that point.41 Hence it becomes important to inquire how far the similar tongues of Amboyna and Ceram have influenced the New Guinea languages to the east of them. That there is such an influence is plain from the vocabularies of the languages. Indonesian words, such as the Onin (10) kayu, wood; tanigan, ear; nifan, tooth; fenu, turtle; mani, bird; afi, fire, are of common occurrence in the islands of the Arafura Sea, and on the coast of the mainland. But these words are more common in the west, and gradually disappear towards Torres Straits, and are not found beyond. In Rosenberg’s Karufa list (12) we find such characteristically Indonesian words as ulu, hair; mata, eye; uhru, mouth; taruya, ear; nima, hand; ora, sun; uran, moon; niyu, coconut. Words of this kind are found also in Lobo (10) and Namatote (13), as, for example, wuran, moon; labi, fire; nima, hand; nena, mother; rara, blood; metan, black; tobu, sugar cane; wosa, paddle; matoran, sit; mariri, stand. Some of these words seem to have passed into Utanata (10) and Lakahia (13), and apparently, though not so freely, into Wuaussirau (13), Mairassis (10), and Mimika (14). The Kiruru vocabulary of Maclay does not appear to show any words of this kind. The following are examples of Indonesian or Ceram words in the Utanata-Mimika group of languages.
In discussing the languages of the southeastern shores of Netherlands New Guinea, the influence of Malay in that area has to be considered. Mr. William Churchill has recently proposed a theory that the Polynesian people entered the Pacific not only by traveling along the northern shores of New Guinea to the Solomon Islands but also by a route through Torres Straits, and then down the southeast coast of British New Guinea to the New Hebrides.40 It is clear that when studying the languages moving westward from Polynesia, many words that are the same as Polynesian terms are found along the shores of British New Guinea, although they’re not used in Polynesian sentence structure or in the simplified forms common in the Eastern languages. Furthermore, many of these same words are also found in the western islands of Indonesia. For instance, hua, fruit; ina, mother; lala, blood; lau, leaf; au, I; ruma, house; inu, drink; utu, louse; tohu, sugar cane, and many other words are identical in the southeast of British New Guinea and in Ceram. However, in British New Guinea, the languages that resemble Polynesian stop abruptly at Cape Possession and are not found west of that point.41 Therefore, it is important to explore the extent to which the similar languages of Amboyna and Ceram have impacted the New Guinea languages to the east. It is evident from the vocabularies that there is such an influence. Indonesian words, such as the Onin (10) kayu, wood; tanigan, ear; nifan, tooth; fenu, turtle; mani, bird; afi, fire, frequently appear in the islands of the Arafura Sea and along the mainland coast. But these words are more prevalent in the west and gradually fade away towards Torres Straits, and are not found beyond that. In Rosenberg’s Karufa list (12), we come across distinctly Indonesian words like ulu, hair; mata, eye; uhru, mouth; taruya, ear; nima, hand; ora, sun; uran, moon; niyu, coconut. Such words can also be found in Lobo (10) and Namatote (13), for example, wuran, moon; labi, fire; nima, hand; nena, mother; rara, blood; metan, black; tobu, sugar cane; wosa, paddle; matoran, sit; mariri, stand. Some of these words seem to have entered Utanata (10) and Lakahia (13), and, although not as extensively, into Wuaussirau (13), Mairassis (10), and Mimika (14). The Kiruru vocabulary of Maclay does not seem to contain any words of this type. Below are examples of Indonesian or Ceram words in the Utanata-Mimika language group.
Utanata uran, Lakahia bura, Mairassis furan, Mimika pura, Ceram wulana, moon. The Angadi has also pura.
Utanata uran, Lakahia bura, Mairassis furan, Mimika pura, Ceram wulana, moon. The Angadi has also pura.
Lakahia bugura, Wuaussirau wara, Mimika pukare, Ceram uhara, mountain. Utanata has pamogo.
Lakahia bugura, Wuaussirau wara, Mimika pukare, Ceram uhara, mountain. Utanata has pamogo.
Utanata pō, Lakahia boa, Mimika poh, Ceram wosa, paddle.
Utanata pō, Lakahia boa, Mimika poh, Ceram wosa, paddle.
Utanata kai, Ceram kai, wood. For this the Mimika is uti.
Utanata and, Ceram and, wood. For this, the Mimika is uti.
A word of much interest in this region is turika 333or turi. This is given by Muller in his Ceram list as turika, knife, in Lobo turi, Onin tuni. Maclay gives the Ceram (Keffing) as turito, Namatote and Wuaussirau turi, also for “knife.” The word does not appear in Angadi or in the list of Ekris (19). Though not apparently used in Merauke turik has travelled eastward as far as Torres Straits and the Fly River, and even to the borders of the Papuan Gulf. Thus Bangu turik, Dabu turikata, Sisiami (Bamu R.) turuko, and Tirio turuko mean “knife” (i.e. iron knife). In Bugi, Saibai, Mowata and Kiwai, turika and in Murray Island tulik mean “iron.”42
A word that's often used in this area is turika 333 or turi. Muller lists it as turika, meaning knife, in Lobo turi, Onin tuni. Maclay notes that in Ceram (Keffing) it's referred to as turito, and in Namatote and Wuaussirau as turi, also meaning “knife.” The word doesn't show up in Angadi or in Ekris's list (19). Although it doesn’t seem to be used in Merauke, turik has spread eastward to Torres Straits and the Fly River, and even to the edges of the Papuan Gulf. So, in Bangu turik, Dabu turikata, Sisiami (Bamu R.) turuko, and Tirio turuko all refer to “knife” (i.e. iron knife). In Bugi, Saibai, Mowata, and Kiwai, turika and in Murray Island tulik mean “iron.”42
Dr. N. Adriani has pointed out some words adopted from Malay in Merauke and also some apparent agreements between that language and Indonesian languages generally,43 but there is no evidence of any language from Ceram having passed through the Torres Straits. Agreements between the Merauke and Papuan languages to the east are also pointed out by Dr. Adriani44 but these are no evidence of the passage of a Polynesian fleet, as they are not Polynesian words, and the languages using them have no Polynesian syntax. Mr. Churchill’s theory of the Polynesian entry into the Pacific by way of Torres Straits cannot therefore be maintained.
Dr. N. Adriani has noted some words borrowed from Malay in Merauke and also some noticeable similarities between that language and Indonesian languages in general,43 but there’s no proof that any language from Ceram made its way through the Torres Straits. Dr. Adriani44 also highlights similarities between the Merauke and Papuan languages to the east, but these do not indicate the arrival of a Polynesian fleet, as they are not Polynesian words, and the languages that use them lack Polynesian syntax. As a result, Mr. Churchill’s theory of Polynesian migration into the Pacific via the Torres Straits cannot be upheld.
V. A COMPARATIVE VOCABULARY OF LANGUAGES IN THE NORTH EAST AND SOUTH EAST OF NETHERLANDS NEW GUINEA AND OF BRITISH NEW GUINEA WEST OF THE FLY RIVER.
The following vocabulary is arranged strictly in Geographical order. The North Eastern Languages follow from East to West, from Seka to Manikion, and 334the South Eastern from Onin to the Boundary and thence along the South Coast of British Territory to the Western or Right Bank of the Fly River.
The following vocabulary is arranged strictly in geographical order. The North Eastern languages go from East to West, from Seka to Manikion, and 334 the South Eastern languages go from Onin to the Boundary and then along the South Coast of British territory to the Western or Right Bank of the Fly River.
1. Seka. P. E. Moolenburg. Tijd. v. Indische Taal xlvii. 1904.
1. Seka. P. E. Moolenburg. Time. v. Indonesian Language xlvii. 1904.
2. Jotafa [and Sentani in ( )]. G. L. Bink in ibid. xlv. 1902.
2. Jotafa [and Sentani in ( )]. G. L. Bink in the same source. xlv. 1902.
3. Sentani. P. E. Moolenburg. Bijdragen. t.d. Taal. Ned Indië (7) v. 1906.
3. Sentani. P. E. Moolenburg. Contributions. Journal. Dutch East Indies (7) vol. 1906.
4. Tanah Merah, Tarfia, Takar, Jamna, Masimasi, Moar (i.e. Wakde) and Kumamba. G. G. Batten. Glimpses of the Eastern Archipelago, 1894.
4. Tanah Merah, Tarfia, Takar, Jamna, Masimasi, Moar (i.e. Wakde) and Kumamba. G. G. Batten. Glimpses of the Eastern Archipelago, 1894.
5. Arimoa. A. B. Meyer. Über die Mafoor’sche, 1874.
5. Arimoa. A. B. Meyer. About the Mafoor’sche, 1874.
6. Pauwi. P. J. B. C. Robidé v. d. Aa. “Reisen van Braam Morris.” Bijd. t.d. Taal. Ned. Indië. (4) x. 1885.
6. Pauwi. P. J. B. C. Robidé v. d. Aa. “Traveling with Braam Morris.” Supplement to the Language. Dutch East Indies. (4) x. 1885.
7. Wamberan, Waropin, Mohr, Tandia, Dasener, Jaur. Fabritius. Tijd. v. Indische Taal. iv. 1885.
7. Wamberan, Waropin, Mohr, Tandia, Dasener, Jaur. Fabritius. Tijd. v. Indische Taal. iv. 1885.
8. Angadi, Goreda, Nagramadu, Manikion. G. A. J. v. d. Sande in “Nova Guinea.” Vol. III. 1907.
8. Angadi, Goreda, Nagramadu, Manikion. G. A. J. v. d. Sande in “Nova Guinea.” Vol. III. 1907.
9. Wandammen. G. L. Bink. Tijd. v. Indische Taal. xxxiv. 1891.
9. Wandammen. G. L. Bink. Time. Journal of the Indian Language. xxxiv. 1891.
10. Onin, Lobo, Mairassis, Utanata. S. Muller. Reisen, 1857.
10. Onin, Lobo, Mairassis, Utanata. S. Muller. Reisen, 1857.
11. Kapaur. C. J. F. le Cocq d’Armandville. Tijd. v. Indische Taal. xlvi. 1903.
11. Kapaur. C. J. F. le Cocq d’Armandville. Tijd. v. Indische Taal. xlvi. 1903.
12. Karufa. H. v. Rosenberg. Der Malayische Archipel. 1878.
12. Karufa. H. v. Rosenberg. The Malay Archipelago. 1878.
13. Namatote, Wuaussirau, Lakahia, Kiruru. N. v. Miklucho Maclay. Tijd. v. Indische Taal. xxiii. 1876.
13. Namatote, Wuaussirau, Lakahia, Kiruru. N. v. Miklucho Maclay. Tijd. v. Indische Taal. xxiii. 1876.
14. Mimika. MS. Dr. A. F. R. Wollaston.
14. Mimika. MS. Dr. A. F. R. Wollaston.
15. Merauke. J. Seijne Kok. Verband. v. h. Batav. Genootsch. v. Kunsten lvi. 1906.
15. Merauke. J. Seijne Kok. Association. v. h. Batav. Society for the Arts lvi. 1906.
16. Bangu, Bugi, Dabu, Mowata, Kunini, Jibu, Tagota. Reports of Cambridge Anthropological Expedition. Vol. III. 1907.
16. Bangu, Bugi, Dabu, Mowata, Kunini, Jibu, Tagota. Reports of Cambridge Anthropological Expedition. Vol. III. 1907.
17. Parb, Saibai, Kiwai, and Tirio. MSS. S. H. Ray.
17. Parb, Saibai, Kiwai, and Tirio. MSS. S. H. Ray.
18. Nufor. J. L. v. Hasselt. Hollandsch. Noefoorsch Woordenboek, 1876.
18. Nufor. J. L. v. Hasselt. Dutch. Noefoorsch Dictionary, 1876.
19. Ceram. A. v. Ekris. Woordenlijst v. Ambonsche Eilanden. Mededeel. v. h. Ned. Zendings Genoots, viii. 1864-65.
19. Ceram. A. v. Ekris. Word List of the Ambon Islands. Report of the Dutch Mission Society, viii. 1864-65.
20. Tuburuasa, Karas. (Islands between Ceram and Onin.) P. J. B. C. Robidé v. d. Aa. Reisen naar Ned. Nieuw-Guinea, 1879.
20. Tuburuasa, Karas. (Islands between Ceram and Onin.) P. J. B. C. Robidé v. d. Aa. Travels to Dutch New Guinea, 1879.
COMPARATIVE VOCABULARY.
| Man. Man. | Woman. Vrouw. | Head. Hoofd. | Eye. Oog. | Ear. Oor. | |
| Seka | ... | ... | subi | rutja | re |
| Jotafa | tante | moi | rabunadu | windu | tĕni |
| Sentani | doh | mī | farem, (panem | yŏrå, (yeroh | anggei, (angei |
| Arimoa | kabun (white | ... | dabro | masamana | seroro |
| Pauwi | maomba | nedba | ... | kikia | knĭperemba |
| Angadi | were | kauwă | rupau | măme | ihani |
| Nagramadu | ... | ... | yabimă | ... | ehăra |
| Wandammen | mua | babien | rupai | rĕne | tatelajau |
| Onin | marara | matapais | onimpatin | matapatin | tanigan |
| Kapaur | neméhār | tombŏhār | kenda | kendep | per |
| Karufa | mutangki | maisoida | umuh | mata | taringa |
| Namatote | murwana | merwine | umu | matatungu | zingangu |
| Lobo | marowana | mawina | monongo, umun | matalongo | tringango |
| Mairassis | fatakowa | ewei | nanguwu | nambutu | newirana |
| Wuaussirau | taturobu | ewei | kotera | obiatu | obiru |
| Lakahia | odacira | yama | uwua | managa | yawana |
| Kiruru | ... | ... | ... | ... | yawatsha |
| Utanata | marowana | kuranī | upauw | mameh | ianī |
| Mimika | uweri | kaukwa, aina | kapane | mame | ene |
| Merauke | amnangga | bubtī, savĕ, īsus(?) iwogĕ | pa | kīndĕ | kambīt |
| Bangu | ... | ... | kambu | ti | taroba, tarup |
| Parb | ar | temarb | mor | taramb | tongal |
| Bugi | la | mala | beneqet | kalye | laandra |
| Dabu | rabu | mure | bunkut | ikapa | ran, ika |
| Saibai | garakazi | ipökazi | kuikö | dan, purka | kaura |
| Mowata | auana | orobo | epuru | damari | hepate, gare |
| Kunini | binam, ima | magebi, ule | mope | ireu | tablame |
| Jibu | vientete, rega | konga | mopu | yere | yekrom |
| Kiwai | dubu | orobo | epuru | damari | sepate, gare |
| Tirio | amiami | kinasu | yapuru | pariti | pamata |
| Tagota | ... | moream | kana | pari | tuap |
| Nufōr | snun | bien | rewuri | mgasi | knasi |
| Ceram | malona, mandai, makwai, manawal | mahina, bina, leuto pepina | uru, ulu | mata, maa | tarina, talina |
| Tuburuasa | maruana | mapata | unīn | matanpuon | taningan |
| Karas | kianam | paas | nakalun | kangiri | kulokeim |
| Nose. Neus. | Tongue. Tong. | Tooth. Tand. | Hand. Hand. | Sun. Zon. | |
| Seka | hā | ... | ... | na (nabērā, arm) | ... |
| Jotafa | su | meriki | ñoh | tibimi | tap |
| Sentani | yoi | fēuw | je, (tje | megeragera, (posadi | su |
| Arimoa | sirino | mataro | umata | ... | ... |
| Pauwi | kimparia | kimsiba | kabrua | kibawia (arm) | tebia |
| Angadi | mirimoi | mere | titi | mahare | yăū |
| Nagramadu | ... | yămănărai | si | ... | ... |
| Wandammen | swŏnê | taperê | derĕnesi | waraba | wor |
| Onin | wirin | eri | nifan | nemien | rera |
| Kapaur | kănomba, kănunga | gengabu | mĕhien-tāb | tān | kĕmina |
| Karufa | sikai | ... | ... | nimang-uta | ohra |
| Namatote | iyaongu | yaeiyongu | zwiutiongu | siŭsiongu | oro-matawuti |
| Lobo | sikaiongo | kariongo | ruwotongo | nimango-uta | orah |
| Mairassis | nambi | nenegun | sika | okorwita | onguru |
| Wuaussirau | ombi | onsabi | oras | uadu | unguru |
| Lakahia | onoma | mara | ifa | esurua | aya |
| Kiruru | unuga | ... | uru | ... | yauburawa |
| Utanata | birimbu | mare | titi | mareh | dyauw |
| Mimika | bīrim | malī | titi | marĕ | yau |
| Merauke | anggīp | unum | manggat | sangga | katŏnī |
| Bangu | ... | thamina | ter | tambia | epotha |
| Parb | mebele | penji | tol | tond | abiard |
| Bugi | wede | dangamai | lenge | trang-qab | yabada |
| Dabu | murung | dogmar | ngui, ngoia | tang-kor | yabada |
| Saibai | piti | nöi | dang | get | goiga |
| Mowata | wodi | watotorope | ibuanara | tu-pata (palm) | iwio |
| Kunini | keke | weta | giriu | imwe | bimu |
| Jibu | soku | vrate | orkak | yema | loma |
| Kiwai | wodi | wototorope | iawa | tu-pata (palm) | sai |
| Tirio | norose | ima | sū | tikiri | uainea |
| Tagota | miu | uo | kam | ... | dari |
| Nufōr | snŏri | kaprēndi | nasi | rwasi | ori |
| Ceram | hiru, inu, ninu, ili | mei, mē, mā | niki, niri, nityi, nio | rima, lima, barau | rematai, leamatai, leamanyo, deamatae |
| Tuburuasa | nirīng | kwēri | ... | tangan | nera |
| Karas | bustang | belein | ... | taan | ïōn |
| Moon. Maan. | Star. Ster. | Rain. Regen. | Stone. Steen. | Fire. Vuur. | |
| Seka | ... | ... | ... | ... | ... |
| Jotafa | sembi | endor | tāb | āt | aijări |
| Sentani | ara, (aroh | ... | (ya | tuga, (duwa | ī |
| Arimoa | ... | ... | ... | fati | ... |
| Pauwi | ... | ... | ... | ... | ... |
| Angadi | pură | ... | kehe | ... | ută-mai |
| Nagramadu | ... | ... | emoya | ... | uhă |
| Wandammen | sembai | siberere | rama | rebuki | adia, adyat |
| Onin | punono | apatin-no-farere | unano | pāti | api |
| Kapaur | koba, keba, kabah | mbāb | kĕri | wār | tōm |
| Karufa | uran | ŏma | kama | langerah | lawi |
| Namatote | wuran | omoma | omo | ... | labi |
| Lobo | furan | komakoma | komah | ... | lawi |
| Mairassis | furan | waniwani | yamo | ... | iworo |
| Wuaussirau | angane | onburi | yamu | ... | iworo |
| Lakahia | bura | mawena | gefa | ... | ŭsia |
| Kiruru | ... | imaru | kē | ... | uta |
| Utanata | uran | ... | koma | ... | uta |
| Mimika | pura | mako | ke | omanī | uta |
| Merauke | mandau | ovom, uvum | heĕ | katarĕ | takavĕ |
| Bangu | ... | ... | narunjar | tan | meni |
| Parb | tugiu | ... | nou | ... | pend |
| Bugi | kak | qatai | yugula | dader | iu |
| Dabu | qar, qak | piro | igurai | dadar | yu, dumbrel |
| Saibai | mulpal, kizai | titui | ari | kula | mui |
| Mowata | ganume | zogubo | wiari | nora-api | era |
| Kunini | mabie | wale | ngupe | magezuli | muie |
| Jibu | mobi | guje | piro | nora | para |
| Kiwai | sagana | gugi | mauburo, wisai | kuraere | era |
| Tirio | korame | apapa | iōuko | kuma | suze |
| Tagota | mano | durupa | ... | tamaga | jau |
| Nufōr | paik | ătaruwa, samfari | mĕkem, | kĕru | fōr |
| Ceram | huran, ulano, buran | marit, kolomali, kamali, umalio | uran, ulan, kial | hatu, batu | hau, au |
| Tuburuasa | puna | finma | unang | pati | lawi |
| Karas | pak | masseer | kekal | jaar | dien |
| Water. Water. | Pig. Varken. | Fish. Visch. | Coconut. Kokos-noot. | House. Huis. | |
| Seka | ... | ... | ... | ... | pā |
| Jotafa | nanu | por | igeh | nīno | duma |
| Sentani | bu | (yoku | ka | koh | ime |
| Arimoa | dano | ... | ... | niwi | ... |
| Pauwi | memba | ... | ... | ... | hŭsia |
| Angadi | mi | ŏhŏ | ireă | utiri | kãme |
| Nagramadu | ... | ŏhă | ... | măgrabe | ya |
| Wandammen | kambu | pisai | diya | ankadi | anio |
| Onin | weari | papio | sairi | ruroh | rumaso |
| Kapaur | kĕra | ndur, kalapaji, măma | heir | no’ur | wuri |
| Karufa | ualar | ... | dohndi | niyu | tsaring |
| Namatote | wălar | boi | dondi | niu (?) | sarin |
| Lobo | walar | bōi | donde | niu | sarin |
| Mairassis | wata | bemba | kuratu | owah | watara |
| Wuaussirau | kai | wembe | kuratu | obo | wata |
| Lakahia | mura | ufa | nema | wuina | yafa |
| Kiruru | mi | ... | ... | ... | ... |
| Utanata | warari | uh | erika | uteri | kami |
| Mimika | mbi, mbu | u, api | irĕka | utēri | kamĕ |
| Merauke | daka | basikĕ | pararĕ, parara | misĕ, onggat, wīmap | sava, aha |
| Bangu | tauqar | rougu | thaua | nangar | boot, munka |
| Parb | nou | kimb | angur | argh, kwogh, keu | mongo |
| Bugi | ngi | simbel | galba | nge | māē |
| Dabu | ine | mule,chimela, sasa | pudi | ngoi, guvi | ma |
| Saibai | nguki | burum | wapi | urab | mud |
| Mowata | obo | boromo | arimina | oi | moto |
| Kunini | nīe | blome | ibu | ia | mete |
| Jibu | nia | woroma | waji | u | meta |
| Kiwai | obo | boromo | irisina | oi | moto |
| Tirio | opa | sepera | kopoma | sapu-mutira | turie |
| Tagota | mauka | minao | ... | ... | ... |
| Nufōr | wār | beyen | iyen | srabon | rum |
| Ceram | waer, wael, kwael | hahu, apal | ian, iano | niwer, niwel, nimel, nikwel, noolo | ruma, luma |
| Tuburuasa | wêre | ... | se | ... | kapalla |
| Karas | pere | ... | soor | ... | kawe |
COMPARATIVE VOCABULARY, NUMERALS.
| One. Een. | Two. Twee. | Three. Drie. | Four. Vier. | ||
| Seka | ahi (ari?) | hitjun | hetun | nabu | |
| Jotafa | the | ros | for | au | |
| Sentani | imbai | be | name | gŭri | |
| Tana Merah | ogosarai | saibona | ondoafi | soronto | |
| Tarfia | tukse | arho | tor | fauk | |
| Takar | afateni | nawa | nawa-jengki | nawa-nawa | |
| Jamna | tes | ru | tau | fau | |
| Masimasi | kīs | ru | tou | fo | |
| Moar | hibeti | ru | tou | fau | |
| Kumamba | tès | lu | taur | fau | |
| Pauwi | pa-sari | pa-ri | pa-rosi | pa-rasi | |
| Wamberan | tenama | bisa | ... | ... | |
| Waropin | wo-sio | wo-ruo | wo-ro | wo-ako | |
| Mohr | tata | ruru | oro | ao | |
| Angadi | janăūwă | jăminatia | jaminati-janăūwă | awaitămă-jaminatia | |
| Goreda | unakwa | jămanini | ... | ... | |
| Nagramadu | nadi | ăbåmă | ăbåmă-nadi | ăbåmŏ-båmŏ | |
| Tandia | nei | rusi | turusi | attesi | |
| Dasener | joser | suru | toru | ati | |
| Jaur | rebe | redu | reü | rea | |
| Wandammen | siri | mondu | tŏru | atê | |
| Manikion | hom | hŏai | homoi | hŏku | |
| Onin | sa | nuwa | teni | fāt | |
| Kapauer | hĕre-wo | hĕre-rīk | hĕre-terī | hère-ngara | |
| Karufa | simoksi | rueiti | tohru | bahdi | |
| Namatote | samosi | rueiti | toru | fāt | |
| Lobo | samosi | rueti | tuwru | fāt | |
| Mairassis | tangauw | amōi | karia | āi | |
| Wuaussirau | anau | amoi | karia | aiwera | |
| Lakahia | onarawa | aboma | torua | fāt | |
| Mimika | inakwa | yamani | yamani-īnakwa | ama-yamani | |
| Merauke | zakod | iena | iena-zakod | iena-iena | |
| Bangu | nambu, nambi | yethombi, kethembi | yetho | asar | |
| Parb | ambiur | tumbi | lambi | tutubiar | |
| Bugi | tarangesa | metakina | gingi-metakina | topea | |
| Dabu | tupi-dibi | kumi-rivi | kumi-reriga | kumi-rivi-kumi-rivi | |
| Saibai | wara, urapon | uka, ukasar | uka-modobigal | uka-uka | |
| Mowata | nau | netoa | ... | ... | |
| Kunini | iepa | neneni | nesae | neneni-neneni | |
| Jibu | yepa | kuraiepa (finger) | kuraiepa | kuraiepa | |
| Kiwai | nau | netewa | netewa-nau | netewa-netewa | |
| Tirio | oroka | miseka | misorako | miseka-miseka | |
| Tagota | uradaga | mitiga | nan | mitiga-mitiga | |
| Nufōr | sai, ŏsēr | dui, suru | kior | fiak | |
| Ceram | isa, sā | rua, lua, dua, roti | teru, telu, tolu, toru | haa, hata, ata, fāt |
| Five. Vijf. | Six. Zes. | Ten. Tien. | Twenty. Twintig. | |
| Seka | naplan | naplahi | amplahari | amplanaplan |
| Jotafa | mimiām | măndŏsīm | ronduminarōs | manisayām |
| Sentani | mehembai | mehinimbai | mehinmehembai | megohri |
| Tana Merah | ogosarai | demean | ... | ... |
| Tarfia | rim | mana-tuksi | mafarufaru | ... |
| Takar | nawa-nawa-jengki | ... | ... | ... |
| Jamna | jim, rim | ... | sinafui | ... |
| Masimasi | rim | ... | sanafu | ... |
| Moar | rim | ... | ... | ... |
| Kumamba | lim | ... | sanafun | ... |
| Pauwi | pa-rinisi | ponensi | putaonsi | ... |
| Wamberan | ... | ... | ... | ... |
| Waropin | rimo | ... | ... | ... |
| Mohr | rimo | ... | ... | ... |
| Angadi | măhărè-ajăhe-rauri | măhărè-jană-ūwă | măhăre-jămi-natia | ... |
| Goreda | mahère-hèrori | ... | tăóru | ... |
| Nagramadu | măma-riba | mariba-nadi | măma-răbåmă | ... |
| Tandia | marasi | ... | ... | ... |
| Dasener | rimbi | ... | ... | ... |
| Jaur | breiare | ... | ... | ... |
| Wandammen | rīm | rīmi-siri | sura | snun-tupesi |
| Manikion | sirkem | ... | ... | ... |
| Onin | nima | nem | pusua | puti-nuwa |
| Kapauer | hĕre-tembu | here-tembu-here-wo | pra’a | to mdijowo |
| Karufa | rimi | rom-simoksi | putja | siúmput-rueiti |
| Namatote | rim | rim-samoti | futsa | ombutueti |
| Lobo | rimi | rim-samosi | wutsya | sekumat-rueti |
| Mairassis | iworo | iwora-mōi (? 7) | werowa-moi | yauw-nat-makia |
| Wuaussirau | iworo | iwor-tanau | iwor-toki-tani | toki-amoi |
| Lakahia | rim | rim-onarawa | ... | ... |
| Mimika | ... | ... | ... | ... |
| Merauke | iena-iena-zakod | ... | ... | ... |
| Bangu | tambothoi | nimbo | ... | ... |
| Parb | tumbi-tumbi-yambia | ... | ... | ... |
| Bugi | manda | gaben | dala | ... |
| Dabu | tumu | ... | ... | ... |
| Saibai | ... | ... | ... | ... |
| Mowata | ... | ... | ... | ... |
| Kunini | imegube | matemate (wrist) | dare (breast) | ... |
| Jibu | kuraiepa | ribenda (wrist) | mua (breast) | ... |
| Kiwai | ... | ... | ... | ... |
| Tirio | miseka-miseka-oroka | ... | ... | ... |
| Tagota | uradaga (?) | moti-taba-nan | moti-tatan | ... |
| Nufōr | rīm | onem | samfur | samfur-di-suru |
| Ceram | rima, lima, dima | nē, nena, nō, onam | husane, husā, utsya | huturua |
LANGUAGE MAP
of the
Eastern Part of Netherlands New Guinea
Sidney H. Ray
LANGUAGE MAP
of the
Eastern Part of Netherlands New Guinea
Sidney H. Ray
LIST OF WORDS USED BY THE PAPUANS IN THE DISTRICT OF THE MIMIKA RIVER, S. W. DUTCH NEW GUINEA.
LIST OF WORDS USED BY THE PAPUANS IN THE DISTRICT OF THE MIMIKA RIVER, S. W. DUTCH NEW GUINEA.
| Above | Opo | |
| Acid | { | Tite Imakemàn |
| Animal | Irĕka (also “fish” |
|
| Ankle | Bau-mámĕ | |
| Ant | Wámé | |
| Arm | { | To-marī To |
| Arm-band | Maka-rĕ | |
| Arrive | Mainaumà | |
| Arrow | Tīari | |
| (barb of) | Imari | |
| Atap | Wurī | |
| Axilla | Emmabu | |
| Back (of man) | Ata | |
| Bamboo | Búiti | |
| Banana | Kau | |
| (plantation of) | Kauti | |
| Band (of rattan worn round middle) | Iwau-mákarĕ | |
| Bandicoot | Púruga | |
| Bark (of tree) | Pīkī | |
| Basket | { | Temme |
| Eta | ||
| Beads | Kamburi | |
| Bean | Kawetī | |
| Beard | { | Keparise |
| Kepa bíri | ||
| Burídi | ||
| Pakúti | ||
| Bed (mat) | Kápiri | |
| Bee | Imoho | |
| Beetle | Buruta | |
| Belch | Mbau | |
| Belly | Iwau | |
| Big | { | Atwa |
| Iwáko | ||
| Bird | { | Páteru |
| Páturu | ||
| (of Paradise | { | Yamuku |
| Yau | ||
| Bitter | { | Tite |
| Imakemàn | ||
| Black | Ikako | |
| Blood | Maréte | |
| Blunt | Yamenà | |
| Boat | Ku | |
| Bodice (of woven fibre) | Paitĕ | |
| Body | Nata | |
| Bottle | Kárepa | |
| Bow | Amúri | |
| Bow-string | Kima | |
| Breast (of woman) | Auwĕ | |
| (of man) | Pītī | |
| Breathe | Túa | |
| Broken | Táka | |
| Butterfly | Wīrī | |
| Buttock | Atabú | |
| Calf (of leg) | Ewambugu | |
| Canoe | Ku | |
| Cap (worn by widows) | Ubauta | |
| Carve (to) | Maramu | |
| Cassowary | Tu | |
| Centipede | Arowī | |
| Coconut | Utēri | |
| Cheek | Awár(re) | |
| Child | Aidru | |
| Chin | Kepáre | |
| Cicada | Wéako | |
| Cloth | Pīkī | |
| Club | Moánne | |
| Clouds | Apu | |
| Cockatoo | Pukī | |
| Cold | Yu | |
| Comb | Ta | |
| Copulate | Ipĕ | |
| Cough | Otah | |
| Crab | { | Peja |
| Epor(re) | ||
| Bī | ||
| Crayfish | Bĭ | |
| Crocodile | Tīmaku | |
| Cry (weep) | Mbágĕ | |
| Cut (to) | Embe | |
| Cuscus (Phalanger) | Apui | |
| Dance | Dirin-dirin | |
| Deep | Emúku | |
| Dog | Wīrī | |
| Drink | Tomagu | |
| Drum | Emmĕ | |
| Ear | Éne | |
| Ear-ring | Tīrawōnĕ | |
| Earth (sand) | Tīrī | |
| Eat | Namúka | |
| Eel | Mbatarúbia | |
| Egg | Tareté | |
| Elbow | To-mámé | |
| Exchange | Akóra | |
| Eye | Mámé | |
| Eyebrow | Mambīrī 344 | |
| Far | Awakopíre | |
| Fat | Atwa | |
| Feather | Idī | |
| Finger | Márĕ | |
| Finger-nail | Marē | |
| Fire | Utá | |
| (stick) | Utamau | |
| Fish | Irĕka | |
| Fly (insect) | Oboö | |
| Flying-fox | Iéa | |
| Foot | Bauwe | |
| Forehead | Métár(re) | |
| Ghost | Níniki | |
| Give | Kéma | |
| Grass | Umetir(re) | |
| Grasshopper | Atŏkŏ | |
| Green | Otopu | |
| Hair | Vīrī | |
| Hand | Marĕ | |
| He | Amárepa | |
| Head | Kapa-uĕ | |
| Heavy | Ikīti | |
| Heel | Mbautep(e) | |
| His | Amareta | |
| Hiccough | Urri | |
| Hornbill | Kumai | |
| Hornet | Imŏkŏ | |
| House | Kámĕ | |
| I | Doro | |
| Ill | Namúti | |
| Image (carved) | Betoro | |
| Iron | Tau | |
| Knee | Irību | |
| Lance | Uruna | |
| Laugh | Oko | |
| Leaf | E | |
| Leg | Atīrī | |
| Lightning | Marapiti | |
| Lips | Irī | |
| Little | Mimiti | |
| Lizard | Inamo | |
| Lizard (frilled) | Wago | |
| Loins | Yaïmi | |
| Man | Uweri | |
| Many | Tákiri | |
| Mat (of pandanus) | Au | |
| Melon | Anĕtĕ | |
| Mine | Dorota | |
| Moon | Pura | |
| Mosquito | Itjī | |
| Mountain | Púkare | |
| Mouth | Ba | |
| Moustache | Mbu-tīrĭ | |
| Navel | Boporĕ | |
| Neck | Ima | |
| New | Aigu | |
| Nod | Kiparu | |
| Nose | Bīrim | |
| (secretion of) | Bīndī | |
| Old man of village | Natu | |
| One | Inakwa | |
| Orchid | Idarōnĕ | |
| Other | Awaida | |
| Other man | Wehwaida | |
| Other man’s | Wehwaidata | |
| Paddle | Poh | |
| Palate | Tībanne | |
| Papaya | Tĕnà | |
| Parrot | Akīma | |
| Pearl | Omab(e) | |
| Penis | Kamàrē | |
| (case) | Kamare-po(ko) | |
| Pig | { | U |
| Api | ||
| Pigeon | Parúa | |
| Pillow (wooden) | Yamate | |
| Pine-apple | Makadĕtĕ | |
| Prawn | Mbi | |
| Pumpkin | Nabru | |
| Python | Pīmī | |
| Rain | Ke | |
| Rainbow | Parakĕta | |
| Rapids | Kamáwa | |
| Rat | Kemako | |
| Rattan | Kima | |
| Red | Epĕró | |
| Ribs | Párĕrŏ | |
| Rice | Wátē | |
| Ripe | Pu | |
| River | Iuata | |
| Road (track) | Mako | |
| Rope | Temmà | |
| Sacrum | Wagamau(e) | |
| Sago | Amŏta | |
| (beater) | Wapúri | |
| Sago-bowl | Pámagu | |
| Sap | Namī | |
| Scorpion | Purumbaä | |
| Sea | Takarī | |
| Shallow | Taparī | |
| Sharp | Yánakŏ | |
| Shell | Parau | |
| Shell-fish | Uwo | |
| Shin | Imbīrī | |
| Shore | Tīrī | |
| Shoulder | Ta-rī | |
| Shoulder-blade | To-bābŭ | |
| Skin | Pīgerī | |
| 345Skull | Upau | |
| Sleep | Eté | |
| Snail | Tapoko | |
| Snake | Apako | |
| Sneeze | Yaiē | |
| Spear | Uruna | |
| (wooden) | Potaku | |
| Spit | Mbatau | |
| Star | Mako | |
| Steal | Otemu | |
| Stick (of club) | Wu | |
| Sting-ray | Kaū | |
| Stone | Omanī | |
| Suck | Au | |
| Sugar-cane | Mŏnī | |
| Sun | Yau | |
| Sweat | Papitī | |
| Sweet potato | Pamu | |
| Swim | Tīmago | |
| Tear (a) | Bágumbú | |
| Thigh | I | |
| Throat | Kīmárĭ | |
| Thumb | } | Ipau |
| Great Toe | ||
| Thunder | Uraki | |
| Tired | Toh | |
| Tobacco | Kapakī | |
| To-day | Wauwà | |
| Toes | Bauwē | |
| To-morrow | Kaúmuta | |
| Tongue | Malī | |
| Tooth | Tītī | |
| Tree | Uti | |
| Turtle | Mbiambu | |
| Two | Yamani | |
| Upset | Pīro | |
| Viper | Mágu | |
| Vomit | Mbau | |
| Water | Mbi | |
| Mbu | ||
| (make) | Gīgī | |
| Wet | Nata | |
| Whistle | Wiramogo | |
| White | Naputiàre | |
| Wind | Kīmīr(e) | |
| Woman | Kaukwa | |
| Aina | ||
| Wound | Natŭ | |
| Wrist | Marapŭmĕ | |
| Yawn | Mbápoh | |
| Yellow | Taier(re) | |
| You | Oro | |
| Your | Orota | |
INDEX
- A
- Acton, Lord, 2
- Albinos, 110
- Alcohol, 68
- Amberno River, 24
- Amboina, 14,257;
- Ambonese coolies, 50
-
Ambonese, dress of, 17;
- names of, 17
- Amok, 185
- Arafura Sea, 19, 35
- Arfak Mountains, 23
- Arrows, 151
- Aru Islands, 19
- Atap, method of making, 60
- Atuka River, 248
- Atjeh, 92
- B
- Balfour, H., 202
- Bali, 259
- Bamboo, throwing lime from, 219
- Banana, 17, 88
- Banda, 16, 19, 257
-
Batavia, 3;
- washing in, 9
- Bees, stingless honey-, 76
-
Beetles, as food, 124;
- larva of, 156
- Beri-beri, 66, 193
- Bird of Paradise, 74, 142, 159, 178, 227, 261
- Birds, collection of, 241
- Boat-builders, 225
- Boni, 14
- Bonnets of widows, 115
- Borneo, 21
- Boro-Boder, 11
- Botanic station at Merauke, 224
- Bougainville, de, 31
- Bows, 151
- Bridge, building a, 235
- British New Guinea, 22
- British Ornithologists’ Union, 1
- Brush Turkey, 76
- Buddhist Temples, 11
- Buitenzorg garden, 10
- Buleling, 258
- Butonese, 170
- Butterflies, 16
- C
-
Camp, health of, 58;
- repairing, 188
- Cannibalism, 127
- Canoes, 219;
- Carstensz, Mt., 23, 44, 181, 212
- Carstensz, Jan, 28, 221
- Cape York, 28, 32
- Carteret, Philip, 31
- Cassowaries, 200, 214
- Cassowary, 125, 241
- Casuarina trees, 42
- Cat’s cradle, 147
- Celebes, 14
- Celebes Trading Company, 20
- Ceram, 14
- Ceremonies, 131
- Charles Louis Mountains, 23, 35, 44
- Chief, 128
- Children, games of, 117
- Chinese, 17, 223, 225
- Christians at Amboina, 17
- 348 Cicatrisation, 112
-
Clothing of Dutch, 9;
- of natives, 113
- Clouds on mountains, 45
- Clubs, Dutch, 18;
- Coal, 241
-
Coast, description of, 42;
- navigation of, 249
- Coconuts, 98, 223
- Comet, Halley’s, 81
-
Convicts, 13, 93;
- madness of, 215
- Cook, Captain, 31, 219
- Coolies, 15, 170, 227;
- Corals, 16
- Counting, 104
- Cramer, H. A., 3, 13, 41, 46, 57, 92, 102, 231, 258
- Crickets, a plague of, 59
- Crocodiles, 75
- Crowned pigeon, 74
- Crows, pale, 77
-
Cultivation, 88;
- in Java, 5
- D
- Daggers of bone, 203
- d’Albertis, 33
- Dampier, Captain, 31, 123
-
Dancing, 143;
- houses, 143
- Darwin, Mt. Leonard, 239
- Dayaks, 172, 194;
- Dead, disposal of, 137-140
- Death, 136
- Digoel River, 24
- Disease, 205
- Djokjakarta, 11
- Dobo, 19, 257
- Dog, Papuan, 126
- Dorei, 22
- Drawing, 145
- Drowning of sailor, 170
- Drums, 141
-
Ducks, penguin, 11;
- perching in trees, 86
- Dugongs, 212
- Dumas, J. M., 212
- Dumas, Mr., 44
- Dutch, Government, 3, 257;
- E
- Earthquake at Amboina, 15
- Effigies, carved, 131
- Endeavour, voyage of, 31
- Escort, 3, 13
-
Expedition, members of, 2;
- leave Java, 13
- F
- Fak-fak, 224
- Families, 129
- Festival, 134
- Fiji, 24
- Fire, 152
- Fire-making, 200
- Fish, many coloured, 16
- Fishing-net, 120
-
Flies, a plague of, 58;
- on water, 76
- Flint knives, 200
- Flood, 132, 156, 173, 178, 189
- Flores, 24
- Flowers, 206, 242
- Fly River, 33, 42
- Food of natives, 119, 124
- Forbes, H. O., 33
- Forest, 242-245
- Fortnum and Mason, 68
- Frogmouth, 77
- G
- Garden at Amboina, 16
- Garoet, 11
- Geographical Society, Royal, 2
- German New Guinea, 22
- 349 Ghosts, 133
- Goa, Raja of, 14
- Godman, F. D., 1
- Godman, Mt., 239
- Goodfellow, W., 2, 142, 167, 170, 172, 195
- Grant, C. H. B., 194, 231, 241
- Grant, W. R. Ogilvie, 1
- Grey, Sir E., 2
- Guillemard, 38
- Gurkhas, 3, 156, 160, 171, 179, 194, 233
- H
- Habbema, Lieut., 169
- Half-castes, 6, 223
- Halley’s Comet, 81
- Head-rests, 152
- Herwerden, Captain, 13
- Hindu Temple, 259
- Hornbills, 86
- Houses of the natives, 96;
- Humboldt Bay, 33
- I
- Ibis, 1
- Iguanas, 75
- Intoxication of natives, 99
- Incense, smell of, 238
-
Island River, Dutch Expedition, 60;
- description of, 216
- Iwaka River, 231
- J
-
Java, prosperity of, 5;
- half-castes in, 6
- Javanese soldiers, 62
- Jew’s harp, 203
- Jungle, clearing the, 46
- K
- Kaiserin Augusta River, 24, 28
- Kalff, Mr. E., 227
- Kamura River, 175, 248
- Kapare River, 82
-
Ké Islands, 15, 51, 257;
- natives of, 225
- Kingfishers, 59
- Kloss, C. B., 253
- Kolff, 220
- Kris, abolition of, 7
- L
- Language, difficulty of, 103
- La Perouse, 32
- La Seyne, wreck of, 3
- Leeches, 177
- Le Maire, Jacques, 28
- Lombok, 258
- Lorentz, H. A., 2, 13, 33, 34, 169, 172, 241
- Lories, 75
- M
- Macassar, 14
- MacCluer Gulf, 42
- MacCluer, John, 32
- Macgregor, Sir W., 33
- Malays, 185;
- Mangrove, 42
- Marianne Strait, 220
- Marriage, 116
- Marshall, E. S., 2, 80, 82, 133, 175, 185, 231
- Medical treatment, 167
- Meek, Mr., 213
- Megapode, 77
- Meneses, Don Torge de, 27
- Merauke, 31, 37, 222;
- Mimika, first voyage on, 39;
- Mission at Dorei, 22
- Missions, 154
- Mosquitoes, 211, 223
- Motor-boat, 52, 173, 248
- 350 Murderer, 13, 186
- Music, 141
- N
-
Natives, trading with, 61;
- communicating with, 84, 102;
- dislike of rain, 84;
- migrations of, 95;
- language of, 102, Appendix C;
- description of, 109;
- height of, 112;
- clothing of, 113;
- age of, 115;
- food of, 119, 120;
- social system of, 128;
- property of, 129;
- music of, 141;
- dancing of, 143;
- as artists, 145;
- mock sorrow of, 247;
- quarrels of, 148;
- as marksmen, 151;
- health of, 153;
- as carriers, 158;
- our relations with, 163;
- as thieves, 165
- Naturalists, explorations by, 32
- New Guinea, position of, 21;
- Newton, Professor Alfred, 1
- Nias, 13, 35
- Nimé, dancing house at, 252
- Noord River, 2, 13, 33, 34
- Nouhuys, J. W. van, 169
- Numerals, 104
- O
- Obota, 83
- Ogilvie-Grant, W. R., 1
- P
- Palm, coconut, 98
- Pandanus, 10, 243
-
Papua, 22;
- meaning of, 25
-
Papuans, description of, 25, 109;
- behavior of, 37;
- dress of, 37, 113;
- apathy of, 38, 45;
- asleep, 39;
- dancing, 41, 143;
- as traders, 45;
- communicating with, 84;
- dislike of rain, 84;
- food of, 91;
- migrations of, 95;
- drink of, 99;
- language of, 102, Appendix C;
- height of, 112;
- age of, 115;
- social system of, 128;
- property of, 129;
- music of, 141;
- as artists, 145;
- quarrels of, 148;
- as marksmen, 151;
- health of, 153
- Paradise, bird of, 74, 142
-
Parimau, arrival at, 56, 155;
- departure from, 247
- Payment of natives, 163
- Peace-offering, 166
- Pearls, 20
- Pearl-shell, 20
- Penguin ducks, 11
- Periepia, 85
- Petroleum, 241
- Pickles, 68
- Pig, 125, 133-136
- Pigeons, crowned, 31, 74
- Pineapples, 101
- Plants, 231
- Plants at Buitenzorg, 10
- Ponies, 259
- Pool, Thomas, 30
- Port Moresby, natives of, 213
-
Portuguese, remains of, 17;
- navigators, 27
- Precipice, 239
- Prince Frederick Henry Island, 220
- Propeller, loss of, 250
- Provisions, storing of, 66;
- Pygmies, discovery of, 157;
- R
-
Races, mixture of, 6;
- harmony of, 19
- Raffles, Sir Stamford, 5, 10
- 351 Rain, 79
- Rattan, 243
- Rawling, C. G., 2, 82, 156, 174-5, 195, 219, 248
- Relationship, 105
- Reptiles, 168
- Retes, Ynigo Ortiz de, 27
-
Rice, 65;
- cultivation in Java, 5
- Rifle bird, 159
- Rijst-tafel, 7
- Rivers, branching, 83;
- Robinson, H. C., 194
- Roebuck, voyage of, 31
- Ruwenzori, 2, 238
- S
- Sago, 65, 89-92
- St. Nicholas, feast of, 6, 228
- Sandpiper, 86
- Sarawak, H. H. the Raja of, 253
- Sarong, 10
- Schouten Islands, 27
- Schouten, Willem, 28
- Screw-pines, 10, 243
- Sea, depth of, 19
- Sea-snakes, 215
-
Seasons, 79;
- wet, 192
- Shackleton Expedition, 67
- Sharks, fishing for, 46
- Shortridge, G. C., 2, 172, 194, 210
- Sickness, 171-192
- Sindanglaya, 11
- Skulls, preservation of, 139
- Smith, Stamford, 90
- Snakes, 167
- Snow Mountains, 1, 23, 33;
- Social system, 128
- Soldiers, native, 92
- Songs, 142
- Spanish navigators, 27
- Spears, 151
- Spices, Dutch monopoly of, 31
- Spiders, tameness of, 58
- Stalker, W., 2, 14, 51;
- Steam-launch, 52, 170
- Stone Age, 151
- Stone implements, 150
- Stones, gifts of, 87
- Sugar-palm, 99
- Sumbawa, 258
- Superstitions, 131
- Swift, Moustached, 241
- Swimming, 117
- T
- Tapiro (see Pygmies)
- Tasman, 30
- Tattooing, 112
- Tears, a welcome of, 41
- Temples at Boro-Boder, 11
-
Ternate, Sultan of, 22;
- traders of, 89
- Thunderstorms, 79, 132
- Tides of the river, 57
- Timura River, 251
- Tobacco, 38, 202;
- cultivation of, 88
- Torres, Luis Vaz de, 27
- Torres Strait, 32
- Tosari, 12
-
Track, used by natives, 176;
- cutting a, 183
- Trade goods, 63
- Transport, difficulty of, 52
- Travelling, difficult, 230
- Trees, 216, 243;
- Tuaba River, 175
- Tugeri, 23
- Tugeri tribe, 222
- U
- Utakwa, Dutch expedition to, 210
- Utakwa River, 4, 33, 210
- V
- Van der Bie, 212
- Vanilla, 159
- 352 Vegetation, 237
- View, a rare, 240
- Volcano, 15
- Volcanoes in Java, 5, 12
- W
- Wailing at death, 137
- Wakatimi, arrival at, 40;
- Wallaby, 125
- Wallace, A. R., 16, 20, 33, 38, 91, 244
- Wamberi Merbiri, 203
- Wania, excursion to, 249
- Wania River, 236, 239, 249
- Wataikwa, 231
- Wataikwa River, 175
-
Water, lack of, 237;
- squeezed from moss, 238
- Water-lilies, 10
- Weather, 79
- Wilhelmina, Mt., 23, 45, 169, 220
- Wives, number of, 116
- Women, 148;
PART OF
DUTCH NEW GUINEA
drawn by
Captain. C. G. Rawling, C.I.E. and Mr. E. Marshall, M.R.C.S., L.R.C.P.
to illustrate the explorations of
THE BRITISH EXPEDITION
1909-11.
PART OF
Papua New Guinea
drawn by
Captain C. G. Rawling, C.I.E. and Mr. E. Marshall, M.R.C.S., L.R.C.P.
to illustrate the explorations of
THE BRITISH EXPEDITION
1909-11.
—Note—
—Note—
This map is based on a plane table survey, adjusted to points fixed by theodolite angles, and astronomical observations for latitude and azimuth. Heights of peaks are from theodolite vertical angles.
This map is created using a plane table survey, adjusted to points determined by theodolite angles and astronomical observations for latitude and azimuth. The heights of the peaks are from theodolite vertical angles.
THE END
THE END
PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, LONDON AND BECCLES.
PRINTED BY WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, LONDON AND BECCLES.
FOOTNOTES:
1 i.e. leader of a gang.
2 Malay Archipelago, Chapter XX.
3 Malay Archipelago, Chapter XXIX.
5 A note in the Geographical Journal, Vol. xxxviii. p. 211, points out the interesting fact that this custom of shedding tears in welcome was observed by some of the early travellers in many places on the American Continent, both North and South. It has also been noticed among the Andamanese and other Negroid inhabitants of South-Eastern Asia and Australasia.
5 A note in the Geographical Journal, Vol. 38, p. 211, highlights the interesting fact that the custom of crying tears of joy during a welcome was observed by some early travelers in various locations across the American Continent, both North and South. It has also been noted among the Andamanese and other Black communities in Southeast Asia and Australasia.
6 Like the Megapodes the Brush Turkeys are most interesting birds, which have the habit of making large mounds of rubbish in which they place their eggs, where they are hatched by the heat of fermentation. This species is about the size of a domestic hen, and its large brown egg is very good eating.
6 Like the Megapodes, Brush Turkeys are really fascinating birds that build large piles of debris to lay their eggs, which hatch using the heat from fermentation. This species is roughly the size of a domestic chicken, and its big brown eggs are quite tasty.
7 The very interesting discovery was made by Mr. Staniforth Smith of sago growing at an altitude of 3500 feet in the region of Kikor River, British New Guinea.—Geog. Journal, vol. xxxix. p. 329.
7 An intriguing discovery was made by Mr. Staniforth Smith about sago growing at an altitude of 3,500 feet near the Kikor River in British New Guinea.—Geog. Journal, vol. xxxix. p. 329.
8 See Appendix C.
9 The number of individuals examined was not very great and the difference in their measurements are so insignificant, that they may be considered all to belong to one race.
9 The number of people examined was not very large, and the differences in their measurements are so minor that they can all be considered part of the same race.
10 Tuan = master, v. p. 103. The natives always addressed us as “Tuana,” and many babies, of whom their parents were particularly proud, were called “Tuana.”
10 Tuan = master, v. p. 103. The locals always referred to us as “Tuana,” and many babies, whom their parents were especially proud of, were named “Tuana.”
12 Standard, 4, 8, 1910.
15 The services of these two men were secured to the expedition through the generosity of Mr. H. C. Robinson, Director of the Museums of the Federated Malay States.
15 The expedition was able to secure the services of these two men thanks to the generosity of Mr. H. C. Robinson, the Director of the Museums of the Federated Malay States.
17 The stitch used is a “figure of eight.” An exactly similar pattern is used by the natives near Humboldt Bay, North Dutch New Guinea, in making caps. See Van der Sande, Nova Guinea, Vol. III. Illustration, p. 37.
17 The stitch used is a “figure of eight.” A similar pattern is used by the locals near Humboldt Bay, North Dutch New Guinea, to make caps. See Van der Sande, Nova Guinea, Vol. III. Illustration, p. 37.
18 I am informed by Mr. H. Balfour, of the Pitt Rivers Museum, Oxford, that a similar method of making fire is employed by people in Assam, the Chittagong Hills, at certain places in the Malay Peninsula, in Borneo, at numerous places in different parts of New Guinea, and at one place in West Africa.
18 I was told by Mr. H. Balfour from the Pitt Rivers Museum in Oxford that a similar way of creating fire is used by people in Assam, the Chittagong Hills, certain areas of the Malay Peninsula, Borneo, many locations across New Guinea, and one spot in West Africa.
21 This is the usual friendly greeting of the people in the Merauke district. The word is now used by the Dutch as a slang name for the natives of any part of New Guinea.
21 This is the typical friendly greeting among the people in the Merauke district. The term is now used by the Dutch as a slang term for the natives of any area in New Guinea.
25 Malay Archipelago. Chapter V.
28 Dr. N. Adriani. Eenige opmerkingen over de Mĕraukĕ-Taal naar aanleiding der Woordenlijst van Contr. J. Seijne Kok, in “De Zuidwest Nieuw-Guinea-expeditie van het Kon. Ned. Aardrijkskundig Genootschap, 1904-5.”
28 Dr. N. Adriani. Some comments on the Mĕraukĕ language in response to the Word List by Contr. J. Seijne Kok, in “The Southwest New Guinea Expedition of the Royal Netherlands Geographical Society, 1904-5.”
33 Cf. G. von der Gabelentz und A. B. Muller, Melanesischen Sprachen, 1882, p. 536-541. Also C. J. F. le Cocq d’Armandville in Tijds. v. Taal, etc., 46, 1903.
33 See G. von der Gabelentz and A. B. Muller, Melanesian Languages, 1882, p. 536-541. Also C. J. F. le Cocq d’Armandville in Journal of Language, etc., 46, 1903.
35 The term “Indonesian” is used here only to imply that the languages so designated appear to contain some words and constructions which are found commonly in the languages of the Indian Archipelago. The data are too few for definite classification. The term “Papuan” may be taken to mean “non-Indonesian” or “Non-Malayo-Polynesian” with a similar limitation.
35 The term “Indonesian” is used here just to suggest that the languages referred to seem to have some words and structures that are commonly found in the languages of the Indian Archipelago. The data is too limited for any firm classification. The term “Papuan” can be understood to mean “non-Indonesian” or “non-Malayo-Polynesian,” with a similar limitation.
36 In the Examples following, the vowels should be sounded as in Italian, and the consonants as in English. The Dutch oe and ie are written u and ī.
36 In the following examples, pronounce the vowels like you would in Italian, and the consonants like in English. The Dutch oe and ie are represented as u and ī.
39 Those quoted are: Dungerwab (or Parb) on Wai Kasa R., Bangu, Morehead River; Bugi, Mai Kasa River, Dabu, Paho R., Mowata, mouth of Binaturi R., Saibai Is. in Western Torres Straits, Miriam, Murray Is. Torres Straits, Kunini and Jibu West shore of Fly Delta, Kiwai Is. in Fly Delta.
39 Those quoted are: Dungerwab (or Parb) on Wai Kasa River, Bangu, Morehead River; Bugi, Mai Kasa River, Dabu, Paho River, Mowata, mouth of Binaturi River, Saibai Is. in Western Torres Straits, Miriam, Murray Islands, Torres Straits, Kunini and Jibu on the west shore of Fly Delta, Kiwai Is. in Fly Delta.
44 Op. cit., p. 664-665.
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