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<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Wanderings Among South Sea Savages And in Borneo and the Philippines, by H. Wilfrid Walker</div>
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<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Wanderings Among South Sea Savages And in Borneo and the Philippines</div>
<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: H. Wilfrid Walker</div>
<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: March, 2001 [eBook #2564]<br />
[Most recently updated: October 29, 2022]</div>
<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div>
<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div>
<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Jeroen Hellingman</div>
<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SOUTH SEA SAVAGES ***</div>
<div class="front">
<div class="div1">
<div class="figure" id="p01"><img src="images/p01.jpg" alt=
"Belles of Papua" width="317" height="512" />
<p class="figureHead">Belles of Papua</p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="titlePage">
<h1 class="docTitle">Wanderings Among South Sea Savages</h1>
<h2 class="docTitle">And in Borneo and the Philippines</h2>
<h2 class="byline">By<br/>
<span class="docAuthor">H. Wilfrid Walker</span><br/>
Fellow of the Royal Geographical Society<br/>
With forty-eight plates from photographs by the author and others</h2>
<h2 class="docImprint">London Witherby & Co. 1909</h2>
</div>
<div class="div1">
<p class="aligncenter">To<br/>
My brother Charles<br/>
This record of my wanderings<br/>
in which he took so deep an interest,<br/>
is affectionately dedicated. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e105"
href="#xd0e105">v</a>]</span></p>
</div>
<div id="xd0e106" class="div1">
<h2 class="normal">Preface</h2>
<p>In a book of this kind it is often the custom to begin by making
apologies. In my case I feel it to be a sheer necessity. In the first
place what is here printed is for the greater part copied word for word
from private letters that I wrote in very simple language in Dayak or
Negrito huts, or in the lonely depths of tropical forests, in the
far-off islands of the Southern Seas. I purposely made my letters home
as concise as possible, so that they could be easily read, and in
consequence have left out much that might have been interesting. It is
almost unnecessary to mention that when I wrote these letters I had no
thought whatever of writing a book. If I had thought of doing so, I
might have mentioned more about the customs, ornaments and weapons of
the natives and have written about several other subjects in greater
detail. As it is, a cursory glance will show that this book has not the
slightest pretence of being “scientific.” Far from its
being so, I have simply related a few of the more interesting
incidents, such as would give a <i>general impression</i> of my life
among savages, during my wanderings in many parts of the world,
extending over nearly a score of years. I should <span class="pagenum">
[<a id="xd0e114" href="#xd0e114">vi</a>]</span>like to have written
more about my wanderings in North Borneo, as well as in Samoa and
Celebes and various other countries, but the size of the book precludes
this. My excuse for publishing this book is that certain of my
relatives have begged me to do so. Though I was for the greater part of
the time adding to my own collections of birds and butterflies, I have
refrained as much as possible from writing on these subjects for fear
that they might prove tedious to the general reader. I have also
touched but lightly on the general customs of the people, as this book
is not for the naturalist or ethnologist, nor have I made any special
study of the languages concerned, but have simply jotted down the
native words here used exactly as I heard them. As regards the
photographs, some of them were taken by myself while others were given
me by friends whom I cannot now trace. In a few cases I have no note
from whom they were got, though I feel sure they were not from anyone
who would object to their publication. In particular, I may mention
Messrs. G. R. Lambert, Singapore; John Waters, Suva, Fiji; Kerry &
Co., Sydney; and G. O. Manning, New Guinea. To these and all others who
have helped me I now tender my heartiest thanks. I have met with so
much help and kindness during my wanderings from Government officials
and others that if I were here to mention all, the list would be a
large one. I shall therefore have to be content with only mentioning
<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e116" href="#xd0e116">vii</a>]</span>the principal names of those in the countries
I have here written about.</p>
<p>In Fiji:—Messrs. Sutherland, John Waters, and McOwan.</p>
<p>In New Guinea:—Sir Francis Winter, Mr. C. A. W. Monckton,
R.M., The Hon. A. Musgrave, Capt. Barton, Mr. Guy O. Manning, and Dr.
Vaughan.</p>
<p>In the Philippines:—Governor Taft, afterwards President of the
United States, and Mr. G. d’E. Browne.</p>
<p>In British North Borneo:—Messrs. H. Walker, Richardson, Paul
Brietag, F. Durége, J. H. Molyneux, and Dr. Davies.</p>
<p>In Sarawak:—H.H. The Rajah, Sir Charles Brooke, Sir Percy
Cunninghame, Dr. Hose, Archdeacon Sharpe, Mr. R. Shelford, and the
officials of The Borneo Company, Ltd.</p>
<p>To all of these and many others in other countries I take this
opportunity of publicly tendering my cordial thanks for their unfailing
kindness and hospitality to a wanderer in strange lands.</p>
<p>H. Wilfrid Walker. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e132" href="#xd0e132">ix</a>]</span></p>
<div class="div1">
<h2 class="normal">Table of Contents</h2>
<ul>
<li><a href="#xd0e106">Preface</a></li>
<li><a href="#xd0e136">List of Illustrations</a></li>
<li><a href="#xd0e336">Part I: Life in the Home of a Fijian Prince.</a>
<ul>
<li><a href="#xd0e341">Chapter I: Life in the Home of a Fijian
Prince.</a></li>
<li><a href="#xd0e451">Chapter II: My Further Adventures with Ratu
Lala.</a></li>
</ul>
</li>
<li><a href="#xd0e592">Part II: Among Ex-Cannibals in Fiji.</a>
<ul>
<li><a href="#xd0e597">Chapter III: Among Ex-Cannibals in
Fiji.</a></li>
<li><a href="#xd0e707">Chapter IV: Mock War-Scene at the Chief’s
House.</a></li>
</ul>
</li>
<li><a href="#xd0e774">Part III: My Life Among Filipinos and Negritos
and a Journey in Search of Bearded Women.</a>
<ul>
<li><a href="#xd0e779">Chapter V: At Home Among Filipinos and
Negritos.</a></li>
<li><a href="#xd0e893">Chapter VI: A Chapter of Accidents.</a></li>
</ul>
</li>
<li><a href="#xd0e973">Part IV: In the Jungles of Cannibal Papua.</a>
<ul>
<li><a href="#xd0e978">Chapter VII: On the War-Trail in Cannibal
Papua.</a></li>
<li><a href="#xd0e1130">Chapter VIII: We Are Attacked By
Night.</a></li>
<li><a href="#xd0e1177">Chapter IX: On the War-Trail Once
More.</a></li>
<li><a href="#xd0e1314">Chapter X: The Return From Dobodura.</a></li>
</ul>
</li>
<li><a href="#xd0e1376">Part V: Our Discovery of Flat-Footed Lake
Dwellers.</a>
<ul>
<li><a href="#xd0e1381">Chapter XI: Our Discovery of Flat-Footed Lake
Dwellers.</a></li>
</ul>
</li>
<li><a href="#xd0e1561">Part VI: Wanderings and Wonders in Borneo.</a>
<ul>
<li><a href="#xd0e1566">Chapter XII: On the War-Path in
Borneo.</a></li>
<li><a href="#xd0e1680">Chapter XIII: Home-Life Among Head-Hunting
Dayaks.</a></li>
<li><a href="#xd0e1815">Chapter XIV: Visit to the Birds’-nest
Caves of Gomanton.</a></li>
</ul>
</li>
<li><a href="#xd0e1944">Plates</a></li>
</ul>
</div>
<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e135" href="#xd0e135">xv</a>]</span></div>
<div id="xd0e136" class="div1">
<h2 class="normal">List of Illustrations</h2>
<ol class="lsoff">
<li><a href="#p01"><i>Frontispiece</i>—Belles of Papua.</a></li>
<li><a href="#p02">A Chief’s Daughter and a Daughter of the
People</a></li>
<li><a href="#p03">A “Meke-Meke,” or Fijian Girls’
Dance</a></li>
<li><a href="#p04">Interior of a large Fijian Hut</a></li>
<li><a href="#p05">A Fijian Mountaineer’s House</a></li>
<li><a href="#p06">At the Door of a Fijian House</a></li>
<li><a href="#p07">A Fijian Girl</a></li>
<li><a href="#p08">Spearing Fish in Fiji</a></li>
<li><a href="#p09">A Fijian Fisher Girl</a></li>
<li><a href="#p10">A Posed Picture of an old-time Cannibal Feast in
Fiji</a></li>
<li><a href="#p11">Making Fire by Wood Friction</a></li>
<li><a href="#p12">An Old ex-Cannibal</a></li>
<li><a href="#p13">A Fijian War-Dance</a></li>
<li><a href="#p14">Adi Cakobau (pronounced “Andi
Thakombau”), the highest Princess in Fiji, at her house at
Navuso</a></li>
<li><a href="#p15">A Filipino Dwelling</a></li>
<li><a href="#p16">A Village Street in the Philippines</a></li>
<li><a href="#p17">A River Scene in the Philippines</a></li>
<li><a href="#p18">A Negrito Family</a></li>
<li><a href="#p19">Negrito Girls (showing Shaved Head at back)</a></li>
<li><a href="#p20">A Negrito Shooting</a></li>
<li><a href="#p21">Tree Climbing by Negritos</a></li>
<li><a href="#p22">A Negrito Dance</a></li>
<li><a href="#p23">Arigita and his Wife</a></li>
<li><a href="#p24">Three Cape Nelson Kaili-Kailis in War
Attire</a></li>
<li><a href="#p25">Kaili-Kaili House on the edge of a
Precipice</a></li>
<li><a href="#p26">“A Great Joke”</a></li>
<li><a href="#p27">A Ghastly Relic</a> <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e250" href="#xd0e250">xvi</a>]</span></li>
<li><a href="#p28">Cannibal Trophies</a></li>
<li><a href="#p29">A Woman and her Baby</a></li>
<li><a href="#p30">A Papuan Girl</a></li>
<li><a href="#p31">The Author with Kaili-Kaili Followers</a></li>
<li><a href="#p32">Wives of Native Armed Police</a></li>
<li><a href="#p33">A Papuan Damsel</a></li>
<li><a href="#p34">Busimaiwa, the great Mambare Chief, with his Wife
and Son (in the Police)</a></li>
<li><a href="#p35">A Haunt of the Bird of Paradise</a></li>
<li><a href="#p36">The Author starting on an Expedition</a></li>
<li><a href="#p37">A New Guinea River Scene</a></li>
<li><a href="#p38">Papuan Tree-Houses</a></li>
<li><a href="#p39">A Village of the Agai Ambu</a></li>
<li><a href="#p40">H. W. Walker, L. Dyke-Acland, and C. A. W.
Monckton</a></li>
<li><a href="#p41">View of Kuching from the Rajah’s
Garden</a></li>
<li><a href="#p42">Dayaks and Canoes</a></li>
<li><a href="#p43">Dayak in War-Coat</a></li>
<li><a href="#p44">Dayak Women and Children on the Platform outside a
long House</a></li>
<li><a href="#p45">Dayaks Catching Fish</a></li>
<li><a href="#p46">A Dayak Woman with Mourning Ornaments round
waist</a></li>
<li><a href="#p47">On a Tobacco Estate</a></li>
<li><a href="#p48">On a Bornean River</a></li>
</ol>
</div>
</div>
<div class="body"><span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e335" href="#xd0e335">1</a>]</span>
<div class="div0" id="xd0e336">
<h2 class="normal">Life in the Home of a Fijian Prince.</h2>
<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e339" href="#xd0e339">2</a>]</span><span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e340" href="#xd0e340">3</a>]</span>
<div id="xd0e341" class="div1">
<h2 class="normal">Life in the Home of a Fijian Prince.</h2>
<div class="argument">
<p>Journey to Taviuni—Samoan Songs—Whistling for the
Wind—Landing on Koro—Nabuna—Samoans and Fijians
Compared—Fijian Dances and Angona Drinking—A Hurricane in
the Southern Seas—Arrival at Taviuni—First Impressions of
Ratu Lala’s Establishment—Character of Ratu
Lala—Prohibition of Cricket—Ratu Lala Offended—The
Prince’s Musical Box.</p>
</div>
<p>Among all my wanderings in Fiji I think I may safely say that my two
months’ stay with Ratu (Prince) Lala, on the island of Taviuni,
ranks highest both for interest and enjoyment. As I look back on my
life with this great Fijian prince and his people, it all somehow seems
unreal and an existence far apart from the commonplace life of
civilization. When I was in Suva (the capital) the colonial secretary
gave me a letter of introduction to Ratu Lala, and so one morning I
sailed from Suva on an Australian steamer, taking with me my jungle
outfit and a case of whisky, the latter a present for the
Prince,—and a more acceptable present one could not have given
him.</p>
<p>After a smooth passage we arrived the same evening at Levuka, on the
island of Ovalau. After a stay of a day here, I sailed in a small
schooner which carried copra from several of the Outlying islands to
Levuka. Her name was the <i>Lurline,</i> and her captain was a Samoan,
whilst <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e354" href="#xd0e354">4</a>]</span>his crew was made up of two Samoans and four
Fijians. The captain seemed to enjoy yelling at his men in the Fijian
language, with a strong flavouring of English “swear
words,” and spoke about the Fijians in terms of utter contempt,
calling them “d——d cannibals.” The cabin wag a
small one with only two bunks, and swarmed with green beetles and
cockroaches. Our meals were all taken together on deck, and consisted
of yams, ship’s biscuit and salt junk.</p>
<p>We had a grand breeze to start with, but toward evening it died down
and we lay becalmed. All hands being idle, the Samoans spent the time
in singing the catchy songs of Samoa, most of which I was familiar with
from my long stay in those islands, and their delight was great when I
joined in. About midnight a large whale floated calmly alongside, not
forty yards from our little schooner, and we trembled to think what
would happen if it was at all inclined to be playful. We whistled all
the next day for a breeze, but our efforts were not a success until
toward evening, when we were rewarded in a very liberal manner, and
arrived after dark at the village of Cawa Lailai,<a class="noteref" id="xd0e358src" href="#xd0e358">1</a> on the island of Koro. On our
landing quite a crowd of wild-looking men and women, all clad only in
sulus, met us on the beach. Although it is a large island, there is
only one white man on it, and he far away from here, so no doubt I was
an interesting <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e364" href="#xd0e364">5</a>]</span>object. I put up at the hut of the
“Buli” or village chief, and after eating a dish of smoking
yams, I was soon asleep, in spite of the mosquitoes. It dawned a lovely
morning and I was soon afoot to view my surroundings. It was a
beautiful village, surrounded by pretty woods on all sides, and I saw
and heard plenty of noisy crimson and green parrots everywhere. I also
learnt that a few days previously there had been a wholesale marriage
ceremony, when nearly all the young men and women had been joined in
matrimony.</p>
<p>Taking a guide with me, I walked across the island till I came to
the village of Nabuna,<a class="noteref" id="xd0e368src" href="#xd0e368">2</a> on the other coast, the <i>Lurline</i> meanwhile
sailing around the island. It was a hard walk, up steep hills and down
narrow gorges, and then latterly along the coast beneath the shade of
the coconuts. Fijian bridges are bad things to cross, being long trunks
of trees smoothed off on the surface and sometimes very narrow, and I
generally had to negotiate them by sitting astride and working myself
along with my hands. In the village of Nabuna lived the wife and four
daughters of the Samoan captain. He told me he had had five wives
before, and when I asked if they were all dead, he replied that they
were still alive, but he had got rid of them as they were no good.</p>
<p>The daughters were all very pretty girls, especially the youngest, a
little girl of nine years <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e376" href="#xd0e376">6</a>]</span>old. I always think that the little Samoan
girls, with their long wavy black hair, are among the prettiest
children in the world.</p>
<p>We had an excellent supper of native oysters, freshwater prawns and
eels, fish, chicken, and many other native dishes. That evening a big
Fijian dance (“meke-meke”), was given in my honour. Two of
the captain’s daughters took part in it. The girls sit down all
the time in a row, and wave their hands and arms about and sing in a
low key and in frightful discord. It does not in any way come up to the
very pretty “siva-siva” dancing of the Samoans, and the
Fiji dance lacks variety. There is a continual accompaniment of beating
with sticks on a piece of wood. All the girls decorate themselves with
coloured leaves, and their bodies, arms and legs glisten as in Samoa
with coconut-oil, really a very clean custom in these hot countries,
though it does not look prepossessing. Our two Samoans in the crew were
most amusing; they came in dressed up only in leaves, and took off the
Fijians to perfection with the addition of numerous extravagant
gestures. I laughed till my sides ached, but the Fijians never even
smiled. However, our Samoans gave them a bit of Samoan
“siva-siva” and plenty of Samoan songs, and it was amusing
to see the interest the Fijians took in them. It was, of course, all
new to them. I drank plenty of “angona,” that evening. It
is <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e380" href="#xd0e380">7</a>]</span>offered you in a different way in Samoa. In
Fiji, the man or girl, who hands you the coconut-shell cup on bended
knee, crouches at your feet till you have finished. In Fijian villages
a sort of crier or herald goes round the houses every night crying the
orders for the next day in a loud resonant voice, and at once all
talking ceases in the hut outside which he happens to be.</p>
<p>The next two days it blew a regular hurricane, and the captain dared
not venture out to sea, our schooner lying safely at anchor inside the
coral reef. I have not space to describe my stay here, but it proved
most enjoyable, and the captain’s pretty Samoan daughters gave
several “meke-mekes” (Fijian dances) in my honour, and
plenty of “angona” was indulged in, and what with feasts,
native games and first-class fishing inside the coral reef, the time
passed all too quickly. I called on the “Buli” or village
chief, with the captain. He was a boy of fifteen, and seemed a very
bashful youth.</p>
<p>We sailed again about five a.m. on the third morning, as the storm
seemed to be dying down and the captain was anxious to get on. We had
not gone far, however, before the gale increased in fury until it
turned into a regular hurricane. First our foresheet was carried away;
this was followed by our staysail, and things began to look serious, in
fact, most unpleasantly so. The captain almost seemed to lose his head,
and cursed <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e386" href="#xd0e386">8</a>]</span>loud and long. He declared that he had been a
fool to put out to sea before the storm had gone down, and the <i>
Lurline,</i> being an old boat, could not possibly last in such a
storm, and added that we should all be drowned. This was not pleasant
news, and as the cabin was already half-full of water, and we expected
each moment to be our last, I remained on deck for ten weary hours,
clinging like grim death to the ropes, while heavy seas dashed over me,
raking the little schooner fore and aft.</p>
<p>Toward evening, however, the wind subsided considerably, which
enabled us to get into the calm waters of the Somo-somo Channel between
the islands of Vanua Levu and Taviuni.</p>
<p>The wreckage was put to rights temporarily, the Samoans, who had
previously made up their minds that they were going to be drowned,
burst forth into their native songs, and we broke our long fast of
twenty-four hours, as we had eaten nothing since the previous evening.
It was an experience I am not likely to forget, as it was the worst
storm I have ever been in, if I except the terrible typhoon of October,
1903, off Japan, when I was wrecked and treated as a Russian spy. On
this occasion a large Japanese fishing fleet was entirely destroyed. I
was, of course, soaked to the skin and got badly bruised, and was once
all but washed overboard, one of the Fijians catching hold of me in the
nick of time. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e395" href="#xd0e395">9</a>]</span>We cast anchor for the night, though we had
only a few miles yet to go, but this short distance took us eight or
nine hours next day, as this channel is nearly always calm. We had
light variable breezes, and tacked repeatedly, but gained ground
slowly. These waters seemed full of large turtles, and we passed them
in great numbers. We overhauled a large schooner, and on hailing them,
the captain, a white man, came on deck. He would hardly believe that we
had been all through the storm. He said that he had escaped most of it
by getting inside the coral reef round Vanua Levu, but even during the
short time he had been out in the storm, he had had to throw the
greater part of his cargo overboard. From the way he spoke, he had
evidently been drinking, possibly trying to forget his lost cargo.</p>
<p>Before I left Fiji I heard that the <i>Lurline</i> had gone to her
last berth. She was driven on to a coral reef in a bad storm off the
coast of Taviuni. The captain seemed to stand in much fear of Ratu
Lala. He told me many thrilling yarns about him; said he robbed his
people badly, and added that he did not think that I would get on well
with him, and would soon be anxious to leave.</p>
<p>I landed at the large village of Somo-somo, glad to be safely on <i>
terra firma</i> once more. It was a pretty village, with a large
mountain torrent dashing over the rocks in the middle of it. The <span
class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e407" href="#xd0e407">10</a>]</span>huts
were dotted about irregularly on a natural grass lawn, and large trees,
clumps of bamboo, coconuts, bread-fruit trees, and bright-coloured
“crotons” added a great deal to the picturesqueness of the
village. At the back the wooded hills towered up to a height of nearly
4,000 feet, and white streaks amid the mountain woods showed where many
a fine waterfall tumbled over rocky precipices.</p>
<p>Ratu Lala lived in a wooden house, built for him (as
“Roko” for Taviuni), by the government, on the top of a
hill overlooking the village, and thither on landing I at once made my
way. I found the Prince slowly recovering from an attack of fever, and
lying on a heap of mats (which formed his bed) on the floor of his own
private room, which, however, greatly resembled an old curiosity shop.
Everything was in great disorder, and piles of London Graphics and
other papers littered the ground, and on the tables were piled
indiscriminately clocks, flasks, silver cups, fishing rods, guns,
musical boxes, and numerous other articles which I discovered later on
were presents from high officials and other Europeans, and which he did
not know what to do with. Nearly every window in the house had a pane
of glass<a class="noteref" id="xd0e411src" href="#xd0e411">3</a>
broken, the floors were devoid of mats or carpets, and in <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="xd0e417" href="#xd0e417">11</a>]</span>places were
rotten and full of holes. This will give some idea of the state of
chaos that reigned in the Prince’s “palace.”</p>
<p>Ratu Lala himself was a tall, broad-shouldered man of about forty,
his hair slightly grey, with a bristly moustache and a very long
sloping forehead. Though dignified, he wore an extremely fierce
expression, so much so that I instinctively felt his subjects had good
cause to treat him with the respect and fear that I had heard they gave
him. He belongs to the Fijian royal family, and though he does not rank
as high as his cousin, Ratu Kandavu Levu, whom I also visited at Bau,
he is infinitely more powerful, and owns more territory. His father was
evidently a “much married man” since Ratu Lala himself told
me that he had had “exactly three hundred wives.” But in
spite of this he had been a man of prowess, as the Fijians count it,
and I received as a present from Ratu Lala a very heavy hardwood
war-club that had once belonged to his father, and which, he assured
me, had killed a great many people. Ratu Lala also told me that he
himself had offered to furnish one hundred warriors to help the British
during the last Egyptian war, but that the government had declined his
offer. One of the late Governors of Fiji, Sir John Thurston, was once
his guardian and, godfather. He was educated for two years in Sydney,
Australia, and spoke English well, though in a very thick voice. <span
class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e421" href="#xd0e421">12</a>]</span>Not only
does he hold sway over the island of Taviuni, but also over some
smaller islands and part of the large island of Vanua Levu. He also
holds the rank of “Roko” from the government, for which he
is well paid.</p>
<p>After reading my letter of introduction he asked me to stay as long
as I liked, and he called his head servant and told him to find me a
room. This servant’s name was Tolu, and as he spoke English
fairly well, I soon learned a great deal about Ratu Lala and his
people.</p>
<p>Ratu Lala was married to a very high-caste lady who was closely
related to the King of Tonga, and several of whose relatives
accompanied us on our expeditions. By her he had two small children
named Tersi (boy) and Moe (girl), both of whom, during my stay (as will
hereafter appear) were sent to school at Suva, amid great lamentations
on the part of the women of Ratu Lala’s household. Two months
before my visit Ratu Lala had lost his eldest daughter (by his Tongan
wife). She was twelve years old, and a favourite of his, and her grave
was on a bluff below the house, under a kind of tent, hung round with
fluttering pieces of “tapa” cloth. Spread over it was a
kind of gravel of bright green Stones which he had had brought from a
long distance. Little Moe and Tersi were always very interested in
watching me skin my birds, and their exclamation of what sounded like
“Esa!” (“Oh look!”) showed <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="xd0e427" href="#xd0e427">13</a>]</span>their
enjoyment. They were two of the prettiest little children I think I
have ever seen, but they did not know a word of English, and called me
“Misi Walk.” They and their mother always took their meals
sitting on mats in the verandah. Ratu Lala had two grown-up daughters
by other wives, but they never came to the house, living in an
adjoining hut where I often joined them at a game of cards. They were
both very stately and beautiful young women, with a haughty bearing
which made me imagine that they were filled with a sense of their own
importance.</p>
<p>As is well known all over Fiji, Ratu Lala, a few years before my
stay with him, had been deported in disgrace for a term of several
months, to the island of Viti Levu, where he would be under the
paternal eye of the government. This was because he had punished a
woman, who had offended him, by pegging her down on an ants’
nest, first smearing her all over with honey, so that the ants would
the more readily eat her.<a class="noteref" id="xd0e431src" href="#xd0e431">4</a> She recovered afterwards, but was badly eaten. As
regards his punishment, he told me that he greatly enjoyed his exile,
as he had splendid fishing, and some of the white people sent him
champagne.</p>
<p>His people were terribly afraid of him, and <span class="pagenum">
[<a id="xd0e436" href="#xd0e436">14</a>]</span>whenever they passed him
as he sat on his verandah, they would almost go down on all fours. He
told me how on one occasion when he was sitting on the upper verandah
of the Club Hotel in Suva with two of his servants squatting near by,
the whisky he had drunk had made him feel so sleepy, that he nearly
fell into the street below, but his servants dared not lay hands on him
to pull him back into safety, as his body was considered sacred by his
people, and they dared not touch him. He declared to me that he would
have been killed if a white man had not arrived just in time. He was
very fond of telling me this story, and always laughed heartily over
it. I noticed that Ratu Lala’s servants treated me with a great
deal of respect, and whenever they passed me in the house they would
walk in a crouching attitude, with their heads almost touching the
ground.</p>
<p>Ratu Lala’s cousin, Ratu Kandavu Levu, is a very enthusiastic
cricketer, and has a very good cricket club with a pavilion at his
island of Bau. He plays many matches against the white club in Suva,
and only last year he took an eleven over to Australia to tour that
country. I learned that previous to my visit he had paid a visit to
Ratu Lala, and while there had got up a match at Somo-somo in which he
induced Ratu Lala to play, but on Ratu Lala being given out first ball
for nought, he (Ratu Lala) pulled up the stumps and carried them off
the ground, and henceforth forbade <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e440" href="#xd0e440">15</a>]</span>any of his people to play the
game on the island of Taviuni. I was not aware of this, and as I had
brought a bat and ball with me, I got up several games shortly after my
arrival. However, one evening all refused to play, but gave no reasons
for their refusal, but Tolu told me that his master did not like to
have them play. Then I learned the reason, and from that time I noticed
a decided coolness on the part of Ratu Lala toward me. The fact, no
doubt, is that Ratu Lala being exceptionally keen on sport, this very
keenness made him impatient of defeat, or even of any question as to a
possible want of success on his part, as I afterwards learnt on our
expedition to Ngamia.</p>
<p>I intended upon leaving Taviuni to return to Levuka, and from thence
go by cutter to the island of Vanua Levu, and journey up the Wainunu
River, plans which I ultimately carried out. Ratu Lala, however, wished
me to proceed in his boat straight across to the island of Vanua Levu,
and walk across a long stretch of very rough country to the Wainunu
River. My only objection was that I had a large and heavy box, which I
told Ratu Lala I thought was too large to be carried across country. He
at once flew into a violent passion and declared that I spoke as if I
considered he was no prince. “For,” said he, “if ten
of my subjects cannot carry your box I command one hundred to do so,
and if one hundred of my subjects <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e444" href="#xd0e444">16</a>]</span>cannot carry your box I tell
fifteen thousand of my subjects to do so.” When I tried to
picture fifteen thousand Fijians carrying my wretched box, it was
altogether too much for my sense of humour, and I burst forth into a
hearty roar of laughter, which so incensed the Prince that he shut
himself up in his own room during the few remaining days of my
stay.</p>
<p>He had a musical box, which he was very fond of, and he had a man to
keep it going at all hours of the day and night. It played four tunes,
among them “The Village Blacksmith,” “Strolling
’Round the Town,” and “Who’ll Buy my
Herrings” till at times they nearly drove me frantic, especially
when I wanted to write or sleep. Night after night the tunes followed
each other in regular routine till I thought I should get them on the
brain. How he could stand it was a puzzle to me, especially as he had
possessed it for many years. I often blessed the European who gave it
him, and wished he could take my place.</p>
<p>Whenever a man wished to speak to Ratu Lala he would crouch at his
feet and softly clap his hands, and sometimes Ratu Lala would wait
several minutes before he deigned to notice him. <span class="pagenum">
[<a id="xd0e450" href="#xd0e450">17</a>]</span></p>
<div class="footnotes">
<hr class="fnsep" />
<p class="footnote"><span class="label"><a class="noteref" href="#xd0e358src" id="xd0e358">1</a></span> C is pronounced as Th.: <i>
e.g.,</i> “Cawa”—“Thawa.”</p>
<p class="footnote"><span class="label"><a class="noteref" href="#xd0e368src" id="xd0e368">2</a></span> Nabuna, pron. Nambuna.</p>
<p class="footnote"><span class="label"><a class="noteref" href="#xd0e411src" id="xd0e411">3</a></span> Panes of glass in a <i>
Fijian</i> house are very unusual, but this house, being
Government-built, was European. I can only recall one other instance,
that of Ratu Kandavu Levu on his small island of Bau, and then it was
only in the native house where he entertained European guests.</p>
<p class="footnote"><span class="label"><a class="noteref" href="#xd0e431src" id="xd0e431">4</a></span> These circumstances were a
matter of common knowledge, at the time of my visit, all over Fiji. On
the other hand it must be remembered that Ratu Lala did not think he
was doing any harm, for the woman, having done wrong, required
punishing, and naturally South Sea Island ideas of punishment,
inherited from past generations, differ radically from those of
Europeans.</p>
</div>
</div>
<div id="xd0e451" class="div1">
<h2 class="normal">My Further Adventures with Ratu Lala.</h2>
<div class="argument">
<p>Fijian Huts—Abundance of Game and Fish—Methods of
Capture—A Fijian Practical Joke—Fijian Feasts—Fun
after Dinner—A Court Jester in Fiji—Drinking, Dress, and
Methods of Mourning—A Bride’s Ringlets—Expedition to
Vuna—Tersi and Moe Journey to School—Their Love of
Sweets—Rough Reception of Visitors to Vuna—Wonderful Fish
Caught—Exhibition of Surf-board Swimming by
Women—Impressive Midnight Row back to Taviuni—A Fijian
Farewell.</p>
</div>
<p>In comparison with Samoan huts, the Fijian huts were very
comfortable, though they are not half as airy, Samoan huts being very
open; but in most of the Fijian huts I visited the only openings were
the doors, and, as can be imagined, the interior was rather dark and
gloomy. In shape they greatly resembled a haystack, the sides being
composed of grass or bunches of leaves, more often the latter. They are
generally built on a platform of rocks, with doors upon two or more
sides, according to the size of the hut; and a sloping sort of rough
plank with notches on it leads from the ground to each door. In the
interior, the sides of the walls are often beautifully lined with the
stems of reeds, fashioned very neatly, and in some cases in really
artistic patterns, and tied together with thin ropes of coconut fibre,
dyed various colours, and often ornamented with rows of large white
cowry shells. The floor of these huts is much like a springy mattress,
being <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e459" href="#xd0e459">18</a>]</span>packed to a depth of several feet with palm
and other leaves, and on the top are strips of native mats permanently
fastened, whereas in Samoa the floor is made up of small pieces of
brittle white coral, over which are loose mats, which can be moved at
will. In Fijian huts there is always a sort of raised platform at one
end of the hut, on which are piles of the best native mats, and, being
the guest, I generally got this to myself. The roof inside is very
finely thatched, the beams being of “Niu sau,” a native
palm,<a class="noteref" id="xd0e461src" href="#xd0e461">1</a> the
cross-pieces and main supports being enormous bits of hard wood. The
smaller supports of the sides are generally the trunks of tree-ferns.
The doors in most of the huts are a strip of native matting or
fantastically-painted “tapa” cloth, fastened to two posts a
few feet inside the hut. In some huts there are small openings in the
walls which answer for windows. The hearth was generally near one of
the doors in the centre of the hut, and fire was produced by rubbing a
piece of hard wood on a larger piece of soft wood, and working it up
and down in a groove till a spark was produced. I have myself
successfully employed this method when out shooting green pigeon
(“rupe”) in the mountains.</p>
<p>With regard to food, I at first fared very well, although we had our
meals at all hours, as Ratu Lala was very irregular in his habits. Our
chief <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e468" href="#xd0e468">19</a>]</span>food was turtle. We had it so often that I
soon loathed the taste of it. The turtles, when brought up from the sea
were laid on their backs under a tree close by the house, and there the
poor brutes were left for days together. Ratu Lala’s men often
brought in a live wild pig, which they captured with the aid of their
dogs. At other times they would run them down and spear them; this was
hard and exciting work, as I myself found on several occasions that I
went pig hunting. One of the most remarkable things that I saw in
Taviuni, from a sporting point of view, was the heart of a wild pig,
which, when killed, was found to have lived with the broken point of a
wooden spear fully four inches in length buried in the very centre of
its heart. It had evidently lived for many years afterwards, and a
curious kind of growth had formed round the point.</p>
<p>As for other game, every time I went out in the mountain woods I had
splendid sport with the wild chickens or jungle fowl and pigeons, and I
would often return with my guide bearing a long pole loaded at both
ends with the birds I had shot. The pigeons, which were large birds,
settled on the tops of the tallest trees and made a very peculiar kind
of growling noise. Many years ago (as Ratu Lala told me) the natives of
Taviuni had been in the habit of catching great quantities of pigeons
by means of large nets suspended from the trees. The chickens would
generally get up <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e472" href="#xd0e472">20</a>]</span>like a pheasant, and it was good sport taking
a snap shot at an old cock bird on the wing. It was curious to hear
them crowing away in the depths of the forest, and at first I kept
imagining that I was close to some village. I also obtained some good
duck shooting on a lake high up in the mountains, and Ratu Lala
described to me what must be a species of apteryx, or wingless bird
(like the Kiwi of New Zealand), which he said was found in the
mountains and lived in holes in the ground, but I never came across it,
though I had many a weary search. Ratu Lala also assured me that the
wild chickens were indigenous in Fiji, and were not descended from the
domestic fowl. We had plenty of fish, both salt and fresh water, and
the mountain streams were full of large fish, which Ratu Lala, who is a
keen fisherman, caught with the fly or grasshoppers. He sometimes
caught over one hundred in a day, some of them over three pounds in
weight. The streams were also full of huge eels and large prawns, and a
kind of oyster was abundant in the sea, so what with wild pig, wild
chickens, pigeons, turtles, oysters, prawns, crabs, eels, and fish of
infinite variety, we fared exceedingly well. Oranges, lemons, limes,
large shaddocks, “kavika,” and other wild fruits were
plentiful everywhere.</p>
<p>During my stay here in August and September the climate was
delightful, and it was remarkably cool for the tropics. I often
accompanied Ratu <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e476" href="#xd0e476">21</a>]</span>Lala on his fishing excursions, and he would
often recount to me many of his escapades. On one occasion he told me
that he had put a fish-hook through the lip of his jester, a little old
man of the name of Stivani, and played him about with rod and reel like
a fish, and had made him swim about in the water until he had tired him
out, and then he added, “I landed the finest fish I ever
got.”</p>
<p>I added a good many interesting birds to my collection during my
stay here, among them a dove of intense orange colour, one of the most
striking birds I have ever seen. Plant life here was exceedingly
beautiful and interesting, especially high up in the mountains, palms,
<i>pandanus,</i> cycads, crotons, <i>acalyphas, loranths,</i> aroids,
<i>freycinetias,</i> ferns and orchids being strongly represented, and
among the latter may be mentioned a fine orange <i>dendrobium</i> and a
pink <i>calanthe.</i> I found in flower a celebrated creeper, which
Ratu Lala had told me to look out for. It had very showy red, white and
blue flowers, and in the old days Ratu Lala told me that the Tongan
people would come over in their canoes all the way from the Tonga
Islands, nearly four hundred miles away, simply to get this flower for
their dances, and when gathered, it would last a very long time without
fading. I tried to learn the traditions about this flower, but Ratu
Lala either did not know of any or else he was not anxious to tell me
about them. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e495" href="#xd0e495">22</a>]</span></p>
<p>The coastal natives, like most South Sea Islanders, were splendid
swimmers, but, so far as I was concerned, it was dangerous work bathing
in the sea here, as man-eating sharks were very numerous, and during my
stay I saw a Fijian carried ashore with both his legs bitten clean
off.</p>
<p>Usually, when out on expeditions, we occupied the
“Buli’s” hut and lived on the fat of the land. At
meal times quite a procession of men and women, glistening all over
with coconut oil, would enter our hut bearing all sorts of native food,
including fish in great variety, yams, octopus, turtle, sucking-pig,
chicken, prawns, etc. They were brought in on banana and other large
leaves, and we, of course, ate them with our fingers. Good as the food
undoubtedly was, I was always glad when the meal was over, as it is
very far from comfortable to sit with your legs doubled up under you.
Afterwards I could hardly stand up straight, owing to cramp. I found it
especially trying in Samoa, where one had to sit in this manner for
hours during feasts, “kava”-drinking and
“siva-sivas” (dances). Sometimes a glistening damsel would
fan us with a large fan made out of the leaf of a fan palm,<a class=
"noteref" id="xd0e500src" href="#xd0e500">2</a> which at times got
rather in the way. I never got waited on better in my life. Directly I
had finished one course a dozen girls were ready to hand me other
dishes, and when I wanted a drink a girl immediately <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="xd0e504" href="#xd0e504">23</a>]</span>handed me a
cup made out of the half-shell of a coconut filled with a kind of soup.
We generally had an audience of fully fifty people, and when we had
finished eating, a wooden bowl of water was handed to us in which to
wash our hands. Ratu Lala would generally hand the bowl to me first,
and I would wash my hands in silence, but directly he started to wash
his hands, everyone present, including chiefs and attendants, would
start clapping their hands in even time, then one man would utter a
deep and prolonged “Ah-h,” when the crowd would all shout
together what sounded like “Ai on dwah,” followed by more
even clapping. I never learned what the words meant. In this respect
Ratu Lala was most curiously secretive, and always evaded questions.
Whenever he took a drink, a clapping of hands made me aware of the
fact.</p>
<p>One day, when they had chanted after a meal as usual, Ratu Lala
turned around to me and mimicked the way his jester or clown repeated
it, and there was a general laugh. This jester, whose name was Stivani,
was a little old man who was also jester to Ratu Lala’s father.
Ratu Lala had given him the nickname of “Punch,” and made
him do all sorts of ridiculous things—sing and dance and go
through various contortions dressed up in bunches of
“croton” leaves. He kept us all much amused, and was the
life and soul of our party, but at times I caught the <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="xd0e508" href="#xd0e508">24</a>]</span>old fellow
looking very weary and sad, as if he was tired of his office as
jester.</p>
<p>The “angona” root (<i>Piper methysticum</i>) is first
generally pounded, but is sometimes grated, and more rarely chewed by
young maidens. It is then mixed with water in a large wooden bowl, and
the remains of the root drawn out with a bunch of fibrous material. It
is then ready for drinking.</p>
<p>On gala and festal occasions the Fijians were wonderfully and
fantastically dressed up, their huge heads of hair thickly covered with
a red or yellow powder, and they themselves wearing large skirts or
“sulus” of coloured “tapa” and <i>pandanus</i>
ribbons and necklaces of coloured seeds, shells, and pigs’-tusks.
In out-of-the-way parts the “sulus” are still made of
“tapa” cloth, and the women sometimes wear small fibrous
aprons. They also often wear wild pigs’-tusks round their
necks.</p>
<p>I noticed that many Fijian women were tattooed on the hands and
arms, and at each corner of the mouth (a deep blue colour). Both men
and women gave themselves severe wounds about the body, generally as a
sign of grief on the death of some near relative. I once noticed a
young girl of sixteen or seventeen with a very bad unhealed wound below
one of her breasts, which was self-inflicted. Her father, a chief, had
died only a short time previously. They often <span class="pagenum">[<a
id="xd0e522" href="#xd0e522">25</a>]</span>also cut off the little
finger for similar reasons. Like the Samoans, the Fijians often cover
their hair with white lime, and the effect of the sun bleaches the hair
and changes it from black to a light gold or brown colour.</p>
<p>A marriageable young lady in Fiji would generally have a great
quantity of long braided ringlets hanging down on <i>one</i> side of
her head. This looked odd, considering that the rest of her hair was
erect or frizzly. It was a great insult to have these ringlets cut. I
heard of it once being done by a white planter, and great trouble and
fighting were the result.</p>
<p>I accompanied Ratu Lala on several expeditions to various parts of
the island, and we also visited several smaller islands within his
dominions. On these occasions we always took possession of the
“Buli’s,” or village chief’s, hut, turning him
out, and feeding on all the delicacies the village could produce. After
we had practically eaten them out of house and home we would move on
and take possession of another village. The inhabitants did not seem to
mind this; in fact, they seemed to enjoy our visit, as it was an excuse
for big feasts, “meke-mekes” (dances) and
“angona” drinking.</p>
<p>One of the most enjoyable expeditions that I made with Ratu Lala was
to Vuna, about twenty miles away to the south. A small steamer, the <i>
Kia Ora,</i> which made periodical visits to the <span class="pagenum">
[<a id="xd0e536" href="#xd0e536">26</a>]</span>island to collect the
government taxes in copra, arrived one day in the bay. Ratu Lala
thought this would be a good opportunity for us to make a fishing
expedition to Vuna. We went on board the steamer while our large boat
was towed behind.</p>
<p>At the same time Ratu Lala’s two little children, Moe and
Tersi, started off, in charge of Ratu Lala’s Tongan wife and
other women, to be educated in Suva. It was the first time they had
ever left home, but I agreed with Ratu Lala, that it was time they
went, as they did not know a word of English, and, for the matter of
that, neither did his Tongan wife. When we all arrived at the beach to
get into the boat, we found a large crowd, chiefly women, sitting on
the ground, and as Ratu Lala walked past them, they greeted him with a
kind of salutation which they chanted as with one voice. I several
times asked him what it meant, but he always evaded the question
somehow, and seemed too modest to tell me. I came to the conclusion
that it ran something like “Hail, most noble prince, live for
ever.” The next minute all the women started to howl as if at a
given signal, and they looked pictures of misery. Several of them waded
out into the sea and embraced little Tersi and Moe. This soon set the
children crying as well, so that I almost began to fear that the
combined tears would sink our boat. Their old grandmother waded out
into the sea up to her neck and stayed there, <span class="pagenum">[<a
id="xd0e540" href="#xd0e540">27</a>]</span>and we could hear her
howling long after we had got on board the steamer. When we got into
Ratu Lala’s boat at Vuna there was another very affecting
farewell. Some months later when I returned to Suva, I asked a young
chief, Ratu Pope, to show me where they were at school, and I found
them at a small kindergarten for the children of the Europeans in
Suva.</p>
<p>They <span class="corr" id="xd0e544" title="Source: semed">
seemed</span> quite glad to see their old friend again, and still more
so when I promised to bring them some lollies (the term used for sweets
in Australasia) that afternoon.</p>
<p>When I returned I witnessed a pretty and interesting sight The two
little children were standing out in the school yard while several
Fijian men and women of noble families who had been paying the little
prince and princess a visit, were just taking their leave. It was a
curious sight to see these old people go in turn up to these two little
mites and go down on their knees and kiss their little hands reverently
in silence. All this homage seemed to bore the small high-born ones,
and hardly was the ceremony over when they caught sight of me, and,
rushing toward me with cries of “Misi Walk siandra,
lollies,” they nearly knocked over some of their visitors, who no
doubt were greatly scandalized at such undignified behaviour.</p>
<p>To return to our visit to Vuna. Sometime previously, Ratu Lala had
warned me that whenever he landed at this place with a visitor it was
<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e551" href="#xd0e551">28</a>]</span>an
old custom for the women to catch the visitor and throw him into the
sea from the top of a small rocky cliff. To this I raised serious
objections, but arrayed myself in very old thin clothes ready for the
fray. However, upon landing, very much on the alert, I was agreeably
surprised to find that the women left me alone. Yet in part Ratu
Lala’s story was true, as he assured me that quite recently he
had been forced to put a stop to the custom, as one of his last
visitors was a European of much importance who was greatly incensed at
such treatment, and complained to the government, who told Ratu Lala
that the custom must end.</p>
<p>We came to fish, and fish we did, just off the coral reef, but it
would take space to describe even one-half of the curious and beautiful
fish we caught. When I took the lead in the number of fish caught, Ratu
Lala seemed greatly annoyed, and I was not sorry to let him get ahead,
when he was soon in a good temper again. The Fijians generally fished
with nets and a many-pronged fish-spear, with which they are very
expert, and I saw them do wonderful work with them. They also used long
wicker-work traps. Ratu Lala, on the contrary, being half-civilized,
used an English rod and reel or line like a white man. Ratu Lala told
the women here to give an exhibition of surf-board swimming for my
benefit. As they rode into shore on the crest of a wave I many times
expected to see them dashed against <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e555" href="#xd0e555">29</a>]</span>the rocks which fringed the
coast. I had seen the natives in Hawaii perform seventeen years before,
but it was tame in comparison to the wonderful performances of these
Fijian women on this dangerous rock-girt coast.</p>
<p>A great many “meke-mekes” or dances were got up in our
honour, but Ratu Lala detested them, and rarely attended, but preferred
staying in the “Buli’s” hut, lying on the floor
smoking or sleeping. He, however, always begged me to attend them in
his place. After a time I found the performances rather wearisome, and
not nearly so varied and interesting as the “siva-sivas” in
Samoa. There the girls sang in soft, pleasing voices, the words being
full of liquid vowels. Here in Fiji the singing was harsh and
discordant, as k’s and r’s abound in the language.</p>
<p>When it came to the ceremony of drinking “angona” I
worthily did my part of the performance. Drinking “angona”
is a taste not easily acquired, but when one has once got used to it,
there is not a more refreshing drink, and I speak from long experience.
In Fiji I was often presented with a large “angona” root,
but it would be considered exceedingly bad form did you not return it
to the giver and tell him to have it at once prepared for himself and
his people, you yourself, of course, taking part in the drinking
ceremony.</p>
<p>After a stay of several days at Vuna we rowed <span class="pagenum">
[<a id="xd0e563" href="#xd0e563">30</a>]</span>back by night. It was a
perfect, calm night, and with the full moon, was almost as bright as
day. We rowed all the way close to shore, passing under the gloomy
shade of dense forests or by countless coconuts, the only sound besides
the plash of our oars being the cry of water fowl or some night bird,
while the light beetles<a class="noteref" id="xd0e565src" href="#xd0e565">3</a> flashed their green lights against the dark background
of the forest, looking much like falling stars. There are certain
moments in life that have made a lasting impression on me, and that
moonlight row was one of them.</p>
<p>We made several expeditions together that were every bit as
interesting and enjoyable as the one to Vuna. <span class="corr" id="xd0e571" title="Source: One">On</span> one occasion we visited the
north part of the island, as well as Ngamia and other islands. We rowed
nearly all the way close into shore and saw plenty of turtles. Ratu
Lala started to troll with live bait, as we had come across several
women fishing with nets, and on our approach they chanted out a
greeting to Ratu Lala, and in return he helped himself to a lot of
their fish. Ratu Lala had fully a dozen large fish after his bait, and
some he hooked for a few seconds. This only made him the keener, and
after leaving the calm Somo-somo Channel, although we encountered a
very rough sea, he had the sail hoisted and we travelled at a great
rate in and out amongst a lot of rocky islets, shipping any amount of
water which soaked us and our <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e574"
href="#xd0e574">31</a>]</span>baggage, and half-filled the boat. I
expected we should be swamped every moment, and from the frightened
looks of our crew I knew they expected the same thing. Hence, I was not
reassured when Ratu Lala remarked that it was in just such a sea, and
in the same place, that he lost his schooner (which the government had
given him) and that on that occasion he and all his crew remained in
the water for five hours. When I explained that I had no wish to be
upset, he said, “I suppose you can swim?” I said
“Yes! but I do not wish to lose my gun and other property,”
to which he replied, “Well, I lost more than that when my
schooner went down.” I was therefore not a little relieved when
he had the sail lowered. He explained that he never liked being beaten,
even if he drowned us all, and all this was because I had bet him one
shilling (by his own desire) that he would not get a fish. I mention
this to show what foolhardy things he was capable of doing, never
thinking of the consequences. I could mention many such cases. We at
length came to some shallows between a lot of small and most
picturesque islands, and as it was low tide, and we could not pass, we,
viz., Ratu Lala, myself, and the other chiefs, got out to walk, leaving
the boat and crew to come on when they could (they arrived at 4 a.m.
the next morning). I was glad to get an opportunity to dry myself, and
we started off at a good rate for our destination, but <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="xd0e576" href="#xd0e576">32</a>]</span>unfortunately
we came to a spot where grew a small weed that the Fijians consider a
great luxury when cooked, and Ratu Lala and his people stayed here
fully two hours, till they had picked all the weed in sight, in spite
of the heavy rain. It was amusing to see all these high-caste Fijians
and old Stivani, the jester, running to and fro with yells of delight
like so many children, all on account of a weed which I myself
afterwards failed to enjoy.</p>
<p>On the way I shot three duck, and later, when it was too dark to
shoot, we could see the beach between the mangroves and the sea was
almost black with them. On the other side of us there was a regular
chorus of wild chickens crowing and pigeons “howling” in
the woods. After four hours’ hard walking we arrived at our
destination, Qelani, long after dark, dead tired, and soaked to the
skin. We put up at the “Buli’s” hut; he was a cousin
of Ratu Lala, and was a hideous and sulky-looking fellow, but his hut
was one of the finest and neatest I had seen in Fiji. As I literally
had not had a mouthful of food since the previous evening, I was glad
when about a dozen women entered bearing banana leaves covered with
yams, fish, octopus, chickens, etc. We stayed here some days, but we
had miserable, wet weather. There was excellent fishing in the stream
here, and Ratu Lala especially had very good sport. Many of the fish
averaged one-and-a-half pounds and more, but he told me that they often
run to five <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e580" href="#xd0e580">33</a>]</span>pounds. There were three kinds, and all
excellent eating. The commonest was a beautiful silvery fish, and
another was of a golden colour with bright red stripes. During the
latter part of my stay in Qelani I suffered from a slight attack of
dysentery, and it was dull lying ill on the floor of a native hut with
no one to talk to, as Ratu Lala always tried to avoid speaking English
whenever possible, and would often only reply in monosyllables. It
would often seem as if he were annoyed at something, but I found that
he did this to all white men, and meant nothing by it. I soon cured
myself by eating a lot of raw leaves of some bush plant, also a great
quantity of native arrow-root.</p>
<p>In spite of my sickness I managed to shoot a fair number of duck,
wild chickens and pigeon, and also a few birds for my collection. One
day, in spite of the rain, I was rowed over to Ngamia, which is a
wonderfully beautiful island, about three hours from Qelani. It was
thickly covered with a fine cycad which grows amongst the rocks
overhanging the sea. The natives call it “loga-loga,”<a
class="noteref" id="xd0e584src" href="#xd0e584">4</a> and eat the
fruit. I landed and botanized a bit, finding some new and interesting
plants, and then rowed on a few miles to call on the only white man on
the island, an Australian named Mitchell, who has a large coconut
property. He was astonished and pleased to see me, and introduced me to
his Fijian wife, and his two pretty half-caste daughters soon got
together a good <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e587" href="#xd0e587">34</a>]</span>breakfast for me. He seemed glad to see a
white man again, and nearly talked my head off, and was full of
anecdotes about the fighting they had with the Fijian cannibals in
1876. He told me that in the last great hurricane his house was blown
over on to a small island which he owned nearly half-a-mile away.</p>
<p>To describe all the incidents of my long visit would fill a book,
but I think I have written enough to show what a very interesting time
I spent with this Fijian Prince. It was without doubt one of the most
curious experiences of all my travels in different parts of the globe.
With all his faults, Ratu Lala was a good fellow, and he certainly was
a sportsman. All Fiji knows his failings, otherwise I should not have
alluded to them. The old blood of the Fijians ran in his veins, his
ancestors were kings who had been used to command and to tyrannise;
therefore he could never see any harm in the many stories of his
escapades that he told me, and he seemed much offended and surprised
when I advised him not to talk about them to other Europeans. When I
started off to Levuka I was greatly surprised to see all the women of
Somo-somo sitting on the beach waiting to see me depart, and as I
walked down alone they greeted me in much the same way as they often
greeted Ratu Lala, in a kind of chanting shout that sounded most
effective. It was a Fijian farewell! <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e591" href="#xd0e591">35</a>]</span></p>
<div class="footnotes">
<hr class="fnsep" />
<p class="footnote"><span class="label"><a class="noteref" href="#xd0e461src" id="xd0e461">1</a></span> <i>Ptychosperma</i> sp.</p>
<p class="footnote"><span class="label"><a class="noteref" href="#xd0e500src" id="xd0e500">2</a></span> <i>Pritchardia
Pacifica.</i></p>
<p class="footnote"><span class="label"><a class="noteref" href="#xd0e565src" id="xd0e565">3</a></span> <i>Elateridæ</i></p>
<p class="footnote"><span class="label"><a class="noteref" href="#xd0e584src" id="xd0e584">4</a></span> Pron.: longa-longa.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="div0" id="xd0e592">
<h2 class="normal">Among Ex-Cannibals in Fiji.</h2>
<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e595" href="#xd0e595">36</a>]</span><span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e596" href="#xd0e596">37</a>]</span>
<div id="xd0e597" class="div1">
<h2 class="normal">Among Ex-Cannibals in Fiji.</h2>
<div class="argument">
<p>Journey into the Interior of Great Fiji—A Guide
Secured—The Start—Arrival at Navua—Extraction of
Sago—Grandeur of Scenery—A Man covered with Monkey-like
Hair—A Strangely Coloured Parrot—Wild Lemon and Shaddock
Trees—A Tropical “Yosemite Valley”—Handclapping
as a Native Form of Salute—Beauty of Namosi—The Visitor
inspected by ex-Cannibals—Reversion to Cannibalism only prevented
by fear of the Government—A Man who would like to Eat my Parrot
“and the White Man too”—The Scene of Former Cannibal
Feasts—Revolting Accounts of Cannibalism as Formerly
Practised—Sporadic Cases in Recent Years—An Instance of
Unconscious Cannibalism by a White—Reception at Villages <i>en
route</i>—Masirewa Upset—Descent of Rapids—Dramatic
Arrival at Natondre (“Fallen from the Skies”).</p>
</div>
<p>Toward the end of my stay in the Fijian Islands I determined to make
a journey far into the interior of Viti Levu (Great Fiji), the largest
island of the great Fijian archipelago. Suva, the chief town in Fiji,
and the headquarters of the government, is on this island, but very few
Europeans travel far beyond the coast, and my friends in Suva declared
that I would have a fit of repentance before I had travelled very far,
as the interior of the island is extremely mountainous and rough. After
a great deal of trouble I managed to get an interpreter named Masirewa,
who came from the small island of Bau. He was a fine-looking fellow,
and, like most Fijians, possessed a tremendous mop of hair. His stock
of English was limited, and we often misunderstood each other, but he
proved a most amusing <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e608" href="#xd0e608">38</a>]</span>companion, if only on account of his unlimited
“cheek.”</p>
<p>I ought here to mention that Fijians vary a great deal, both in
colour and language. Fiji is the part of the Pacific where various
types meet, viz., Papuan, Malayan, and Polynesian. The mountaineers
around Namosi, which I visited, who were all cannibals twenty-five
years ago, are much darker in colour than the coast natives, and they
are undoubtedly of Papuan origin.</p>
<p>I left Suva with Masirewa on the morning of October 12th, and after
a short sea voyage of three or four hours on a small steam launch, we
arrived at the village of Navua. I had a letter to Mr. McOwan, the
government commissioner for that district. He put me up for the night,
and we played several games of tennis, and my stay, though short, was
an exceedingly pleasant one. The whites in Fiji are the most hospitable
people in the world. They are of the old <i>régime</i> that is
dying out fast everywhere.</p>
<p>The next day I set out on my journey into the interior, Masirewa and
another Fijian carrying my baggage (which was wrapped up in waterproof
cloth) on a long bamboo pole. We followed the course of the Navua River
for some distance. In the swamps bordering the river grew quantities of
a variety of sago palm (<i>Sagus vitiensis</i>) called by the natives
Songo. They extract the sago from the trunk, and the palm always dies
after <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e622" href="#xd0e622">39</a>]</span>flowering. After passing through about four
miles of sugar cane, with small villages of the Indian coolies who work
in the cane fields, we left behind us the last traces of civilization.
We next came to a very beautiful bit of hilly country, densely wooded
on the hills, though bordering the broad gravelly beaches of the river
were long stretches of beautiful grassy pastures. Darkness set in as we
ascended some thickly wooded hills. The atmosphere was damp and close,
and <span class="corr" id="xd0e624" title="Source: mosquitos">
mosquitoes</span> plentiful, and small phosphorescent lumps seemed to
wink at us out of the darkness on every side. I had to strike plenty of
matches to discover the track, and continually bumped myself against
boulders and the trunks of tree-ferns. It was late when we arrived at
the village of Nakavu, on the banks of the Navua River, where I was
soon asleep on a pile of mats in the hut of the “Buli,” or
village chief.</p>
<p>The next morning I resumed my journey with Masirewa and two
canoe-men in a canoe, and we were punted and hauled over numerous
dangerous rapids, at some of which I had to get out. We passed between
two steep, rocky cliffs the whole way, and they were densely clothed
with tree-ferns and other rank tropical vegetation, the large white
sweet-scented <i>datura</i> being very plentiful. The scenery was very
beautiful, and numerous waterfalls dashed over the rocky walls with a
sullen roar. Ducks were plentiful, but <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e632" href="#xd0e632">40</a>]</span>my ammunition being limited, I
shot only enough to supply us with food. I felt cramped sitting in a
canoe all day, but I enjoyed myself in spite of the continuous and
heavy rain.</p>
<p>Late in the afternoon we arrived at the small village of Namuamua,
on the right bank of the river, with the village of Beka on the other
side. We were given a small hut all to ourselves, and we fared
sumptuously on duck and boiled yams. The next morning I was shown a
curious but ghastly object, viz., a man covered with hair like a
monkey, and I was told that he had never been able to walk. He dragged
himself about on his hands and feet, uttering groans and grunts like an
animal.</p>
<p>I hired two fresh bearers to carry my baggage, and after we had
crossed the river three or four times we passed over some steep and
slippery hills for some distance. I managed to shoot a parrot that I
had not seen on any of the other islands. It was green, with a black
head and yellow breast. The rain came down in torrents, and I got well
soaked. We went for miles through woods with small timber, but full of
bright crotons, <i>dracænas,</i> bamboos, and a very sweetscented
plant somewhat resembling the frangipani, the flower of which covered
the ground. We passed under the shade of sweet-scented wild lemon and
shaddock trees, but we got the bad with the good, as a horrible stench
came from a <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e641" href="#xd0e641">41</a>]</span>small green flowering bush. A beautiful pink
and white ground orchid (<i>Calanthe</i>) was plentiful.</p>
<p>We travelled along a steep, narrow strip of land with a river on
each side in the valleys below. We met no one until we arrived at the
village of Koro Wai-Wai, which is situated on the banks of a good-sized
river at the entrance to a magnificent gorge of rocky peaks and
precipices. Here we found the “Buli” of Namosi squatting
down in a miserable, smoky hut where we rested for a few minutes, and
the hut was soon filled with a crowd of natives, all anxious to view
the “papalangi” (foreigner). The “Buli” agreed
to accompany me to Namosi, although his home was in another village.
Continuing our journey, we had hard work climbing over boulders, and
along slippery ledges overhanging the foaming river many feet below.
Steep precipices rose on each side of us, and the gorge grew more
narrow as we proceeded. The scenery was grand, and rather resembled the
Yosemite Valley, but had the additional attraction of a wealth of
tropical foliage. Steep rocky spires topped by misty clouds towered
above us and little openings between rocky walls revealed dark green
lanes or vistas of tangled tropical growth which the sun never reached.
We met many natives, who sat on their haunches when the
“Buli” talked to them, and clapped their hands as we
passed. This was out of respect for the “Buli,” who was an
insignificant looking little <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e648"
href="#xd0e648">42</a>]</span>bearded man and quite naked except for a
small “Sulu.”</p>
<p>We soon arrived at Namosi. It is a large town situated between two
steep walls of rock, and was by far the prettiest place I had seen in
Fiji, and that is saying a good deal. The town is on both banks of the
Waiandina River, with large “ivi” and other beautiful trees
overhanging the water; brilliant coloured crotons, <i>
dracænas,</i> and other fine plants imparted a wealth of colour
to the scene, and many of the grand old trees were heavily laden with
ferns and orchids. During many years’ wanderings all the world
over, I do not think I have ever come across a more beautiful and ideal
spot.</p>
<p>The “Buli” was greeted with cries of
“m-m-ka-a” in shrill voices by the women, for all the world
like the caw of an old crow. I learned that the “Buli” had
not been here for some time, but I seemed to be the chief object of
interest, and was followed everywhere by an admiring and curious crowd
of dark brown, shiny boys and girls, the former just as they were born
and the latter wearing a strip of “Sulu.” We put up in a
chief’s house, and after getting through the usual boiled yams, I
went on a tour of inspection around the town, but I soon found that I
was the one to be inspected. There was a hum of voices in every hut,
and doorways were darkened with many heads. Groups of young men, women
and children <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e657" href="#xd0e657">43</a>]</span>assembled to see the sight, but scampered away
if I approached too near. No white man but the government agent had
been here for several years, I was told. Thirty-odd years ago they
would not have been satisfied to “look only,” but would
have wished to taste, and many of the present inhabitants would have
made chops of me, and were no doubt peering out of their huts to see if
I was fat or lean, and wishing for days gone by but not forgotten.
Isolated cases of cannibalism still occur in out-of-the-way parts of
Fiji, and it is only fear of the government that stops them, otherwise
these mountaineers would at once return to cannibalism. Masirewa came
out and stood with folded arms among a large crowd talking about me,
and no doubt taking all the credit for my appearance, and staring at me
as if he had never seen me before, so that I felt much inclined to kick
him.</p>
<p>In the evening, as I skinned the parrot I had shot, Masirewa told me
how one man had said that he would like to eat the parrot, and that he
had replied: “And the white man too.” There was a large and
very interested crowd around me as I worked, and they were very much
astonished when told that the birds in England were different from
those in Fiji, and I was inundated with childish questions about
England. Masirewa seemed to be trying to pass himself off on these
simple mountaineers as a chief, and was clearly beginning to give <span
class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e661" href="#xd0e661">44</a>]</span>himself
airs, so that when he started to eat with the “Buli” and
myself, I had to snub him, and told him sharply to clean my gun and eat
afterwards.</p>
<p>I slept the next morning till seven o’clock, and Masirewa told
me that the natives could not understand my sleeping so late, and that
they thought I was drunk on “angona,” of which I had
partaken the night before. “Angona” is the same as
“kava” in Samoa, and is the national beverage in Fiji.
Masirewa now only wore a “sulu” and discarded his singlet.
I suppose it was a case of “In Rome do as Rome does,” but
he certainly looked better in the dark skin he wore at his birth. I was
shown the large rock by the river where more than a thousand people had
been killed for their cannibal feasts. They were usually prisoners
captured in the Rewa district, also a few white men. They were cut open
alive and their hearts torn out, and their bodies were then cut up for
cooking on the rock, which I noticed was worn quite smooth. Sometimes
they would boil a man alive in a huge cauldron.</p>
<p>While staying at Namosi the “Buli” gave me some lessons
in throwing native spears, and in using the bow. Whilst practising the
latter I narrowly missed, by a few inches, shooting a woman who stepped
out suddenly from behind a hut.</p>
<p>I was out most of the day shooting pigeons <span class="pagenum">[<a
id="xd0e669" href="#xd0e669">45</a>]</span>in the woods close by,
accompanied by the “Buli,” Masirewa, and several boys. The
woods were full of a wonderfully beautiful creeper, a delicate pink and
white <i>clerodendron</i> which grew in large bunches; there was also a
very pretty <i>hoya</i> (wax flower) scrambling up the trees. We filled
ourselves with the juicy pink fruit of the “kavika,” or
what is generally known as the Malacca or rose-apple. The trees were
plentiful in the woods, grew to a large size, and were literally loaded
with fruit, the fallen fruit resembling a pink carpet. Another very
good fruit was the “wi,” a golden fruit about the size of a
large mango. I have seen both cultivated in the West Indies.</p>
<p>On my return to the village I had a most interesting interview with
these ex-cannibals, one old and two middle-aged men, thanks to
Masirewa, my interpreter. He first asked them how they liked human
flesh, and they all shouted “Venaka, venaka!” (good). Like
the natives of New Guinea, they said it was far better than pig; they
also declared that the legs, arms and palms of the hands were the
greatest delicacies, and that women and children tasted best. The
brains and eyes were especially good. They would never eat a man who
had died a natural death. They had eaten white man; he was salty and
fat, but he was good, though not so good as “Fiji man.” One
of them had tasted a certain Mr. ——, and the meat on his
legs was very fat. They chopped his feet <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e679" href="#xd0e679">46</a>]</span>off above the boots, which they
thought were part of him, and they boiled his feet and boots for days,
but they did not like the taste of the boots. They often kept some of
their prisoners and fattened them up, and when the day came for killing
one, it was the women of Namosi’s duty to take him down to the
large stone by the river, where they cut him open alive and tore his
heart out. Lastly, I asked if they would still like to eat man if they
got the chance, and they were not afraid of being punished, and there
was no hesitation in their reply of “Io” (yes), uttered
with one voice like the yelp of a hungry wolf, and it seemed to me that
their eyes sparkled. They were certainly a very obliging lot of
cannibals.</p>
<p>Cannibalism is, of course, practically extinct now in Fiji, but in
recent years I am told that there, have been a few odd cases far back
in the mountains. On one occasion a man told his wife to build an oven
and that he was going to cook her. This she did, and he then killed,
cooked, and ate her. Whilst in Fiji I met an Englishman who in the
seventies had tasted human meat at a native feast, he believing it was
pig, and at the time he thought it was very good. I was told that in
the old days when they wanted to know whether a body was cooked enough
they looked to see if the head was loose. If the head fell off it was
thought to be “cooked to perfection,” but I will not vouch
for this story being correct. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e683"
href="#xd0e683">47</a>]</span></p>
<p>I gave the “Buli” a box of matches, and he seemed as
pleased as if it was a purse of gold; they light all their fires here
by wood friction, Some of the pet pigs around here were very oddly
marked with stripes and spots of brown, black and white. Whilst in Fiji
I often came across natives far from any village who were being
followed by pet pigs, as we in England might be followed by dogs.
Masirewa amused me more each day by his cheek and self-assurance. Once
I asked him what he said to the chief of the hut we were in, and he
replied: “Oh! I tell him Get out, you black fellow.’
”</p>
<p>We left Namosi early the next morning, a large crowd seeing us off,
and I was sorry to bid farewell to one of the most beautiful spots in
this wide world. We passed through the villages of Nailili and Waivaka,
where I called at the chiefs’ huts and held a kind of “at
home” for a few minutes, the people simply swarming in to look at
me. The “Buli” of Namosi had sent messengers on in front to
give notice of my approach, and at each village they had the inevitable
hot yams ready to eat, which Masirewa made the most of. At the entrance
to each village there was usually a palisade of bamboo or tree-fern
trunks, and here a crowd of girls and children would often be waiting,
and on my approach they would set up loud yells and scamper off, till I
began to think that I must look a very ferocious kind of
“papalangai.” <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e688" href="#xd0e688">48</a>]</span>At Dellaisakau the natives looked a very wild
lot. Some of the men had black patches all over their faces, and some
had great masses of hair shaped like a parasol. One or two of the women
wore only the old-time small aprons of coconut fibre.</p>
<p>We followed the Waiandina River amid very fine scenery. The sloping
hills were covered with woods, and we passed under a canopy of bamboo,
the large trumpet flowers of the white <i>datura,</i> tree-ferns, large
“ivi,” “dakua” and “kavika” trees
loaded with ferns and fine orchids in flower. We crossed the river
several times, and I was carried across by a huge Fijian whose head and
neck were covered with lime. Rain soon set in again, and we literally
wallowed in mud and water. I got drenched by the soaking vegetation, so
I afterwards waded boldly through rivers and streams, as it was
impossible to get any wetter.</p>
<p>At Nasiuvou the whole village turned out to greet me, and I held my
usual reception in the chief’s hut. The chief seemed very annoyed
that I would not stay the night. No doubt he thought that I would prove
a great attraction for his people. The banks of the Waiandina River
were crowded as I got into a canoe, and Masirewa, in trying to show off
with a large paddle, lost his balance and fell into the water, the
yells of laughter from the crowd showing that they were not lacking in
humour. Masirewa did <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e697" href="#xd0e697">49</a>]</span>not like it at all, but I was very glad, as he
had been giving himself too many airs. I dismissed my two bearers and
took only one canoe man and made Masirewa help him. We went down
several rapids at a great pace. It was dangerous but exhilarating, and
we had several narrow escapes of being swamped, as the canoe, being a
small one, was often half-filled with water. We also had several close
shaves from striking rocks and tree trunks. Ducks were plentiful, and I
shot one on the wing as we were tearing down a rapid. The scenery was
very fine; steep wooded mountains, rocky peaks with odd shapes, steep
precipices, fine waterfalls, grand forests, and picturesque villages,
and the scenery as we wound among the mountains was most romantic.</p>
<p>Toward evening we arrived at the large town of Nambukaluku, where we
disembarked. Except for a few old men and children we found it
deserted, and we learned that the “Buli,” who is a very
important chief, had gone to stay at the village of Natondre for some
important ceremonies for a few days, and most of the inhabitants had
gone with him. Thither I determined to go, and we set off along a
mountain path. The rain was all gone, and it was a lovely, still
evening. Suddenly I heard distant yells and shouts and the beating of
the “lalis” (hollow wooden drums), and I set off running,
leaving Masirewa and my canoe man carrying my baggage far behind, and
on turning <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e701" href="#xd0e701">50</a>]</span>a sharp corner I came full upon the village of
Natondre and a most interesting sight. Hundreds of natives were
squatting on the ground of the village square, and about one hundred
men with faces black and in full war paint, swinging war clubs, were
rushing backward and forward yelling and singing while large wooden
drums were beaten. They were dressed in most fantastic style, some only
with fibrous strings round their loins, and others with yards of
“tapa” cloth wound around them. Several women were jumping
about with fibre aprons on, and all had their hair done up in many
curious ways and sprinkled with red and yellow powders. Huge piles of
mats were heaped in the open square, speeches were made, and the people
all responded with a deep “Ah-h” which sounded most
effective from the huge multitude. I came up in the growing dusk and
stood behind a lot of people squatting down. Suddenly some one looked
round and saw me—sensation—whispers of
“papalangai” were heard on all sides, and looks of
astonishment were cast in my direction. Certainly my entrance to
Natondre could not have been more dramatic, and I believe that they
almost thought that I had <i>fallen from the skies,</i> which is the
literal meaning of the word “papalangai.” <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="xd0e706" href="#xd0e706">51</a>]</span></p>
</div>
<div id="xd0e707" class="div1">
<h2 class="normal">Mock War-Scene at the Chief’s House.</h2>
<div class="argument">
<p>War Ceremonies and Dances at Natondre Described—The Great
Chief of Nambukaluku—The Dances continued—A Fijian
Feast—A Native Orator—The Ceremonies concluded—The
Journey continued—A Wonderful Fungus—The bark of the rare
Golden Dove leads to its Capture—Return to more Civilised
Parts—The Author as Guest of a high Fijian Prince and
Princess—A <i>souvenir</i> of Seddon—Arrival at Suva.</p>
</div>
<p>Masirewa soon arrived and I learned that there were some very
important ceremonies in which one tribe was giving presents to another
tribe, in settlement of some disputes that had been carried on since
the old cannibal fighting days, and as I passed into the
“Buli’s” hut I noticed that the dancers were
unwinding all the “tapa” cloth from around their bodies and
throwing it on the piles of mats. I immediately went behind a
“tapa” screen where the “Buli” slept, and began
to get into dry clothes. This evidently made some of the crowd in the
hut angry, as they thought I was lacking in respect to the
“Buli” by changing in his private quarters, as in Fiji the
very high chiefs are looked upon as sacred. One fellow kept shouting at
me in a very impudent way, so when Masirewa came in, I told him about
it, and he lectured the crowd and told them that I was a very big
chief; this seemed to frighten them. Later on, I found that Masirewa
had complained, and <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e718" href="#xd0e718">52</a>]</span>the impudent man was brought up before one of
the chiefs, who gave him a lecture before myself and a large crowd in
the hut I put up in. Masirewa translated for me, how the chief said:
“The white man, who is a big chief, has done us honour in
visiting our town,” and to the man: “You will give us a bad
name in all Fiji for our rudeness to the stranger that comes to
us.” I learned that the man was going to be punished, but as he
looked very repentant I said that I did not wish him punished, so he
was allowed to sneak out of the hut, the people kicking him and saying
angry words as he passed.</p>
<p>I supped with the great “Buli” that evening, and we
fared sumptuously on my duck, river oysters and all sorts of native
dishes. We were waited upon by two warriors in full war paint, and the
“Buli’s” young and pretty wife, shining with coconut
oil all over her body, sat by me and fanned me. The “Buli”
was an aristocratic-looking old fellow with a large nose and a very
haughty look. He is a very important chief, but knew no English, and we
carried on our conversation through the medium of Masirewa. He spoke in
a kind of mumble, with a very thick voice. Once when he had been
mumbling worse than usual there was a kind of restrained titter from
someone in the crowd at the back. The “Buli” heard it, and
slowly turning his head he transfixed the crowd with his piercing gaze
for many seconds <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e722" href="#xd0e722">53</a>]</span>amid a dead silence. I wondered afterwards if
anything ever happened to the unfortunate one who was so easily amused.
I learned that besides having an impediment in his speech, the
“Buli” was also paralyzed in one leg. I Put up in a
different hut, the “Buli” apologizing for his hut being
crowded with the influx of visitors.</p>
<p>I watched a “meke-meke” or native dance that evening in
which about a dozen girls covered with oil took part. There was a sound
of revelry the rest of the night, for there was feasting and dancing in
several huts, and discordant chanting and the hum of many voices
followed me into my dreams. The next morning I went out shooting
pigeons in some thick pathless woods about two miles away, and I also
shot some flying foxes which I gave to my companions, as the Fijians
consider them a great delicacy, as do many Europeans. These woods were
full of pineapples, which in places barred our way. Many of them were
ripe, and I found they possessed a fine flavour.</p>
<p>In the afternoon the ceremonies were continued, the
“Buli” sending for me to sit by him in the doorway of his
hut to watch them. First about forty women with “tapa”
cloth wound around their bodies went through various evolutions,
swaying their arms about and chanting in their usual discordant manner.
They then unwound the “tapa” from their bodies and threw it
in a heap on the ground, following this by more manœuvres. <span
class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e728" href="#xd0e728">54</a>]</span>About
twenty men came into the square, some with their faces blacked and
their bodies stained red with some pigment, and wearing only aprons of
coconut strings, with bracelets of leaves on their arms and carved
pigs’ tusks hanging from their necks. They went through some
splendid dancing, falling down on the ground and bouncing up again like
india-rubber balls. They sang, or rather chanted, all the time, and so
did a kind of chorus of men who beat on wood and bamboo, while the
dancers danced round them in circles, and squares, and then bent
backward, nearly touching the ground with their heads. As they danced
they kept splendid time, with their arms, legs and heads.</p>
<p>Then amid shrill yells and cries from the crowd, another procession
approached from the far end of the village in single file. First came
several men with spears, which they shook on the ground every now and
then, shaking their bodies at the same time in a fierce manner. Behind
them in single file came a lot of women, each bearing a. rolled-up mat,
which they threw down in a heap. These mats are made from the dried
“pandanus” leaf. Then several men appeared bearing enormous
Fiji baskets full of large rolls of food wrapped up in leaves, also
smaller baskets made of the fresh leaves of the crimson <i>
dracæna,</i> also full of food. From the enormous number of
baskets, the food supply was enough to feed a large <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="xd0e735" href="#xd0e735">55</a>]</span>multitude.
They were all put down together by the mats.</p>
<p>Then there was dead silence, in which you could almost have heard
the proverbial pin drop, and an oldish man stepped forward and stood by
the mats and baskets, his body wound round with “tapa” till
it stuck out many feet from his body. The crowd broke silence with an
ear-piercing yell. He then spoke, and was interrupted from time to time
with cries of approval or the reverse, and sometimes loud laughter,
while the “Buli,” sitting by me, every now and then shouted
out, or broke into a childish giggle. Then the speaker uttered a lot of
short sentences very fast, and every one present said
“Venaka” (good) at the end of each sentence. Then the old
man unwound the “tapa” around him and threw it on the mats,
as did others.</p>
<p>Silence again, and I began to think all was over, but suddenly there
was another shrill sort of yell from the crowd, and from the back of
our hut, amid a tremendous uproar from all present and the beating of
“lalis” (drums), appeared a procession of about fifty
warriors in their usual picturesque get-up, all brandishing large
war-clubs. They paraded into the square in very stately fashion,
singing in their curious and savage discords, and then went through
some grand dances, keeping wonderful time with their clubs and bodies,
and from time to time giving forth a loud yell which <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="xd0e741" href="#xd0e741">56</a>]</span>was really
thrilling. They next rushed backward and forward brandishing their
clubs and killing an imaginary foe, and then clapped their hands
together in even time. Then off came the “tapa” from around
them, and the heap was made still larger.</p>
<p>Another yell from the crowd. Then silence, followed by more
speaking, and every now and then a deep “Ah-h” from all
present, which sounded like distant thunder and was most impressive.
Then all the people clapped their hands and chanted a few words in low
suppressed voices, and the ceremony, lasting between four or five
hours, was over. From time to time a man would approach the
“Buli” and fall down on all fours and clap his hands before
he could speak. I felt at times as if I was watching a comic opera or a
ballet, and there were many amusing incidents. I think honours were
fairly easy between the big show and myself, as the people kept
whispering and looking around at me the whole time. I never passed a
hut without causing excitement, and there would be cries of
“papalangai” and a mass of faces would appear at the doors.
Wherever I went I was followed at a respectful distance by a crowd of
girls and children, but if I turned to retrace my steps there was a
panic-stricken rush to get out of my way. On one occasion a little
child of about two years old yelled with fright when I passed near it.
I was much astonished that a white <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e745" href="#xd0e745">57</a>]</span>man should make such a stir in
any part of Fiji, but it is only so in very out-of-the-way villages
such as these. I was exceedingly lucky to witness these ceremonies, as
they were the most important ones that had taken place in Fiji for many
years, and few of the old white residents had seen their equal. I was
all the more lucky, as I never expected to see them when I started from
Suva.</p>
<p>The next morning I said “Samoce”<a class="noteref" id="xd0e749src" href="#xd0e749">1</a> (good-bye) to the great
“Buli,” who, though he was a big chief, was not above
accepting with evident glee the few shillings I pressed into his hand,
and with Masirewa and two fresh bearers continued my journey in the
pouring rain. Once we had to swim across a swift and swollen river,
then we went over steep hills, down deep gullies, wading through
streams and passing all the time through thick forests. We stopped once
to feed on wild pineapples, the pink “kavika.” and the
golden “wi,” but Masirewa was a bad bushman and slipped,
and stumbled, swore and grumbled, and many times I had to wait till he
came up with me. We followed a deep and beautiful gulch for some
distance, wading all the way through a shallow stream which flowed over
a natural slanting pavement with a smooth surface, and I found it hard
to keep my footing. We got a magnificent view from the top of a high
hill of the country to the <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e752" href="#xd0e752">58</a>]</span>eastward, with large rivers winding among
beautiful undulating wooded country as far as the eye could reach. We
passed through but one village, named Naqeldreteki, and from here I saw
two very fine waterfalls falling side by side over a steep cliff
several hundred feet straight drop into the forest below. It was about
here that I came across a most beautiful sort of fungus of a bright
scarlet and orange, and in the shape of a perfect star.</p>
<p>I heard what I took to be the gruff bark of a dog, when it suddenly
dawned upon me that there could not be any dogs here, as we were far
from any village. Upon investigation I discovered that it was a bird
that was the author of the noise, and I soon brought it down with a
load of dust-shot, and to my great delight it proved to be the golden
dove, a bird which I had hunted for in vain in the other islands. It
was of a very fine metallic golden-yellow colour, and the feathers
being long and narrow, gave it a very odd appearance. I could only
mutter “venaka, venaka” (good), and in spite of the heavy
rain reverently and slowly rolled it up in cotton wool and paper, to
the great amusement of my three Fijians. Among the most interesting
features of bird life in the Samoan and Fijian Islands were the various
members of the dove family, which looked wonderfully brilliant with
their metallic greens, and their orange, crimson, purple, yellow, pink,
cream and olive green. The latter part of the journey was <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="xd0e756" href="#xd0e756">59</a>]</span>through bushy
country dotted about with many large orchid and fern-laden trees.</p>
<p>We arrived toward dusk at the large village of Serea, on the
Wainimala River, which is a branch of the Rewa River, and I put up in
the large hut of the “Buli.” I began to feel like an
ordinary mortal again, as the people here did not exhibit any great
surprise on seeing me, no doubt because, being in the Rewa district,
they see a few Europeans from time to time. After a change into dry
clothes and a supper off one of the large pigeons I had shot <i>en
route,</i> I had a large and interested crowd to watch me skin my dove,
and there were roars of laughter during the process, especially when
Masirewa told them it would be made to look like a real bird with glass
eyes. Masirewa at one time spoke sharply to the “Buli” who,
I thought, looked a bit annoyed, so I asked Masirewa what he said.
“Oh,” he said airily, “I told him to keep his pig of
a child away from the white chief.” Masirewa, was a character,
and evidently had no respect for chiefs and princes, etc., as he
treated all the “Bulis” as his equals, which was very
different from the generally cringing attitude of the Fijians to their
chiefs. Even the high and mighty “Buli” of Nabukaluku<a
class="noteref" id="xd0e763src" href="#xd0e763">2</a> seemed to like
his cheek. Masirewa liked to show off his English, though no one
understood a word, and his favourite way of addressing them when he was
annoyed was “You all black <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e766"
href="#xd0e766">60</a>]</span>devil pigs.” Whilst I was skinning
my dove, the people brought in a horrible-looking carved figure with
staring eyes. It was about five feet high, and they waxed very merry,
whenever I looked up at it from my skinning.</p>
<p>I left early next morning in the pouring rain, and found as I passed
through Serea that it was quite a town. Quite a large crowd escorted me
down the steep banks of the river (Wainimala), and we were soon
spinning down stream in a large canoe. We soon joined another river
which, together with the Wainimala, formed the Rewa, the largest river
in Fiji. The scenery was both varied and picturesque, and once I got
the canoe paddled up a little shady creek where there was a very
beautiful waterfall, and where I was glad to stretch my legs for a few
minutes after being cramped up in the canoe. There were many pretty and
quaint villages on the banks, and the people often rushed out of their
huts to see us pass. Ducks were plentiful, and I got a fair bag and
used up my remaining cartridges, and the rest of the way I had to be
content with pointing my gun at them, which was very tantalizing. We
arrived about three p.m. at the village of Viria, and I stayed with the
“Buli” in his hut almost overhanging the river. In the
evening I took a stroll with the “Buli” round the village,
and then we sat on a log by the river chatting, with Masirewa acting as
interpreter. We continued our journey <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e770" href="#xd0e770">61</a>]</span>the next morning, and late in
the day we passed large fields of sugarcane. We had returned to
civilization once more, and I could not help feeling a pang of regret.
We arrived at the village of Navuso about four p.m., and I was the
guest of Andi (princess) Cakobau (pronounced Thakombau) and her
husband, Ratu (prince) Beni Tanoa. Princess Cakobau is the highest lady
of rank in Fiji, and belongs to the royal family. She is very stately
and ladylike, and in her younger days was very beautiful. She does not
know any English, but she wrote her autograph for me in my note-book to
paste on her photograph, as she writes a very good hand. Her husband is
also one of the highest chiefs in Fiji, and speaks good English. They
proved most hospitable, and presented me with some Fijian fans when I
left the next morning, and the Princess gave me a buttonhole of flowers
out of her garden. Dick Seddon, the Premier of New Zealand, had once
visited them, and I noticed his portrait that he had given them
fastened to a post in their hut. I left Navuso by steam launch which
called at the large sugar-mills a little lower down, and reached Suva
that afternoon, feeling very fit after one of the most enjoyable and
interesting expeditions that I ever made. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e772" href="#xd0e772">62</a>]</span><span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e773" href="#xd0e773">63</a>]</span></p>
<div class="footnotes">
<hr class="fnsep" />
<p class="footnote"><span class="label"><a class="noteref" href="#xd0e749src" id="xd0e749">1</a></span> Pronounced
“Samothe.”</p>
<p class="footnote"><span class="label"><a class="noteref" href="#xd0e763src" id="xd0e763">2</a></span> “b” pronounced
“mb.”</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="div0" id="xd0e774">
<h2 class="normal">My Life Among Filipinos and Negritos and a Journey
in Search of Bearded Women.</h2>
<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e777" href="#xd0e777">64</a>]</span><span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e778" href="#xd0e778">65</a>]</span>
<div id="xd0e779" class="div1">
<h2 class="normal">At Home Among Filipinos and Negritos.</h2>
<div class="argument">
<p>Arrival at Florida Blanca—The Schoolmaster’s House Kept
by Pupils in their Master’s Absence—Everyday Scenes at
Florida Blanca—A Filipino Sunday—A Visit to the
Cock-fighting Ring—A Strange Church Clock and
Chimes—Pugnacious Scene at a Funeral—Strained Relations
between Filipinos and Americans—My New Servant—Victoriano,
an Ex-officer of Aguinaldo’s Army, and his Six Wives—I
Start for the Mountains—“Free and easy” Progress of
my Buffalo-cart—Ascent into the Mountains—Arrival at my
Future Abode—Description of my Hut and Food—Our Botanical
Surroundings—Meetings with the Negritos—Friendliness and
Mirth of the Little People—Negritos may properly be called
Pigmies—Their Appearance, Dress, Ornaments and Weapons—An
Ingenious Pig-arrow—Extraordinary Fish-traps—Their Rude
Barbaric Chanting—Their Chief and His House—Cure of a
Malarial Fever and its Embarrassing Results—“Agriculture in
the Tropics”—A Hairbreadth Escape—Filipino
Blowpipes—A Pigmy Hawk in Pigmyland—The Elusive <i>
Pitta</i>—Names of the Birds—A Moth as Scent
Producer—Flying Lizards and other kinds—A
“Tigre” Scare by Night—Enforced Seclusion of Female
Hornbill.</p>
</div>
<p>When collecting in the Philippines, I put in most of my time in the
Florida Blanca Mountains, in the province of Pampanga, Northern Luzon.
I arrived one evening after dark at the good-sized village of Florida
Blanca, which is situated a few miles from the foot of the mountain,
whose name it shares. I carried a letter to the American schoolmaster,
who was the only white man in the district, and had been a soldier in
the late war. It seemed to me a curious policy on the part of the
American government to turn their soldiers into schoolmasters,
especially as in most cases they are very ignorant themselves. I
believe, however, the <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e790" href="#xd0e790">66</a>]</span>chief object is to teach the young Filipinos
English, and so turn them into live American citizens. The Americans
are far from popular in the Philippines, and when in Manila I was
strongly advised not to wear <i>khaki</i> in the jungle for fear of
being taken for an American soldier.</p>
<p>The American’s house was dark and still when I arrived at
Florida Blanca, but whilst I was wondering what to do, I was surprised
to hear a small voice, coming out of a small adjoining house, say in
good English (though slowly and with a strong accent),
“Thee—master—has—gone—into—thee—mountains—to—kill—deer—and—pigs.”
This was from one of the American’s own pupils, an intelligent
little fellow named Camilo. As I learnt that he was not expected back
for two or three days, there was nothing left but to make myself as
comfortable as possible in his house until his return. Camilo was soon
boiling me some water, and I opened some of my provisions, as I had
eaten nothing for eight hours. The house was an ordinary Filipino one,
raised fully ten feet from the ground and built of native timber, the
peaked roof, which had a frame-work of bamboo, being thatched with
palm-leaves. The divisions between the rooms were of plaited bamboo
work, and the sliding windows were latticed, each division being fitted
with pieces of pearl shell. The next morning I was invaded by quite an
army of small boys, who, to my surprise, all spoke English very <span
class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e797" href="#xd0e797">67</a>]</span>prettily
in their slow way and with a quaint accent. I have never come across a
more bright and intelligent set of little fellows, all very friendly
and not a bit shy, yet most polite and well-mannered. They were manly
little fellows, with the faces of cherubs, and they were always
smiling. Though the ages of my five little favourites, Camilo, Nicolas,
Fernando, Dranquilino and Victorio, ranged only from eleven down to
seven (the latter being little smiling-faced Victorio), they did all my
errands for me, bought me little rolls of sweetish bread, eggs and
fruit, and were most honest. They talked to me as if they had known me
all their lives, acted as my guides and showed me all there was to see.
They generally followed me in a row, with their arms round each
other’s neck in a most affectionate way, and I never heard any of
them use one angry word amongst themselves. The few days that I spent
here, I wandered through the narrow lanes and collected a few birds and
butterflies. These lanes were very dusty at the time, and were hemmed
in with an uninteresting shrubby growth on each side. The country round
Florida Blanca was for the most part covered with rice-fields, which,
at the time of my visit, were parched and covered with short stubble,
this being the dry season. I was not very successful in my collecting,
and looked forward to my visit to the mountains, which I could see in
the distance, and which appeared well covered with damp-looking
forests. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e799" href="#xd0e799">68</a>]</span>I noticed quantities of white egrets, which
settled on the backs of the water buffaloes. I would often pass these
water buffaloes with their heads sticking out of a way-side pond of mud
and water. They were generally used for drawing the curious wagons of
the country, which were rather like those one sees in Mexico, with
solid wooden wheels. Generally when I met these water buffaloes out of
harness, they were horribly afraid of me and stampeded, at the same
time making the most extraordinary noises, something between a squeak
and a short blast on a penny trumpet. They are usually stupid-looking
brutes, but this showed that they were intelligent enough to
distinguish between me and a Filipino. The pigs here had three pieces
of wood round their necks fastened together to form a triangle, an
excellent idea, as it prevented them from breaking through the fences.
The day following my arrival was a Sunday, and the church, a large
building of stone and galvanized iron, was almost opposite the
American’s house. I watched the people going to early mass (the
Filipinos are devout Roman Catholics). All the women wore gauzy veils
thrown over their heads, white or black were the prevailing colours and
sometimes red. I thought they looked very nice in them. I had asked
Camilo to boil me some water, but he begged off very politely, as he
had to go and put on his cassock and surplice to attend the service in
the church, where he sang all alone. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e801" href="#xd0e801">69</a>]</span>When he returned, I asked him
to sing to me what he had sung in the church, and he at once complied,
singing the “Gloria Patri” in a very clear and sweet voice.
After mass was over, the church bell began to toll and an empty lighted
bier came out of the church. It was preceded by three acolytes bearing
a long cross and two large lighted candlesticks, and followed by a
crowd of people. They were no doubt going to call at a house for the
corpse. Shortly afterwards an old Filipino priest came out and got into
one of the quaint covered buffalo wagons with solid wooden wheels
(already mentioned), and drove slowly round by the road. It was hot and
sultry, and thunder was pealing far away in the mountains. Under a
clump of trees (of a kind of yellow flowering acacia), which grew just
outside the large old wooden doors of the church, there was a group of
village youths and loafers, and two or three men went past with their
fighting cocks under their arms, Sunday afternoon out here being the
great day for cock-fighting. There seemed to be a sleepiness in the air
quite in keeping with the day of the week, and I was nearly dozing off
when little Nicolas came in. I asked him if he knew where the
cook-fighting took place, and added, “you savez” (slang for
“understand”). His eyes flashed, and he said, “Me no
savage,” but when I explained that I did not call him a
“savage,” his eyes, smiled an apology, and he <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="xd0e803" href="#xd0e803">70</a>]</span>willingly
offered to show me the place where the cock-fighting was to be.</p>
<p>On entering the large bamboo shed or theatre where the cock-fighting
took place, I was met by the old Presidente of the village, to whom I
had brought a letter from Governor Joven (the Governor of the
province), whom I had visited at Bacolor on my way hither. He conducted
me to a seat on a raised clay platform, and sat next to me most of the
time, but as the fighting progressed he got very excited, and had to go
down into the ring. I had often witnessed it before in tropical
America, but here the left feet of the cocks were armed with large
steel spurs shaped like miniature cutlasses, which before the fight
began were encased in small leather sheaths. The onlookers worked
themselves up into a state of great excitement, and there was a great
deal of chaff, mixed with angry words, and plenty of silver
“pesos” were exchanged over the results. But it was cruel
work, and the crouching spectators were often scattered right and left
by the furious birds, whilst on one occasion a too venturesome onlooker
received a rather severe gash on his arm.</p>
<p>The church clock here was a thing to wonder at. It had no dial, and
struck only about five times a day. When it struck ten there was an
interval of over twenty seconds between each stroke until the last two
strokes, these coming quickly together, as if it was tired of such slow
work! As there was <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e809" href="#xd0e809">71</a>]</span>no face to the clock, I was puzzled to know
whether to set my watch at the first or last stroke, or to split the
difference.</p>
<p>There were a great many funerals during my stay here in December,
there being a regular epidemic of cholera and malaria. This was the
unhealthy season, and I was told that there were as many deaths in
Florida Blanca during the months of December and January as during all
the rest of the year put together.</p>
<p>One day I watched from my window a funeral procession on its way
from the church to the cemetery. The Padre was not there, and this no
doubt accounted for the acrobatic display given by the three men in
cassocks and surplices, who led the way, bearing a cross and two
candles. They started by playfully kicking each other, and this soon
developed into angry words, so that I expected a free fight. One of
them tucked his unbuttoned cassock round his neck, and egged the other
two on. The coffin followed on a lighted bier, and the string of
mourners followed meekly behind, no doubt looking upon this display as
nothing out of the common.</p>
<p>The interior of the church was very cold and bare, and there were no
seats. I learnt that the American and the Filipino Padre did not hit it
off together. There were one or two opposition schools in the village,
run by Filipinos, who did their utmost to prevent the children from
learning <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e817" href="#xd0e817">72</a>]</span>the language of the hated Americanos. The
American did not make himself any more popular by pulling down the old
street sign-boards bearing Spanish names, and substituting ugly
card-board placards marked in ink with fresh names, such as America
Street, McKinley Street, and Roosevelt Street; he had also named a
street after himself! Later on I learnt that this American schoolmaster
was a kind of spy in the American secret police, and that he had to
listen outside Filipino houses at night to overhear the conversation of
suspected insurgents. I was told this by Victoriano, my Filipino
servant in the mountains, who often accompanied the American in his
nightly rounds, and was the only man in the secret. This Victoriano,
whom I always called Vic for short, was the best servant that I have
had during my wanderings in any part of the world. He spoke Spanish and
knew a little English, as he had once been a servant to an Englishman
near Manila. With my small knowledge of Spanish, and his smattering of
English, we hit it off very well together. He acted as gun-bearer,
cook, laundry maid, housemaid, interpreter and guide. Later on he told
me that he had been an officer in the insurgent Aguinaldo’s army,
and that he had been imprisoned by the Spaniards for four years on the
island of Mindanao for belonging to a revolutionary society. He was a
tall, thin fellow of only thirty-two years of age, and yet his present
wife in Florida <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e819" href="#xd0e819">73</a>]</span>Blanca was his sixth, all the others being
dead. I used to chaff him about having poisoned them, which much amused
him. After some days the American returned, and he told me of a very
good spot in which to collect up in the mountains, so one morning I
started off with Vic for a long stay in these mountain forests. We left
Florida Blanca before the sun had risen, my luggage being carried in
one of the curious buffalo wagons. We soon left the dry rice-fields
behind, and for some distance passed over a wide uninteresting plain of
tall grass, dotted about with a few trees. After going some distance
our two buffaloes were unyoked and allowed to soak in a small pond.
This process was repeated every time we came to any water, and this,
together with the slow progress of the buffaloes, made the journey
longer than I had anticipated. After crossing a fair-sized river, we
began a gradual ascent into the mountains. My luggage was then carried
for a short distance, and after travelling through some bamboo thickets
and crossing a rocky stream, I beheld my future abode. It was a small
grass-thatched hut, with a flooring of split bamboo, raised four feet
from the ground; up to this we had to climb by means of a single bamboo
step. About two-thirds of the hut consisted of a flooring of bamboo,
fairly open on all sides but one; this part did as my bedroom, and to
get to it I had to crawl through a hole—one could hardly call it
a door! It was quite dark <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e821" href="#xd0e821">74</a>]</span>inside, but there was just room enough to lie
down on the split bamboo floor. All round the hut was a large clearing,
planted with maize, belonging to a Filipino, who from time to time
lived in another small hut about one hundred yards away. He also owned
the one I was living in, and for this I paid him the not very
exorbitant sum of one peso (two shillings) a month. Tall gaunt trees
rose out of the corn on all sides, and in the early morning they were
full of bird-life—parrots, parakeets, cockatoos, pigeons,
woodpeckers, gapers and hornbills, etc. A clear rocky stream flowed by
the side of the hut, the sound of whose rushing waters by night and day
was like music to the ear in this hot and thirsty land, whilst shaded
as it was by bamboos and trees, it was a delightful spot to bathe in
every morning and evening. I was well pleased with my surroundings, and
looked forward to a successful and interesting stay. I fared well
though the food was rough, and I subsisted chiefly on rice and papayas,
together with pigeons, doves, parrots, and the smaller hornbill, called
here “talactic,” all of which fell to my gun. The
surrounding country in these lower mountains was a mixture of forest
and open grass-country, the grass often growing far over my head. The
forest, which abounded in clear, rocky streams of cold water, was very
luxuriant and beautiful, especially in many of the cool, damp ravines
further back in the mountains. But near my camping ground a <span
class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e823" href="#xd0e823">75</a>]</span>great
deal of the forest seemed to be half smothered with large thickets of
bamboo, and consequently the larger trees were rather far apart. There
was also a climbing variety of bamboo, which scrambled up to the tops
of the largest trees. The undergrowth in places was most luxuriant and
consisted of different species of palms, rattans, tree-ferns, <i>
pandanus,</i> giant ginger, <i>pipers, pothos, begonias,</i> bananas,
<i>caladiums,</i> ferns, <i>selaginellas</i> and lycopodiums, and many
variegated plants. Growing on many of the trees were some fine orchids.
Chief amongst them may be mentioned a very beautiful
“vanda,” which grew mostly on trees in the open grass
country, and which I witnessed in full bloom during my stay here. They
presented a wonderful sight. Out of the large sheaths of fan-like
leaves grew two grand flower-spikes, bearing from thirty to forty large
white, chocolate and crimson flowers. Of these there were two
varieties, and on one large plant I saw fully a dozen flower-spikes.
Further back in the mountains I came across some fine species of <i>
Phalaenopsis.</i></p>
<p>I early made the acquaintance of the little Negritos, the aborigines
of these mountains, and during my wanderings I would often stumble
across their huts in small clearings in the forest. They never seemed
to have any villages, and I hardly ever saw more than one hut in one
place, and they were nearly always miserable bamboo <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="xd0e842" href="#xd0e842">76</a>]</span>hovels. As for
the little people themselves, they seemed perfectly harmless, and from
the first treated me with the greatest friendliness, and would often
pay me a visit at my hut, sometimes bringing me rice and
“papayas” or a large hornbill, which had been shot with
their steel-pointed arrows. They were quite naked except for a very
small strip of cloth. Their skin was of a very dark brown colour, their
hair frizzly, and the nose flat. They were by far the smallest race of
people I had ever seen, and they might quite properly be termed
pigmies. I certainly never came across a Negrito man over four feet six
inches, if as tall, and the women were a great deal smaller, coming as
a rule only up to the men’s shoulders; the elderly women looked
like small children with old faces. Both sexes generally had their
bodies covered with various patterns cut in their skins, a kind of
tattooing it might be called, but the skin was very much raised. Many
of them had the backs of their heads in the centre shaved in a curious
manner, like a very broad parting. I did not see them wearing many
ornaments, but the men had tight-fitting fibre bracelets on their arms
and legs, and the women sometimes wore necklaces of seeds, berries and
beads; they would also sometimes wear curiously carved bamboo combs in
their hair. The men used spears and bows and arrows; these latter they
were rarely without. Their arrows were often works of art, very fine
and neat patterns being <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e844" href="#xd0e844">77</a>]</span>burnt on the bamboo shafts. The feathers on
the heads were large, and the steel points were very neatly bound on
with rattan. These steel points were often cruel-looking things, having
many fishhook-like barbs set at different angles, so that if they once
entered a man’s body it would be impossible to extract them
again. A very clever invention was an arrow made for shooting deer and
pig. The steel point was comparatively small, and it was fitted very
lightly to a small piece of wood, which was also lightly placed in the
end of the arrow. Attached at one end to the arrow-head was a long
piece of stout native cord, which was wound round the shaft, the other
end being fastened to the main shaft. When the arrow was shot into a
pig, for instance, the steel head soon fell apart from the small bit of
wood, which in its turn would also drop off from the main shaft. The
thick cord would then gradually become unwound, and together with the
shaft would trail on the ground till at length it would be caught fast
in the bamboos or other thick growth, and the pig would then be at the
mercy of its pursuers. The steel head, being barbed, could not be
pulled out in the pig’s struggles to break loose. I had one of
these arrows presented to me by the chief of these Negritos, but, as a
rule, they are very hard to get as the Negritos value them very highly.
An American officer I met in Manila told me that he had been quartered
for some time in a district <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e846"
href="#xd0e846">78</a>]</span>where there were many Negritos, and
though he had offered large rewards for one of these arrows he was not
successful in getting one. The women manufacture enormous baskets,
which I often saw them carrying on their backs when I met them in the
forest. I was much struck with the cleverness of some of their
fish-traps; these were long cone-like objects tapering to a point, the
insides being lined with the extraordinary barb-covered stems of a
rattan or climbing palm, and the thorns or barbs placed (pointing
inwards) in such a way that the fish could get in easily but not
out.</p>
<p>These Negritos were splendid marksmen with their bows and arrows,
and during my stay amongst them I became quite an adept in that art;
their old chief used to take a great delight in teaching me, and my
first efforts were met with hearty roars of laughter. They were
certainly the merriest and yet the dirtiest people I have ever met.
Whenever I met them they were always smiling. When, as happened on more
than one occasion, I lost my way in the forest and had at length
stumbled upon one of their dwellings, I made signs to let them
understand that I wanted them to show me the way back. This they
cheerfully did, and led the way singing in their peculiar manner; it
was a most wild and abandoned and barbaric kind of music, if it could
really be called music at all. It consisted chiefly of shouting and
yelling in different scales, as if the singers were <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="xd0e850" href="#xd0e850">79</a>]</span>overflowing
with joy at the mere idea of being alive. I would often hear them
singing, or yelling like children, in the deep recesses of the forest.
In fact the contentment and happiness of these little people was quite
extraordinary, and I had a great affection for them. They would do
almost anything for me, and their chief and I soon became great
friends. He was a most amusing old fellow, and nearly always seemed to
be laughing. Yet they were also the dirtiest people I had ever seen,
and never washed themselves: consequently they were thick with dirt,
which even their dark skins could not hide. They grew a little rice and
tobacco, and the old chief always kept me well supplied with rice,
which seemed of very fair quality. He also kept a few chickens and
would often send me a present of some eggs, which were very acceptable.
In return I would give him an old shirt or two, which he was very proud
of. By the time I left, these shirts were almost the colour of his
skin, and he evidently did not wish to follow my advice as to washing
them. His house was a very large one for a Negrito’s, and far
better built than any others that I saw. When the maize which grew
round my hut was ripe, the Filipino owner got several men and women up
from Florida Blanca to help him to harvest it, and many of them slept
underneath my hut. At nights I would generally have quite a crowd round
me watching me skin my birds, and although I did not understand a word
<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e852" href="#xd0e852">80</a>]</span>of
their Pampanga dialect, their exclamations of surprise and delight when
a bird was finished were quite complimentary. Poor Vic had to endure a
running fire of questions as to what I was going to do with my birds
and butterflies, but to judge by the way he lectured on me, he no doubt
enjoyed it, and possibly told them some wonderful yarns about “My
English,” as he called me. One day a man at work in the maize had
a bad attack of “calenturas” (malarial fever). I gave him
some quinine and Epsom salts and this treatment evidently had a good
effect, as the next day I was, besieged by a regular crowd of Filipinos
of both sexes, who wished to consult me as to their various ills, and
Vic was called in to act as interpreter. A good many of them, both men
and women, took off nearly all their clothes to show me bruises and
sores that they had, and I was in despair as to what treatment to
recommend. At last when one old woman had parted with most of her
little clothing to show me some sores, I told Vic to tell her that she
had better get a good wash in the river (as she was the reverse of
clean). This prescription raised a laugh, but the old lady was furious,
and my medical advice was not again asked for. After the maize was cut,
the owner started to sow a fresh crop without even taking out the old
stalks, which had been cut off a few inches from the ground. This was
the way he did it. He made holes in the ground with a hoe in one hand,
<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e854" href="#xd0e854">81</a>]</span>and in the other hand he held a roasted cob of
corn, which he kept chewing from time to time. His wife followed him,
dropping a grain into each hole and filling in the soil with her feet.
It would have made a good picture under the heading of
“Agriculture in the Tropics”! Vic told me that they got
four crops a year, so one can hardly wonder at their taking things
easily. A rough bamboo fence separated the maize from a copse of bamboo
jungle and forest, in which I was one day collecting with Vic, when I
attempted to jump over a very low part of the fence. Vic, however,
called out to me to stop, and it was lucky he did so, as otherwise the
consequences would have been terrible for me. Just hidden by a few thin
creepers, there had been arranged there a very neat little pig-trap,
consisting of a dozen or more sharp bamboo spears firmly planted in the
ground, and leaning at a slight angle towards the fence. Except for
Vic’s timely warning I should have been stuck through and
through, as the bamboo points would stand a heavy weight without
breaking, and if I had escaped being killed, I should certainly have
been crippled for life. I naturally felt very angry with my neighbour
for not having asked Vic to tell me about this, as the previous day
when out alone I had climbed to the top of this fence and then jumped
down into the creepers below; luckily I had not then noticed this low
part further down. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e856" href="#xd0e856">82</a>]</span></p>
<p>Many of the Filipinos are very good shots with their blowpipes, and
Vic possessed one. It was about nine feet in length, and possessed a
sight made of a lump of wax at one end. Like the bows of the Negritos,
it was made out of the trunk of a very beautiful fan-palm
(<i>Livistona</i> sp.). Two pieces of the palm-wood are hollowed out
and then stuck together in a wonderfully clever fashion, so that the
joins barely show. Vic was fairly good with it when shooting at birds a
short distance away. His ammunition consisted of round clay pellets,
which he fashioned to the right size by help of a hole in a small tin
plate, which he always carried with him.</p>
<p>Birds were fairly plentiful in these mountain forests, and I was
glad to get one of the interesting racquet-tailed parrots of the genus
<i>Prioniturus,</i> that are only found in the Philippines and Celebes.
It was curious that up here amongst the pigmy Negritos I should get a
pigmy hawk. It was by far the smallest hawk I had ever seen, being not
much larger than a sparrow. Several species of very beautiful
honey-suckers, full of metallic colours, used to frequent the bright
red flowers of a creeper that generally clambered up the trees
overhanging the streams, and these flowers proved very popular with
many butterflies, especially the giant gold and black <i>
Ornithopteras</i> and various rare <i>papilios</i> of great beauty.
There was one bird I was most anxious to get, and though I saw it once
I had to leave Luzon without it. It was a <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e873" href="#xd0e873">83</a>]</span><i>pitta,</i> a kind of ground
thrush. Thrushes of this genus are amongst the most brilliant of all
birds, and in my own collections I possess a great number of different
species that I have collected in other countries. This one that I was
so anxious to get was locally called “Tinkalu.” Amongst
both Filipinos and Negritos it has the reputation of being the
cleverest of all birds, and, as Vic expressed it, “like a
man.” It hops away into the thickest undergrowth and hides at the
least sound. Certainly no bird has ever given me such a lot of worry
and trouble. Many a weary hour did I spend going through swamps and
rivers, bamboo and thorny palms, dripping with perspiration and
tormented by swarms of mosquitos and sand-flies, and all to no
purpose!</p>
<p>Thanks to Vic, I soon picked up most of the local names of the
various birds, which were often given on account of the sounds they
made. The large hornbill was named “Gasalo,” the smaller
kind “Talactic,” the large pigeon “Buabu,” a
bee-eater “Patirictiric,” and other names were
“Pipit,” “Culiaun,” “Alibasbas,”
“Quilaquilbunduc,” “Papalacul,”
“Batala,” “Batubatu,” “Culasisi.”
Some of the spiders here were of great size, and in these mountain
forests their webs were a great nuisance. These webs were often of a
yellow glutinous substance, which stained my clothes, and when they
caught me in the face, as they often did, it was the reverse of
pleasant. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e879" href="#xd0e879">84</a>]</span></p>
<p>Mosquitos and sandflies were very numerous and ants were in great
force, so that one evening when I discovered that they were hard at
work amongst all my bird skins, it took me up to 5 a.m. to separate
them before I could get to bed.</p>
<p>I discovered a diurnal moth that possessed a most powerful and
delicious scent. Vic, who had never noticed it before, was delighted,
and proposed my catching them in quantities and turning them into
scent. Whilst on the subject of scent, I might mention that in these
forests I would often come across a good-sized tree which was called
Ilang-ilang. It was covered with plain-looking green flowers, which
possessed a wonderful fragrance. I learnt that the Filipinos collected
the flowers, which were sent to Manila and made into scent, but that
they generally cut down the tree in order to get the flowers.</p>
<p>I saw here for the first time the curious flying lizards. Their
partly transparent wings were generally of very bright colours; they
fly fully twenty yards from one tree to another, and quickly run up the
trees out of reach. Another quaint lizard, was what is generally known
as the gecko. It is said to be poisonous in the Philippines, and is
generally found on trees or bamboos and often in houses. In comparison
to the size of this lizard the volume of its voice was enormous. I
generally heard it at night. First would come a preliminary gurgling
chuckle; then a pause <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e886" href="#xd0e886">85</a>]</span>(between the chuckle and what follows it).
Then comes loud and clear, “Tuck-oo-o,” then a slight
pause, then “Tuck-oo-o” again repeated six or seven times
at regular intervals; at other times it sounds like “Chuck
it.” When it was calling inside a hollow bamboo, the noise made
was extraordinary. There were a great number of bamboos in the
surrounding country, and they were continually snapping with loud
reports, which I would often imagine to be the reports of a rifle until
I got used to them. Wild pig were very plentiful, and at night they
would often grub up the ground a few yards from my hut. One night I was
skinning a bird, with Vic looking on, when we heard some animal
growling close by, and Vic without any warning seized my gun (which I
always kept loaded with buckshot) and fired into the darkness. He said
that it was a “tigre,” and called out excitedly that he had
killed it, but although we hunted about with a light for some time, we
saw no signs of it. No doubt it was some animal of the cat family. Vic,
as in fact all Filipinos, had a mortal dread of snakes, and he would
never venture out at night without a torch made of lighted bamboo, as
he said they were very plentiful at night. The large hornbills
(“Gasalo”) were very hard to stalk, and as they generally
frequented the tallest trees they were out of shot. They usually flew
about in flocks, and made a most extraordinary noise, rather like <span
class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e888" href="#xd0e888">86</a>]</span>a whole
farmyard full of turkeys, guinea fowls and dogs. The whirring noise
they made with their wings was not unlike the shunting of a locomotive.
I had often before heard of the curious habit of the male in plastering
up the female with mud in the hollow of a tree, leaving only a small
hole through which he fed her until the single egg was hatched and the
young one was ready to fly. Vic knew this, and further informed me that
the smaller species, named here “Talactic,” had the same
custom of plastering up the female.</p>
<p>Many evenings, when I had finished my work, I would get Vic to teach
me the Pampanga, dialect, and wrote down a large vocabulary of words,
and when some years afterwards I compared them word for word with other
dialects and languages throughout the Malay Archipelago, I found that,
with a few exceptions, there was not the slightest affinity between
them. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e892" href="#xd0e892">87</a>]</span></p>
</div>
<div id="xd0e893" class="div1">
<h2 class="normal">A Chapter of Accidents.</h2>
<div class="argument">
<p>A Severe Bout of Malaria in the Wilds—The “Seamy
Side” of Exploration—Unfortunate Shooting of the
Chief’s Dog—Filipino Credulity—Stories of the Buquils
and their Bearded Women—Expedition Planned—Succession of
<i>contretemps</i>—Start for the Buquil Country—Scenes on
the Way—A Negrito Mother’s Method of Giving Drink to Her
Baby—Exhausting Marches Amid Striking Scenery—The Worst
Over—A Bolt from the Blue—Negritos in a Fury—Violent
Scenes at a Negrito Council of War—They Decide on
Reprisals—Further Progress Barred in Consequence—Return to
Florida Blanca.</p>
</div>
<p>As I mentioned before, this was the unhealthy season in the
Philippines, and Vic assured me that these lower mountains were even
more unhealthy than the flat country. I myself soon arrived at a
similar conclusion, as a regular epidemic of malaria now set in among
my pigmy friends, the Negritos, and the old chief told us that his
favourite son was dying with it; next my neighbour and his wife were
prostrated with it, and when they had slightly recovered, they left
their hut and returned to Florida Blanca. Vic himself was next laid up
with it, and seemed to think he was going to die. When I was at work in
the evening he would shiver and groan under a blanket by my side; this,
coming night after night, was rather depressing for me, all alone as I
was. At other times he would imagine we were hunting the wary and
elusive <i>pitta,</i> and would start up crying, “<i>Ah! el
tinkalu,</i> it is there! <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e910" href="#xd0e910">88</a>]</span><i>por Deos,</i> shoot, my English,
shoot!” or he would imagine we were after butterflies, and would
cry out, <i>“Caramba, mariposa azul muy grande, muy bueno,
bueno!”</i> I was forced to do all the cooking for both of us,
though it was quite pathetic to see poor Vic’s efforts to come to
my assistance, and his indignation that his “English”
should do such work for him. At one time I half expected that he would
die, but with careful nursing and doctoring I gradually brought him
round.</p>
<p>During all the time that he was ill. I did but little collecting,
and no sooner was Vic on the road to recovery than I myself was seized
with it, and Vic repaid the compliment by nursing me in turn. It was a
most depressing illness, especially as I was living on the poorest fare
in a close and dirty hut. When you are ill in civilization, with nurses
and doctors and a good bed, you feel that you are in good hands, and
confidence does much to help recovery. But it is a different matter
being sick in the wilds, without any of these luxuries, and you wonder
what will happen if it gets serious. Then you long for home and its
luxuries, with a very great longing, and cordially detest the spot you
are in, with all those wretched birds and butterflies! It is Eke a long
nightmare, but as you get better you forget all this, and the jaundiced
feeling soon wears off, and you start off collecting again as keen as
ever. One day a small skinny brown dog somehow managed to <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="xd0e919" href="#xd0e919">89</a>]</span>climb up the
bamboo step into my hut during Vic’s temporary absence, and I
suddenly awoke to find it helping itself to the contents of a plate
that Vic had placed by my side. I was far too ill to do more than
frighten it away. This happened a second time before I was strong
enough to move, but the third time I was well enough to seize my small
collecting gun (which was loaded with very small cartridges), and when
it was about thirty yards away I fired at it, simply intending to
frighten it, as at that distance these small cartridges would hardly
have killed a small bird. It stopped suddenly and, after spinning round
a few times yelping, it turned over on its back. Even then I thought it
was shamming, but on going up to it I found it was dead, with only one
No. 8 shot in its spleen. On Vic’s return he was much alarmed, as
he said the dog belonged to the Negrito chief, who was very fond of it,
and would be very angry with me if he knew. So we hid the body in the
middle of a clump of bamboo about a quarter of a mile away from the
hut. But the following day the sky was thick with a kind of turkey
buzzard, which had evidently smelt the dog’s corpse from some
distance, and they were soon quarrelling over the remains. Vic worked
himself up into a state of panic, saying that it would be discovered by
the Negritos, but a few days later I sent him over to the Negrito
chief’s hut to get me some rice, and the chief <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="xd0e921" href="#xd0e921">90</a>]</span>mentioned that
his chief wife had lost her dog, which she was very fond of, and that
he thought that I must have killed it. Vic in reply said that that
could never be, as in the country that I came from the people were so
fond of dogs that they were very kind to them, and treated them like
their own fathers. The chief then said that a pig must have killed it,
and so the incident ended.</p>
<p>About this time Vic asked my permission to return to Florida Blanca
for a few days, as he had heard that his wife had run away with another
man, and he offered to send his brother to take his place. His brother
could also speak English a little, and was assistant schoolmaster to
the American. He proved, however, an arrant coward, and, like most
Filipinos, lived in great fear of the Negritos. When out with me in the
forest he would start, if he heard a twig snap or a bamboo creak, and
look fearfully about him for a Negrito. He told me that the Negritos
will kill and rob you if they think there is no chance of being found
out, and he mentioned a case of an old Filipino being killed and robbed
by these same Negritos a few months previously. I managed to string
together the following absurd story from his broken English. He said
that if you heard a twig break in the forest once or even twice you
were safe enough, but if a twig snapped a third time, and you did not
call out that you saw the Negrito, you would get an arrow into you. He
<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e925" href="#xd0e925">91</a>]</span>said that once when he heard the stick
“break three time” (to use his own words), he called out
“Ah! I see you Negrite, and the Negrite he no shoot, but came out
like amigo (friend).” His English was too limited for me to point
out the many weak and absurd points of the story, as, for instance, why
the Negrito should make the twigs break exactly three times, and why he
should not shoot because he thinks he is seen. I only mention this
anecdote to illustrate the credulity of the Filipinos. The next day,
when we were out collecting in the morning, I suddenly saw him start
when a bamboo snapped, so I called out, “Buenos diaz,
Señor Negrite.” This was too much for my man, who ran off
home and refused to follow me in the forest that afternoon, and when I
returned that evening he was nowhere to be seen, and I found out later
that he had returned to Florida Blanca. In consequence I was forced to
do all my own cooking, which was not pleasant, as I had to do it all in
the hot sun, and this brought on a return of my fever. At last, one
morning, as I was endeavouring to light a fire to cook my breakfast,
and muttering unpleasant things about Vic and his brother, I suddenly
looked up and Vic stood before me like a. silent ghost. I say like a
ghost, because he looked like one, thin and gaunt as he still was from
fever. He, too, had had a return of the fever and had not yet
recovered, but sooner <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e927" href="#xd0e927">92</a>]</span>than that “his English” should be
alone, he had dragged himself over in the cool of the night. The next
day his wife and two children arrived. She had been on a visit to her
mother in another village, which accounted for Vic’s thinking she
had run away. They occupied the hut of my late neighbour, and before
many days had gone they were all bad with fever. It was easy to see
that the woman hated me, and imagined I was the cause of her having to
come and live in these lonely and unhealthy mountains. Vic told me that
there had been so much sickness in Florida Blanca that there was no
quinine left in the place. My own stock was getting low, and Vic and
his family, as well as myself, used it daily. I had cured the old
Negrito chief with it, and he was very grateful to me, and presented me
with some very fine arrows in return.</p>
<p>For some time past I had heard rumours of an extraordinary tribe of
Negritos who lived further back in the mountains, and were named
Buquils, and whose women were reported to have beards. Vic, whom I
always found to be most truthful in everything, and who rarely
exaggerated, declared it was true, and furthermore told me that these
Buquils had long smooth hair, which proved that they could not have
been Negritos. Besides, I learnt that they were quite a tall people.
Nowhere in the whole world is there such a diversity of races as in the
Philippines, and so it would be <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e931"
href="#xd0e931">93</a>]</span>quite impossible even to guess what they
were. Vic had once seen some of them himself when they came on a visit
to the lower mountains. Though I thought the story, as to the women
having beards, a fable, I determined to visit them before I left these
mountains, and the old Negrito chief, who also told me that the women
really did have beards, offered to lend me some of his people to carry
my things. But one day Vic heard that his lather was dying, and when I
tried to cheer him up he sobbed in a mixture of broken Spanish and
English, “One thousand señoritas can get, one thousand
children can get, but lose one father more cannot get.” On this
account I had to return to Florida Blanca, and besides we were all very
bad with constant attacks of fever, and in this village we could at all
events get bread, milk and eggs to recuperate us. The American had left
for a long holiday, so I managed to hire a small house where I could
sort my collections before returning to Manila, where I intended
catching a steamer for the south Philippines.</p>
<p>One day the village priest (a Filipino) called on me, and in course
of conversation we spoke about these Buquils. He was most emphatic that
it was true about the women having beards, and he also told me that no
Englishman, American or Spaniard had ever penetrated so far back in the
mountains as to reach their villages. When he had left I thought it
over, and decided to go and <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e935"
href="#xd0e935">94</a>]</span>see them for myself, though I was still
suffering from fever. Vic, whose father had recovered from his illness,
declared his willingness to accompany me; in fact I knew that he would
never allow me to go without him. He was quite miserable at the idea of
our parting, which was close at hand. As luck would have it, the day
before we decided to start, Vic was down with fever again, and the
following day I was seized with it. Never before or since have I been
amongst so much fever as I was in this district. In any case I had made
up my mind to see these Buquils, but we had now lost two days, and
there was only just enough time left to get there and back and to
journey back to Manila and catch my steamer. The day after my attack we
started for the mountains once more at about two p.m., my fever being
still too bad for me to start earlier. It had been very dry lately,
with not a drop of rain and hardly a cloud to be seen, but just as we
were starting it came on to rain in torrents and this meant that the
rainy season had set in. It seemed as if the very elements were against
us, and even Vic seemed struck with our various difficulties. I was
sick and feverish, and my head felt like a lump of lead, as I plodded
mechanically along in the rain through the tall wet grass. I felt no
keenness to see these people at the time, fever removes all that, but I
had so got it into my head before the fever that I must go at all
hazards, that I felt somehow as if I was <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e937" href="#xd0e937">95</a>]</span>obeying someone else. We passed
my old residence a short way off, and I stayed the night at the Negrito
chief’s hut, which I reached long after dark. He seemed very glad
to see me again, and turned out most of his family and relations to
make room for me. My troubles were not yet ended, as the two Filipinos
whom I had engaged to carry my food and bedding could not start till
late, and consequently lost their way, and were discovered in the
forest by some Negritos, who went in search of them about 2 a.m.
Meanwhile I had to lie on the hard ground in my wet clothes, and as I
got very cold a fresh attack of fever resulted. I had intended to start
off again about four a.m., but it was fully four hours later before we
were well on our way. I managed to eat a little before I left, our rice
and other food being cooked in bamboo (the regular method of cooking
amongst the Negritos). I here noticed for the first time the method
employed by the Negrito mothers for giving their babies water; they
fill their own mouths with water from a bamboo, and the child drinks
from its mother’s mouth. In the early morning thousands of
metallic green and cream-coloured pigeons and large green doves came to
feed on the golden yellow fruit of a species of fig tree
(<i>Ficus</i>), which grew on the edge of the forest near the
chief’s hut. They made a tremendous noise, fluttering and
squeaking as they fought over the tempting looking fruit. <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="xd0e942" href="#xd0e942">96</a>]</span></p>
<p>We took five Negritos to carry the rice and my baggage—two
men, two women, and a boy. The women, though not much more than girls,
were apportioned the heaviest loads; the men saw to that, and looked
indignant when I made them reduce the girls’ loads. As we
continued on our journey, I noticed that our five Negrito carriers were
joined by several others all well armed with bows and extra large
bundles of arrows, and on my asking Vic the reason, he told me that
these Buquils we were going to visit were very treacherous, and our
Negritos would never venture amongst them unless in a strong body. As
we went along the narrow track in single file some of the Negritos
would suddenly break forth into song or shouting, and as they would
yell (as if in answer to each other) all along the line, I could not
help envying them the extreme health and happiness which the very sound
of it seemed to express; my own head meanwhile feeling as if about to
split. I shall never forget that walk up and down the steepest tracks,
where in some places a slip would have meant a fall far down into a
gorge below. If Vic was to be believed, I was the first white man to
try that track, and I would not like to recommend it to any others.
Deep ravines, that if one could only have spanned with a bridge one
could have crossed in five minutes or less, took us fully an hour to go
down and up again, and I could never have got down some of them except
for being able <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e945" href="#xd0e945">97</a>]</span>to hang on to bushes, trees and long grass.
Whenever we passed a Negrito hut we took a short rest. My Negritos,
however, wanted to make it a long one, as they seemed to be very fond
of yarning, and when I insisted on their hurrying on, Vic got
frightened and declared they might clear out and leave us, which would
certainly have been a misfortune. At length we arrived at a
chief’s hut, where we had arranged to spend the night. It was
situated at the top of a tall, grassy peak, from which I got a
wonderful view of the surrounding country: steep wooded gorges and
precipices surrounded us on all sides, and in the distance the flat
country from whence we had come, and far far away the sea looked like
glistening silver. The flat country presented an extraordinary contrast
to the rugged mountains which surrounded me. It was so wonderfully
flat, not the smallest hill to be seen anywhere, except where the
lonely isolated peak of Mount Aryat arose in the distance, and far away
one could just see a long chain of lofty mountains. The effect of the
shadows of the distant clouds on the flat country was very curious.
Early the next morning, at sunrise, the view looked very different,
though just as beautiful. The chief seemed very friendly. He was a
brother of my old friend, with whom I had stayed the previous night.
This chief, however, was very different to his brother, being very
dignified, but he had a very good and kind face, whilst my old friend
was a <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e947" href="#xd0e947">98</a>]</span>“typical comic opera” kind of
character. From what I could understand these two and another brother
ruled over this tribe of Negritos between them, each being chief of a
third of the tribe Soon after my arrival I turned in, as I was very
tired and feverish and had had no sleep the previous night. The
Negritos, as usual, were very merry and made a great noise for so small
a people. I never saw such people for laughter whenever anything amused
them, which is very often; they were a great contrast in this respect
to the Filipinos. This natural gaiety helps to explain their many and
varied dances, one of which consists in their running round after each
other in a circle.</p>
<p>I felt very much better next morning, and we started off very early,
our numbers being increased by the chief and many of his men, so that I
now found myself escorted by quite an army. I took note round here of
the methods used by the Negritos in climbing tall, thick trees to get
fruit and birds-nests. They had long bamboo poles lashed together,
which run up to one of the highest branches fully one hundred feet from
the ground. They often fastened them to the branch of a smaller tree,
and thence slanting upwards to the top of a tall tree, perhaps as much
as sixty feet and more away from the smaller tree. These Negritos axe
splendid climbers, but it seemed wonderful for even a Negrito to trust
himself on <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e951" href="#xd0e951">99</a>]</span>one of these bamboos stretching like a thread
from tree to tree so far from the ground. I shall never forget the
scramble we now had into the deepest gorge of all, and how we followed
the bed of a dried-up stream, which in the rainy season must be a
series of cascades and waterfalls, since we had to scramble all the way
over large slippery boulders covered with ferns and <i>begonias.</i> We
at length came to a tempting-looking river full of large pools of clear
water, into which I longed to plunge. The banks were extremely
beautiful, being overhung by the forest, and the rocky cliffs were half
hidden by large fleshy-leaved climbers and many other beautiful
tropical plants. It was one of those indescribably beautiful spots that
one so often encounters in the tropical wilds, and which it is
impossible to paint in words. A troop of monkeys were disporting
themselves on a tree overhanging the river. Vic was most anxious for me
to allow him to shoot one, but I have only shot one monkey in my life,
and it is to be the last, and I always try and prevent others from
doing so. We waded the river in a shallow place, and climbed up the
steep hill on the other side. We had gone a good distance over hills
covered with tall grass, and I was now looking forward to a bit of
decent walking, as hitherto it had been nearly all miserable scrambling
work, and the Negritos told Vic that the worst was now over. But we
were approaching a hut, overhanging a rocky cliff, when we heard the
<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e956" href="#xd0e956">100</a>]</span>sound of angry voices and wailing above us,
and we soon perceived four Negritos (three men and a woman) approaching
us. I thought the old woman was mad; she was making more noise than all
the others put together, shouting and screaming in her fury. At first I
thought they might be hostile Negritos who resented our intrusion, but
they belonged to the tribe of the chief who was with me, and they were
soon talking to him in loud, excited voices. Our own party soon got
excited, too, and, as may be imagined, I was longing to find out the
cause of all this excitement. Vic soon told me the reason. It appeared
that on the previous day a large party of our Negritos had gone into
the territory of the Buquils in order to get various kinds of forest
produce (as they had often done in the past), and had been
treacherously attacked by these Buquils, and many of them killed. One
of these was the brother of a sub-chief, who now approached us, and who
was, I believe, the husband of the frenzied woman. It was a very
excitable scene that followed. I suppose one might call it a council of
war. It was a mystery to me where all the Negritos came from and how
they found us out; but they came in ones and twos till there was a huge
concourse of them present, all gathered round their chief and squatting
on the ground. About the only one who behaved sensibly was my friend
the chief. He spoke in a slow and dignified manner, but the rest worked
themselves <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e958" href="#xd0e958">101</a>]</span>up into a furious rage, and twanged their
bowstrings, and jumped about and fitted arrows to their bows, and
pointed them at inoffensive “papaya” trees, whilst two
little boys shot small arrows into the green and yellow fruit, seeming
to catch the fever from their elders. One man actually danced a kind of
war-dance on his own account, strutting about with his bow and arrow
pointed, and getting into all sorts of grotesque attitudes, moving
about with his legs stiffened, and pulling the most hideous faces, till
I was forced to laugh.</p>
<p>But it seemed to be no laughing matter for the Negritos. The old
woman beat them all; she did not want anyone to get in a word edgeways,
but screamed and yelled, almost foaming at the mouth, till I almost
expected to see her fall down in a fit. I never before witnessed such a
display of fury.</p>
<p>Vic kept me well advised as to the progress of the proceedings, and
it was eventually settled that each of the three brother chiefs were to
gather together three hundred fighting men, making nine hundred
altogether, and these in a few days’ time were to go up and
avenge the deaths of their fellow tribesmen. From the enthusiasm
displayed amongst the little men, this was evidently carried
unanimously, but I noticed two young men sitting aloof from the rest of
the crowd and looking rather sullen and frightened, and as they did not
join <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e964" href="#xd0e964">102</a>]</span>in the general warlike demonstrations, it was
evidently their first fight. Here, however, I made Vic interrupt in
order to draw attention to myself. What Vic translated to me was to the
effect that it was out of the question for us to go on into the
enemy’s country, which we should have reached in another two
hours’ walk. If we did they would certainly kill us all by
shooting arrows into us from the long grass (in other words, we should
fall into an ambush), and, in fact, since they had killed some of this
tribe they would kill anyone that came into their country. By killing
these men they had declared war. This was the sum total of Vic’s
translation, and I saw at once that it was out of the question for me
to go on, as no Negrito would go with me, and I could not go alone. In
any case I should have been killed. Vic told me that very few of these
Buquils ever leave their mountain valleys, and so most of them had
never seen a Filipino, much less a white man. And so I met with a very
great disappointment, and was forced to leave without proving whether
or no the story of these bearded women was a myth. Lately I heard a
rumour that an American had visited them and proved the story true. My
disappointment may well be imagined. I had come over the worst track I
had ever travelled on in spite of rain and fever, but I at once saw
that all my labours were in vain and that I could not surmount this
last difficulty. But I was lucky in one way. The chief told Vic that if
we had gone yesterday <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e966" href="#xd0e966">103</a>]</span>we should all have been killed, as without
knowing anything about it, we should have got there just after the
fight. So for once fever had done me a good turn, a
“providencia,” I think Vic called it, as I should have
reached my destination the previous day if I had not been delayed by
fever. Out of curiosity to see what the chief would say, I told Vic to
tell him that I would help him with my gun, but the chief was
ungrateful and contemptuous, saying that they would shoot me before I
could see to shoot them. Vic thought I was serious, and said he would
not go with me, and begged me not to go, saying, in a mixture of
English and Spanish, “What will your father, your sister, and
your brother say to me when Buquil arrow make you dead?” Needless
to say I was not keen on stalking Buquils who were waiting for me with
steel arrows in long grass, and, besides, if I went with the gallant
little nine hundred, I should miss my steamer. I never heard the result
of that fight, much as I should like to have known it. After the
meeting had dispersed, we returned to the river and rested. I bathed
and took a swim in a big, deep pool under a huge tree, which was one
mass of beautiful white flowers. I have never enjoyed a swim more. Vic
also took a wash, and to my great surprise one of the Negritos
proceeded to copy him, and as Vic soaped himself the Negrito tried to
do the same thing with a stone, with which he succeeded in getting rid
of a great deal of dirt. It surprised <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e968" href="#xd0e968">104</a>]</span>and amused the other Negritos,
both men and women, who jeered and roared with laughter at the unusual
spectacle of a Negrito washing himself.</p>
<p>I signed to them to give our boy carrier a wash, as he seemed the
noisiest of the party, and two men got hold of him to duck him, but he
seemed so terrified that I stopped them. The youngster evidently hated
me for the fright he had received, as later on when I made him a
present of a silver ten-cent piece to make up for his fright—this
is a very handsome present for a Negrito—he threw it on the
ground and stamped his foot in anger. The Negritos shot several fish
and large prawns with a special kind of long pointed arrow; these we
ate with our rice by the river side before returning. The night I
stayed with my old friend, the comic chief, I found him actually in
tears and much cut up at the idea of his two sons having to take part
in the fight. I suppose it was compulsory for them to fight, but it
appeared rather odd to me that a chief should object to his sons taking
part in a fight, as the Negritos are considered very plucky fighters.
The chief sent four Negritos to carry my things down to Florida Blanca.
The following day I started back to Manila, where I caught my steamer
for the southern Philippines. Vic was much distressed at my departure
and shed many tears as I said good-bye to him, his grief being such
that even a handsome tip could not assuage it. <span class="pagenum">
[<a id="xd0e972" href="#xd0e972">105</a>]</span></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="div0" id="xd0e973">
<h2 class="normal">In the Jungles of Cannibal Papua.</h2>
<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e976" href="#xd0e976">106</a>]</span><span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e977" href="#xd0e977">107</a>]</span>
<div id="xd0e978" class="div1">
<h2 class="normal">On the War-Trail in Cannibal Papua.</h2>
<div class="argument">
<p>Expedition against the Doboduras—We hear reports about a
Web-footed Tribe—Landing at the Mouth of the Musa River—A
Good Bag—Barigi River Reached—A Flight of Torres Straits
Pigeons—A Tropical Night Scene—Brilliant Rues of Tropical
Fish—Arrival of Supplies—Prospects of a Stiff
Fight—Landing of the Force—Pigs Shot to Prevent them from
being Cooked Alive—Novelty of Firearms—A Red
Sunrise—Beauty of the Forest—Enemies’ War Cry First
Heard—Rushing a Village—Revolting Relics of Cannibal
Feast—Doboduras eat their Enemies Alive—Method of
Extracting the Brains—Extensive Looting—Firing at the
Enemies’ Scouts—An Exciting Chase—When in Doubt Turn
to the Right—Another Village Rushed—Skirmishes with the
Enemy—Relics of Cannibalism general in the Villages—Camp
Formed at the Largest Village—Capture of Prisoners—An
“Object, Lesson”—Carriers ask Leave to Eat one of the
Slain—Arigita’s Opinion—Cannibal Surroundings at our
Supper—Expectation of a Night Attack.</p>
</div>
<p>We were three white men, Monckton was the resident magistrate, while
Acland and I myself were <i>non-officio</i> members of the expedition,
being friends of Monckton.</p>
<p>We had been some time at Cape Nelson, where the residency was, a
lonely though beautiful spot on the north-east coast of British New
Guinea. Whilst here I had made good collections of birds and
butterflies, and had made expeditions into the surrounding and little
known country, including the mountains at the back, where no white man
had yet been. And now (September 17th, 1902) we were off on a
government exploring and punitive expedition into the unknown wilds of
this fascinating and interesting country.</p>
<p>We three sat on the stern of the large whale <span class="pagenum">
[<a id="xd0e993" href="#xd0e993">108</a>]</span>boat, while the twenty
police and our four boys took turns at the oars. They were fine fellows
these Papuan police, and their uniforms suited them well, consisting as
they did of a deep blue serge vest, edged with red braid, and a
“sulu” or kilt of the same material, which with their bare
legs made a sensible costume for the work they had to perform in this
rough country. As they pulled cheerfully at their oars they seemed in
splendid spirits, for they felt almost sure that they were in for some
fighting, and this they dearly love.</p>
<p>Our boys, however, did not look quite so happy, especially my boy
Arigita, who was a son of old Giwi, chief of the Kaili-kailis.
He—old Giwi—had gone on the previous day with three or four
large canoes laden with rice and manned by men of the Kaili-kaili and
Arifamu tribes, and we intended taking more canoes and men from the
Okeina tribe <i>en route.</i></p>
<p>Our expedition was partly a punitive one, as a tribe named Dobodura
had been continually raiding and slaughtering the Notu tribe on the
coast, with no other apparent reason than the filling of their own
cooking pots.</p>
<p>Although the Notus lived on the coast, little was known of them,
though they professed friendship to the government. The Doboduras, on
the other hand, were a strong fighting tribe a short way off in the
unknown interior, no white men having hitherto penetrated into their
country: <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1004" href="#xd0e1004">109</a>]</span>hence they knew nothing about the white man
except by dim report.</p>
<p>After we had settled our account with them we intended going in
search of a curious swamp-dwelling tribe, whose feet were reported to
be webbed, like those of a duck, and many were the weird and fantastic
rumours that reached our ears concerning them.</p>
<p>The sea soon got very “choppy,” and up went our sail,
and we flew along pretty fast. We had left behind us Mount Victory (a
volcano which is always sending forth volumes of dense smoke) some time
before, and some time afterward we were joined by a fleet of fourteen
large canoes, most of them belonging to the Okeina tribe, but also
including the three Kaili-kaili canoes sent off on the previous
day.</p>
<p>We all then went on together, and late in the afternoon we landed at
a spot near the mouth of the Musa River. We spent the evening shooting,
and had splendid sport, our bag consisting of ducks of various species,
pigeon, spur-winged plover, curlew, sandpipers, etc. We also saw
wallaby, and numerous tracks of cassowary and wild pig. After some
supper on the beach, the Kaili-kaili, Arifamu and Okeina carriers,
numbering over one hundred, were drawn up in line, and Monckton told
them that he did not want so many carriers. If they (the Okeinas) would
like to come, he would not give them more than tobacco, and not <span
class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1012" href="#xd0e1012">110</a>]</span>axes
and knives, which he gave to the Kaili-kaili and Arifamu carriers. They
unanimously wished to go even without payment, as they were confident
that we should have some big fighting, and they, being a fighting
tribe, simply wished to go with us for this reason. Monckton sent off
the carriers that night, so that they could get a good start of us. It
was a bright moonlight night, and it was a picturesque scene when the
fleet of canoes started off amidst a regular pandemonium of shouting
and chatter. I do not suppose that this quiet spot had ever before
witnessed such a sight. We were off next morning before sunrise, and
continued our way in a dead calm and a blazing sun.</p>
<p>We soon caught up with our canoes, which had gone on in advance on
the previous night. A breeze sprang up and we made good progress under
sail, and soon left the canoes far behind. We saw plenty of large
crocodiles, and a persevering but much disappointed shark followed us
for some distance.</p>
<p>We camped that night just inside the mouth of the Barigi River, on
the very spot where Monckton was attacked the previous year by the
Baruga tribe. They had made a night attack upon him as he was encamped
here with his police, and had evidently expected to take him by
surprise, as they paddled quietly up. But he was ready for them, and
gave the leading canoe <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1018" href="#xd0e1018">111</a>]</span>a volley, with the result that the river was
soon full of dead and wounded men, who were torn to pieces by the
crocodiles. The rest fled, but he captured their chief, who was
wounded.</p>
<p>Upon our arrival late in the afternoon Acland and I started out with
our guns after pigeon, taking our boys and some armed police, as it was
not safe to venture far from the camp without protection.</p>
<p>The vegetation was very beautiful, and there was a wonderful variety
of the palm family. We wandered through very thorny and tangled
vegetation. We espied a fire not far off and went to inspect it, but
saw no natives, though there were plenty of footprints in the sand.</p>
<p>Towards evening we saw thousands of pigeons settle on a few trees
close by on a small island, but they were off in clouds before we got
near. They were what is known as the Torres Straits pigeon, and were of
a beautiful creamy-white colour. On the banks of this river were
quantities of the curious <i>nipa</i> palm growing in the water. These
palms have enormous rough pods which hang down in the water, and there
were quantities of oysters sticking to the lower parts of their stems.
We dynamited for fish and got sufficient to supply us all with
food.</p>
<p>About nine p.m. all the canoes turned up and the camp was soon alive
with noise and bustle. The carriers had had nothing to eat since the
day <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1031" href="#xd0e1031">112</a>]</span>before, and poor old Giwi, the chief,
squeezed his stomach to show how empty he was, but still managed to
giggle in his usual childish fashion.</p>
<p>They brought with them two runaway carriers who had come from the
Kumusi district, where many of the miners start inland for the Yodda
Valley (the gold mining centre). They had travelled for five days along
the coast, and had hardly eaten anything. They had avoided all villages
<i>en route,</i> otherwise they themselves would undoubtedly have
furnished food for others, though there was little enough meat on them.
There were many different tribes in this neighbourhood, and Monckton
was far from satisfied as to the safety of our camp if we were
attacked. We sent off a canoe with Okeina men up the river to get
provisions from the Baruga tribe who had attacked Monckton the previous
year, and they now professed friendship to the government. The Okeinas
were friendly with them, but as they paddled away in the darkness
Monckton shouted out after them to give him warning when they were
coming back with the Baruga people, and they shouted back what was the
Okeina equivalent for “You bet we will.”</p>
<p>We pitched our mosquito nets under a rough shelter of palm leaves,
and I lay awake for some time watching the light of countless
fire-flies and beetles which flashed around me in the darkness, while
curious cries of nocturnal birds on the forest-clad<span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1040" href="#xd0e1040">113</a>]</span> banks and
mangroves from time to time broke the stillness of the tropical night,
and followed me into the land of dreams, from which I was rudely
awakened early the next morning by clouds of small sandflies, which my
mosquito net had failed to keep out.</p>
<p>We stayed here the following day, and put in part of our time
dynamiting for fish at the mouth of the river. It was a curious sight
to see the fish blown high into the air as if by a regular geyser. We
got about three hundred; they were of numerous species, and most of
them of good size. Many were most brilliantly coloured, indeed the fish
in these tropical waters are often the most gorgeous objects in nature,
and would greatly surprise those who are only used to the fish of the
temperate zone. During the day the Okeinas returned. They were followed
by several canoes of the Baruga tribe with their chief, who brought us
four live pigs tied to poles, besides other native food, which,
together with the fish, saved us from using the rice for the police and
carriers. New Guinea is not a rice-producing country, and the natives
not being used to it, are far from appreciating it. A little later some
of the Notu tribe from further north arrived by canoe. They had again
been raided by the Dobodura tribe, and many of them killed and
captured. They said the enemy were very strong, and Monckton told us
that it was more than likely that they could <span class="pagenum">[<a
id="xd0e1044" href="#xd0e1044">114</a>]</span>raise one thousand to
fifteen hundred fighting men. We determined to resume our journey the
next day, and go inland and attack their villages. We seemed likely to
be in for a good fight, and the police especially were highly elated.
Old Giwi, who bragged so much about his fighting capabilities at
starting, shook his head and thought it a tall order, and that we were
not strong enough to tackle them.</p>
<p>We left again early on the morning of September 20th, the canoes
with our carriers having gone on the previous night. Early in the
afternoon we passed large villages situated amid groves of coconut
palms. These belonged to the Notus, who had been suffering such severe
depredations at the hands of the Doboduras. Shortly before arriving at
our destination we found the carriers waiting for us on shore, they
having too much fear of the Notus to reach their villages before
us.</p>
<p>We determined to land on the far side of one particularly large
village. Rifles were handed around, and we strapped on our revolvers,
and all got ready in case of treachery. Then came a scene of excitement
as we landed in the breakers. Directly we got into shallow water the
police jumped out, and with loud yells rushed the boat ashore. There
was still greater excitement getting the canoes ashore amid loud
shouting, and one of the last canoes to land, filled, but was carried
ashore safely, and only a few bags of rice got wet. <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1050" href="#xd0e1050">115</a>]</span></p>
<p>We pitched our camp on a sandy strip of land surrounded on three
sides by a fresh water lagoon, our position being a good one to defend,
in case we were attacked. Monckton then took a few police and went off
to interview the Notus.</p>
<p>After a time he returned with the information that the Notus
appeared to be quite friendly, and anxious to unite with us against the
common foe on the morrow.</p>
<p>Several of them visited our camp during the day and brought us
native food and pigs, which latter Monckton shot with his revolver, to
prevent our carriers cooking them alive. It was quite amusing to see
the way the Notus hopped about after each report, some of them running
away, and small blame to them, seeing that it was the first time that
they had ever heard the report of a firearm.</p>
<p>The next morning saw us up long before daybreak, and in the dim
light we could see small groups of Notu warriors wending their way amid
the tall coconuts in the direction of our camp, till about seventy of
them had assembled. They were all fully armed with long hardwood
spears, stone clubs and rattan shields (oblong in shape and of wood
covered with strips of rattan, with a handle at the back), and led the
way along the beach. The sun soon rose above the sea a very red colour,
and a superstitious person might have considered it an omen of
bloodshed. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1059" href="#xd0e1059">116</a>]</span></p>
<p>It was hard work walking in the loose sand, and I was glad when we
branched off into the bush to walk inland. We passed through alternate
forests and open grass land, the forest in places being quite
luxuriant, and new and beautiful plants and rare and gaudy birds and
butterflies made one long to loiter by the way. Amongst the palm family
new to me was a very beautiful <i>Licuala,</i> perhaps the most
beautiful of all fan-leaved palms, and a climbing palm, one of the
rattans (<i>Korthalzia</i> sp.), with pinkish stems and leaves
resembling a gigantic maidenhair fern, which looked very beautiful
scrambling over the trees, together with two or three other species of
rattans.</p>
<p>Our combined force was over two hundred strong, the Notus leading
the way, then came most of the police, then we three white men, then
more police, and our Kaili-kaili, Arifamu and Okeina carriers brought
up the rear bearing our tents, baggage and bags of rice.</p>
<p>As we wended our way down the narrow track there were several
moments of excitement, and the Notus several times fell back on to us
in alarm, but their fears seemed groundless.</p>
<p>We continued our march for many hours, and just as we came to the
end of a long bit of forest, the Notus came rushing back on to us in
great confusion. We soon learned the reason. At the end of a grassy
stretch of country was a village <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1074" href="#xd0e1074">117</a>]</span>surrounded by a thick grove
of coconut and betel-nut palms, and some of the enemy’s scouts
had been seen, and we heard their distant war-cry, a prolonged
“ooh-h-h, ah-h-h,” which was particularly thrilling,
uttered as it was by great numbers of voices. The Notus all huddled
together, then replied in like language, but their cry did not seem to
possess the same defiant ring as that of the Doboduras.</p>
<p>We three took off our helmets and crouched down with the police just
inside the forest, with our rifles ready for the expected rush of the
enemy, having sent the Notus out into the open, hoping thereby to draw
the enemy after them. We meant then to give them a lesson, make some
captures, and come to terms with their chief. Two or three times the
Notus came rushing back, and I fully expected to see the Doboduras at
their heels, but they were evidently aware that the Notus were not
alone, and all I could see was the distant village and palm-trees
shimmering in the quivering heated air, and the heads of the Dobodura
warriors crowned with feather head-dresses bobbing about amid the tall
grass, while ever and anon their distant war-cry floated over the
grassy plain.</p>
<p>We decided to rush the village, which we later found was named
Kanau, but when we got there we found it deserted. In the centre of the
village was a kind of small raised platform, on which <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1080" href="#xd0e1080">118</a>]</span>were rows
of human skulls and quantities of bones, the remnants of many a
gruesome cannibal feast. Many of these skulls were quite fresh, with
small bits of meat still sticking to them, but for all that they had
been picked very clean. Every skull had a large hole punched in the
side of the head, varying in size, but uniform as regards position (to
quote from Monckton’s later report to the government). The
explanation for this we soon learnt from the Notus, and later it was
confirmed by our prisoners. When the Doboduras capture an enemy they
slowly torture him to death, practically eating him alive. When he is
almost dead they make a hole in the side of the head and scoop out the
brains with a kind of wooden spoon. These brains, which were eaten warm
and fresh, were regarded as a great delicacy. No doubt the Notus
recognised some of their relatives amid the ghastly relics. We rested a
short time in this village, and our people were soon busy spearing pigs
and chickens, and looting. The loot consisted of all sorts of household
articles and implements, including wooden pillows, bowls, and dishes,
“tapa” cloth of quaint designs, stone adzes, beautiful
feather ornaments, “bau-baus” or native bamboo pipes,
wooden spears, and a great quantity of shell and dogs’-tooth
necklaces.</p>
<p>We saw three or four of the enemy scouting on the edge of the
forest, and I was asked to try to <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1084" href="#xd0e1084">119</a>]</span>pick one off, but before I
could fire they had disappeared. Then several Notus ran out brandishing
spears, and danced a war-dance in front of the forest, but their
invitation was not accepted. We next saw several armed scouts on a
small tree about five hundred yards away, and we all lined up and gave
them a volley; whether we hit any of them or not it is hard to say, but
they dropped down immediately into the long grass. At any rate, it must
have astonished them to hear the bullets whistling round them, even if
they were not hit, as it was the first time they had ever heard the
report of a firearm of any description. Some of the police went out to
sneak through the long grass, and we soon heard shots, and they came
back with the spears, clubs and shields of two men they had killed.
They also brought a curious fighting ornament worn on the head, made of
upper bills of the hornbill.</p>
<p>We continued our march through some thick forest, and at length came
to the banks of a river, where we suddenly crouched down. An armed man
was crawling along the river bed, peering in all directions, and
shouting out to his friends on the opposite bank. We were anxious to
make a capture. Monckton suddenly gave the word, and up jumped a dozen
police in front of me and plunged into the river and gave chase. I
followed hard, but the police in front were gradually leaving me far
behind. Till then I always fancied <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1088" href="#xd0e1088">120</a>]</span>I could run a bit, but I
knew better now. Seeing the man’s shield, which he had thrown
away in his flight, I at once collared it as a trophy of the chase.
Then looking around, I found that I was quite alone, and the thick
jungle all around me resounded with the loud angry shouts and cries of
the enemy. I found out afterwards that my friends and the rest had no
intention of giving chase, but had been highly amused in watching my
poor effort to keep up with the nimble barefooted police. I shall never
forget those uncomfortable few minutes as I rushed down the track in
the direction the police had taken. Visions arose before me of the part
I should play in a cannibal feast, and I expected every minute to feel
the sharp point of a spear entering the small of my back, just as I had
been seeing our people drive their spears clean through some running
pigs.</p>
<p>To my dismay I found the track divided, and it was impossible to
tell which way the police had gone. To turn back was out of the
question. I had come a good way, and I had no idea where the rest were,
and from the uproar at the back I imagined the Doboduras were coming
down the track after me. I hastily decided to go by the old saying,
“If you go to the right you are right,” and it was well for
me that I did so, as I found out later from the police that if I had
gone to the left—well, there would have been nothing left of me,
especially after one Dobodura meal, as <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1092" href="#xd0e1092">121</a>]</span>the enemy were there in full
force. As it was, I soon afterward came up with the police, feeling
rather shaky and white.</p>
<p>The police had captured a middle-aged woman, whose face and part of
her body were thickly plastered with clay. This was a sign of mourning.
We learnt that she was a Notu woman, who had been captured some time
previously by the Doboduras. She was much alarmed, and whined and beat
her breasts, and caressed some of the police. We made her come on with
us, and the rest of the party soon joining us, we came to another
village, which we “rushed,” but it, too, was deserted.
There was more killing of fowls and pigs, and a scene of great
confusion as our people speared and clubbed them and ran about in all
directions, looting the houses, picking coconuts, and cutting down
betel-nut palms, many of them decorating themselves with the
beautifully variegated leaves of crotons and <i>dracænas,</i>
some of which were of species entirely new to me. It seemed a bit
curious that these wild cannibals should exhibit such a taste for these
gay and brilliantly coloured leaves and flowers, which they had
evidently transplanted from forest and jungle to their own village.</p>
<p>We continued our way through bush and open country, our police
having slight skirmishes with small bands of natives. One big Dobodura
rushed at Sergeant Kimi with uplifted club, but Kimi <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1101" href="#xd0e1101">122</a>]</span>coolly
knelt down and shot him in the stomach when he was only a few yards
off. The round, sharp stone on the club being an extra fine one, I soon
exchanged it with Kimi for two sticks of tobacco (the chief article of
trade in New Guinea, and worth about three half-pence a stick).</p>
<p>Toku, Monckton’s boy, and a brother of my boy, Arigita, who
carried his master’s small pea-rifle, shot a man in the back with
it as the man fled, and thereafter was a hero among the boys. Arigita
wished to emulate his brother, and begged hard to do some shooting on
his own account with my twelve-bore shot gun, which he carried, and he
seemed very much hurt because I would not allow it.</p>
<p>We passed through many more villages, embowered in palm groves, and
in each village we saw plenty of human skulls and long sticks with
human jawbones hanging upon them. On one I counted twenty-five; there
were also long rows of the jawbones of pigs, and a few
crocodiles’ heads. These villages were all deserted, the natives
having fled. At length we came to what appeared, from its great size,
to be the chief village, which we later learnt was named Dobodura. It
extended some distance, and stood amid thousands of coconut palms. Here
we determined to camp, but we found that most of the police had rushed
on ahead after the Doboduras, much to Monckton’s annoyance, for
it was risky, to <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1107" href="#xd0e1107">123</a>]</span>say the least, as the enemy might easily
have attacked each party separately. But the police and carriers, now
that they had “tasted blood,” seemed to get quite out of
hand, and their savagery coming to the surface, they rushed about as if
demented. However, they soon returned with more captured weapons of
warfare, having killed two more men, and they also brought two
prisoners, a young man and a young woman. The prisoners looked horribly
frightened, having never seen a white man before, and they thought they
would be eaten: so Constable Yaidi told me.</p>
<p>The man was a stupid looking oaf, and seemed too dazed to speak. The
woman, however, if she had been washed, would have been quite
good-looking. She had rather the European type of features, and was
quite talkative. She told us that most of her people had gone off to
fight a mountain tribe, who had threatened to swoop down on this
village. These complications were getting exceedingly Gilbertian in
character. To begin with, the Kaili-kaili and Arifamu carriers were
afraid of the Okeinas, who in their turn were afraid of the Notus; the
Notus feared this Dobodura tribe we were fighting, and the Doboduras
seemed to be in fear of a mountain tribe. We ourselves were by no means
sure of the Notus, and kept on guard in case of treachery. These
tribes, we heard, were nearly always fighting, and always have their
scouts out. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1111" href="#xd0e1111">124</a>]</span></p>
<p>To return to the prisoners. We showed them how a bullet could pass
clean through a coconut tree, and they seemed to be greatly impressed.
They were then told to tell their chief to come over the next morning
and interview us, and that we wished to be friendly. We then gave them
some tobacco and told them they could go, and it was evident that they
were astonished beyond words at their good fortune. As they passed
through our police and carriers, I feel sure that they suspected us of
some trick on them.</p>
<p>A bathe in the cool, clear river close by was delightful after a
very hard day, but we, of course, had an armed guard of police around
us, and practically bathed rifle in hand, as the growth was dense on
the opposite bank.</p>
<p>Our people seemed to be quite enjoying themselves, looting the
houses, and one of the police was chasing a pig in this village, when
he was attacked by a man with a club. The policeman was unarmed, but
immediately wrenched the club from the man’s hand and smashed his
skull in, and the body lay barely one hundred yards from our tent. This
was too tantalizing for our carriers, who came up and begged permission
to eat it, although they knew full well that Monckton had given orders
that there was to be no cannibalism among them. Needless to remark, the
request was refused, but they had the pluck to ask again before the
expedition was over. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1118" href="#xd0e1118">125</a>]</span></p>
<p>My boy Arigita had often eaten human meat, and as he expressed it in
his quaint pidgin English, “Pig no good, man he very good.”
It can be imagined it must be really good, as the Papuan thinks a great
deal of pig. We had a good appetite for supper, in spite of the fact
that we ate it within a few yards of a half-burnt heap of human skulls
and bones, which appeared quite fresh. Our various tribes were all
camped separately, and they looked very picturesque round their
different camp fires, with their spears stuck in the ground in their
midst, their clubs and shields by their sides, and the firelight
flickering upon their wild-looking faces.</p>
<p>To our astonishment, our late man prisoner returned and said that
his chief wished to see us that night. At once there was a great
commotion among our police and the Notus, who all spoke excitedly
together, and were unanimous that this implied treachery, and that
behind the chief would come his men, who would attack us unawares. We
also learned that it was not their usual habit to make friendly visits
at night. Monckton thought the same, and told the man that if the chief
or any of his people came near the camp that night they would be shot.
The man also informed us that all his tribe had returned; no doubt
swift messengers went after them to bring them back. The man went, and
we waited expectantly for what might happen. Everyone <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1123" href="#xd0e1123">126</a>]</span>seemed
certain that we should be attacked, and if so, we had a very poor
chance with from a thousand to fifteen hundred well-armed savages
making a rush on us in the semi-darkness, as there was no moon, and it
was cloudy.</p>
<p>The enemy would rush up and close with our people, and while we
should not be able to distinguish friend from foe, we should not be
able to fire in the darkness at close quarters. They could then spear
and club us at will. Now we had always heard that Papuans never attack
at night, but the police and Notus told us that these Doboduras nearly
always attacked at night, and if we had known this before we should
most certainly have made ourselves a fortified camp outside the
village. But it was too late to think of this now, and we knew that we
were in a very awkward position. The fact that they could gather
together so large a force as was alleged, was estimated by Monckton
from the size of these villages, which showed that they were a very
powerful tribe.</p>
<p>The whole police force were put out on sentry duty, as also four or
five Kaili-kailis who had been taught at Cape Nelson to use a rifle.
<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1129" href="#xd0e1129">127</a>]</span></p>
</div>
<div id="xd0e1130" class="div1">
<h2 class="normal">We Are Attacked By Night.</h2>
<div class="argument">
<p>A Night Attack—A Little Mistake—Horrible Barbarities of
the Doboduras—Eating a Man Alive—A Sinister
Warning—Saved by Rain—Daylight at
Last—“Prudence the Better Part”—The
Return—Welcome by the Notus—“Orakaiba.”</p>
</div>
<p>I was busily engaged in writing my notes of the day, with my rifle
by my side, when suddenly a shot rang out, followed by another and
another, then a volley from all the sentries on one side of the camp,
and the darkness was lit up by the flashes of their rifles. Then came
the thrilling war-cry, “Ooh-h-h-h! ah-h-h-h!” that made
one’s blood run cold, especially under such surroundings. All the
camp was now in the utmost confusion, and there was a great panic among
our carriers, who flung themselves on the ground yelling with fear.
Never was there such a fiendish noise! I sprang to my feet, flinging my
note-book away and picking up my rifle, and ran back to where Monckton
was yelling out: “Fall in, fall in, for God’s sake fall
in!”</p>
<p>Two houses were hastily set on fire, and instantly became furnaces
which lit up the surroundings and the tops of the tall coconut palms
over-head, which even in this moment of danger appeared to me like a
glimpse of fairyland. I <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1140" href="#xd0e1140">128</a>]</span>noticed a line of fire-sticks waving in the
darkness outside. They seemed to be slowly advancing, and in the
excitement of the moment I mistook them for the enemy—and
fired!</p>
<p>Luckily, my shot did not take effect, as I soon found out that these
fire-sticks were held by some of our own carriers, who had been told by
Monckton to carry them so that we could distinguish them from the enemy
in case we were attacked. Monckton turned to where the Notus, were, and
seeing them all decked out in their war plumes, dancing about among the
prostrate carriers, and waving their clubs and spears, naturally took
them for Dobodura warriors, and nearly fired at them. He angrily
ordered them to take off their feathers.</p>
<p>Calmness soon settled down again, and we learned that the police had
fired at some Doboduras who were creeping up into the camp. How many
there were we could not tell, but later on we learnt that some of them
had been killed, and seeing the flash of the rifles, which was a new
experience to them, the rest had retreated for the time being, but soon
rallied together for attack that night or in the small hours of the
morning. Knowing that if they once rushed us in the darkness we should
all be doomed for their cooking pots, the state of our feelings can be
imagined.</p>
<p>The first attempt came rather as a shock to a peaceful novice like
myself, and seeing warriors <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1148"
href="#xd0e1148">129</a>]</span>in full war paint and feathers rushing
about with uplifted club and spear amid our prostrate squirming
carriers, I had a very strong inclination to bury myself in the nearest
hut and softly hum the lines, “I care not for wars and
quarrels,” etc. We sat talking in subdued tones for some time,
expecting every minute to hear the thrilling war cry of the Doboduras,
but nothing was to be heard but the crackling of the embers of the
burning houses, the low murmur of our people around their camp fire,
and the most dismal falsetto howls of the native dogs in the distance.
These howls were not particularly exhilarating at such a time, and I
more than once mistook them for the distant war-cry of the
Doboduras.</p>
<p>The Papuans, as a rule, do not torture their prisoners for the mere
idea of torture, though they have often been known to roast a man
alive, for the reason that the meat is supposed to taste better thus.
This they also do to pigs, and I myself, on this very expedition,
caught some of our carriers making preparations to roast a pig alive,
and just stopped them in time. For this reason Monckton would always
shoot the pigs brought in for his carriers, but in this case one pig
was overlooked. I have heard of cases of white men having been roasted
alive, one case being that of the two miners, Campion and King. But we
had learnt that this Dobodura tribe had a system of torture that was
brutal beyond words. In <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1152" href="#xd0e1152">130</a>]</span>the first place they always try to wound
slightly and capture a man alive, so that they can have fresh meat for
many days. They keep their prisoner tied up alive in the house and cut
out pieces of his flesh just when they want it, and we were told,
incredible as it seems, that they sometimes manage to keep him alive
for a week or more, and have some preparation which prevents him from
bleeding to death.</p>
<p>Monckton advised both Acland and myself to shoot ourselves with our
revolvers if we saw that we were overwhelmed, so as to escape these
terrible tortures, and he assured us that he should keep the last
bullet in his own revolver for himself. This was my first taste of
warfare. Monckton had had many fights with Papuans, and Acland,
besides, had seen many severe engagements in the Boer war, but he said
he would rather be fighting the Boers than risking the infernal
tortures of these cannibals. It all, somehow, seemed unreal to me, and
I could hardly realise that I was in serious danger of being tortured,
cooked and eaten. It is impossible to depict faithfully our weird
surroundings. We chatted on for some time, and tried to cheer each
other up by making jokes about the matter, such as “This time
to-morrow we shall be laughing over the whole affair,” but the
depressed tone of our voices belied our words, and it proved to be but
a very feeble attempt at joking. We longed for <span class="pagenum">
[<a id="xd0e1156" href="#xd0e1156">131</a>]</span>the moon, though that
would have helped us little, as it was cloudy.</p>
<p>It is quite unnecessary to go into further details of that awful
night. I know we all owned up afterward that it was the most trying
night we had ever spent, and for my part I hope I may never spend
another like it. None of us got a wink of sleep. I tried to sleep, but
I was too excited to do so; besides, all my pockets were crammed full
of rifle and revolver cartridges, and I had my revolver strapped to my
side, ready for an attack, or in case we got separated in the confusion
that was sure to ensue. At about 3 a.m. it began to rain, the first
rain we had had in New Guinea for five or six weeks, and that saved us,
for we learned later on that about that time the Doboduras were
gathering together for a rush on our camp, when the rain set in, and,
odd as it may seem, we heard that they had a superstition against
attacking in the rain. What their reason was, I never got to hear
fully, but we were unaware of all these things as we silently waited
and longed for the dawn to break. I never before so wished for
daylight. It came at length, and what a load it took off our minds! We
could now see to shoot at all events. We saw the Dobodura scouts in the
distance on the edge of the forest, but we had made up our minds to
“heau” (Papuan for “run away”) as things were
too hot for us. There was a scene of great <span class="pagenum">[<a
id="xd0e1160" href="#xd0e1160">132</a>]</span>excitement as we left,
and from the noise our people made they were evidently glad to get
away.</p>
<p>The Notus led the way, and they started to hop about, brandishing
their spears. They did excellent scouting work in the long grass,
rushing ahead with their spears poised. This time the rear guard was
formed by some of the police. All the villages we passed through were
again deserted, but we heard the enemy crying out to one another in the
forest and jungle, telling each other of our whereabouts. We expected
an attack, and I often nearly mistook the screeches and cries of
cockatoos and parrots and the loud, curious call of the birds of
paradise for some distant war-cry, which was quite excusable,
considering the state of our nerves and the sleepless night we had
spent.</p>
<p>The Notus were great looters, and as we passed through the various
villages they took everything they could lay their hands on, and our
entrance into a village was marked by a scene of great confusion. Pigs
and chickens were speared, betel-nut palms cut down, and hunting nets,
bowls, spears and food hauled out of the house, but Monckton was very
strict in stopping them from cutting houses and coconut palms down. Ere
long we left the last village behind, and halting just inside the
forest, sent a man up a tree, who reported the last village we had
passed through <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1166" href="#xd0e1166">133</a>]</span>to be full of people. The police had a few
shots, but apparently without success.</p>
<p>When we again reached the coast we knew that we were now safe from
attack. Monckton was much puzzled that no attack had been made on us
during the return journey, as he felt sure they were not afraid of us,
and after we had killed so many of their people he was certain they
would try for revenge. He also thought they expected us to camp that
night in their country, and that we were only out hunting for them, as
we did not hurry away very fast, but stopped a short time in each
village.</p>
<p>We found the tide high, so we took off our boots and waded most of
the way, and in time arrived at a creek up which the sea was rushing in
and out with great violence. We were helped over by police on each side
of us, who half dragged us across, otherwise we should have been washed
off our legs, so great was the suction. I was very fond of these
strong, plucky, good tempered and amusing Papuan police. Often when we
were encamped for the night, I would hear them chaffing each other in
pidgin English for the benefit of the “taubadas” (masters);
they would slyly turn their heads to see if we were amused, and how
delighted they were if they saw us smile at their quaint English,</p>
<p>In the evening we found ourselves back in the Notu villages, and
were met by many Notus <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1174" href="#xd0e1174">134</a>]</span>bearing coconuts, which they opened and
handed to us. I suppose these were meant as refreshment for the
victors, for as such they no doubt regarded us, as well as saviours of
their tribe. I could quite imagine the Notu warriors bragging on their
return of their own deeds of valour, although all the killing was done
by the police. Meanwhile, however, as we passed through the squatting
crowds, we were greeted with loud cries of “orakaiba”
(peace). <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1176" href="#xd0e1176">135</a>]</span></p>
</div>
<div id="xd0e1177" class="div1">
<h2 class="normal">On the War-Trail Once More.</h2>
<div class="argument">
<p>Further Expedition Planned—Thank-offerings of Notu
Chiefs—The Voyage—A Gigantic Flatfish—Negotiating a
Difficult Bar—Moat Unhealthy Spot in New Guinea—Hostility
of Natives—Precautions at Night—Catching Ground Sharks and
a “Groper”—Shark-flesh a Delicacy to the
Natives—Wakened by a War Cry—A False Alarm—A
Hairbreadth Escape—Between “Devil and Deep
Sea”—Dangers of the Goldfield—Two Miners Eaten
Alive—Unexpected Visit from a White
Man—“Where’s that Razor?”—Crime of
Cutting Down a Coconut Tree—Walsh’s Camp—Torres
Straits Pigeons—My Boy an ex-Cannibal—A Probable
Trap—Relapse into Cannibalism of our Own Allies—Narrow
Escape from a New Guinea Mantrap—Attack on a Village—Second
Visit to Dobodura—Toku’s Exploit—Interview with our
Prisoners—Reasons for Cannibalism—The Night Attack on our
Camp and Enemies’ Fear of our Rifles described by our
Prisoners—Bravery of one of our Carriers—Treatment of a
Prisoner.</p>
</div>
<p>“Yes,” said Monckton on our return to the coast,
“we have got to punish those Doboduras at all costs. They are the
worst brutes I’ve come across in New Guinea.” And Monckton
knew what he was talking about, as he had been a resident magistrate in
British New Guinea for many years and had travelled all over the
country, and had a wider experience of the cannibals than any man
living.</p>
<p>This tribe (as has already been mentioned), when they capture a
prisoner, tie him to a post, keep him alive for days, and meanwhile
feed on him slowly by cutting out pieces of flesh, and <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1187" href="#xd0e1187">136</a>]</span>prevent his
bleeding to death with a special preparation of their own concoction,
and finally, when he is nearly dead, they make a hole in the side of
the head and feed on the hot fresh brains.</p>
<p>Both Acland and I myself fully agreed with Monckton, as we were not
by any means grateful to the Doboduras for giving us the worst fright
of our lives. We had, it is true, killed a good many of them, but we
recognised the fact that our force was insufficient to hold its own,
much less to punish these brutal tribesmen. So we determined to journey
up north and get help from the magistrate of the Northern Division on
the Mambare River, before returning to the Dobodura country.</p>
<p>That evening four Notu chiefs came into camp to thank us for killing
their enemies, and they brought with them presents of dogs’ teeth
and shell necklaces, and seemed greatly excited, all talking at once,
each trying to out-talk his fellows, and wagged their heads at us in
turn. We left very early the next morning in our whaleboat for the
Kumusi River, but left all our carriers and stores with most of the
police behind in one of the Notu villages to await our return, as we
now felt sure that we could trust the Notu tribe.</p>
<p>It was a hot and uneventful voyage. A fish which looked like an
enormous sole, but which was larger than the whaleboat, jumped high
<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1195" href="#xd0e1195">137</a>]</span>in the air not many yards away. Toward
evening we arrived opposite the bar of the Kumusi River, and we had a
very uncomfortable few minutes getting through the breakers into the
river, for if we had been upset we should soon have become food for the
sharks and crocodiles, which literally swarmed here. We got through the
worst part safely, but then stuck fast on a small sand-bank, and one or
two good-sized breakers half-filled the boat; but we all jumped out and
hauled her off the sand into the deep, calm waters beyond.</p>
<p>After rowing up the river a short distance, we landed at a spot
where there was a trader’s store, looked after by an Australian
named Owen. From here miners go up the river to the gold fields in the
Yodda Valley, and cutters are constantly putting in at this store with
miners and provisions.</p>
<p>This district has the reputation of being one of the most unhealthy
spots in New Guinea, and the natives round here are none too friendly,
and hate the government and their police, so that during the last three
years, three or four resident magistrates in the locality have either
been murdered or have died of fever.</p>
<p>We arranged to have our meals with Owen at the store, and we slept
in a rough palm-thatched shed with a raised flooring of split
palm-trunks, which was very hard and rough to sleep on, and gave me a
sleepless night. We got two of our <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1203" href="#xd0e1203">138</a>]</span>police to sleep in front of
the doorway, as it was more than likely that the natives might attempt
to murder us. These precautions may have been justified as, in the
middle of the night both Acland and I myself saw two natives peering
into the hut.</p>
<p>The next day we sent off a messenger to the northern station for
more police, and it was fully a week before they arrived. Meanwhile we
spent our time dynamiting and catching fish. We caught some large
ground sharks fully four hundred pounds in weight, and also a
“gorupa” (“groper”), a very large fish of about
three hundred and fifty pounds. This fish is the terror of divers in
these parts they fear it more than any shark. Both shark and fish
proved most acceptable to our police; they are especially fond of
shark.</p>
<p>One morning about five o’clock I was aroused by hearing a
shrill war-cry close by. The police rushed up with their rifles and
told us we were attacked. It can be imagined it did not take us long to
buckle on our revolvers and seize our rifles and run, half-asleep as we
were, in the direction of the noise, which was repeated from time to
time in a very ferocious manner. On turning a sharp corner by the
river, instead of warlike warriors, we beheld about a dozen natives
hauling in the sharkline we had left baited in the water the previous
evening, with a very large shark at the <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1209" href="#xd0e1209">139</a>]</span>end of it. Being greatly
excited they had from time to time yelled out their war-cry. We felt
very foolish at being roused from our slumbers for nothing, but still
there was some slight consolation in knowing that even the police were
deceived.</p>
<p>Owen, the Australian, not long before had had rather an amusing, and
at the same time exciting, adventure with a large crocodile in a swamp
close to the store. He noticed it fast asleep in the swamp, and so
waded out to it through the mud, making no noise whatever. When within
a few yards of the saurian, he threw a double charge of dynamite close
up to it, and then turned to fly. He found he could not move, but was
stuck firmly in the mud. His struggles and yells for help had meanwhile
awoke the crocodile, which came for him with open jaws. It looked as if
it was a case of either being blown to pieces by the dynamite or
furnishing a meal for the crocodile.</p>
<p>Luckily the fuse was a long one, and the crocodile floundered about
a good deal in the mud ere it could reach him. Some friendly natives
rushed in and dragged him out just as the crocodile reached him. The
crocodile fled in one direction and the dynamite went off in another,
but Owen and the natives only just avoided the explosion.</p>
<p>Owen told me that there were about fifty miners <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1217" href="#xd0e1217">140</a>]</span>in the
goldfields of the Yodda Valley, but that most of them were beginning to
leave, although there is plenty of gold to be got. The climate is a bad
one, and provisions, etc., are very dear, and so gold has to be got in
very large quantities to pay. As the miners decrease, there is bound to
be trouble with the natives, who are very treacherous. The miners, who
are nearly all Australians or New Zealanders, have generally to work in
strong bands with their rifles close at hand.</p>
<p>Only a short time ago the two miners, Campion and King (whom I have
elsewhere mentioned), while working in the bed of a creek, had just
traded with some apparently friendly natives for a pig and some yams,
and sat down for a smoke and a rest, thinking that the natives had
left, but these cunning cannibals were awaiting just such an
opportunity, and were lying hid amidst the thick foliage clothing the
steep banks of the creek. Suddenly, making a rush, they got between the
miners and their rifles, and speared both in the legs, taking care not
to kill them, as the cannibals in this part of New Guinea consider that
meat tastes better, be it pig or man, when cooked alive. They then tied
them with ropes of rattan to long poles and carried them off to their
village, where they were both roasted alive over a slow fire. These
facts were gathered from some prisoners afterwards captured by a
government <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1221" href="#xd0e1221">141</a>]</span>force. A strong band of miners also attacked
their villages, and gave no quarter.</p>
<p>On the fifth day of our stay here one of our police came rushing up
to us excitedly with the information that a whaleboat was in sight, and
we knew that a white man would be in it. There was at once a cry from
Monckton, “After you with the razor, Acland.” Now it had
been understood that none of us were to shave during the expedition,
and consequently we had grown large crops of beards and whiskers, and
looked a veritable trio of cut-throats. However, it appeared that
Acland had smuggled away a razor-possibly for all we knew to enable him
to captivate some fair Amazon, who might otherwise have thought he was
only good for her cooking pot. Half-an-hour later three clean-shaven
individuals met a tall unshaven man as he stepped out of his boat on to
the beach, and his first remark was, “Oh, I say, (reproachfully)
you fellows, where’s that razor!” It was Walsh, Assistant
Resident Magistrate for the Northern Division, and none of us had met
him before.</p>
<p>He and another Englishman, a celebrated trader named Clark (he was
an old resident, well-known in New Guinea), with a force of police,
were returning from an expedition down the coast, and were at present
encamped about sixteen miles south of here, near some small islands
known as Mangrove Islands. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1227"
href="#xd0e1227">142</a>]</span></p>
<p>Leaving Clark in charge, Walsh had come over with a small cutter,
which we promptly hired to carry the extra stores of rice and
provisions which we had purchased from Owen. It is astonishing the
amount of rice it takes to feed one hundred carriers and twenty-five
native police during a six weeks’ exploring expedition.</p>
<p>Two days later ten police arrived, sent down at Monckton’s
request from the Mambare or Northern Station. These, with Walsh’s
nine, made an addition of nineteen police to our force. A celebrated
old Mambare chief named Busimaiwa arrived at the same time, together
with many of his tribe, which was friendly to the government. I say
celebrated because he was the leader in the murder of the resident
magistrate of the Northern Division, the late Mr. ——,
together with all his police. But he has since been pardoned by the
government. The magistrate and his police were killed through
treachery, being unarmed at the time. They were all eaten, but
——’s skull was afterwards recovered. Old Busimaiwa,
had a son in our police force.</p>
<p>We were off early the next morning, we four white men and most of
the police going in the two whaleboats, while the rest walked along the
shore. These latter had to pass through many small villages on the way,
but the inhabitants did not wait to find out whether they were friends
or foes, and the police found the villages empty. <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1234" href="#xd0e1234">143</a>]</span></p>
<p>From the whaleboat I suddenly noticed a tall coconut palm come
falling to the ground, and I immediately called Monckton’s <span
class="corr" id="xd0e1237" title="Source: atttention">attention</span>
to the fact. He was very much annoyed, as he knew that it was cut down
by some of our party, contrary to regulations. According to government
laws, to cut down a coconut tree in New Guinea is a crime, and a
serious one at that. Even when attacking a hostile village it is
strictly forbidden, though one may loot houses, kill pigs, out down
betel-nut palms, and even kill the inhabitants. But the coconut-palm is
sacred in their eyes.</p>
<p>However, the government has an eye to the future of the country, as,
besides being the main article of food in a country whose food supply
is limited, the coconut tree means wealth to the country, when it gets
more settled and the natives are able to do a large business in copra
with the white traders.</p>
<p>That evening, when in camp, we discovered the culprit to be no less
a personage than the sergeant of Walsh’s police, who was in
command of the shore party, his sole excuse for breaking the law being
that he thought it too much trouble to climb the tree after the
coconuts. When the whole of the police force had been drawn up in line
Monckton, as leader of the expedition, cut the red stripes from the
blue tunic of the sergeant, and he was reduced to the ranks.</p>
<p>After a rough voyage, there being a good swell <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1246" href="#xd0e1246">144</a>]</span>on, we
arrived at Walsh’s camp on the mainland, opposite the Mangrove
Islands, and here we found Clark, whom I had met before in Samarai. The
camp was situated in the midst of a small native village, and later on
the inhabitants and others turned up armed with their stone clubs,
spears and shields, and offered to help us. They also wanted us to go
and fight their enemies a short way inland from here. Monckton’s
reply was not over polite. He ended by ordering them at once to clear
out of their village, as he had no use for them.</p>
<p>Toward evening we all went pigeon shooting, as thousands of Torres
Straits pigeons flock round here at twilight and settle chiefly on the
small islands close to the mainland. We had excellent sport. The birds
flew overhead, and we shot a great number between us.</p>
<p>Three of us white men were down with fever that evening. As the
cutter had not arrived with the rice, etc., from the Kumusi River, we
had to remain here the whole of the next day.</p>
<p>Toward evening we again went pigeon shooting, each of us taking
possession of a small island, but the birds were not nearly as
plentiful as yesterday, and small bags were the result. On these
islands were plenty of houses, which we heard were deserted a few weeks
ago, owing to the frequent attacks of hungry cannibals on the
mainland.</p>
<p>On my island I discovered several very fresh-looking <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1256" href="#xd0e1256">145</a>]</span>human
skulls and bones. My boy, Arigita, regaled me with yarns while we
waited for the pigeons. He told me he had often eaten human meat, and
expressed the same opinion on the matter as the ex-cannibals I had met
in the interior of Fiji had done. I had good reason for suspecting the
young rascal of having partaken of human meat since he had been my
servant.</p>
<p>I noticed plenty of double red hibiscus bushes on these islands, and
I came across a new and curious <i>dracæna</i> with extremely
short and broad red and green leaves, that was certainly worth
introducing into cultivation.</p>
<p>We continued our journey in the whaleboats the next morning, and
after going some distance we heard a shout, and saw a man on the beach
frantically waving to us, but as he would not venture near enough, we
had to go on without finding out what was the matter. Shortly afterward
we heard three loud blasts on a conch shell, which is always used to
call natives together, but the bush being thick, we could see nothing.
I myself believe it was a trap, the man evidently trying to get us
ashore, so that his tribe might attack us. However, our shore party,
who came along later, saw no sign of any natives.</p>
<p>Towards evening we landed at the spot where we had started inland
last time against the Doboduras. Here we determined to camp. We
immediately sent down to Notu for our carriers <span class="pagenum">
[<a id="xd0e1267" href="#xd0e1267">146</a>]</span>and the rest of the
police, who arrived after dark, all seeming delighted and relieved to
be with us once more. We learned that after we had left the Notu people
killed and ate two runaway carriers from the Kumusi, and after
indulging in a great feast, fled and deserted their villages, so our
late cannibalistic allies evidently feared retribution at our
hands.</p>
<p>These carriers, belonging to the miners in the Kumusi and Mambare
districts, are constantly running away, and they then try to work their
way down the coast to Samarai, from whence they are shipped. But they
never get there, being always killed and eaten on the way. One of our
own carriers had died at Notu, but the police had seen to it that he
was properly buried. However, it is more than likely that he was dug up
after they had left, and eaten.</p>
<p>The cutter arrived early the next morning.. The rice was soon
landed, and we started off along the same track as before. We now had
over forty police, and although we did not this time have the
assistance of the Notus, we had many more carriers.</p>
<p>During this march our police luckily discovered in time some
slanting spears set as a man trap, which projected from the tall grass
over the narrow track. Such spears are hard to see, especially for
anyone travelling at a good speed, and I was told that the points were
poisoned. Another trap, <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1275" href="#xd0e1275">147</a>]</span>common in New Guinea, is to place a fallen
tree across the track and dig a deep pit on the other side from which
the enemy is expected to come. This pit is filled with sharp upright
spears, and then lightly covered over so that a man stepping over the
tree, which hides the ground on the other side, will fall into the
pit.</p>
<p>After marching for some distance, we came to the end of a bit of
forest, from whence we could see the first hostile village. We
frightened away several armed scouts. The village appeared to be full
of armed men in full war-paint and plumes, so we divided our force into
two parties, each cutting round through the forest on both sides of the
village, in an endeavour to surprise the enemy. We were only partially
successful, as the Doboduras discovered our plans just in time. Though
we rushed the village, and a few shots were fired, we only succeeded in
capturing two old men and a small boy, who were not able to get away in
time. The houses were full of household goods, in spite of our previous
raid, when this and other villages were well looted by our people, so
we were evidently not expected to return.</p>
<p>We did not stay long here, but soon resumed our march. It was a very
hot day, and after walking through the open bits of grass country, it
was always pleasant to get into the cool and shady forest, full of
delicate ferns, rare palms and orchid-laden trees. We passed on through
two other <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1281" href="#xd0e1281">148</a>]</span>villages, with their gruesome platforms of
grinning skulls as the only vestige of humanity.</p>
<p>At length we came to the large village, which is named Dobodura,
after the tribe, and in which we had spent such a horrible night on our
last visit. The village was full of yelling warriors. Rushing up, we
shot several who showed fight. Most of them, however, fled before us.
Toku, Monckton’s boy, and brother of my boy Arigita, again made
use of his master’s pea-rifle, but this time he did not meet with
any success, and very narrowly escaped getting a spear through him.</p>
<p>A short time before, when Monckton was out on an expedition, Toku
was carrying his master’s revolver, but happened to lag behind
the rest of the party without being noticed, when a man jumped out of
the jungle and picked young Toku up in his arms, covering up his mouth
so that he could not cry out, and proceeded to carry him off, no doubt
intending to have a live roast. But Toku, managing to draw
Monckton’s revolver, shot him dead right through the head, and
Monckton, hearing the shot, turned back, and soon discovered young Toku
calmly sitting on his enemy’s dead body. But, alas! the hero had
to suffer in the hour of his triumph, as Monckton ordered him to be
flogged for lagging behind the rear guard of police.</p>
<p>Besides killing several of the Doboduras, we also took several
prisoners, both men and women. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1289"
href="#xd0e1289">149</a>]</span>We rested here, but several of the
police, whose fighting blood was now fully roused, went out with some
of our armed natives, skirmishing in one or two parties till late, and
we could hear shots in all directions. As we found out later, they had
slain several more of the enemy, with no loss to themselves.</p>
<p>We chose a splendid camp, with the river (which we were informed was
the Tamboga River) on one side.</p>
<p>The forest trees were felled on the other side, forming a strong
barrier, very different from our last camp here in the centre of the
village, and without any defences at all. We had a most refreshing
bathe in the river, but kept our rifles close at hand, as the enemy
could have easily speared us from the reeds on the opposite bank.</p>
<p>After supper we interviewed the prisoners, and we now learned the
real sequel to our last visit and what a narrow escape we had that
night from being all massacred. It appeared that our fighting during
the daytime astonished them much, as they could not understand how we
could kill at such a distance, rifles being quite new to them. Our fame
soon reached a large village much further on, and they said to the
Dobodura people: “Ye are all cowards; we will show you that we
can destroy these strange people.” They started off that night
and surrounding our camp on all sides, crept up for a rush; but,
luckily for us, our sentries <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1297"
href="#xd0e1297">150</a>]</span>saw some of them and fired. The first
shot killed one of them, and others were hit. Then came the blaze of
many rifles. This terrified them and they fled. The horrible noise of
the rifles and the flashes of fire in the darkness astonished them, but
what made them depart for good was seeing one of their men fall at the
first shot. It was a very lucky shot, and it probably saved our lives
that night. When asked why they raided the Notus, the prisoners said
that they were friends until two years ago, when they quarrelled, and
had been constantly fighting since. In particular they now blamed the
Notus for the late drought, which they said was due to their sorcery,
the result being that they were forced to live on sago alone, and to
vary this diet were compelled to get human meat.</p>
<p>I was the only one out of five white men not down with fever, but I
was glad that we passed a quiet night, with no attack on the camp. In
the morning one of our carriers, who ventured less than fifty yards
beyond the barrier, received a spear through his left arm and another
through his side, and though I am almost afraid to relate it for fear
of being thought guilty of exaggeration, the man plucked the spear out
of his side in a moment, and, hurling it back, killed his opponent. I
ventured outside and proved the truth of the man’s story, by
finding the Dobodura man transfixed with his own spear. Both our
man’s wounds <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1301" href="#xd0e1301">151</a>]</span>were bad ones, but he did not seem to mind
them at all, and was for some time surrounded by a crowd of admiring
natives.</p>
<p>We started off early in search of a large village of which a
prisoner told us, but had not gone far when a man jumped out of the
long grass and threw a spear at one of our carriers, only a few paces
in front of me. Fortunately he missed him, but only by a few inches. As
he was preparing to throw another spear, one of our men, whom he had
not noticed, owing to an abrupt bend in the narrow track, which brought
him close to the spearman, sprang forward and buried his stone club in
the man’s head, who sank down without a groan.</p>
<p>It was cloudy, but very close, and we passed through open grass
country, bounded on each side by tall forest, in which bird-life seemed
plentiful, cockatoos and parrots making a great noise. Birds of
paradise were also calling out with their very noticeable and peculiar
falsetto cry.</p>
<p>After going some distance we catechized the prisoners, and while an
old man declared that there was a large village ahead, the two women
prisoners said that the track was only a hunting one and led to the
mountains.</p>
<p>The old man evidently wanted to get us away from his village, to
enable his tribe to return, but the women, not being so loyal, told us
the <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1311" href="#xd0e1311">152</a>]</span>truth, no doubt because they found the
forced marching on a hot day a little too much for them. We sat down
for a consultation, but hearing a loud outcry in the rear, I suddenly
came across about a dozen of the now indignant police pelting the old
man with darts made out of a peculiar kind of grass, which grew around
here. The old man, who was handcuffed, hopped high in the air, uttering
loud yells every time a dart hit him, so I imagined they hurt, and
though I, too, felt much annoyed, I had to put a stop to this cruel
sport, when one of the aggrieved policemen cried out to me:
“Taubada (master), why you stop him get hurt? This fellow he
ki-ki (eat) you if he get chance.” <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1313" href="#xd0e1313">153</a>]</span></p>
</div>
<div id="xd0e1314" class="div1">
<h2 class="normal">The Return From Dobodura.</h2>
<div class="argument">
<p>Horrible Fate of one of our Enemies—Collecting in
Cannibal—Haunted Forest—I Shoot a new Kingfisher, and a
Bird of Paradise—Natives’ Interest in
Bird-Stuffing—Return Journey begun—Tree-house in a Notu
Village—Peacemaking Ceremonies—Notu Village
described—Our Allies sentenced for Cannibalism—Parting with
Walsh and Clark.</p>
</div>
<p>We decided to return, and sent off a strong body of police in
advance to surprise some of the surrounding villages. On the way back
we found the man who was brained by one of our carriers still
breathing. He was a ghastly sight, with his brains projecting out, and
he was being eaten alive by swarms of red ants, which almost hid his
body and found their way into his eyes, ears and nose. By the
convulsions that from time to time shook the man’s body, he was
evidently still conscious, but could not possibly have lived for more
than a few hours at most, after our thus finding him. New Guinea, like
most tropical countries, had its full share of these pests (ants), some
species of which actually make webs, and, by way of supplementing the
web itself, work leaves in.</p>
<p>Acland, who had been suffering all day long from bad fever, now
collapsed and could walk no further, but had to be carried in a
hammock. When we got back to our old camping ground, I <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1324" href="#xd0e1324">154</a>]</span>took an
armed guard of police and went in search of birds for my collection, in
the adjoining forest, and shot a new kingfisher (<i>Tanysiptera</i>)
and a bird of paradise (<i>Paradisea intermedia</i>). It was rather
exciting work, as one went warily through the thick growth, from whence
might issue a spear any minute, and I held on to my rifle all the time,
except, of course, when I saw a bird, and then I made a quick change to
my shotgun, lest I should prove a case of the hunter hunted.</p>
<p>On my return I had a large crowd of carriers around me watching me
skin my birds, while Arigita explained everything to them in lordly
fashion, only too pleased to get the chance of being listened to, while
he expounded to them his superior knowledge. What he told them I, of
course, could not tell, but he informed me that when I put the final
stitch in the nostrils of the birds, my audience declared that I did
this to prevent the birds from breathing and so one day coming to life
again. When the wise Arigita asked them how this could be, since they
had seen me take out the body and brains, they scoffed at him and said
that spirits would come inside the skins so that they could sing
again.</p>
<p>Monckton, meanwhile, had made a raid on the native gardens and
brought in quite a lot of taro. The police had killed several more
Doboduras, and in one place they had quite a fight. Our <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1336" href="#xd0e1336">155</a>]</span>old man
prisoner escaped in the night, although he was handcuffed.</p>
<p>We returned to the coast the next day, as there seemed no chance of
our coming to terms with these Doboduras. Our only chance would have
been to defeat them in a big engagement. They seemed too frightened of
us to stand up for a big fight, but hid themselves in the bush, and
were thus hard to get at. We left ten police behind to trap the
natives, and, thinking we had left, a few of them returned to the
village, and the police shot four more of them and soon caught up with
us, bringing in the shields, stone clubs and spears of the slain.</p>
<p>During both these expeditions we had killed a good many of these
people, and it ought to be a lesson to them to leave the Notus alone in
future, although there is little doubt that the Notus themselves make
cannibalistic raids on some of their weaker neighbours. I did not like
the looks of the Notus, and they, as well as the Doboduras, have a most
repellent type of features, and look capable of any kind of cruelty and
treachery. They are very different from the gentle-looking
Kaili-kailis.</p>
<p>The sea was very rough, and it was exciting work launching the
canoes. One was thrown clean out of the water by a breaker. The
majority of the carriers and half the police went round by the beach,
but we in the two whaleboats had some <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1344" href="#xd0e1344">156</a>]</span>exciting moments in the
rough sea, though with the sails up we made good progress. We passed
two of the canoes partially wrecked, and apparently in great
difficulties.</p>
<p>We eventually landed long after dark in Eoro Bay, some distance the
other side of the large Notu village, near which we had previously
camped. We landed opposite a good-sized village belonging to the Notu
tribe, from which all the inhabitants fled on our approach. We wandered
about the village with flaming torches, looking out for huts to pass
the night in, as it was too late to pitch camp. But unhappily the huts
were full of lice, and it was impossible to get any sleep.</p>
<p>I saw here for the first time one of the curious native tree houses.
It was high up in a tall pandanus tree, and had a very odd appearance.
We spent the whole of the next day in this village, while our carriers
brought in and mended their canoes. They, too, had a very rough time of
it, but no lives were lost.</p>
<p>During the day I witnessed a very interesting ceremony, which I take
the liberty of describing in Monckton’s own words, given in his
report to the Government. He says: “October 7th. Found that some
of the mountain people had been out to Notu and wished to make peace
with them. The Notu people had also ascertained that the Dobodura had
retreated into the large sago swamp, and were quite certain that they
had <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1352" href="#xd0e1352">157</a>]</span>no danger to fear from them for some time to
come. They also said that after the police had departed they would very
likely be able to re-establish their ancient friendly relations with
the Dobodura. A peace-offering was brought from the mountain people,
which the Notu people asked me to receive for them. The ceremony was
strange to me, and had several peculiar features. Two minor chiefs came
to where I was sitting and sat down. About twenty men then approached
and drove their spears into the ground in a circle with the butts all
leaning inwards. Many of the spears had a small piece broken off at the
butt end. From these spears were then hung clubs, spears and shields,
and native masks and fighting ornaments. An old chief then said they
had given me their arms. Next they placed cloth, fishing nets and
spears and other native ornaments inside the circle, and the same old
chief said they had given me their property. After this ten pigs, five
male and five female, were brought and placed inside the ring with a
quantity of sago and a little other food. Then followed cooking vessels
full of cooked food. The old chief then said, ‘We have given you
all we have as a sign we are now the people of the Government.’ I
gave them a good return present, and told them that they were at
liberty to take any articles they wanted or their pigs back again, but
this they absolutely refused to do, saying that it would destroy the
effect of what <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1354" href="#xd0e1354">158</a>]</span>they had done. The female prisoners were now
sent back to Dobodura with a message to the Dobodura, that I should
return in a few months and make peace with them, should they in the
meantime refrain from murdering the coastal people, but should they
persist in their raiding I should return and handle them still more
severely.” In return we gave them presents of axes, knives,
beads, tobacco, etc., which were laid down on the top of each pig.</p>
<p>Monckton very kindly presented Acland and myself with all the clubs,
native masks, “tapa” cloth and ornaments, and the pigs and
other food came in very useful for our police and carriers, as our rice
supply was getting low.</p>
<p>This was a very picturesque village, shaded by thousands of coconut
and betel nut palms and large spreading trees, among which was a very
fine tree, with very beautiful green and yellow variegated leaves
(<i>Erythrina</i> sp.). There was also a great variety of <i>
dracænas,</i> striped and spotted with green, crimson, white,
pink and yellow.</p>
<p>In most of these villages there were many curious kinds of
trophies—crossed sticks, standing in the middle of the village,
with a centre pole carved and painted in various patterns, and with a
fringe of fibre placed near the top. Hanging on these sticks were the
skulls and jawbones of men, pigs and crocodiles. I went out in the
afternoon with gun and rifle, and saw several wallabies, <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1368" href="#xd0e1368">159</a>]</span>but could
not get a shot at them on account of the tall grass.</p>
<p>In the evening the chiefs of the large Notu village who had in our
absence killed and eaten the two runaway carriers, visited us in fear
and trembling. Monckton told them they must give up to us the actual
murderers and send them up to the residency at Cape Nelson (or Tufi)
within the next three weeks. He did not ask for those that ate them.
Possibly one hundred or more partook of the feast, and for this they
could hardly be blamed, as, being cannibals, it is quite natural that
they should eat fresh meat when they got the chance. Indeed, our own
carriers could not understand why we would not allow them to eat the
bodies of those we had slain.</p>
<p>The next morning we five white men parted company, Walsh and Clark,
with the Mambare and their own police, returning to the north, while
Monckton, Acland and I went southward again to continue our
explorations in another direction. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1374" href="#xd0e1374">160</a>]</span><span class="pagenum">[<a
id="xd0e1375" href="#xd0e1375">161</a>]</span></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="div0" id="xd0e1376">
<h2 class="normal">Our Discovery of Flat-Footed Lake Dwellers.</h2>
<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1379" href="#xd0e1379">162</a>]</span><span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1380"
href="#xd0e1380">163</a>]</span>
<div id="xd0e1381" class="div1">
<h2 class="normal">Our Discovery of Flat-Footed Lake Dwellers.</h2>
<div class="argument">
<p>Rumours at Cape Nelson of a “Duckfooted” People in the
Interior—Conflicting Opinions—Views of a Confirmed
Sceptic—Start of the Expedition—Magnificence of the
Vegetation—Friendliness of the Barugas—The
“Orakaibas” (<span class="corr" id="xd0e1387" title=
"Source: Cryers">Criers</span> of “Peace”)—Tree-huts
eighty feet from the ground-Loveliness of this part of the
Jungle—Description of its Plants—A Dry Season—First
Glimpse of Agai Ambu Huts—Remarkable Scene on the
Lake—Flight of the Agai Ambu in Canoes—Success at
Last—A Voluntary Surrender—The Agai Ambu Flat-footed, not
Web-footed—Sir Francis Winter’s subsequent Visit and fuller
Description of these People—Their Physical Appearance, Houses,
Canoes, Food, Speech and Customs—My Account Resumed—Making
Friends with the Agai Ambu—A Country of Swamps—Second Agai
Ambu Village—Extraordinary Abundance and Variety of
Water-fowl—Strange Behaviour of an Agai Ambu Women—Disposal
of the Dead in Mid-lake Food of the Agai Ambu—Their Method of
Catching Ducks by Diving for them—An Odd
Experience—Mosquitos and Fever—Last View of Agai
Ambu—An Amusing <i>Finale.</i></p>
</div>
<p>Many were the wild and fantastic rumours we had heard at the
Residency at Cape Nelson, on the north-east coast of British New
Guinea, concerning a curious tribe of natives whose feet were reported
to be webbed like those of a duck, and who lived in a swamp a short way
in the interior, some distance to the north of us. I myself had at
first been inclined to sneer at these reports, but Monckton, the
Resident Magistrate, with his superior knowledge of the Papuans, as the
natives of New Guinea are called, was sure that there was some truth in
the reports, as the Papuan who has not come much in contact with the
<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1394" href="#xd0e1394">164</a>]</span>white man is singularly truthful though
guilty of exaggeration.</p>
<p>I knew this, but I had in mind the case of the Doriri tribe, who
lived in the interior a little to the south of us. These Doriri (who
had had the kindly forethought to send us word that they were coming
down to pay us a visit to eat us, for the Papuan, though a savage, is
often most suave and courteous and by no means lacking in humour), were
reported to us as having many tails, but needless to say when we made
some prisoners, we were scarcely disappointed to find that the said
tails protruded from the back of the head (in much the same fashion as
the Chinaman’s pigtail); in this case each man had many tails,
which were fashioned by rolling layers of bark from a certain
tree—closely allied, I believe to the “paper tree” of
Australia—round long strands of hair.</p>
<p>We three white men had many a long talk as to whether these
swamp-dwellers were worth going in search of, but I soon came round to
Monckton’s way of thinking. Acland, alone, however, maintained to
the last that the whole thing was a myth, and jokingly said to
Monckton: “When you find these duck-footed people, you had better
see that Walker does not take them for birds, and shoot and skin a
couple of specimens of each sex and add them to his collection.”
(For my chief hobby in this and many other countries <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1400" href="#xd0e1400">165</a>]</span>all over
the world consisted in adding to my fine collections of birds and
butterflies in the old country.)</p>
<p>As we three, with our twenty-five native police and four servant
boys, rowed up the Barigi River in our large government whaleboat, on
our way to search for these “duck-footed” people, I could
not help being struck with the very great beauty of the scene. Giant
trees laden with their burden of orchids, parasites and dangling
lianas, surrounded us on both sides, their wide-spreading branches
forming a leafy arcade far over our heads, while palms in infinite
variety, intermixed with all sorts of tropical forms of vegetation, and
rare ferns, grew thickly on the banks.</p>
<p>Some distance behind us came our large fleet of canoes, bearing our
bags of rice and over one hundred carriers, and as they paddled down
the dark green oily waters of this natural arcade, with much shouting
and the splashing of many paddles, it made a scene which is with me yet
and is never to be forgotten. As we proceeded, the river got more
narrow, and fallen trees from time to time obstructed our way. We at
length landed at a spot where we were met by a large number of the
Baruga tribe, who brought us several live pigs tied to poles, and great
quantities of sago, plantains and yams. They had expected us, as we had
camped in their country the previous night. They had been
“licked” into friendliness <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1406" href="#xd0e1406">166</a>]</span>by Monckton, who less than a
year ago (as elsewhere mentioned) had sunk their canoes, and together
with the aid of the crocodiles, which swarm in this river, had
annihilated a large force of them. And now to show their friendliness
they were prepared to do us a good turn, by helping us to find these
duck-footed people, with whom (they told us) they were well
acquainted.</p>
<p>Oyogoba, the chief of the Baruga tribe, came to meet us. He assured
us of the friendliness of his people, and himself offered to accompany
us. His arm had been broken in the encounter with Monckton and his
police, and Monckton had immediately afterwards set it himself. It now
seemed quite sound.</p>
<p>We soon resumed our journey, on foot, passing through very varied
country, plains covered with tall grass and bounded by forest, through
which at times we passed. At other times we had to force our way
through thick swamps in which the sago-palm abounded, from the trunks
of which the natives extract sago in great quantities.</p>
<p>About mid-day we arrived at a fair-sized village belonging to the
Baruga tribe. It was surrounded by a tall stockade of poles, and as we
entered it, the women sitting in their huts greeted us with their
incessant cries of “orakaiba, orakaiba” (peace). On this
account the natives of this part of New Guinea are generally termed
“Orakaibas” by other tribes. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1414" href="#xd0e1414">167</a>]</span></p>
<p>The houses here seemed larger and better built than most Papuan
houses that I had hitherto seen, and there were many curious
tree-houses high up among the branches of some very large, trees in the
village, some being fully eighty feet from the ground. They had broad
ladders reaching up to them, and looked very curious and picturesque.
These ladders are made of long rattans from various climbing palms.
These rattans, of which there were three double strings, are twisted in
such a way as to support the pieces of wood which form the steps. In
one case a ladder led from the ground in the usual way to a house built
in a small tree about thirty feet from the ground, but a second ladder
connected this house with another one in a much larger tree about
eighty feet off the ground. I climbed the first ladder, but the second
one swayed too much.</p>
<p>These tree-houses axe built partly as look-out houses, from which
the approach of the enemy is discovered, and partly as vantage points
from which the natives hurl down spears at their opponents below when
attacked.</p>
<p>Resuming our journey, after a brief halt in this village, we soon
came to the Barigi River again, which we crossed, camping in a small
deserted village close by. Here I noticed several more tree-houses in
the larger trees. This had been a very hot day, even for New Guinea,
and I could not resist taking a most refreshing bathe <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1421" href="#xd0e1421">168</a>]</span>in the
river, though I must confess I was glad to get out again, having rather
a dread of the crocodiles, which infest parts of this river, though
they were not nearly so numerous up here as in the lower reaches of the
river which we had traversed in the morning.</p>
<p>We were up the following morning before sunrise, and were all much
excited at the prospect before us of discovering this curious tribe.
This day would show whether or no our journey was to prove fruitless.
Soon after leaving the village we entered a dense forest, the growth of
which was wonderfully beautiful. Tall <i>pandanus</i> trees, some of
them supported by a hundred and more long stilted roots, which rose
many feet above our heads, reared their crowns of ribbon-like leaves
above even some of the giants of the forest. Palms of all shapes and
sizes, dwarfed, tall, slender and thick, surrounded us on every side,
and at least three different species of climbing palms scrambled over
the tallest trees. The tree trunks were hidden by climbing ferns and by
a white variegated fleshy-leafed <i>pothos.</i> Orchids, though not
numerous, were by no means scarce on the branches of some of the larger
trees, and were intermixed with many curious and beautiful ferns. There
were many large-leafed tropical plants somewhat resembling the <i>
heliconias</i> and <i>marantas</i> of tropical America.</p>
<p>Flowers were not very plentiful, but here and <span class="pagenum">
[<a id="xd0e1439" href="#xd0e1439">169</a>]</span>there the forest
would be literally ablaze with what is said to be the most showy
flowering creeper in the world, huge bunches of large flowers of so
vivid a scarlet that Monckton and I agreed no painting could do them
justice. It is sometimes known as the <i>Dalbertia,</i> but its
botanical name is <i>Mucuna bennetti.</i> It has been found impossible
to introduce it into cultivation. Among other flowers were some very
large sweet-scented <i>Crinum</i> lilies and some very pretty pink
flowering <i>begonias,</i> with their leaves beautifully mottled with
silver. Here and there we would notice a variegated <i>croton</i> or
pink-leafed <i>dracæna,</i> but these were uncommon.</p>
<p>As we proceeded, I noticed that in spite of the very dry weather we
had been having, the ground each moment became more moist, which
indicated that we were approaching the swamps we had heard about. It
was a rough track over fallen trees and dry streams, but before long we
passed along the banks of a creek full of stagnant water.</p>
<p>We at length left the forest and found ourselves in open country,
covered with reeds and rank grass, through which we slowly wended our
way. Suddenly, however, we halted, and looking through the tall grass,
saw some of the houses of the Agai Ambu tribe close at hand. Down we
all crouched, hiding ourselves among the grass, while two of our Baruga
guides, who speak the language of the Agai Ambu, went forward to try
and parley with <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1463" href="#xd0e1463">170</a>]</span>them and induce them to be friendly with us.
We soon heard them yelling out to the Agai Ambu, who yelled back in
reply. This went on for some minutes, when the Baruga men called out to
us to come on.</p>
<p>Jumping up, we rushed forward through the grass and witnessed a
remarkable scene. In front of us was a lake thickly covered with
water-lilies, most of them long-stemmed and of a very beautiful blue,
with a yellow centre, and with large leaves, the edges of which were
covered with a kind of thorn; there were also some white ones with
yellow centre.</p>
<p>On the other side of the lake were several curious houses built on
long poles in the water, the houses themselves being a good height
above the water. The lake presented a scene of great confusion. The
inhabitants were fleeing away from us in their curious canoes, which,
unlike most Papuan canoes, had no outrigger whatever. Their paddles
also were peculiar, the blades being very broad. Close to us were our
two Baruga guides in a canoe with one of the Agai Ambu tribe, who
directly he saw us plunged into the lake and disappeared under the
tangled masses of water lilies.</p>
<p>He remained under some time, but on his coming to the surface again,
one of the Baruga men plunged in after him, and we witnessed an
exciting wrestling match in the water. The Baruga man <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1471" href="#xd0e1471">171</a>]</span>was by far
the more powerful of the two, but he was no match for the almost
amphibious Agai Ambu, who slipped away from his grasp like an eel, and
swam away, with the Baruga man in close pursuit. All this time a canoe
full of the Agai Ambu was rapidly approaching to the rescue, waving
their paddles over their heads, and the Baruga man, seeing this,
climbed back into his canoe and paddled back to us.</p>
<p>Meanwhile the police had made a rush for a canoe which was close at
hand; but it at once upset, having no outrigger and being exceedingly
light and thin; it was, in fact, a species of canoe quite new to our
police. In any case they would not have had the slightest chance of
overtaking the fleet Agai Ambu in their own canoes. It looked very much
as if after all we were not to have the chance of verifying the strange
reports about the formation of these people. As a last resource we sent
over our two Baruga guides in a canoe to speak with those of the tribe
who had not fled. As the guides approached they shouted out that we
were friends, and that as we were friends of the Baruga tribe, we must
be friends of the Agai Ambu tribe as well.</p>
<p>We held up various tempting trade goods, including a calico known as
Turkey-red, bottles of beads, etc. This and a long conversation with
the Baruga men seemed to carry some weight with them, for the Baruga
soon returned with one of <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1477" href="#xd0e1477">172</a>]</span>their number, who turned round in the canoe
with his arms outstretched to his friends and cried or rather chanted,
in a sobbing voice, what sounded like a very weird song, which seemed
quite in keeping with the mournful surroundings and lonely life of
these people.</p>
<p>This weird song, heard under such circumstances, quite thrilled me,
and wild and savage though the singer was, the song appealed to me more
than any other song has ever done. It looked as if he might be a
ne’er-do-weel or an idiot whom his friends could afford to
experiment with before taking the risk of coming over themselves, but
his song was no doubt a farewell to his friends, whom he possibly never
expected to see again.</p>
<p>He certainly looked horribly frightened as he stepped out of the
canoe. We at once saw that there was some truth in the reports about
the physical formation of these people, although there had been
exaggeration in the descriptions of their feet as “webbed.”
There was, between the toes, an epidermal growth more distinct than in
the case of other peoples, though not so conspicuous as to permit of
the epithet “half-webbed,” much less “webbed,”
being applied to them. The most noticeable difference was that their
legs below the knee were distinctly shorter than those of the ordinary
Papuan, and that their feet seemed much broader and shorter and very
flat, so that <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1483" href="#xd0e1483">173</a>]</span>altogether they presented a most
extraordinary appearance. The Agai Ambu hardly ever walk on dry land,
and their feet bleed if they attempt to do so. They appeared to be
slightly bowlegged and walk with a mincing gait, lifting their feet
straight up, as if they were pulling them out of the mud.</p>
<p>Sir Francis Winter, the acting Governor of British New Guinea, was
so interested in our discovery, that he himself made another expedition
with Monckton to see these people, while I was still in New Guinea. On
his return I stayed with him for some time at Government House, Port
Moresby, and he gave me a copy of his report on the Agai Ambu, which
explains the curious physical formation of these people better than I
could do.</p>
<p>He says: “On the other side of this mere, and close to a bed
of reeds and flags, was a little village of the small Ahgai-ambo tribe,
and about three-quarters of a mile off was a second village. After much
shouting our Baruga followers induced two men and a woman to come
across to us from the nearest village. Each came in a small canoe,
which, standing up, they propelled with a long pole. One man and the
woman ventured on shore to where we were standing.</p>
<p>“The Ahgai-ambo have for a period that extends beyond native
traditions lived in this swamp. At one time they were fairly numerous,
but a few <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1491" href="#xd0e1491">174</a>]</span>years ago some epidemic reduced them to
about forty. They never leave their morass, and the Baruga assured us
that they are not able to walk properly on hard ground, and that their
feet soon bleed if they try to do so. The man that came on shore was
for a native middle-aged. He would have been a fair-sized native, had
his body from the hips downward been proportionate to the upper part of
his frame. He had a good chest and, for a native, a thick neck; and his
arms matched his trunk. His buttocks and thighs were disproportionately
small, and his legs still more so. His feet were short and broad, and
very thin and flat, with, for a native, weak-looking toes. This last
feature was still more noticeable in the woman, whose toes were long
and slight and stood out rigidly from the foot as though they possessed
no joints. The feet of both the man and the woman seemed to rest on the
ground something as wooden feet would do. The skin above the knees of
the man was in loose folds, and the sinews and muscles around the knee
were not well developed. The muscles of the shin were much better
developed than those of the calf. In the ordinary native the skin on
the loins is smooth and tight, and the anatomy of the body is clearly
discernible; but the Ahgai-ambo man had several folds of thick skin or
muscle across the loins, which concealed the outline of his frame. On
placing one of our natives, of the same height, alongside the marsh
<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1493" href="#xd0e1493">175</a>]</span>man, we noticed that our native was about
three inches higher at the hips.</p>
<p>“I had a good view of our visitor, while he was standing
sideways towards me, and in figure and carriage he looked to me more
ape-like than any human being that I have seen. The woman, who was of
middle age, was much more slightly formed than the man, but her legs
were short and slender in proportion to her figure, which from the
waist to the knees was clothed in a wrapper of native cloth.</p>
<p>“The houses of the near village were built on piles, at a
height of about twelve feet from the surface of the water, but one
house at the far village must have been three or four feet more
elevated. Their canoes, which are small, long, and narrow, and have no
outrigger, axe hollowed out to a mere shell to give them buoyancy.
Although the open water was several feet deep, it was so full of
aquatic plants that a craft of any width, or drawing more than a few
inches, would make but slow progress through it. Needless to say that
these craft, which retain the round form of the log, are exceedingly
unstable, but their owners stand up in them and, pole them along
without any difficulty.</p>
<p>“These people are very expert swimmers, and can glide through
beds of reeds or rushes, or over masses of floating vegetable matter,
with ease. They live on wild fowl, fish, sago and marsh plants, <span
class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1501" href="#xd0e1501">176</a>]</span>and
on vegetables procured from the Baruga in exchange for fish and sago.
They keep a few pigs on platforms built underneath or alongside their
houses. Their dead they place on small platforms among the reeds, and
cover the corpse over with a roof of rude matting. Their dialect is
almost the same as that of the Baruga. Probably their ancestors at one
time lived close to the swamp, and in order to escape from their
enemies were driven to seek a permanent refuge in it.”</p>
<p>Thus it will be seen that Sir Francis was much impressed with these
people, and he heartily congratulated me upon our discovery.</p>
<p>To resume my personal account. We soon gave the man confidence by
presenting him with an axe, some calico and beads, and a small
looking-glass, which was held in front of him. He gazed in stupefied
wonderment at his own features so plainly depicted before him. He was
taken back to the other side, and soon returned with two more of his
tribe, who brought us a live pig, which they hauled out from a raised
flooring beneath one of their houses.</p>
<p>The country all round us seemed to be one large swamp, and we stood
upon a springy foundation of reeds and mud; except for these, we should
undoubtedly have soon sunk out of sight in the mud. As it was, we stood
in a foot of water most of the time, and in places we had to wade
through mud over our knees. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1509"
href="#xd0e1509">177</a>]</span></p>
<p>The lake swarmed with many kinds of curious water-birds, the most
common being a red-headed kind of plover; there was also a great
variety of duck and teal. The swamps were full of large spiders, which
crawled all over us; we had to keep continually brushing them off.</p>
<p>Farther down the lake we saw another small village, and we were told
that these two villages comprised the whole of this curious tribe.
Whether they axe the remnants of a once powerful tribe it is impossible
to say, but their position is well-nigh impregnable in case they are
ever attacked, as their houses are surrounded by swamps and water on
all sides, and no outsider could very well get through the swamps to
their villages. The only possible way to get there would be to cross
the water in their shell-like canoes, a feat which no man of any other
tribe would ever be able to manage.</p>
<p>Monckton thought that these swamps and lake were formed by an
overflow of the Musa River. This had been a phenomenally dry season for
New Guinea, so these swamps in an ordinary wet season must be under
water to the depth of many feet.</p>
<p>We camped close by on the borders of the forest amid a jungle of
rank luxuriant vegetation, over which hovered large and brilliant
butterflies, among them a very large metallic green and black species
(<i>Ornithoptera priamus</i>) and a large one of <span class="pagenum">
[<a id="xd0e1521" href="#xd0e1521">178</a>]</span>a bright blue
(<i>Papilio ulyses</i>). The same afternoon we three went out shooting
on the lake. Two of the Agai Ambu canoes were lashed together and a
raft of split bamboo put across them, and two Agai Ambu men punted and
paddled us about. Before starting we had first educated them up to the
report of our guns, and after a few shots they soon got over their
fright.</p>
<p>The lake positively swarmed with water-fowl, including several
varieties of duck, also shag, divers, pigmy geese, small teal, grebe,
red-headed plover, spur-wing plover, curlew, sandpipers, snipe, swamp
hen, water-rail, and many other birds. The red-headed plover were
especially numerous, and ran about on the surface of the lake, which
was covered with the water-lily leaves and a thick sort of mossy weed.
All the birds seemed remarkably tame, and we got a good assorted bag,
chiefly duck—enough to supply most of our large force with.</p>
<p>I stopped most of the time on the raised platform of one of the
houses and shot the duck, which Acland and Monckton put up, as they
flew over my head. I had a companion in old Giwi, the chief of the
Kaili-kailis, many of whom were among our carriers. He seemed to be on
very friendly terms with one of the Agai Ambu on whose hut I was.
Presently a woman came over in a canoe from one of the houses in the
far village, and climbed up on to the platform where we were. <span
class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1530" href="#xd0e1530">179</a>]</span>Directly she saw old Giwi, she caught hold
of him and hugged and kissed him all over and rubbed her face against
his body, covering him with the black pigment with which she had
smeared her face. She was sobbing all the time and chanting a very
mournful but not unmusical kind of song. This exhibition lasted over
half an hour, and poor old Giwi looked quite bewildered, and gazed up
at me in a most piteous way, as much as to say: “Awful nuisance,
this woman—but what am I to do?” He understood the meaning
of this performance as little as I did. Possibly the woman was
frightened of us, and seeing a stranger of her own colour in old Giwi,
appealed to him for protection. The Baruga, however, had previously
told us that the Agai Ambu had recently captured one of their women,
and I have since thought that this might possibly have been the woman,
and am sorry I did not make inquiries at the time. At all events, old
Giwi was too courteous to shake her off, though to me it was a most
amusing sight, and it was all I could do to refrain from laughing
aloud.</p>
<p>We saw the dead body of a man half-wrapped in mats tied to poles in
the middle of the lake. They always dispose of their dead thus, and I
suppose leave them there till they rot or dry up.</p>
<p>The chief food of these people seemed to be the bulbs of the
water-lilies, fish and shellfish. They catch plenty of water-fowl by
diving under them <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1536" href="#xd0e1536">180</a>]</span>and pulling them under the water by the legs
before they have time to make any noise. By this method they do not
frighten the rest away, and this accounts for the birds’ extreme
tameness.</p>
<p>It seemed odd that we should be paddled about the lake, to shoot
wild fowl, by these people, who until to-day had never seen a white man
before and had fled from us in the morning. However, most of them had
fled and would not return until we had left their country.</p>
<p>There is little doubt that this part of the country is most
unhealthy. Many of our police and carriers were two days later down
with fever, and a few weeks later I had a bad attack of fever, with
which I was laid up in Samarai for some time, and which I feel sure I
got into my system in this swamp. The mosquitoes were certainly very
plentiful and vicious.</p>
<p>We spent the following day here, duck-shooting on the lake, and I
did a little natural-history collecting in the adjacent forest. We had
intended to try and induce two of the Agai Ambu to accompany us back to
Cape Nelson, but most unfortunately they understood that we were going
to take them forcibly away. They became alarmed and all disappeared,
and we were not able to get into communication with them again.</p>
<p>When Sir Francis Winter visited them about a month later they were
evidently quite friendly again, but on the second day of his visit his
native <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1546" href="#xd0e1546">181</a>]</span>followers demanded a pig of the Agai Ambu in
his, Sir Francis’s, name. At this they became alarmed and
retreated to the further village, and he was unable to see any more of
them. Since then I believe nothing more has been seen of these
flat-footed people.</p>
<p>We returned to our old camping ground in the Baruga village on the
banks of the Barigi River, and the friendly Baruga people brought us a
big supply of pigs, sago and other native food. The next day we
continued our journey to the coast, and camped at the mouth of the
Barigi River. We had intended making an expedition into the
Hydrographer range of mountains, which we could see from here, and
which were unexplored, but Monckton and Acland were far from well, and
most of our carriers and police were down with fever, and so, greatly
to my disappointment, this had to be abandoned. We resumed our homeward
journey in the whaleboat early the following morning. We started with a
fair breeze, but this changed after a time to a head wind, against
which it was quite impossible to make any headway, so we landed at a
place where there was a small inlet leading into a lagoon. We stayed
here till six p.m., when the wind dropped sufficiently to enable us to
start off again, and, passing the mouth of the Musa River, we landed
about one a.m. in Porlock Bay, where we camped for the night. <span
class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1550" href="#xd0e1550">182</a>]</span></p>
<p>We spent the following day shooting, which entailed a lot of wading
amongst the shallow streams, lagoons and small lakes. I had a bit of a
fright here, as I suddenly stepped into some quicksands and felt myself
sinking fast, but, thanks to Arigita and the branch of a tree, I was
able to pull myself out after a great deal of trouble and anxiety,
though if I had not had Arigita with me I should most certainly have
gone under. We got a splendid bag between us of various birds, chiefly
duck and pigeon. One of the police shot a large cassowary, and also a
large wild pig and a wallaby, so there was plenty of food for all. We
sailed again that night at eleven p.m., and got six of the Okeina
canoes to tow us along. This they did not seem to relish, and before
they got into line there was a great deal of angry talking and
shouting, and Monckton had to call them to order by firing a rifle in
the air. It was amusing to see the way the long line of canoes pulled
us round and round in the form of the letter “S,” and they
would often bump against each other, and plenty of angry words were
exchanged. It was an amusing <i>finale</i> to the expedition. They left
us for their homes when we got near the Okeina country. We landed in
the early morning on the beach, where we had breakfast, and then rowed
on, followed by the Kaili-kaili and Arifamu canoes, and eventually
landed again at the station at Tufi, Cape Nelson, about two p.m. <span
class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1556" href="#xd0e1556">183</a>]</span></p>
<p>In conclusion I should mention that Mr. Oelrechs, Monckton’s
assistant, had heard rumours that we had all been massacred, and he
told me that he had been seriously thinking of gathering together a
large army of friendly natives to go down and avenge us, though I think
he would have found it no easy matter, but, as can be seen, we saved
him the trouble, and so our expedition ended. <span class="pagenum">[<a
id="xd0e1559" href="#xd0e1559">184</a>]</span><span class="pagenum">[<a
id="xd0e1560" href="#xd0e1560">185</a>]</span></p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="div0" id="xd0e1561">
<h2 class="normal">Wanderings and Wonders in Borneo.</h2>
<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1564" href="#xd0e1564">186</a>]</span><span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1565"
href="#xd0e1565">187</a>]</span>
<div id="xd0e1566" class="div1">
<h2 class="normal">On the War-Path in Borneo.</h2>
<div class="argument">
<p>The “Orang-utan” and the “Man of the
Jungle”—Voyage to Sarawak—The Borneo Company,
Limited—Kuching, a Picturesque Capital—Independence of
Sarawak—I meet the Rajah and the Chief Officials—Etiquette
of the Sarawak Court—The “Club”—The
“Rangers” of Sarawak and their Trophies—Execution by
means of the Long Kris—Degeneracy of the Land Dayaks—Ascent
of the Rejang River—Mud Banks and Crocodiles—Dr. Hose at
his Sarawak Home—The Fort at Sibu—Enormous length of Dayak
Canoes—A Brush with Head-Hunters—Dayak Vengeance on
Chinamen—First Impressions of the Sea Dayak, “picturesque
and interesting”—A Head-Hunting raid, Dayaks attack the
Punans—I accompany the Punitive Expedition—Voyage
Upstream—A Clever “Bird Scare”—Houses on the
top of Tree-stumps—The Kelamantans—Kanawit
Village—The Fort at Kapit—Capture of a notorious
Head-Hunting Chief—I inspect the “Heads” of the
Victims—Cause of Head-Hunting—Savage Revenge of a Dayak
Lover and its Sequel—Hose’s stem Ultimatum—Accepted
by the Head-Hunters—I return to Sibu—A Fatal
Misconception.</p>
</div>
<p>I had spent about seven months in the forests of British North
Borneo, going many days’ journey into the heart of the country,
had made fine natural-history collections and had come across a great
deal of game, including elephant, rhinoceros, bear, and
“tembadu” or wild cattle, huge wild pig and deer of three
species being especially plentiful. But above all I had come across a
great many “orang-utan” (Malay for
“jungle-man”) and had been able to study their habits. One
of these great apes has the strength of eight men and possesses an
extraordinary amount of vitality. One that I shot lived for nearly
three hours with five soft-nosed Mauser bullets in its body. <span
class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1574" href="#xd0e1574">188</a>]</span></p>
<p>But I had not yet seen the <i>real</i> jungle-man in his native
haunts—the head-hunting Dayak, as the Dayaks are rarely to be
found in North Borneo, whereas the people on the Kinabatangan River
(where I spent most of my time) were a sort of Malay termed
“Orang Sungei” (River People). So, as I was anxious to see
the real head-hunting Dayak, I determined to go to Sarawak, which is in
quite a different part of Borneo. To do this, I had to return to
Singapore, and thence, after a two days’ voyage, I arrived at
Kuching, the capital of Sarawak. Except for a Chinese towkay, I was the
only saloon passenger, as strangers rarely visit this country.</p>
<p>Kuching is about twenty-five miles up the Sarawak River, and
contains about thirty thousand inhabitants, chiefly Malays and Chinese,
with about fifty Europeans, who are for the most part government
officials or belong to the Borneo Company, Limited. This company is
very wealthy and owns the only steamship line, plying between Singapore
and Kuching. It has several gold mines and a great quantity of land
planted to pepper, gambier, gutta percha and rubber. The Rajah will not
allow any other company or private individual to buy lands or open up
an estate, neither will he allow any traders in the country.</p>
<p>It would be difficult to imagine a more picturesque town than
Kuching. It chiefly consists of substantial Chinese dwellings of brick
and <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1584" href="#xd0e1584">189</a>]</span>plaster, with beautiful tile-work of quaint
figures, while temples glittering with gold peep out of thick,
luxuriant, tropical growth. Two miles out of the city you can lose
yourself in a dense tropical forest of the greatest beauty, and in the
background is a chain of mountains, some of them of extraordinary
shape. The reigning monarch or Rajah is an Englishman, Sir Charles
Brooke, a nephew of Sir James Brooke, the first Rajah, who was an
officer in the British Navy and who, after conquering Malay pirates,
was made Rajah of the country by the grateful Dayaks.</p>
<p>Though Sarawak is supposed to be under British protection, and
though all his officials are Britishers, Rajah Brooke considers his
country independent and will not allow the Union Jack to be flown in
his dominions. He possesses his own flag, a mixture of red, black and
yellow, and his own national anthem; moreover his officials refer to
him as the King, and to his son, the heir to the throne, as the
“young King” (or “Rajah Muda”).</p>
<p>Two days after my arrival, the Rajah left on his steam yacht for
England, but the day before he left, he held a great reception at his
“palace” (or “astana,” as it is called in
Malay). It was attended by all his officials, by high Malay chiefs and
the chief Chinese merchants. The reins of government were formally
handed over to his son, the Rajah Muda, after which champagne was <span
class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1590" href="#xd0e1590">190</a>]</span>passed round. The chief resident, Sir Percy
Cunninghame, then introduced me to the Rajah. He is a fine-looking old
man with a white moustache and white hair, and is greatly beloved by
every one. He conversed with me for some time, and asked me many
questions about the Chartered Company in British North Borneo. It was
rather embarrassing for me, with every one silently and respectfully
standing around listening to every word. He wished me success in my
travels in the interior, and told his officials to do all in their
power to help me. When you talk about the Rajah you say “His
Highness,” but when you address him, you simply say
“Rajah” after every few words—“Yes,
Rajah,” or “No, Rajah.” The native chiefs, I noticed,
kissed the hands of both the Rajah and the Rajah Muda.</p>
<p>There is no hotel in Kuching, so I put up at the rather dilapidated
government Rest-House, part of which I had to myself, the other half
being occupied by two government officers. The club in Kuching seems a
most popular institution with all the officials, and “gin
pahits” (or “bitters”) the popular drink of this part
of the world; billiards and pool help to pass many a pleasant evening,
the Rajah Muda often joining us at a game of black pool, like any
ordinary mortal.</p>
<p>The Rajah’s troops, the Rangers, are a fine body of men; they
are chiefly recruited from the Malays and Dayaks, and have an English
sergeant <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1596" href="#xd0e1596">191</a>]</span>to drill them. I was told that when they go
fighting the wild head-hunters, they are allowed to bring in as
trophies the heads of those they kill, in the same way that the Dayaks
themselves do. The method of execution here is the same as in other
Malay countries, the criminal being taken down to the banks of the
river, where a long “kris” is thrust down through the
shoulder into the heart, and is then twisted about till the man is
dead.</p>
<p>After a visit to Bau, further up the Sarawak River, where the Borneo
Company, whose guest I was, have a gold mine (the clay being treated by
the “cyanide” process), I collected specimens for some time
in the beautiful forests at the foot of the limestone mountains of
Poak. Here I saw something of the Land Dayaks, but they are a poor
degenerate breed, and not to be compared to the Sea Dayaks, who are
born fighters, and whose predatory head-hunting instincts give a great
deal of trouble to the government. These latter were the Dayaks I was
anxious to meet, and I soon made arrangements to visit their country,
which is a good way from Kuching, the real Sea Dayak rarely visiting
the capital.</p>
<p>So one morning early I found myself with my two servants, a Chinese
cook and a civilized Dayak named Dubi (Mr. R. Shelford also going), on
board a government paddle-wheel steamer which was bound for Sibu, on
the Rejang River. Twenty-five<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1602"
href="#xd0e1602">192</a>]</span> miles’ descent of the Sarawak
River brought us to the sea. We did not skirt the coast, but cut across
a large open expanse of sea for about ninety miles. We then came to the
delta of the Rejang River, and went up one of its many mouths, which
was of great width, though the scenery all the way was monotonous, and
consisted of nothing but mangroves, <i>pandanus,</i> the feathery <i>
nipa</i> palm and the tall, slender “nibong” palm, with
here and there a crocodile lying, out on the mud banks—a dismal
scene.</p>
<p>At nightfall we anchored a short way up the river, as the government
will not allow their boats to travel up the river by night, it being
unsafe. We were off again at daylight the next morning, the scenery
improving as the interminable mangroves gave place to the forest. Sixty
miles up the river found us at Sibu, where I put up with Dr. Hose, the
Resident, the celebrated Bornean explorer and naturalist. The only
other Europeans here were two junior officials, Messrs. Johnson and
Bolt. And yet there is a club at Sibu, a club for three, and here these
three officials meet every evening and play pool.</p>
<p>There is a fort in Sibu, as indeed there is at most of the river
places in Sarawak. It is generally a square-shaped wooden building,
perforated all round with small holes for rifles, while just below the
roof is a slanting grill-work through which it is easy to shoot,
though, as it is on the slant, it is <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1614" href="#xd0e1614">193</a>]</span>hard for spears to enter
from the outside. There are one or two cannons in most of these forts.
The fort at Sibu was close to Dr. Hose’s house and was attacked
by Dayaks only a few years ago. Johnson, one of Dr. Hose’s
assistants, showed me a very long Dayak canoe capable of seating over
one hundred men. It was made out of one tree, but large as it was, it
did not equal some of the Kayan canoes on this river, one of which was
one hundred and forty-five feet in length. This Dayak canoe was
literally riddled with bullets, and Johnson told me that a few
weeks’ ago he was fighting some Dayaks on the Kanawit, a branch
river near here, when he was attacked by some Dayaks in this very
canoe. As they came up throwing spears he told his men to fire, with
the result that eighteen Dayaks were killed. The river at Sibu was of
great width, over a mile across, in fact, and close to the bank is a
Malay village, and a bazaar where the wily Chinaman does a thriving
trade in the wild produce of the country, and makes huge profits out of
the Dayaks and other natives on this river. But the Dayaks often have
their revenge and attack the Chinamen with great slaughter, the result
being that they take home with them plenty of yellow-skinned heads with
nice long pig-tails to hang them up by. During my stay on this river
there were two or three cases of Chinamen being slaughtered by the
Dayaks, and if it were not for the forts on these <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1616" href="#xd0e1616">194</a>]</span>rivers,
every Chinaman would be wiped out of existence.</p>
<p>My first real acquaintance with the Sea Dayak was in the long bazaar
at Sibu, and I was by no means disappointed in my first impressions, as
I found him a most picturesque and interesting individual. The men
usually have long black hair hanging down their backs, often with a
long fringe on their foreheads. Their skin is brown, they have snub
noses but resolute eyes, and they are of fine proportions, though they
rarely exceed five feet five inches in height. Beyond the
“jawat,” a long piece of cloth which hangs down between
their legs, they wear nothing, if I except their many and varied
ornaments. They wear a great variety of earrings. These are often
composed of heavy bits of brass, which draw the lobes of the ears down
below the shoulder. When they go on the war-path they generally wear
war-coats made from the skins of various wild animals, and these are
often padded as a protection against the small poisonous darts of the
“sumpitan” or blow-pipe which, together with the
“parang” (a kind of sword) and long spears with broad steel
points constitute their chief weapons. They also have large shields of
light wood; often fantastically painted in curious patterns, or
ornamented with human hair.</p>
<p>I had been at Sibu only three or four days, when word was brought
down to Dr. Hose that the Ulu <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1622"
href="#xd0e1622">195</a>]</span>Ai Dayaks, near Fort Kapit, about one
hundred miles up the river, had attacked and killed a party of Punans
for the sake of their heads. These Punans are a nomadic tribe who
wander about through the great forests with no settled dwelling-places,
but build themselves rough huts and hunt the wild game of the forest
and feed on the many wild fruits that are found in these forests. Hose
at once decided to go up to Fort Kapit and punish these Dayaks, and
gave me leave to accompany him and Shelford. So one morning at six
o’clock we boarded a large steam launch with a party of the
Rangers, mentioned above, as the Rajah’s troops. We took, from
near Sibu, several friendly Dayaks, who were armed to the teeth with
spears, “parangs,” “sumpitans,” shields and war
ornaments, all highly elated at the prospect of the fighting in store
for them.</p>
<p>In a short account like this, it is of course impossible to describe
the many interesting things that I saw on the journey up the river. We
passed many of the long, curious Dayak houses and plenty of canoes full
of these picturesque people, and at some of the villages little Dayak
children hurriedly pushed out small canoes from the shore so as to get
rocked by the waves made by our launch. This they seemed to enjoy, to
judge from the delighted yells they gave forth. I several times saw a
most ingenious invention for frightening away the birds and monkeys
from the large fruit <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1626" href="#xd0e1626">196</a>]</span>trees which surrounded every Dayak village.
At one end of a large rattan cord was a sort of wooden rattle, fixed on
the top of one of the largest fruit trees. The other end of the rattan
was fastened to a slender bamboo stick which was stuck into the river,
and the action of the stream caused the bamboo to sway to and fro, thus
jerking the rattan which in turn set the rattle going. We passed
several small houses built on the tops of large tree-stumps. These, Dr.
Hose informed me, were built by Kanawits, of a race of people known as
Kelamantans. These Kelamantans are supposed to be the oldest residents
of Borneo, being here long before the Dayaks and Kayans, but they axe
fast dying out, as are the Punans, I believe chiefly owing to the raids
of the warlike Dayaks. They were once ferocious head-hunters, but now
they are a very inoffensive people.</p>
<p>About mid-day we stopped at the village of Kanawit, at the mouth of
the river of that name. This village, like Sibu, is composed entirely
of Chinese and Malays. They are all traders and do a thriving business
with the Dayaks and other natives. Here also was a fort with its
cannon, with a Dayak or Malay sergeant and a dozen men in charge. As we
proceeded up river, the scenery became rather monotonous. There was
little tall forest, the country being either cleared for planting
“padi” (rice) or in secondary forest growth or <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1630" href="#xd0e1630">197</a>]</span>jungle, a
sure sign of a thick population. We saw many Dayaks burning the felled
jungle for planting their “padi,” and the air was full of
ashes and smoke, which obscured the rays of the sun and cast a reddish
glare on the surrounding country.</p>
<p>Toward evening we reached the village of Song and stayed here all
night, fastening our launch to the bank. In spite of the fort here, we
learned that the Chinamen were in great fear of an attack by the
Dayaks, which they daily expected. Leaving Song at half-past five the
next morning, we arrived at Kapit about ten a.m. and put up at the
fort, which was a large one. A long, narrow platform from the top of
the fort led to a larger platform on which, overlooking the river,
there was a large cannon which could be turned round so as to cover all
the approaches from the river in case there was an attack on the fort.
We learned that the day before we arrived at Kapit, Mingo, the
Portuguese in charge of the fort, had captured the worst ringleader of
the head-hunters in the bazaar at Kapit, and small parties of loyal
Dayaks were at once sent off to the homes of the other head-hunters
with strict injunctions to bring back the guilty ones, and, failing
persuasion and threats, to attack them.<a class="noteref" id="xd0e1634src" href="#xd0e1634">1</a> In most cases they were
successful, and I saw many of the prisoners brought in, together with
some of the heads of their victims.</p>
<p>The next morning Hose suddenly called out to <span class="pagenum">
[<a id="xd0e1639" href="#xd0e1639">198</a>]</span>me that if I wished
to inspect the heads I would find them hanging up under the cannon
platform by the river, and he sent a Dayak to undo the wrappings of
native cloth and mats in which they were done up. They were a sickening
sight, and all the horrors of head-hunting were brought before me with
vivid and startling reality far more than could have been done by any
writer, and I pictured those same heads full of life only a few days
before, and then suddenly a rush from the outside amid the unprepared
Punans in their rude huts in the depths of the forest, a woman’s
scream of terror, followed by the sickening sound of hacking blows from
the sharp Dayak “parangs,” and the Dayak war-cry,
“Hoo-hah! hoo-hah!” ringing through the night air, as every
single Punan man, woman and child, who has not had time to escape, is
cut down in cold blood. When all are dead, the proud Dayaks, proceed to
hack off the heads of their victims and bind them round with rattan
strings with which to carry them, and then, returning in triumph, are
hailed with shouts of delight by their envious fellow-villagers, for
this means wives, a Dayak maiden thinking as much of heads as a white
girl would of <span class="corr" id="xd0e1641" title="Source: jewelry">
jewellery</span>. The old Dayak who undid the wrappings pretended to be
horrified, but I felt sure that the old hypocrite wished that he owned
them himself.</p>
<p>Only seven of the heads had been brought in, <span class="pagenum">
[<a id="xd0e1646" href="#xd0e1646">199</a>]</span>and two of them were
heads of women, and although they had been smoked, I could easily see
that one of them was that of a quite young, good-looking girl, with
masses of long, dark hair. She had evidently been killed by a blow from
a “parang,” as the flesh on the head had been separated by
a large cut which had split the skull open. In one of the men’s
heads there were two small pieces of wood inserted in the nose. They
were all ghastly sights to look at, and smelt a bit, and I was not
sorry to be able to turn my back on them.</p>
<p>As in the present case, the brass-encircled young Dayak women are
generally the cause of these head-hunts, as they often refuse to marry
a man unless he has one or more heads, and in many cases a man is
absolutely driven to get a head if he wishes to marry. The heads are
handed down from father to son, and the rank of a Dayak is generally
determined by the number of heads he or his ancestors have collected. A
Dayak goes on the war-path more for the sake of the heads he may get,
than for the honour and glory of the fighting. Generally, though, there
is precious little fighting, as the Dayak attacks only when his victims
are unprepared.</p>
<p>While I was in Borneo I heard the following story of Dayak
barbarity, which is a good example of the way the women incite their
men to go on these head-hunting expeditions. In a certain district
<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1652" href="#xd0e1652">200</a>]</span>where some missionaries were doing good work
among the Dayaks, a Dayak young man named Hathnaveng had been persuaded
by the missionaries to give up the barbaric custom of headhunting. One
day, however, he fell in love with a Dayak maiden. The girl, although
returning his passion, disdained his offer of marriage, because he no
longer indulged in the ancient practice of cutting off and bringing
home the heads of the enemies of the tribe. Hathnaveng, goaded by the
taunts of the girl, who told him to dress in women’s clothes in
the future, as he no longer had the courage of a man, left the village
and remained away for some time. When he returned, he entered his
sweetheart’s hut, carrying a sack on his shoulders. He opened it,
and four human heads rolled upon the bamboo floor. At the sight of the
trophies, the girl at once took him back into her favour, and flinging
her arms round his neck, embraced him passionately.</p>
<p>“You wanted heads,” declared her lover. “I have
brought them. Do you not recognize them?”</p>
<p>Then to her horror she saw they were the heads of her father, her
mother, her brother and of a young man who was Hathnaveng’s rival
for her affections. Hathnaveng was immediately seized by some of the
tribesmen, and by way of punishment was placed in a small bamboo
structure such as is commonly used by the Dayaks for pigs, <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1658" href="#xd0e1658">201</a>]</span>and allowed
to starve to death.<a class="noteref" id="xd0e1660src" href="#xd0e1660">2</a> This is a true story, and occurred while I was still
in Borneo.</p>
<p>The day after we arrived at Kapit a great crowd of Dayaks, belonging
to the tribe of those implicated in the attack on the Punans, assembled
at the fort to talk with Dr. Hose on the matter, and the upshot of it
all was startling in its severity. This was Hose’s ultimatum:
They must give up the rest of those that took part in the raid, and
they would all get various terms of imprisonment. They must return the
rest of the heads. They must pay enormous fines, and, lastly, those
villages which had men who took part in the raid, must move down the
river opposite Sibu, and thus be under Hose’s eye as well as
under the guns of the fort. I watched the faces of the crowd, and it
was interesting to witness their various emotions. Some looked
stupefied, others looked very angry, and that they could not agree
among themselves was plainly evident from their angry squabbling. They
were a curious crowd with their long black hair and fringes and round
tattoo marks on their bodies. They finally agreed to these terms, as
Hose told them that if they did not do so, he would come and make them,
even if he had to kill them all. The following days I witnessed large
bands of Dayaks bringing to the fort their fines, which consisted of
large jars and brass gongs, which are the Dayak forms of <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1665" href="#xd0e1665">202</a>]</span>currency.
The total fine amounted to $5,200, and the jars were carefully
examined, the gongs weighed and their values assessed. Some of the jars
were very old, but the older they are the more they are worth. Three of
the poorest looking ones were valued at $1,400 (the dollar in Borneo is
about two of our shillings). Of the total, $1,200 was later paid to the
Punans as compensation (“pati nyawa”). I watched some
Dayaks—who had just brought in their fines—as they went
away in one of their large canoes, and they crossed the river with a
quick, short stroke of their paddles in splendid time, so that one
heard the sound of their paddles, as they beat against the side of the
canoe, come in one short tr-r-up. They seemed to be very angry, all
talking at once, and I still heard the sound of their angry voices
above the paddles’ beat, long after they had disappeared up a
narrow creek on the other side.</p>
<p>I had intended going with my two servants further up the river and
living for some time among the Dayaks, but Dr. Hose made objections to
my doing so. He said it would be very unsafe for me to live among these
Kapit Dayaks at the present time, as they were naturally in a very
excitable state, and would have thought little of killing one of the
“orang puteh” (white men), whom they no doubt considered
the cause of all their trouble. They would be sure to take me for a
government official. Hose instead advised <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1669" href="#xd0e1669">203</a>]</span>me to go up a small
unexplored branch river below Sibu, so as the launch was returning to
Sibu I determined to return in her, leaving Hose and Shelford at
Kapit.</p>
<p>During my short stay at Kapit I added very few new specimens to my
collections of birds and butterflies; in fact, it was the worst
collecting-ground that I struck during more than a year’s
wanderings in Borneo. I, however, made a fine collection of Dayak
weapons, shields and war ornaments from our friendly Dayaks, who seemed
very low-spirited now that there was to be no fighting, and on this
account traded some of their property to me which at other times
nothing would have induced them to part with, at a very low figure.</p>
<p>I returned to Sibu with Mingo, and we took with us the ringleader of
the head-hunters. He was kept handcuffed in the hold, and he worked
himself up into a pitiable state of fright. He thought he was going to
be killed, and the whole of the voyage he was chanting a most mournful
kind of song, a regular torrent of words going to one note. My Dayak
servant Dubi informed me that he was singing about the heads he had
taken, and for which he thought he was now going to die.</p>
<p>After a day’s stay in Sibu I went up the Sarekei River with my
two servants, and made a long stay in a Dayak house. I will try to
describe my life among the Dayaks in the next chapter. In <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1677" href="#xd0e1677">204</a>]</span>conclusion,
I must tell the tragic story of a fatal mistake, which was told me by
Johnson, one of the officials at Sibu, which serves to illustrate the
superstitious beliefs of the Malays. A Chinese prisoner at Sibu had
died, at least Johnson and Bolt both thought so, and they sent some of
the Malay soldiers to bury the body on the other side of the river. A
few days later one of them casually remarked to Johnson that they had
often heard it said that the spirit of a man sometimes returned to his
body again for a short time after death (a Malay belief), but he (this
Malay) had not believed it before, but he now knew that it was true.
Johnson, much amused, asked him how that was. “Oh,” said
the Malay, “when the Tuan (Johnson) sent us across the river to
bury the dead man the other day, his spirit came back to him and his
body sat up and talked, and we were much afraid, and seized hold of the
body; which gave us much trouble to put it into the hole we had digged,
and when we had quickly filled in the hole so that the body could not
come out again, we fled away quickly, so now we know that the saying is
true.” It thus transpired that they had buried a live Chinaman
without being aware of the fact. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1679" href="#xd0e1679">205</a>]</span></p>
<div class="footnotes">
<hr class="fnsep" />
<p class="footnote"><span class="label"><a class="noteref" href="#xd0e1634src" id="xd0e1634">1</a></span> R. Shelford’s
Report.</p>
<p class="footnote"><span class="label"><a class="noteref" href="#xd0e1660src" id="xd0e1660">2</a></span> From a Singapore Paper.</p>
</div>
</div>
<div id="xd0e1680" class="div1">
<h2 class="normal">Home-Life Among Head-Hunting Dayaks.</h2>
<div class="argument">
<p>I leave the Main Stream and journey up the Sarekei—A Stream
overarched by Vegetation—House 200 feet long—I make Friends
with the Chief—My New Quarters—Rarity of White
Men—Friendliness of my New Hosts—Embarrassing Request from
a Lady, “like we your skin”—Similar Experience of
Wallace—Crowds to see me Undress—Dayak’s interest in
Illustrated Papers—Waist-rings of Dayak Women—Teeth filled
with brass—Noisiness of a Dayak House—Dayak Dogs—A
well-meant Blow and its Sequel—Uproarious Amusement of the
Dayaks—Dayak Fruit-Trees—The Durian as King of all
Fruits—Dayak “Bridges” across the Swamp-Dances of the
Head-Hunters—A Secret “Fishing” Expedition—A
Spear sent by way of defiance to the Government—I
“score” off the Pig-Hunters—Dayak
Diseases—Dayak Women and Girls—Two “Broken
Hearts”—I Raffle my Tins—“Cookie” and the
Head-Hunters, their Jokes and Quarrels—My Adventure with a
Crocodile.</p>
</div>
<p>The Rejang is one of the many large rivers which abound in Borneo,
and its tributaries are numerous and for the most part unexplored. The
Rejang is tidal for fully one hundred and fifty miles, and at Sibu is
over a mile in width. The banks of this river are inhabited by a large
population of Malays, Chinese, Dayaks, Kayans, Kanawits, Punans and
numerous other tribes. Thus it is a highly interesting region for an
ethnologist.</p>
<p>It was with feelings of pleasant anticipation that I started down
the river in the government steam-launch from Sibu just as dawn was
breaking, on my way to spend several weeks among the <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1690" href="#xd0e1690">206</a>]</span>wild Dayaks
on the unexplored Sarekei River. I took with me my two servants, Dubi,
a civilized Dayak, and my Chinese cook. After a journey of four hours
we arrived at a large Malay village near the mouth of the Sarekei
River. Here I disembarked and sought out the chief of the village and
demanded the loan of two canoes, with some men to paddle them, and in
return I offered liberal payment. Accordingly, an hour after my arrival
I found myself with all my belongings and servants on board the two
canoes, with a crew of nine Malays. Soon after leaving the Malay
village we branched off to the left up the Sarekei River. It was very
monotonous at first, as the giant plumes of the <i>nipa</i> palm hid
everything from my view. My Malays worked hard at their paddles, and
late in the afternoon we left the main Sarekei River and paddled up a
small and extremely narrow stream. There we found ourselves in the
depth of a most luxuriant vegetation. We were in a regular tunnel
formed by arching ferns and orchid-laden trees, giant <i>pandanus,</i>
various palms and arborescent ferns and <i>caladiums.</i> Here grew the
largest <i>crinum</i> lilies I had ever seen. They literally towered
over me, and the sweet-scented white and pink flowers grew in huge
bunches on stems nearly as thick as my arm.</p>
<p>After the bright sun on the main river, the dark, gloomy depths of
this side-stream were very <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1706"
href="#xd0e1706">207</a>]</span>striking. It was so narrow that
sometimes the vegetation on both sides was forced into the canoes, and
the “atap” (palm-thatched) roof of my canoe came in for
severe treatment as it brushed against prickly <i>pandanus</i> and
thorny rattans.</p>
<p>The entrance to this stream was completely hidden from view, and no
one but these Malays, who had been up here before, trading with the
Dayaks, could have discovered it. I had told the Malay chief that I
wished to visit a Dayak village where no white man had ever been and
where they were head-hunters. He had smiled slyly and nodded as if he
understood. Thereupon he said, “Baik (good), Tuan,” and
said he would help me. Just as darkness was setting in we arrived at a
Dayak village, consisting of one very long house, which I afterwards
found to exceed two hundred feet in length. It was situated about one
hundred yards from the stream. No sooner had we sighted it than the air
resounded with the loud beating of large gongs and plenty of shouting.
There was a great commotion among the Dayaks.</p>
<p>I at first felt doubtful as to the kind of reception I should get,
and immediately made my way to the house with Dubi, who explained to
the Dayak chief that I was no government official, but had come to see
them and also to get some “burong” (birds) and
“kopo-kopo” (butterflies). I forthwith <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1715" href="#xd0e1715">208</a>]</span>presented
the old chief with a bottle of gin, such as they often get from the
Malay traders, and some Javanese tobacco, and his face was soon
wreathed in smiles.</p>
<p>The Dayaks soon brought all my baggage into the house and I paid off
my Malays and proceeded to make myself as comfortable as I could for my
stay of several weeks, the chief giving me a portion of his own
quarters and spreading mats for me over the bamboo floor. On the latter
I put my camp-bed and boxes. I occupied a portion of the open corridor
or main hall, which ran the length of the house and where the unmarried
men sleep. This long corridor was just thirty feet in width, and formed
by far the greater portion of the house; small openings from this
corridor led on to a kind of unsheltered platform twenty-five feet in
width, which ran the length of the house and on which the Dayaks
generally dry their “padi” (rice).</p>
<p>The other side of the house was divided into several rooms, each of
which belonged to a separate family. Here they store their wealth,
chiefly huge jars and brass gongs. The house was raised on piles fully
ten to twelve feet from the ground, the space underneath being fenced
in for the accommodation of their pigs and chickens. The smells that
came up through the half-open bamboo and “bilian”-wood
flooring were the reverse of pleasant. The entrance at each end <span
class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1721" href="#xd0e1721">209</a>]</span>was
by means of a very steep and slippery sort of ladder made out of one
piece of wood with notches cut in it, the steps being only a few inches
in width. One of these ladders had a rough bamboo hand-rail on each
side, and the top part of the steps was roughly carved into the
semblance of a human face.</p>
<p>In the rafters over my head I noticed a great quantity of spears,
shields, “sumpitans” or blowpipes, paddles, fish-traps,
baskets and rolls of mats piled up indiscriminately, while just over my
head where I slept was a rattan basket containing two human heads,
though Dubi told me he thought the Dayaks had hidden most of their
heads on my arrival. This description of the house I resided in for
some time, applies more or less to all the Dayak houses I saw in
Borneo.</p>
<p>This house or village was called Menus, and the old chief’s
name was Usit. In spelling these names one has to be entirely guided by
the sounds and write them after the fashion of the English method of
spelling Malay. The village or house of Menus seemed to contain about
one hundred inhabitants, not counting small children. Upon my arrival I
was soon surrounded by a most curious throng, many of whom gazed at me
with open mouths, in astonishment at the sight of an “orang
puteh” (white man), as of course no white man had ever been here
before and but very <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1727" href="#xd0e1727">210</a>]</span>few of the people had ever seen one. One old
woman remembered having seen a white man, and some of the older men had
from time to time seen government officials on the Rejang River, but
except to these few I was a complete novelty. Considering this, I was
greatly astonished at their friendliness, as not only the men, but the
women and children squatted around me in the most amicable fashion, and
sometimes even became a decided nuisance. My first evening among them,
however, I found extremely amusing, and as my Chinese cook placed the
food he had cooked before me, and as I ate it with knife, fork and
spoon, they watched every mouthful I took amid a loud buzz of comments
and exclamations of delight.</p>
<p>Though by no means the first time I have had to endure this sort of
popularity, or rather notoriety, in various countries of the world, I
do not think I have ever come across a people so full of friendly
curiosity as were these Dayaks. About midnight I began to feel a bit
sleepy, but the admiring multitude did not seem inclined to move, so I
told Dubi to tell them that I wanted to change my clothes and go to
sleep. No one moved. “Tell the ladies to go, Dubi,” I said,
but on his translating my message a woman in the background called out
something that met with loud cries of approval.</p>
<p>“What does she say, Dubi?” I asked. <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1733" href="#xd0e1733">211</a>]</span></p>
<p>“She says, Tuan,” replied Dubi, “they like see
your skin, if white the same all over.”</p>
<p>This was rather embarrassing, and I told Dubi to insist upon their
going; but Dubi, whose advice I generally took, replied, “I
think, Tuan (master), more better you show to them your skin.” I
therefore submitted with as good a grace as possible, and took my shirt
off, while some of them, especially the women, pinched and patted the
skin on my back amid cries of approval and delight.</p>
<p>They asked if the skin of the Tuan Muda (the Rajah) was as white,
and, on being told that it was, a long and serious conversation took
place among them, during which the name of the Tuan Muda kept
constantly cropping up.</p>
<p>The great naturalist, Wallace, met with much the same experience
among the Dayaks, and as the natives of many other countries among whom
I have lived never seemed to display the same curiosity about my white
skin, I put it down to the Dayaks wishing to see what kind of a skin
the great white Rajah, who rules over them, possesses.</p>
<p>The next two or three nights the crowd that waited to see me change
into my pyjamas was, if anything, still larger, a good many Dayaks from
neighbouring villages coming over to see the sight. But gradually the
novelty wore off, to my great joy, as I was getting a bit tired of the
whole <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1744" href="#xd0e1744">212</a>]</span>performance. I had come here to see the
Dayaks, but it appeared that they were even more anxious to see me.</p>
<p>For the next two or three weeks an odd Dayak would from time to time
ask to see my skin, so that at length I had absolutely to refuse to
exhibit myself any longer.</p>
<p>I had luckily brought several illustrated magazines with me to use
as papers for my butterflies, and these were a source of endless
delight to the crowds around me in the evenings. They behaved like a
lot of small children, and roared with laughter over the pictures. They
generally looked at the pictures upside down, and even then they seemed
to find something amusing about them. With Dubi as my interpreter I
used to make up stories about the pictures, and, pointing to the
portrait of some well-known actress, described the number of husbands
she had killed, and I’m afraid I grossly libelled many a
well-known politician, general, or divine in telling the Dayaks how
many heads they possessed or how many wives they owned, till it was
quite a natural thing for me to join in their uproarious merriment, as
I pictured in my mind some venerable bishop on the war-path.</p>
<p>As is well known, the Dayak women all wear rings of brass around
their waists. They are called “gronong,” and they are made
of pliable rattan inside, with small brass rings fastened <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1752" href="#xd0e1752">213</a>]</span>around the
rattan. In the centre of each ring there are generally two or three
small red and black rings of coloured rattan between the brass ones.
Some wore only four or five, while others possessed twenty or more, and
then they rather resembled a corset. Even the little girls of four or
five wore two or three of them.</p>
<p>I noticed on my first arrival that the women and some of the men
seemed to have their teeth plentifully filled with gold, but I soon
found out that it was brass that they had ornamented their teeth with,
a small piece being inserted in some way in the centre of each tooth.
Their teeth are generally black from the continual chewing of the
betel-nut, and I noticed small children of four or five years of age
going in for this dirty habit, and still younger <span class="corr" id="xd0e1756" title="Source: childen">children</span> smoking cigarettes,
the covering of which is made out of the dried leaf of the sago-palm.
The Dayaks are almost as dirty as the Negritos in the Philippines, and
yet they are both certainly the merriest people I have ever met with.
The heartiest and most unaffected laughter I have ever heard proceeded
from the throats of Dayaks and Negritos. It almost seems as if dirt in
some cases constitutes true happiness.</p>
<p>The Dayak women seemed to bathe more often than the men, but they
never seemed to take off their brass waist-rings when bathing in the
river. The women also have their wrists covered with brass bangles,
which are all fastened together in <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1761" href="#xd0e1761">214</a>]</span>one piece. The noise in the
house was deafening at times, especially in the evening, when all come
home from working in their “padi” fields, where the women
are supposed to do most of the work, the men generally going hunting.
The continual hum of conversation and loud laughter, with the noise
made by the pigs and chickens under the house, the dogs and chickens in
the house, and the beating of deep-toned gongs at times nearly drove me
frantic, especially when I was writing.</p>
<p>They resembled a lot of small children and would beat their gongs
simply to amuse themselves. Very often a Dayak, on returning from his
work or a hunt in the jungle, would walk straight up to a large gong
that was hanging up and hammer on it for a few minutes in a most
businesslike way, looking all the time as if it bored him. Then he
would walk away in much the same way as a man would leave the telephone
(as if he had just got through some business). I suppose it soothed
them after their day’s work, but it irritated me.</p>
<p>The Dayak dogs are fearful and wonderful animals, both as regards
shape and colour, and I could get very little sleep on account of the
noise they made; yet the Dayaks seemed to sleep through it all.</p>
<p>One night I woke up after a particularly noisy fight, and saw what
appeared to me to be a dog sitting calmly by my bed with its back
turned to <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1769" href="#xd0e1769">215</a>]</span>me. Lifting my mosquito net, therefore, very
quietly, I let drive with my fist at it, putting all my pent-up
indignation and anger for sleepless nights into the blow. Alas! it was
a very solid dog that I struck against, being nothing more nor less
than the side of one of my boxes, and I barked my knuckles rather
badly. The laughter of the Dayaks was loud and prolonged when Dubi
translated the yarn to them next day, and they remembered it long
afterwards. Until I heard the roar of laughter that went up, the story
had not struck me as being so very amusing!</p>
<p>All around the house for some distance was a forest of tall
fruit-trees. They had of course all been planted in times past by the
Dayaks’ ancestors, and every tree had its owner, but they had
become mixed up with many beautiful wild tropic growths which had
sprung up between the trees. Some of these fruit-trees, such as the
“durian,” “rambutan,” mango, mangosteen,
“tamadac” or jackfruit, “lansat” and bananas,
were familiar to me, but there were a great number of fruits that I had
never heard of before, and I got their names from my Dayak friends.<a
class="noteref" id="xd0e1773src" href="#xd0e1773">1</a></p>
<p>Needless to say, I never before tasted so many fruits that were
entirely new to me, and most of them were ripe at the time of my visit.
The “durian” comes easily first. It is without doubt <span
class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1778" href="#xd0e1778">216</a>]</span>the
king of all fruit in both the tropic and temperate zones, and is
popular alike with man and beast, the orang-utan being a great culprit
in robbing the Dayaks of their “durians.” I never saw the
“good” “durian” growing wild in Sarawak, but I
tasted here a small wild kind with an orange centre which made me
violently sick. No description of the “durian” taste can do
it justice. But its smell is also past description. It is so bad that
many people refuse to taste it. It is a very large and heavy fruit,
covered with strong, sharp spines, and as it grows on a very tall tree,
it is dangerous to walk underneath in the fruiting season when they are
falling, accidents being common among the Dayaks through this cause. I
myself had a narrow escape one windy day. I was sitting at the foot of
one of these trees eating some of the fallen fruit, when a large
“durian” fell from above and buried itself in the mud not
half a yard from me.</p>
<p>Danna, the second chief, would always leave one or two of the fruit
for me on a box close by my head where I slept, before he went off to
his “padi “-planting early in the morning, so that I got
quite used to the bad smell.</p>
<p>The Dayak house was surrounded on three sides by a horrible swamp,
the roads through which consisted of fallen trees laid end to end, or
else of two or three thick poles, laid side by side, and kept in place
by being lashed here and there to <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1784" href="#xd0e1784">217</a>]</span>two upright stakes, so that
I had to balance myself well or come to grief in the thick mud. The
Dayak bridges, made chiefly of poles and bamboos, were in many cases
awkward things to negotiate, and I had one or two rather nasty falls
from them. While the Dayak women and children never showed any fear of
me in the house, whenever I met them out in the woods or jungle they
would run from me as if I were some kind of wild animal.</p>
<p>I saw several Dayak dances. The men put on their war-plumes and with
shield and “parang” (mentioned above) twirl round and round
and cut with their “parangs” at an imaginary foe, the women
all the time accompanying them with the beating of gongs. Dubi one
night showed them a Malay dance, which consisted of a sort of gliding
motion and a graceful waving of the hands, quite the reverse of the
Dayak dance. One night I noticed a general bustle in the house. The
women seemed greatly excited, and the men passed to and fro with their
“parangs” and “sumpitans” (blowpipes), and cast
anxious looks in my direction as they passed me. They told Dubi they
were going fishing; but it seemed strange that they should go fishing
with these warlike weapons, and I told Dubi so. He himself thought they
were going head-hunting, and I felt sure of it, as they left only the
old men, youths, women and children behind. I did not see them again
till the following <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1788" href="#xd0e1788">218</a>]</span>evening, nor did I then see signs of any
fish. I told Dubi that I thought it best that he should not ask them
any questions, as it might be awkward if they thought we suspected
them. At the same time, I am bound to admit that there was no direct
proof to show that they had been headhunting; and for this I was glad,
as there was no cause for me to say anything to the Government about
it, and so get my kind hosts into trouble. Some months later I read in
a Singapore paper that “the Dayaks in this district,”
between Sibu and Kuching, were restless and inclined to join form with
the Dayaks at Kapit, who had sent Dr. Hose a spear, signifying their
defiance of the Sarawak Government.</p>
<p>One evening, when out looking for birds, Dubi and I came across two
Dayaks, who were perched up in trees, waiting for wild pigs that came
to feed on the fallen fruit, when they would spear them from above.
They seemed rather annoyed with us for coming and frightening the pigs
away, and that evening they told everyone that we were the cause of
their not getting a pig. I rather scored them off, by telling Dubi in
an angry voice to ask them what “the dickens” they meant by
getting up in trees and frightening all my birds away. This highly
amused all the other Dayaks, who laughed loud and long, and my two
pig-hunting friends retired into the background discomfited. I myself
went out one evening with a party of Dayaks after <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1792" href="#xd0e1792">219</a>]</span>wild pig,
and stayed for two hours upon a platform in a tree while they climbed
other trees close by. However, no pigs turned up, although two
“plandok” (mouse-deer) did, though I did not shoot them for
fear of frightening the pigs away. I took my revolver with me, to the
great amusement of the Dayaks, who, of course, had not seen one before,
and ridiculed the idea of so small a weapon being able to kill a pig.
The Dayaks told me that there were plenty of bears here, but I never
saw any myself in this part of Borneo. They told me the bears were very
fierce, and had often nearly killed some of their friends. The Dayak
dogs are fearful cowards, and I was told that they run away at the
sight of a wild pig.</p>
<p>Animal life here was not plentiful, and quite the reverse of what I
had seen in the forests of North Borneo, where it was very
plentiful.</p>
<p>I noticed the prevalence of that horrible scurvy-like skin-disease
among several of the Dayaks. It was common in New Guinea among the
Papuans, where it was termed “supuma.” I cured two little
Dayak children of intermittent fever by giving them quinine and
Eno’s fruit salts. The result was that I was greatly troubled by
demands on my limited stock of medicines. One old man had been growing
blind for the last two years, and another was troubled with aches all
over him, and they would hardly believe me when I said that I could not
cure them. They told Dubi that they <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1798" href="#xd0e1798">220</a>]</span>thought that the white
people who could make such things as I possessed could do anything. So
much of my property seemed to amuse and astonish them, that it was a
treat to show them such things as my looking-glass, hair-brush, socks,
guns, umbrella, watch, etc. I showed them that child’s trick of
making the lid of my watch fly open, and they were delighted.</p>
<p>The Dayak women can hardly be considered good-looking. I saw one or
two that were rather pretty, but they were very young and unmarried.
Dubi fell madly in love with one of them and she with him, and when I
left there were two broken hearts. Many of the little girls of about
five and six years old would have been regular pictures if they had
only been cleaner. I made the discovery that some of my Dayak friends
were addicted to the horrible habit of eating clay, and actually found
a regular little digging in the side of a hill where they worked to get
these lumps of reddish grey clay, and soon caught some of the old men
eating it. They declared that they enjoyed it. All my empty tins (from
tinned meats, etc.) were in great demand, and so to save jealousy I
actually demoralized the Dayaks to the extent of introducing the
raffling system among them. Great was the excitement every evening when
I raffled old tins and bottles. Dubi would hand the bits of paper and
they would be a long time making up their minds which to take. One
night Dubi <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1802" href="#xd0e1802">221</a>]</span>overheard my Chinese cook telling some of
the Dayaks that “the white tuan had no use for these tins
himself, that is why he gives them to you.”</p>
<p>This cook, whom I used to call Cookie, was a great nuisance to me,
but he was the most amusing character I ever came across, and he was
the source of endless delight to the Dayaks, who enjoyed teasing him
and jokingly threatened to cut off his head, until he was almost
paralyzed with fright and came and begged me to leave, as we should all
have our heads cut off. After a week or two his courage returned and I
learned that when I was out of the house he would stand on his head for
the amusement of the women and children, though he was by no means a
young man. He soon became quite popular with the women, who found him
highly amusing, and who were always in fits of laughter whenever he
talked. In the evenings he sometimes joined a group of Dayak youths and
would start to air his opinions. Then it was not long before they were
all jeering and mimicking him, and poor old Cookie would look very
foolish and a sickly smile would spread over his yellow features.
Finally he would go off and sulk, and when I asked him what the matter
was, he would reply, “Damn Dayak no wantee.” Whenever I
called out for Cookie, the whole house would resound with jeering Dayak
cries of “Cookie, Cookie.” He and Dubi were always
quarrelling, <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1806" href="#xd0e1806">222</a>]</span>and Cookie would work himself up into such a
state of excitement that the place would be full of Dayak laughter,
though the Dayak understood not a word of what they were talking about.
In my later wanderings in Borneo the quarrel between my two servants,
Dayak and Chinaman, grew to such an extent that I feared it would end
in murder.</p>
<p>The foregoing account, short as it is, will, I trust, give some idea
of what my long stay among head-hunting Dayaks was like. All things
must have an ending, however, and having finished my collecting in this
neighbourhood I said good-bye to my Dayak friends, with deep regret,
and I think the sorrow was mutual. I know well that Dubi and his little
Dayak sweetheart were almost heartbroken. The Dayaks begged me to stay
longer, but I had already stayed longer than I had at first
intended.</p>
<p>Old Usit, the chief, and his crew of Dayaks paddled me all the way
to Sibu. There is little to relate about the journey there, except that
the canoe leaked very badly and the Dayaks had to keep bailing her out.
At night we tied the canoe up to a small wooden platform outside a
Malay house on the Rejang River, to await the change of the tide, and
one of the Dayaks knocked at the door of the house so that we could
cook some food, but the Malays thought that we were head-hunters, and
there was great lamentation, <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1812"
href="#xd0e1812">223</a>]</span>and for some time they refused to open.
While eating my food, with my legs dangling over the side of the wooden
platform, I noticed a dark object that glistened in the moonlight
noiselessly swimming toward me, and I pulled up my legs pretty quickly.
It was a large crocodile, attracted, no doubt, by the smell of my
dinner. The only objection I had was that it might have taken me for
the dinner. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1814" href="#xd0e1814">224</a>]</span></p>
<div class="footnotes">
<hr class="fnsep" />
<p class="footnote"><span class="label"><a class="noteref" href="#xd0e1773src" id="xd0e1773">1</a></span> Some of these names that I
got were “kudong” “blimbing,”
“mawang,” “sima” “lakat,”
“kamayan,” “nika,” “esu,”
“kubal,” “padalai” and
“rambai.”</p>
</div>
</div>
<div id="xd0e1815" class="div1">
<h2 class="normal">Visit to the Birds’-nest Caves of
Gomanton.</h2>
<div class="argument">
<p>My stay in British North Borneo—Visit to a Tobacco Estate
(Batu Puteh)—Start for the Birds’-nest Caves—News of
the Local Chief’s Death—Applicants for the
Panglima-ship—We Visit the late Chief’s House-Widows in
white—The Hadji “who longed to be
King”—Extraordinary Grove of Banyan-trees—Pigs,
Crocodiles and Monkeys—Astonishing Swimming Performance of a
Monkey—Water Birds Feeding on the Carcase of a Stag—The
Hadji and his Men pray at a Native Grave-shrine—An Elephant
charges past us—Arrival at the Caves—The Entrance—A
Cave of enormous Height, description of the Interior—Return to
the Village—Visit to the Upper Caves—Beautiful Climbing
Plants—We reach the Largest Cave of all: its Extreme
Grandeur—“White” Nests and “Black” Nests
secured—Distinctions between the two kinds of Swallows by whom
the Nests are made—Millions of small Bats: an Astonishing
Sight—Methods of Securing the Nests described—Perilous
Climbing Feats—Report of numerous Large
Snakes—Cave-coffins, and their (traditional) rich
contents—Dangers of the Descent—All’s well that ends
well.</p>
</div>
<p>I had just returned down the river with Richardson from Tangkulap.
Tangkulap is a journey of several days up the Kinabatangan River in
British North Borneo. Richardson was the magistrate for this district,
and his rule extended over practically the whole of this river,
Tangkulap being his headquarters. Only three or four white men had ever
been up the river as far as Tangkulap, it being a very lonely spot in
the midst of dense forests, with no other white man living anywhere
near. I had stayed with him for two months, making large natural
history collections and seeing a great deal of both native and animal
life. We had then returned down the river in <span class="pagenum">[<a
id="xd0e1823" href="#xd0e1823">225</a>]</span>Richardson’s
“gobang” (canoe) to Batu Puteh, a large tobacco estate, and
the only one on this river. Here we were the guests of Paul Brietag,
the manager, a most hospitable German. He and his three German, French,
and Dutch assistants were the only other white men on the whole of this
great river.</p>
<p>While here, Richardson and I determined to visit the wonderful
Gomanton birds’-nest caves, from which great quantities of edible
birds’ nests are annually taken. Very few Europeans had ever
visited them, though they are considered among the wonders of the
world.</p>
<p>We left Batu Puteh in Richardson’s canoe early one morning,
and, although we had a strong stream with us going down, we did not
reach Bilit till evening. Bilit is a large village made up of Malays,
Orang Sungei, and Sulus. Quite a crowd met us on our arrival, and they
seemed not a little excited. It appeared that their late Panglima
(chief), who was also a Hadji, had been on a second voyage to Mecca,
and they had just heard that he had died on his way back. “That
was quite right,” they said; “his time had come, and,
besides, it had been foretold that he would die if he tried to go to
Mecca again.”</p>
<p>Two men were most anxious to gain favour with Richardson—viz.,
the dead man’s son and another Hadji, who was the richest man in
Bilit, and who had a large share in the Gomanton <span class="pagenum">
[<a id="xd0e1831" href="#xd0e1831">226</a>]</span>caves. The reason was
that Richardson had the power to appoint whom he liked as the new
Panglima, provided, of course, that the man was of some standing and
fairly popular. Richardson sent for one of the most influential men in
the village to come and talk the matter over, but he lived on the other
side of the river, and, it being late, they said he dared not cross in
his small “gobang,” as the crocodiles are very bad indeed
here, and at night they often help themselves to a man out of his
canoe. We went to the late Panglima’s house and had a chat, but
nothing was said about the new Panglima. I caught sight of one of the
widows swathed in white, going through all sorts of contortions by way
of mourning for her late husband. We found that the people were going
to the caves in two or three days to collect the black nests. The white
nests had been collected earlier in the year, but the influential Hadji
“who would be king” offered to go with us on the morrow and
start work earlier than he at first intended if his dreams were
favourable, and thus we should be able to see them at work collecting
the nests. Here was luck both for ourselves and the Hadji: it meant a
step in his hopes of the much-desired Panglima-ship by thus gaining
favour with the magistrate over his younger rival. He was a tall,
haughty-looking man, with an orange-coloured turban, worn only by
Hadjis, and the people <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1833" href="#xd0e1833">227</a>]</span>seemed to stand in great awe of him and
addressed him as “Tuan” or “Tuan Hadji,” the
word “Tuan” being usually used only when addressing
Europeans like ourselves; still, his house in which we spent the night
was little better than a pigsty, although he was a very wealthy
man.</p>
<p>The next morning we were off before sunrise. After leaving the
village we had a walk of about an hour and a half over a very steep
hill through luxuriant, tall forest, and on the other side came to a
small river, the Menungal, on the banks of which was a shed full of
“gobangs” (canoes) which were speedily launched, we both
getting into the leading one. We were followed by three others, in one
of which was the Hadji. Most of the way was through fine forest, the
trees arching overhead to shade us from the hot sun, the only exception
being when we passed through a stretch of swamps, with low, tangled
growth, when the river broadened out, but in the shady forest it was
delightful, gliding along to the music of the even dip of the
paddles.</p>
<p>The most striking feature about the forest on this Menungal River
was the extraordinary growth of a species of banyan trees (<i>Ficus</i>
sp.). I have seen many curious stilted trees of this <i>Ficus</i>
family in various tropical countries I have visited, but these I think
were more curious than any I had ever seen. One hardly knew where they
began and where they ended, for they all seemed <span class="pagenum">
[<a id="xd0e1845" href="#xd0e1845">228</a>]</span>joined together, and
roots and branches seemed one and the same thing. It was the acme of
vegetable confusion. Even the river could not stop their progress, and
we were constantly gliding between their roots and branches. The growth
of ferns, orchids and parasites on the branches and roots of these
trees was luxuriant to a degree and formed veritable hanging
gardens.</p>
<p>On these Bornean rivers one is constantly seeing pigs, crocodiles
and monkeys, but I noticed on this river an abundance of a monkey which
one seldom sees on the large Kinabatangan River. I refer to the very
curious proboscis or long-nosed monkey (<i>Nasalis larvatus</i>). These
animals often sat still overhead and stared down at us in the most
contemptuous and indifferent manner, and they looked so human and yet
so comical with their enormous red noses that I found myself laughing
aloud, our scullers doing the same, till the monkeys actually grinned
with indignation. They axe large monkeys with long tails, and are
beautifully marked with various shades of grey and brown, and their
large, fleshy, red noses give them an extraordinary appearance.</p>
<p>One of them did a performance that astonished me. We saw a group of
them on a branch over the river about forty yards ahead of us, when one
of them jumped into the middle of the river and coolly swam to a
hanging creeper up which it climbed, none the worse for its voluntary
bath. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1854" href="#xd0e1854">229</a>]</span>This was the only time that I had ever seen
a monkey swim, but the natives assured me that these monkeys are very
good swimmers. It struck me as being a very risky performance, as this
river was full of crocodiles.</p>
<p>I saw on this river a wonderful orchid growing on large trees. This
was a <i>Grammatophyllum</i> with bulbs some times over eight feet in
length. The length of the name is certainly suitable for so large an
orchid. I saw plenty of water-birds, including white egrets and a
long-necked diver which is called the “snake-bird,” owing
to its long neck projecting lout of the water and thus greatly
resembling a snake. I shot several of each kind of bird, plucking the
fine plumes from the backs of the egrets. We ate some of the divers
that evening and found them first-class food, tasting much like goose.
We later in the day disturbed a whole colony of these water-birds
feeding on the carcase of a large stag in the river, and the smell was
very strong for some distance. I did not attempt to shoot any more mock
geese till we had put a good many miles between ourselves and the dead
stag. We passed several canoes slowly wending their way to the eaves,
the people taking it easy and camping on the banks and fishing. They
dried the fish on the roofs of their thatched canoes. Some of these
people had very curious rattan pyramid-shaped hats gaily ornamented
with strips of bright-coloured cloth. <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1861" href="#xd0e1861">230</a>]</span></p>
<p>Toward evening the river got exceedingly narrow, and fallen trees
obstructed our way, so that we had sometimes to lie flat on our backs
to pass under them, and at other times we had to get out while our
canoe was hauled over the mud at the side.</p>
<p>Just before we reached our destination for the night, we came to a
spot where the bank was hung with bits of coloured cloth and calico
fastened to sticks, I also noticed some bananas and dried fish tied to
the sticks. This signified that there was a native burial ground close
by, and all the canoes were stopped, the scullers putting their paddles
down, while the Hadji and all his men proceeded to wash their faces in
the river. This they did to ensure success in their
nest-collecting.</p>
<p>We stayed the night in one of two raised half-thatched huts used
only by the natives in the collecting seasons, a ladder from the river
leading into them. It was almost dark when we arrived, and hardly were
we under shelter when rain came down in torrents. It poured all night,
and when we started off on foot at sunrise the next morning we found
the track in the forest a regular quagmire; in places we waded through
mud up to our knees. As we scrambled and floundered through the mud at
our best pace we heard a great crashing noise just in front of us, and
the air resounded with cries of “Gajah, gajah!” (elephant).
I was just in time to see a large elephant tear by. It literally <span
class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1868" href="#xd0e1868">231</a>]</span>seemed to fly, and knocked down small trees
as if they were grass. It seemed greatly frightened, and made a sort of
coughing noise. It went by so quickly that I was unable to see whether
it had tusks or not.</p>
<p>After about three hours’ hard tramping, I caught sight of a
high mass of white limestone gleaming through the trees. It made a
pretty picture in the early morning, the white rock peeping out of
luxuriant creepers and foliage. It rises very abruptly from the
surrounding forest, and at a distance looked quite inaccessible to a
climber.</p>
<p>We waded through a stream of clear water, washing the horrible
forest mud from off us, and soon found ourselves in a most picturesque
village at the very base of the rock. We disturbed quite a crowd of
native girls bathing in a spring, and they seemed very much alarmed and
surprised at seeing two Europeans suddenly turn the corner. Out of
season I don’t believe any one lives in this village except some
watchers at the mouths of the eaves to guard against thieves. The Hadji
gave us a rough hut with a flooring of split bamboo and kept us
provided with chickens. All this no doubt was in his estimation part of
the necessary steps to securing that much-desired Panglima-ship.</p>
<p>The two days we were here, people kept flocking into the village,
most of the men carrying long steel-pointed spears, in many cases
beautifully mounted with engraved silver: others carried <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1876" href="#xd0e1876">232</a>]</span>long
“parangs” and “krises” in rough wooden sheaths,
but the handles were often of carved ivory and silver.</p>
<p>After some breakfast we started off to see the near lower cave,
which was one of the smaller ones. We followed a very pretty ferny
track by the side of a rocky stream for a short distance, the forest
being partially cleared and open, with large boulders scattered around.
The sky overhead was thick with swallows, in fact one could almost say
the air was black with them. These of course were the birds that make
the nests. The mouth of the cave partly prepared me for what I was to
see. I had expected a small entrance, but here it was, I should say,
sixty feet in height and of great width, the entrance being partly
overhung with a curtain of luxuriant creepers. The smell of guano had
been strong before, but here it was overpowering.</p>
<p>Extending inside the cave for about one hundred yards was a small
village of native huts used chiefly by the guards or watchers of these
caves. Compared with the vastness of the interior of the cave—I
believe about four hundred and eighty feet in height—one could
almost imagine that one was looking at the small model of a village. A
small stream ran out of a large hill of guano, and if you left the
track you sank over your knees in guano. The vastness of the interior
of this cave impressed me beyond words. It was stupendous, and to
describe it properly <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1882" href="#xd0e1882">233</a>]</span>would take a better pen than mine. One could
actually see the very roof overhead, as there were two or three
openings near the top (reminding one of windows high up in a cathedral)
through which broad shafts of light forced their way, making some old
hanging rattan ladders high up appear like silvery spider webs. Of
course there were recesses overhead where the light could not
penetrate, and these were the homes of millions of small bats, of which
more presently. As for the birds themselves, this was one of their
nesting seasons, and the cave was full of myriads of them. The
twittering they made resembled the whisperings of a multitude. The
majority of them kept near the roof, and as they flew to and fro
through the shafts of light they presented a most curious effect and
looked like swarms of gnats; lower down they resembled silvery
butterflies. Where the light shone on the rocky walls and roofs one
could distinguish masses upon masses of little silver black specks.
These were their nests, as this was a black-nest cave. Somewhere below
in the bowels of the earth rumbled an underground river with a noise
like distant thunder. This cavernous roar far below and the twittering
whisper of the swallows far overhead, combined to add much to the
mysteriousness of these wonderful caves.</p>
<p>On the ground in the guano I picked up several eggs, unbroken. How
they could fall that distance <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1886"
href="#xd0e1886">234</a>]</span>and yet not get smashed is hard to
understand, unless it is that they fell in the soft guano on their
ends. We were told that when a man fell from the top he was smashed
literally into jelly. I also picked up a few birds which had been
stunned when flying against the rocks. This saved me from shooting
any.</p>
<p>Spread out on the ground in the cave and also drying outside, raised
from the ground on stakes, were coil after coil of rattan ropes and
ladders used for collecting the nests. These always have to be new each
season, and are first carefully tested. The ladders are made of well
twisted strands of rattan with steps of strong, hard wood, generally
“bilian.”</p>
<p>On our return to the village we bathed in a shady stream of clear
water, the banks of which I noted were composed chiefly of guano. In
the afternoon we started off in search of the upper eaves. After a
short, stiff climb amid natural rockeries of jagged limestone, we
passed under a rock archway or bridge, under which were perched
frail-looking raised native huts of the watchers. As we stood under
this curious archway we looked down a precipice on our left. It was
very steep at our feet, but from the far side it took the form of a
slanting shaft, which terminated in a little window or inlet into the
lower cave we had visited in the morning. In our ascent we had to climb
up very rough, steep ladders fastened against the <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1892" href="#xd0e1892">235</a>]</span>rocky
ledges. The rocks were in many places gay with variegated plants, the
most notable being a very pretty-leafed begonia, covered with pink and
silver spots, the spots being half pink, half white. The natives with
us seemed to enjoy eating these leaves; they certainly looked tempting
enough.</p>
<p>Another fine plant growing among these rocks was a climbing <i>
pothos,</i> with very dark green leaves, ornamented with a silver band
across each leaf, but the finest of all was a fine velvet-leafed
climber, veined with crimson, pink, or white (<i>Cissus</i> sp.).</p>
<p>We at length came to the entrance of a long chain of eaves, through
which we passed, going down a very steep grade, and our guides had to
carry lights. After a climb down some steep rocks in semi-darkness, we
at length found ourselves in the largest cave of all, supposed to be
about five hundred and sixty feet in height.<a class="noteref" id="xd0e1904src" href="#xd0e1904">1</a> It, too, had two or three natural
windows, through which the light penetrated. One of them was on the
top, in the very centre of the cave, and from down below it looked like
a distant star. This opening was on the very summit of the Gomanton
rock. This cave greatly resembled the smaller one I have already
described, except that it was of much grander dimensions. As in the
first cave, one could hear the roar of an underground torrent, and the
swallows seemed even more numerous. On the rocky walls I noticed plenty
of large spiders and a curious insect, with a long body and long, thin
legs, which ran very <span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1907" href="#xd0e1907">236</a>]</span>fast, and whose bite we were told was very
poisonous.</p>
<p>On the way back, when passing through some very low caves, the Hadji
got some of his men to knock down for me a few of the white nests from
the sides of the cave with long poles, and in another cave they got me
some black nests. The difference between these white and black nests is
this: they are made by two different kinds of swallows. The white nest
is made by a very small bird, but the bird that builds the black nest
is twice the size of the other. The white nest looks something like
pure white gelatine, and is very clean, and has no feathers in it. The
black nest, on the contrary, is plentifully coated with feathers, and
it is, in consequence, not worth nearly as much as the white nest. The
nests are made from the saliva of the birds. Both are very plain
coloured birds; an ordinary swallow is brilliant in comparison. This is
unusual in a country so full of brilliant-plumaged birds as Borneo is;
but, as they spend most of their lives in the depths of these sombre
caves, I suppose it is only natural that their plumage should be
obscure and plain. These birds’-nest caves are found all over
Borneo and the Malay Peninsula, and also in Java and other parts of the
Malay archipelago, but these are by far the largest. The revenue from
these caves alone brings the Government a very large sum. By far the
greatest number of these nests are sent to China, <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1911" href="#xd0e1911">237</a>]</span>where
birds’-nest soup is an expensive luxury. The natives of Borneo do
not eat them. For myself, I found the soup rather tasteless.</p>
<p>We were told that if they missed one season’s nest collecting,
most of the birds would forsake these caves, possibly because there
would be so little room for them to build again. I learned that they
build and lay four times a year, but I think that they meant that both
the black and the white-nest birds lay twice each. The white kind build
their first nests about March, and the black kind in May, and, as these
nests are all collected before they have time to hatch their eggs,
there are no young birds till later in the year, when the nests are not
disturbed, but the old nests are collected with the new ones the
following year. If the guano could be easily transported to the coast
it would be a paying proposition, but the Government fears that it
might frighten the birds away.</p>
<p>About dusk that evening after we had returned to our hut, I heard a
noise like the whistling of the wind, and, going outside, I saw a truly
wonderful sight, in fact a sight that filled me with amazement. The
millions of small bats which share these caves with the birds were
issuing forth for the night from the small hole I spoke about on the
very top of the rock leading into the large cave, but what a sight it
was! As far as the eye could see they stretched in one even unbroken
column across the sky. They issued from the cave in a compact <span
class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1917" href="#xd0e1917">238</a>]</span>mass
and preserved the same even formation till they disappeared in the far
distance. As far as I could see there were no stragglers. They rather
resembled a thick line of smoke coming out of the funnel of a steamer,
with this exception that they kept the same thick line till they went
out of sight. The most curious thing about it was that the thick line
twisted and wriggled across the sky for all the world like a giant
snake, as if it were blown about by gusts of wind, of which, however,
there was none. Even with these strange manœuvres the bats kept
the same unbroken solid formation. They were still coming forth in the
same manner till darkness set in, and then I could only hear the
beating of myriads of wings like the sighing of the wind in the
tree-tops.</p>
<p>They return in early morning in much the same fashion. I heard that
the swallows usually did the same thing, only the other way about; when
the bats came out, the swallows entered the eaves, and when the bats
went in, the swallows came out, but it being now their nesting season,
they went in and out of the eaves irregularly all day, but I was quite
satisfied to see the bats go through the performance, as it was one of
the most wonderful sights I have ever seen.</p>
<p>We had been told that it would be three or four more days before the
collecting would take place, and also that they had to wait for a good
omen in the shape of a good dream coming to one of the <span class=
"pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1923" href="#xd0e1923">239</a>]</span>chief
owners of the caves. Our pleasure was great, therefore, when the Hadji
and some of his followers paid us a visit that night and told us that
work should start in the largest cave the next morning for our benefit.
That was good news, indeed, as Richardson could not wait more than
another day. It was another good move for the Hadji and his
Panglima-ship, and I told Richardson he ought to give it him
forthwith.</p>
<p>The next morning we climbed to the top of the rock. It was hard work
climbing over the brittle rocks and up perpendicular and shaky ladders.
On reaching the summit we got a splendid view of the surrounding
country, and could plainly see the distant sea; but all else was thick,
billowy forest, dotted at long intervals with limestone ridges, also
covered with forest. Here we found the hole on the top of the large
cave, and stretching across it were two long, thick
“bilian” logs, to which the natives were now fastening
their long rattan ladders before descending them to collect the nests.
We crept along the logs and listened to the everlasting twittering far
below; but, although we could see nothing but pitchy darkness, the
thought of what was below made me soon crawl back with a very shaky
feeling in my legs.</p>
<p>We then descended again till we came to the mouth of a curious cave,
which was practically a dark chasm at our feet. We climbed down into
<span class="pagenum">[<a id="xd0e1929" href="#xd0e1929">240</a>]</span>the depths on a straight, swaying ladder,
which required a good grip, and then, after a climb over slanting,
slippery rocks, we found ourselves in the large cave, on a sort of
ledge, within perhaps sixty feet of the roof. We were told that we were
the first Europeans who had ever descended on to this ledge. From here
we watched the natives collecting the nests. In a short account of this
description it is impossible for me to detail all the wonderful methods
the natives had for collecting the nests, but the chief method was by
descending rattan ladders, which were let down through the hole on the
top of the cave. It made one quite giddy even to watch the men
descending these frail swaying ladders with over five hundred feet of
space below them. The man on the nearest ladder had a long rattan rope
attached low down to his ladder, with a kind of wooden anchor at the
end of it. At the second attempt he succeeded with a wonderful throw in
getting the anchor to stick in the soft guano on the edge of the
slanting ledge where we were. It was then seized by several men waiting
there; by these it was hauled up until they were enabled to catch hold
of the end of the ladder, which they dragged higher and higher up the
steep, slanting rocks we had come down by. This in time brought the
flexible ladder, at least the part on which the man was, level with the
roof, and he, lying on his back on the thin <span class="pagenum">[<a
id="xd0e1931" href="#xd0e1931">241</a>]</span>ladder, pulled the nests
off the rocky roof, putting them into a large rattan basket fastened
about his body.</p>
<p>We saw many other methods they have of collecting these nests by the
aid of long bamboo poles and rattan ropes, up which they climbed to
dizzy heights.</p>
<p>These eaves, we were told, were full of very large harmless snakes,
but we did not come across them. If I had had a good head and plenty of
skill and pluck as a climber, I might have come away a wealthy man, as
the Hadji told us that in a sort of side cave high up in the large cave
were the coffins of the men that first discovered these caves, and with
them were large jars of gold and jewels, but no one dared touch them,
as they said it would be certain death to the man who did so. A man
once did take some, but a few days later was taken violently ill and so
had them put back and thus recovered. It was not for any scruples of
this kind that I declined the Hadji’s offer to help myself when
he pointed out to me the spot where they were, but I think he must have
guessed that I would not have trusted myself on one of those frail
swaying ladders with over five hundred feet of space beneath me.</p>
<p>On the way back we scrambled up to a small cave where there were
numerous carved coffins and bones which belonged to some of the former
owners of the caves, but alas! no jars of gold; <span class="pagenum">
[<a id="xd0e1939" href="#xd0e1939">242</a>]</span>possibly poor men,
they did not realize good prices. We returned down the rocks a
different way, which made Richardson indulge in some hearty language at
the Hadji’s expense, who must have had fears that the
Panglima-ship was at the last moment slipping away from him. It
certainly was awkward and dangerous work climbing down the steep
precipices, and we could never have done it, but that the rocks were
quite honeycombed with small holes which enabled us to get a good hold
for our hands.</p>
<p>That night was a busy one for me, skinning my numerous birds and
blowing the eggs by a dim light to the accompaniment of
Richardson’s snores, and I did not get to bed till 2 a.m. We were
up again at 4 a.m. for the return journey. But I had seen one of the
most wonderful sights in the world, and to me it seemed extraordinary
that until I came to Borneo I had never even heard of the Gomanton
eaves. Some day, perhaps within our time, they will become widely
advertised, and swarms of noisy tourists will come over in airships
from London and New York, but there will be one thing lacking—all
romance will have gone from these lonely wilds and forests, and that is
the chief thing. The Hadji returned with us to Bilit, and got his
desire, the Panglima-ship, and well he deserved it.</p>
<div class="footnotes">
<hr class="fnsep" />
<p class="footnote"><span class="label"><a class="noteref" href="#xd0e1904src" id="xd0e1904">1</a></span> These were the heights given
me by the Malays.</p>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<div class="back">
<div id="xd0e1944" class="div1">
<h2 class="normal">Plates</h2>
<div class="figure" id="p02"><img src="images/p02.jpg" alt=
"A Chief’s Daughter and a Daughter of the People" width="512"
height="345" />
<p class="figureHead">A Chief’s Daughter and a Daughter of the
People</p>
</div>
<div class="figure" id="p03"><img src="images/p03.jpg" alt=
"A “Meke-Meke,” or Fijian Girls’ Dance" width="512"
height="328" />
<p class="figureHead">A “Meke-Meke,” or Fijian Girls’
Dance</p>
</div>
<div class="figure" id="p04"><img src="images/p04.jpg" alt=
"Interior of a large Fijian Hut" width="512" height="359" />
<p class="figureHead">Interior of a large Fijian Hut</p>
</div>
<div class="figure" id="p05"><img src="images/p05.jpg" alt=
"A Fijian Mountaineer’s House" width="345" height="512" />
<p class="figureHead">A Fijian Mountaineer’s House</p>
</div>
<div class="figure" id="p06"><img src="images/p06.jpg" alt=
"At the Door of a Fijian House" width="359" height="512" />
<p class="figureHead">At the Door of a Fijian House</p>
</div>
<div class="figure" id="p07"><img src="images/p07.jpg" alt=
"A Fijian Girl" width="378" height="512" />
<p class="figureHead">A Fijian Girl</p>
</div>
<div class="figure" id="p08"><img src="images/p08.jpg" alt=
"Spearing Fish in Fiji" width="512" height="316" />
<p class="figureHead">Spearing Fish in Fiji</p>
</div>
<div class="figure" id="p09"><img src="images/p09.jpg" alt=
"A Fijian Fisher Girl" width="373" height="512" />
<p class="figureHead">A Fijian Fisher Girl</p>
</div>
<div class="figure" id="p10"><img src="images/p10.jpg" alt=
"A Posed Picture of an old-time Cannibal Feast in Fiji" width="512"
height="340" />
<p class="figureHead">A Posed Picture of an old-time Cannibal Feast in
Fiji</p>
</div>
<div class="figure" id="p11"><img src="images/p11.jpg" alt=
"Making Fire by Wood Friction" width="512" height="337" />
<p class="figureHead">Making Fire by Wood Friction</p>
</div>
<div class="figure" id="p12"><img src="images/p12.jpg" alt=
"An Old ex-Cannibal" width="263" height="512" />
<p class="figureHead">An Old ex-Cannibal</p>
</div>
<div class="figure" id="p13"><img src="images/p13.jpg" alt=
"A Fijian War-Dance" width="512" height="330" />
<p class="figureHead">A Fijian War-Dance</p>
</div>
<div class="figure" id="p14"><img src="images/p14.jpg" alt=
"Adi Cakobau (pronounced “Andi Thakombau”), the highest Princess in Fiji, at her house at Navuso"
width="351" height="512" />
<p class="figureHead">Adi Cakobau (pronounced “Andi
Thakombau”), the highest Princess in Fiji, at her house at
Navuso</p>
</div>
<div class="figure" id="p15"><img src="images/p15.jpg" alt=
"A Filipino Dwelling" width="512" height="347" />
<p class="figureHead">A Filipino Dwelling</p>
</div>
<div class="figure" id="p16"><img src="images/p16.jpg" alt=
"A Village Street in the Philippines" width="512" height="338" />
<p class="figureHead">A Village Street in the Philippines</p>
</div>
<div class="figure" id="p17"><img src="images/p17.jpg" alt=
"A River Scene in the Philippines" width="512" height="358" />
<p class="figureHead">A River Scene in the Philippines</p>
</div>
<div class="figure" id="p18"><img src="images/p18.jpg" alt=
"A Negrito Family" width="369" height="512" />
<p class="figureHead">A Negrito Family</p>
</div>
<div class="figure" id="p19"><img src="images/p19.jpg" alt=
"Negrito Girls (showing Shaved Head at back)" width="286" height="512" />
<p class="figureHead">Negrito Girls (showing Shaved Head at back)</p>
</div>
<div class="figure" id="p20"><img src="images/p20.jpg" alt=
"A Negrito Shooting" width="353" height="512" />
<p class="figureHead">A Negrito Shooting</p>
</div>
<div class="figure" id="p21"><img src="images/p21.jpg" alt=
"Tree Climbing by Negritos" width="329" height="512" />
<p class="figureHead">Tree Climbing by Negritos</p>
</div>
<div class="figure" id="p22"><img src="images/p22.jpg" alt=
"A Negrito Dance" width="512" height="330" />
<p class="figureHead">A Negrito Dance</p>
</div>
<div class="figure" id="p23"><img src="images/p23.jpg" alt=
"Arigita and his Wife" width="317" height="512" />
<p class="figureHead">Arigita and his Wife</p>
</div>
<div class="figure" id="p24"><img src="images/p24.jpg" alt=
"Three Cape Nelson Kaili-Kailis in War Attire" width="419" height="512" />
<p class="figureHead">Three Cape Nelson Kaili-Kailis in War Attire</p>
</div>
<div class="figure" id="p25"><img src="images/p25.jpg" alt=
"Kaili-Kaili House on the edge of a Precipice" width="512" height="360" />
<p class="figureHead">Kaili-Kaili House on the edge of a Precipice</p>
</div>
<div class="figure" id="p26"><img src="images/p26.jpg" alt=
"“A Great Joke”" width="512" height="479" />
<p class="figureHead">“A Great Joke”</p>
</div>
<div class="figure" id="p27"><img src="images/p27.jpg" alt=
"A Ghastly Relic" width="333" height="512" />
<p class="figureHead">A Ghastly Relic</p>
</div>
<div class="figure" id="p28"><img src="images/p28.jpg" alt=
"Cannibal Trophies" width="512" height="415" />
<p class="figureHead">Cannibal Trophies</p>
</div>
<div class="figure" id="p29"><img src="images/p29.jpg" alt=
"A Woman and her Baby" width="345" height="512" />
<p class="figureHead">A Woman and her Baby</p>
</div>
<div class="figure" id="p30"><img src="images/p30.jpg" alt=
"A Papuan Girl" width="331" height="512" />
<p class="figureHead">A Papuan Girl</p>
</div>
<div class="figure" id="p31"><img src="images/p31.jpg" alt=
"The Author with Kaili-Kaili Followers" width="400" height="512" />
<p class="figureHead">The Author with Kaili-Kaili Followers</p>
</div>
<div class="figure" id="p32"><img src="images/p32.jpg" alt=
"Wives of Native Armed Police" width="348" height="512" />
<p class="figureHead">Wives of Native Armed Police</p>
</div>
<div class="figure" id="p33"><img src="images/p33.jpg" alt=
"A Papuan Damsel" width="348" height="512" />
<p class="figureHead">A Papuan Damsel</p>
</div>
<div class="figure" id="p34"><img src="images/p34.jpg" alt=
"Busimaiwa, the great Mambare Chief, with his Wife and Son (in the Police)"
width="512" height="424" />
<p class="figureHead">Busimaiwa, the great Mambare Chief, with his Wife
and Son (in the Police)</p>
</div>
<div class="figure" id="p35"><img src="images/p35.jpg" alt=
"A Haunt of the Bird of Paradise " width="512" height="333" />
<p class="figureHead">A Haunt of the Bird of Paradise</p>
</div>
<div class="figure" id="p36"><img src="images/p36.jpg" alt=
"The Author starting on an Expedition" width="512" height="275" />
<p class="figureHead">The Author starting on an Expedition</p>
</div>
<div class="figure" id="p37"><img src="images/p37.jpg" alt=
"A New Guinea River Scene" width="512" height="334" />
<p class="figureHead">A New Guinea River Scene</p>
</div>
<div class="figure" id="p38"><img src="images/p38.jpg" alt=
"Papuan Tree-Houses" width="512" height="304" />
<p class="figureHead">Papuan Tree-Houses</p>
</div>
<div class="figure" id="p39"><img src="images/p39.jpg" alt=
"A Village of the Agai Ambu" width="512" height="383" />
<p class="figureHead">A Village of the Agai Ambu</p>
</div>
<div class="figure" id="p40"><img src="images/p40.jpg" alt=
"H. W. Walker, L. Dyke-Acland, and C. A. W. Monckton" width="387"
height="512" />
<p class="figureHead">H. W. Walker, L. Dyke-Acland, and C. A. W.
Monckton</p>
</div>
<div class="figure" id="p41"><img src="images/p41.jpg" alt=
"View of Kuching from the Rajah’s Garden" width="512" height="323" />
<p class="figureHead">View of Kuching from the Rajah’s Garden</p>
</div>
<div class="figure" id="p42"><img src="images/p42.jpg" alt=
"Dayaks and Canoes" width="512" height="361" />
<p class="figureHead">Dayaks and Canoes</p>
</div>
<div class="figure" id="p43"><img src="images/p43.jpg" alt=
"Dayak in War-Coat" width="295" height="512" />
<p class="figureHead">Dayak in War-Coat</p>
</div>
<div class="figure" id="p44"><img src="images/p44.jpg" alt=
"Dayak Women and Children on the Platform outside a long House" width=
"512" height="369" />
<p class="figureHead">Dayak Women and Children on the Platform outside
a long House</p>
</div>
<div class="figure" id="p45"><img src="images/p45.jpg" alt=
"Dayaks Catching Fish" width="512" height="350" />
<p class="figureHead">Dayaks Catching Fish</p>
</div>
<div class="figure" id="p46"><img src="images/p46.jpg" alt=
"A Dayak Woman with Mourning Ornaments round waist" width="238" height="512" />
<p class="figureHead">A Dayak Woman with Mourning Ornaments round
waist</p>
</div>
<div class="figure" id="p47"><img src="images/p47.jpg" alt=
"On a Tobacco Estate" width="512" height="360" />
<p class="figureHead">On a Tobacco Estate</p>
</div>
<div class="figure" id="p48"><img src="images/p48.jpg" alt=
"On a Bornean River" width="413" height="512" />
<p class="figureHead">On a Bornean River</p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="transcribernote">
<h2>Colophon</h2>
<h3>Encoding</h3>
<h3>Revision History</h3>
<ol class="lsoff">
<li>05-OCT-2000 Added TEI Header.</li>
<li>23-JUL-2005 Last Revision.</li>
<li>04-NOV-2009 Regenerated HTML, added colophon.</li>
</ol>
<h3>External References</h3>
<p>This Project Gutenberg eBook contains external references. These
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<h3>Corrections</h3>
<p>The following corrections have been applied to the text:</p>
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text.">
<tr>
<th>Page</th>
<th>Source</th>
<th>Correction</th>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><a class="pageref" href="#xd0e544">27</a></td>
<td>semed</td>
<td>seemed</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><a class="pageref" href="#xd0e571">30</a></td>
<td>One</td>
<td>On</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><a class="pageref" href="#xd0e624">39</a></td>
<td>mosquitos</td>
<td>mosquitoes</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><a class="pageref" href="#xd0e1237">143</a></td>
<td>atttention</td>
<td>attention</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><a class="pageref" href="#xd0e1387">163</a></td>
<td>Cryers</td>
<td>Criers</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><a class="pageref" href="#xd0e1641">198</a></td>
<td>jewelry</td>
<td>jewellery</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td><a class="pageref" href="#xd0e1756">213</a></td>
<td>childen</td>
<td>children</td>
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