Two Years Among the Savages of New Guinea Part 1

Two Years Among the Savages of New Guinea.

by W. D. Pitcairn.

PREFACE.

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

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

W. D. PITCAIRN.

The Vicarage, Eccles, June, 1890.

INTRODUCTION.

NORTH QUEENSLAND.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

When sunset approaches, the beauty and tranquillity of the scene are enhanced by the exquisite tints thrown on mountain, scrub and sea.

There is no twilight here. It is dark immediately after the sun has set, so there is little time to drink in the glories of the departing day.

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

The town has a munic.i.p.ality and Mayor, who is elected once a year.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At times flour was dearer than gold.

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

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

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

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