Chapter VIII: The Exploration of New Guinea

THE EXPLORATION OF NEW GUINEA

(_Map_, p. 248.)

Almost every part of the globe has suffered some change in the past century. It may have altered its appearance by settlement and cultivation and the growth of cities; or, if it still remains a wilderness, there are routes of commerce through it which bring it to the knowledge of the world. But the great island of New Guinea is almost as little changed to-day by the advent of white adventurers as when, in the year 1527, Jorge de Meneses, the Portuguese Governor of the Spice Islands, first landed on its swampy shores. In 1545, eighteen years later, it received the name by which it is known to-day. The Portuguese Empire decayed, and during the seventeenth century the Dutch appeared. In the eighteenth century many famous voyagers, like Dampier, Carteret, and Captain Cook, touched the island, and in the last century the rapid opening up of the world by travellers and missionaries bore fruit even in those remote seas. The Dutch held the western end; in 1884 Germany laid claim to the north-eastern part; and that same year the south-eastern section, which had been formally taken over in 1883 by Queensland, was annexed to the British Crown. In 1899 the Dutch boundary was delimited, and Holland, with the assent of the Powers, assumed direct control of her share. The one change to-day in these arrangements is that the former German section is now administered under mandate by the Commonwealth of Australia.

The first decade of this century saw great exploring activity on the part of all three European masters. The Dutch especially did excellent work, and Dr. Lorentz was the first man to reach the snows of the inland mountains. But few of the secrets of the island--geographical, zoological, and botanical--have yet been unriddled. The place is so remote from Europe, its climate is so deadly, its inhabitants so treacherous, and its forests and swamps so impenetrable, that exploration there is in many ways a more desperate undertaking than anywhere else on the globe.

I have selected two expeditions as an example of what the pioneer must undergo. In 1910 the Ornithologists' Union sent out an expedition to investigate the New Guinea fauna and collect specimens. Captain Cecil Rawling, whose thirst for the unknown was unquenchable, accompanied it on the geographical side, and Mr. A. F. R. Wollaston as medical officer. There was no proper survey equipment, as the mission was primarily one of naturalists. Ten Gurkhas were enlisted from India, and the Dutch Government supplied a certain number of Javanese troops. Coolies also were recruited in Java, who turned out to be hopelessly unsuitable both in physique and character for any serious travel in the wilds. The majority were about sixteen years of age, and they appeared in the jungle decently dressed in black frock coats and bowler hats!

The part selected was the southern coast of the Dutch territory, and it was Captain Rawling's hope that they would be able to penetrate to that belt of snow mountains, at the head of the coastal rivers, running from the Nassau Range in the west to Wilhelmina Peak in the east, where Dr. Lorentz had been the pioneer. Obviously it was vital to find a river which would take them direct to the hills. But they had no previous information to go upon, and were compelled to select their stream at random. Had they gone farther east, and chosen the Utakwa, they would have found a current navigable for an ocean-going steamer for seventeen miles from its mouth, and for launches for many miles more--a river, moreover, running directly from the highest snows of Mount Carstensz. As it was, they hit upon a river called the Mimika, a small jungle-fed stream rising in the low foothills sixty miles to the west of Carstensz, and twenty miles or so short of the main range. The Mimika, too, was full of endless windings and liable to sudden and violent floodings. Hence it was of little use to the expedition in the way of transport. This was the more regrettable since transport was the essence of the problem. From the foothills of the mountains to the sea lies a belt of forest like a barbed-wire entanglement. This forest is so dense that the cutting of a road can only progress at the rate of 100 yards a day. It is swampy, and often, in flood-time, under water, and filled with every form of noxious insect life. Unless this nightmare land can be circumvented by the use of a broad river channel, it must take even a strong party many months before they reach the base of the hills.

This was what happened to Captain Rawling. On January 26, 1910, after a base camp had been established at Wakatimi, not far from the Mimika mouth, he set off to ascend the river. Here is his description of the country:--

"It is quite impossible for any one who has not visited these parts of New Guinea to realize the density of the forest growth. The vegetation, through which only the scantiest glimpses of the sky can be obtained, appears to form, as it were, two great horizontal strata. The first comprises the giant trees, whose topmost boughs are 150 feet or more above the ground; the other, the bushes, shrubs, and trees of lesser growth, which never attain a greater height than 30 to 40 feet. Such is the richness of the soil that not one square foot remains untenanted, and the never-ending struggle to reach upwards towards the longed-for light goes on silently and relentlessly. Creepers and parasites in endless variety cling to every stem, slowly but surely throttling their hosts. From tree to tree their tentacles stretch out, seizing on to the first projecting branch and limb, and forming such a close and tangled mass that the dead and dying giants of the forest are prevented from falling to the ground....

"The various devices recommended in the books of one's childhood, and, it may be added, in learned books as well, whereby the traveller is enabled to recover a lost trail or regain the right direction, are here of no avail. For instance, moss does not grow more on one side of a tree-trunk than on the other; trees do not lean away from the prevailing wind; nor is the position of the sun a guide, for it is seldom visible. In fact, the traveller has nothing to rely upon but the compass or a local guide, and even the latter is often at fault. Hopeless indeed does the outlook appear when the wanderer, hedged in by a wall of scrub and creeper which limits his vision to a distance of ten or twelve yards, realizes that he has lost his bearings; when the vastness of the forest seems to press upon him, and there is no sound to be heard but the drip, drip of the water-laden trees and the bubbling of the stinking bog underfoot. His only chance of escape is to find a stream, and follow it down till it joins a main river."

The first big episode was the discovery of the Pygmies who lived in the foothills, and were assiduously hunted by the forest tribes. The average height of these little men was 4 feet 7 inches, and Captain Rawling penetrated to their village in a clearing above the head waters of the Mimika. The Mimika source was reached, but led them nowhere, and they fared no better with another small stream to the west, called the Kapare. Then by accident a secret native path was discovered running eastward--a mere tunnel in the matted forest. By this route they were able to reach a parallel river, called the Tuaba, which was a tributary of the larger Kamura. From a village called Ibo as a centre, the expedition made various casts east and north, but found it impossible to get near the skirts of the hills.

Captain Rawling returned to the coast and made excursions along the eastern shore, but found no adjacent river mouth which promised better. By this time it was June, and the floods began with such vigour that practically the whole country between the mountains and the sea was under water. When the floods ebbed, a resolute attempt was made to push east from Ibo, and with a good deal of trouble another parallel stream was reached, called the Wataikwa. The party founded a camp there, and explored the upper waters of that stream. Travelling was extremely difficult, because the only decent road was the river bed, and this route was promptly made impossible by a new spate. The travellers had to face the fact that the farther they went eastward the greater became the labour of carrying supplies, for their base camp remained on the Mimika.

Still, an effort must be made unless the expedition was to admit failure. It was decided that the best plan was to try and cut a road through the forest to the next stream on the east, in the hope that it would lead them into the hills. This was done, and the Iwaka River was reached after much severe toil. They had entered a desperate country, strewn with moss-covered boulders and seamed with gullies covered with an impenetrable mass of timber. The density of this growth was unbelievable; through it no man could force a way unless with an axe in hand, and as most of the trees were of very hard wood--the stems varying from four to eight inches in diameter--and clothed from top to bottom with damp earth covered with moss, progress at times became impossible. An idea of the labour involved in the task of clearing a two-foot path through this forest may be judged by the fact that a stretch of five thousand yards required three weeks' constant work before a man could pass freely along. On one day two cutters achieved a length of two hundred and ten yards, and on another, when Captain Rawling was working by himself, all he could add was a piece of ninety yards in length. No wonder he asks, "Can this forest, with its horrible monotony and impregnability, be equalled by any other in the world?"

Down came the rain again, and in August the country was all under water. The advance was not renewed till the beginning of 1911, when fresh supplies had arrived from England, and the old motor-boat had been put in repair. So far, a year's hard labour had not taken the explorers within measurable distance of their goal. With the help of a launch, food supplies for eight weeks were stored at the head of the Mimika. One story may be quoted as a piece of comic relief in a very grim campaign. On 4th January two men quarrelled in camp and killed each other.

"The sergeant who, by the way, was a foreigner, took charge of the burial ceremonials, and was evidently quite determined that, for his part, nothing should be lacking which the importance of the occasion demanded. Drawing his sword, and placing himself between the graves, he harangued the spectators. 'Men,' he said, 'this day two servants of the Government have lost their lives at the hands of each other. Were they not both good men? hein.' 'One man very bad man,' chipped in an officious convict, but a glance from the offended sergeant made him wish that he had never spoken. 'Whether they will both go to heaven I cannot say,' exclaimed he, 'but I think Allah'--pointing upwards with his sword--'will first purge them with a fire. Take this as a lesson.' Then, drawing himself up to his full height as befitted the occasion, he returned his sword with a clank to the scabbard, and, as far as the public was concerned, the ceremony was at an end. The sergeant, however, had not yet finished. Returning to his hut, he refreshed himself with a few glasses of gin, and played on the mouth-organ the national anthems of the three flags under which he had served. This terminated the funeral obsequies, and with the exception of the official report and the entry in the accounts 'To one bottle gin for disinfecting corpse,' nothing remained to mark the sanguinary affair."

The Iwaka was safely reached, and the last stage began. At first the advance was up its right bank, but this only brought the travellers back to the upper glen of the Wataikwa, which they had already found impossible. It was clear that the Iwaka must be crossed and the ridges to the east ascended. Getting over that stream was an ugly business, and it was achieved only by the heroism of one of the Gurkhas, who managed to haul himself hand over hand along a thin rope. Captain Rawling records that it was "one of the best actions carried out in cold blood that I have ever had the good fortune to witness." A rough bridge was constructed, and on the morning of February 8, 1911, thirteen months after their first landing on the coast, the party had at last a road to the upper ridges. It was thick, misty weather, and of the farther mountains they only had occasional glimpses. Camp was pitched at an altitude of 5,400 feet, but not on solid ground, for all the climbing had been done on the top of live or dead timber. The following morning they hacked their way to a clear space on the ridge at a height of 5,600 feet, and there they were at last favoured with the view for which they had longed, and were able to fix the position of the main peaks.

Looking southward they saw the sea, and between it and them the dark green of the forest through which they had struggled for so many months. The gloom was broken at rare intervals by a streak of light, which was a river. Nearly five miles away stood Mount Godman, and beyond it the huge southern face of the range, a gigantic black cliff, eighty miles from east to west, with a clear drop of nearly a mile and three-quarters--by far the greatest precipice in the world. Behind this scarp rose the snow mountains--Mount Leonard Darwin, to the north-west, 13,882 feet; and to the north-east Mount Idenburg, 15,379 feet, and the glittering top of Carstensz, which is almost 16,000 feet. The great peaks seemed, below, a mass of wild, black precipices, cleft with fissures; but, above, a long, easy snow-field, curving gently to the summits. It was such a view as the old Portuguese adventurers might have had when, after struggling for months through the coastal jungles, they suddenly came in sight of Kenya or Kilimanjaro. But for Captain Rawling and his party it would be no more than a Pisgah-sight. Advance was impossible. The fatal choice of the Mimika route meant that they had taken the worst road conceivable to the great snows. The attainment of the peaks must be left to their successors. He who would understand the full difficulties and miseries of that expedition must read Captain Rawling's own narrative.*

* _The Land of the New Guinea Pygmies_, by Captain C. G. Rawling (Seeley, Service, and Co., 1913).

Rarely has a more thoroughly comfortless expedition been undertaken. To begin with, the food was bad and unsuitable, for they had the surplus stores from Shackleton's Antarctic expedition, and the joys of bully-beef, pea-soup, and pickles under an equatorial sky may be imagined. It was impossible to get good local assistance, for the natives were a preposterous race, treacherous and unreliable when they were not actively malevolent. They were subject to sudden panics, when they fled to the jungle, and to wild outbursts of sorrow, when they would weep and sob for hours. The imported Javanese were, if possible, more hopeless. Then there was every kind of noxious insect--mosquitoes without end, gigantic leeches dangling from every leaf which made a speciality of attacking the eyeballs, ticks, stinking caterpillars, immense blue-bottles which swarmed in clouds over any food left uncovered, crickets which ate a man's clothes up in a night, and a plague of minute bees which settled in myriads on the heated face of the traveller. Above all, there was the rain. The whole country was water-logged by the flooding rivers and the incessant deluge. In the dry season the average rainfall was about two and a half inches a day! Mr. Wollaston took the trouble to keep a meteorological diary, and found that during the first year rain fell on 330 days, and that on 295 days it was accompanied by thunder and lightning. Of the 400 men of all races employed during the first year, 12 per cent. died in the country from hardships, and 83 per cent. of the total force was invalided from New Guinea. Of the Europeans and natives who landed during that year, only eleven lasted out the whole fifteen months of the expedition. Of these eleven, four were Europeans, four Gurkhas, two Javanese soldiers, and one a convict. When it is remembered that eight months is the maximum period allowed by the Dutch authorities for continued service in New Guinea, the marvel is that these eleven escaped with their lives. It was with no regret that Captain Rawling said farewell to what must be by far the most unpleasant land on earth. "Wild shrieks had greeted us on our first arrival in the country, and wild shrieks echoed down the still reach of the river as the boats crept towards the sea."

(_By permission of Messrs. Seeley, Service, & Co._)]

Mount Carstensz still awaits its conqueror. Since the Rawling expedition much has been done in the exploration of the central mountains. In 1913 Mount Wilhelmina (15,580 feet), of which Dr. Lorentz had trodden the lower snows, was finally ascended by Captain Herderschee. In 1921 Captain Kremer reached the same summit from the north, and found a means of crossing the range at a height of 13,480 feet. A German expedition under Dr. Moszkowski, which was projected in 1913 to attempt Carstensz from the north, was stopped by the war. Meantime, in September, 1912, Mr. Wollaston, Captain Rawling's companion, had returned to New Guinea and ascended the Utakwa River. Its head waters led him direct to Carstensz, and by establishing a series of depots for food in the foothills, he was able to reach the main massif of the mountain. Above 8,000 feet he left the jungles behind; but the mountain proved very difficult, and the rain, as usual, fell without intermission. At 14,200 feet he reached the snow-line, and on February 1, 1913, from a camp above 12,000 feet, he climbed to 14,866 feet, a thousand feet or so below the summit. There he was stopped by an ice fall, and lack of provisions and the weakness of his party prevented him from finding a way to turn it. The top of the mountain is an ice cap which breaks down very sheer on the south side, and Mr. Wollaston is of opinion that the easiest ascent would be from the north. This closes for the present the history of the exploration of Carstensz.

For the second story we move east into British territory. There the general configuration is the same--swamps near the shore, then a tangled forest, then a range of inland mountains, though these are much less conspicuous than the ranges in Dutch territory, and scarcely rise above 6,000 feet. In 1911 the Hon. Miles Staniforth Smith, who had been Mayor of Kalgoorlie, and a senator representing West Australia in the Commonwealth Parliament, and was at the time Administrator of Papua, set out across the centre of the unexplored part of his province to investigate the sources of the rivers emptying into the Papuan Gulf. As the travelling was of the roughest, and the aim was exploration rather than scientific research, the party was kept very small--three white men, Mr. Staniforth Smith, Mr. Bell, the Chief Inspector of Native Affairs, and Mr. Pratt, a Staff Surveyor, together with eleven native police and seventeen carriers. They started from the head of the navigable waters of the Kikor or Aird River, meaning to push north to the top of Mount Murray, and then traverse to the west along the ridge. Mount Murray, which is some 6,000 feet high, was safely reached, and the explorers found themselves moving along a high limestone plateau, much fissured by streams and diversified by parallel ranges. They hoped ultimately to reach the Strickland River, which is a tributary of the great Fly River, and so complete the rest of their journey by rafts.

Presently they found such a river running in a deep gorge, and from certain rapids which had been noted by earlier explorers, they assumed it to be the Strickland. Now began their adventures. The stream seemed to be a series of wild rapids; but as the Strickland had already been descended in rafts, the risks appeared to be justifiable, and four rafts were built. Mr. Staniforth Smith started out first with three police and two carriers, and Mr. Bell and Mr. Pratt arranged to follow in quick succession with the rest. In two hundred yards the first raft was upset, but its occupants managed to hang on. Instead of the rapids disappearing they grew worse, and after four or five wild miles the party dashed into a timber block. One of the natives was so seriously injured that he died next morning. Mr. Staniforth Smith then started to go back along the river, in the hope of joining his companions, but found that he was on an island with swift streams on either side. Next morning the party tried to ford the river, and with some difficulty succeeded. As they were cutting a track up a bank they met two of the police, who had lost their rifles, and who informed them that Mr. Bell and Mr. Pratt were on the other bank of the river, and that several of the carriers had been drowned. The party had now been two days without food, so Mr. Staniforth Smith resolved to turn and travel down the stream in the hope of finding smoother water and a native village. They had no means of making a fire, and in any case there were no sago or bread-fruit trees in the neighbourhood.

For five and a half days the explorers hacked their way downstream. During all that time they had no food of any kind, and no shelter from torrential rains except a few palm leaves. On the sixth day, after travelling twenty miles, they saw natives on the opposite bank. They built a rough raft and managed to cross. It was just in time, for they were now utterly exhausted; but the food which the natives gave them revived them. Curiously enough, as they were at their meal the party of Mr. Bell and Mr. Pratt came out of the jungle. They had, if possible, suffered even worse disasters. Both the white men, though powerful swimmers, had been nearly drowned, and seven of the carriers had lost their lives. They would certainly have perished had they not had the luck the day before to shoot a wild pig.

By this time it was clear that whatever stream they were on it was not the Strickland, for the Strickland flowed south-west, and this river ran nearly due east. The natives, who had never seen a white man before, took them to their village and treated them kindly. The good repute of the British official throughout the wilds now stood them in good stead. They hoped that the river would soon be clear of rapids; but to their consternation there was nothing but gorges and whirlpools for another hundred miles. The stream was the Kikor in its middle reaches, the same stream as they had ascended from the coast. It took them twenty-nine days to pass the hundred miles of gorges, and during that time they rarely had a full meal. On one occasion the whole party worked for seven days without getting anything to eat except a few handfuls of soup-powder and a few tins of cocoa, saved from the capsized rafts. They had no matches, so they had to keep a fire burning day and night. They slept in caves and under palm leaves, which made no pretence of keeping out the rain.

By the twenty-ninth day the river seemed smooth enough for rafts, and the explorers again embarked, and managed to cover fifty miles without any serious misadventure. But next day the rapids began again, and their two canoes, made of hollow logs, were upset. They descended the rapids for ten miles, hanging on to the upturned logs, before they could land. That night they spent in the rain, without food; and starting again at daybreak, they suddenly saw, to their immense relief, European tents, and were welcomed by an officer of the constabulary, who had been sent out to look for them. They had reached the exact spot from which they had struck north to Mount Murray at the beginning of their journey! When, two days later, they arrived at the coast, they had travelled in fifteen weeks approximately 524 miles through utterly unknown country--374 miles on foot and 150 by river.

Mr. Staniforth Smith encountered every misfortune that can meet the traveller except one--he had no trouble with the natives. Indeed, by his tact and patience he made friends everywhere with the bushmen, and the survivors of the party owed to them their lives. By some strange system of bush telegraphy the repute of the white men was spread from village to village. It was the one piece of good fortune that befell the explorers, and it was final in its effect, for it made the difference between life and death. I do not know any narrative of exploration which contains adventures more desperate than those whirling voyages on upturned rafts through black ravines; or that month when starving men hacked their way through the jungle along the torrent's bank in a perpetual tempest of rain.*

* For this journey Mr. Staniforth Smith received in 1923 the gold medal of the Royal Geographical Society.