Twelve teachers and their friends killed at Kalo in 1881—The warning—The massacre—The fear for the teachers at Koma—Mr. Chalmers’s views on the question—Voyage westwards in the Mayri—A Sunday at Delena—Visit of Queen Koloka—Threatened attack by Lolo natives—The fight—Peace—Miria’s village—Bad character of the Motu natives—Visit to the chief of Motu Lavao—Story of Dr. Thorngren’s murder—Peace made with the village.

On the 7th of March, 1881, the natives of Kalo, a village at the head of Hood Bay, near the mouth of the Kemp Welch River, massacred their teacher, Anederea, with his wife and two children; also Materua, teacher of Kerepunu, his wife and two children; Taria, teacher of Hula; Matatuhi, an inland teacher; and two Hula boys—in all, twelve persons.

The earliest news of the tragedy was given in the following letter from the Rev. T. Beswick, dated Thursday Island, Torres Straits, March 24th:—

On Friday, the 4th inst., Taria, our Hula teacher, left Port Moresby with Matatuhi, an inland teacher, the latter wishing to visit the Kalo teacher for some native medicine. Reaching Hula on the evening of the 4th, Taria heard a rumour that the Kalo people intended to kill their teacher and his family. Accordingly he went thither the following day, along with Matatuhi, and requested the Kalo teacher and his family to leave at once. The teacher refused to place credence in the rumour, and even questioned his chief and pretended friend, who assured him that there was not the slightest grain of truth in the rumour.

The Hula teacher returned, leaving Matatuhi behind. On Monday, the 7th, Taria, along with five Hula boys, proceeded in a boat to Kalo and Kerepunu, with the view of bringing the teachers and their families to Hula, on account of the ill-health of some of the party. He called at Kalo on the way thither, and apprised the teacher of his intention to call on the return journey. At Kerepunu he took on board the teacher, his wife and two children, and one native youth. The party then proceeded to Kalo. During the interval of waiting there, the chief and pretended friend of the Kalo teacher got into the boat for a chat. On the arrival of Matatuhi and the Kalo teacher, along with his wife and two children, the chief stepped out of the boat. This was the pre-arranged signal for attack to the crowds assembled on the bank. At the outset, the chief warned his followers not to injure the Hula and Kerepunu boys; but such precaution did not prevent two of the former being killed. The other four boys escaped by swimming the river. The mission party were so cooped up in the boat, and spears flew so thickly and fast, as to render resistance futile and escape impossible. Taria resisted for a time, but a fourth spear put an end to his resistance. The others were dispatched with little trouble. A single spear slew both mother and babe in the case of both women. The only bodies recovered were those of the Kerepunu teacher’s wife and her babe; the natives of Hula and Kerepunu severally interred the two bodies. The rest of the bodies became a prey to the alligators. For the two Hula boys who were slain speedy compensation was made by the Kalo people. The whale-boat, too, was recovered by the Hula natives.

A Hula girl

The above sad intelligence reached Port Moresby at early morn of the 11th, just as the Harriet was about to leave for Thursday Island, and the Mayri about to take me to Hula, whilst a party of foreigners were leaving for the East End. The news, of course, upset all arrangements, and, after the first moments of excitement were over, our next concern was about the safety of the two Aroma teachers. With as little delay as possible, but with groundless forebodings of coming evil, a large party of us left for Aroma. About ten a.m. of the 14th, we reached there, and whilst our three boats lay off a little, so as not to arouse suspicion, a teacher and myself went ashore. With devout gratitude I heard that both teachers and natives were ignorant of the massacre. In less than an hour the two teachers and their families were safely ensconced in their whale-boat, taking along with them but a minimum of their property, according to the orders given. By these means the chiefs and natives of Aroma were left in utter ignorance as to the cause of our erratic movements, nor did they seem to suspect anything.

At Kerepunu we experienced considerable noise and worry. Here, too, we judged it prudent to remove very little belonging to the deceased teacher. At Hula, my house had been entered, but the few things stolen were mostly returned. Here, too, we have left goods, until some definite course be decided upon. Strange to say, at Hula, where we expected the least trouble and danger, there we had the greatest; indeed, on one or two occasions, affairs assumed a rather serious aspect. The main idea present in the native mind was to take advantage of us in our weakness and sorrow. After a very brief stay at Hula, we left there on the 15th, reaching Port Moresby the following day; and on the 17th I left for Thursday Island.

The natives of Hood Bay attribute this massacre to the influence of Koapina, the Aroma chief, he having assured the Kalo people that foreigners might be massacred with impunity, citing as an illustration the massacre at Aroma last July, and pointing out at the same time the great fame that had thereby accrued to his own people. The Kalo people have not been slow in acting upon his advice. I visited Hula and Kerepunu within six weeks of the massacre, and was so impressed with the peaceful bearing of the people in both places that I should have been glad to have re-occupied both stations immediately.

I should have visited Kalo, but was afraid of compromising the mission, as it is possible the natives may be punished for the outrage. I fear we are not altogether free from blame; the teachers are often very indiscreet in their dealings with the natives, and not over-careful in what they say; there has also, perhaps, sometimes been a niggard regard to expense on our part. A very few pounds spent at a station like Kalo in the first years would, I believe, prevent much trouble, and probably murder. The Kalo natives felt that Hula and Kerepunu got the most tobacco and tomahawks, and that their share was small indeed. Instead of our buying all the thatch required for the other stations—only obtainable at Kalo—we got the teachers, with their boys, to get it. We meant it well, to save expense. My experience teaches me to throw all I can in the way of natives not connected with our head station. At this station—Port Moresby—for the next few years the expenses will be considerable in buildings, laying out the land, and in presents to the constant stream of visitors; but it will have a Christianizing and a civilizing effect upon a large extent of country.

On the 24th of May, 1881, left Port Moresby in the Mayri, and, having taken on board four natives at Boera, continued a westerly course, anchoring next day in Hall Sound, opposite Delena. Early on the morning of May 26th, Kone and Lavao, our old friends, came off. They say it is useless going to Maiva, as we cannot land; but we can go and see for ourselves, and they will accompany us. I had to land to eat pigs, i.e., receive pigs and hand them over to my followers. On landing, they led me up the hill at the back of village, where I was astonished to find a fine tract of land forming a splendid position for a house. Kone at once offered me as much land as I wanted. After thinking it over on board, I decided on building. I landed tents, and pitched them on the rise above the village. My experience is that places quite exposed to south-east wind are more unhealthy than swampy country. On Rarotonga there were more deaths on the windward side of the island than on the leeward.

On the Sunday after landing, we went down and had service in the village. Kone interpreted into Lolo. When telling the people we had no work for them on Sunday, Kone said: “Oh! we know, and we, too, are going to be helaka (sacred) to-morrow.” I asked him, “Come, Kone, how do you know?” “From Boera.” I met a lad repeating the Lord’s Prayer in Motu, and found he had been taught by Piri. The Motu tribe has already had great influence, and will have more and more every year. I have an interesting class of children, and hope, before we leave, they will know their letters well.

What nonsense one could write of the reception here—such as “Everybody at service this morning listened attentively; commented on address or conversation; children all come to school, so intelligent, and seemingly anxious to learn; and, altogether, prospects are bright.” At home they would say, why, they are being converted; see the speedy triumph! Alas! they are but savages, pure and simple, rejoicing in the prospect of an unlimited supply of tobacco, beads, and tomahawks.

Paura, a chief from Motu Lavao, is in. The people, it seems, told him, being helaka day, I could not meet him, and he did not come up hill. He is rather a nice-looking fellow, with a mild, open countenance. Kone told him to tell the Paitana natives, who murdered James and Thorngren, that, if they wished peace and friendship, they must come in here and sue for it; that I could not first go to them, as they were the offenders and murderers.

Arrangements were at once made for erecting a wooden house at Delena, measuring thirty-six feet by eighteen feet, material for which was easily procurable. On the 30th of May, Queen Koloka, her husband, and a number of men and women came in. The Prince Consort first came up, all over smiles, followed in half an hour by his wife and maids. After formally receiving her, I presented Mrs. Lawes’s present. I unloosed the parcel, and turned maid-of-honour in real waiting. Her Majesty was chewing betel-nut, but that did not prevent my putting the dress on; first attempt all wrong, the front became the back, and the back the front. At length I succeeded, and, after fastening the dress, tied a pretty kerchief round the royal neck. There was great excitement, in every mouth a thumb, a few moments of silence, and then every soul spoke and shouted. It was amusing to see her husband, uncles, maids, old men and women, young men and maidens, gather round the royal presence, wonder and admire, and then shout, Oh misi haine O! (Mrs. Lawes). Ah, Koloka, I wonder how you are going to get out of that dress to-night; will you understand buttons, hooks, and eyes?

During my stay at Delena, one of those warlike incursions by hostile tribes so common in New Guinea took place. My presence and influence happily brought about an early and satisfactory settlement of the dispute. I extract the following from my journal:—

June 2nd.—Our friends seem troubled, and their house-building earnestness is somewhat abated. I find they have heard that the Lolo tribe intend making a raid on them. Is it on them, or on us? Their great hope is that we shall use our guns, and so frighten the invaders. I tell them that we cannot do this; that we are men of peace, and have no wish to frighten any one. It seems Maiva is very disturbed; they are fighting all round, avenging Oa’s death, and may soon be expected here. Maiva would not interfere with us, but Lolo I would not trust.

We shall have to keep a good look-out to-night. Our friends seem very troubled and excited. I have given warning that any one coming near our camp must call out my name and his or her own. No one can come near without our knowing, as my terrier Flora is a splendid watch-dog. This evening, some women passed camp, carrying their valuables to hide away in the bush. Bob asks, “Suppose Lolo natives come to us, what we do?” “Of course they will not come near to us unless they mean to attack, and then we must defend ourselves.” The guns are ready. It is not pleasant; but I fancy they will not molest us, so hope to sleep well, knowing we are well cared for by Him who is never far off. Through much trouble we get to be known, and the purpose for which we come is understood.

A Hula dandy

3rd.—Last night I slept lightly, with Flora on watch, and Bob easily aroused. After midnight he kept watch. We placed the lights beyond tents on each side, and so arranged that the light would strike on any native nearing camp. About two a.m. Lavao’s wife No. 2 came up with her grandchild, goods, and chattels for safety. The Loloans were coming. All right; all ready. Very loud, noisy talking in village. At four, we called out for Kone, who came up telling us that we should be first disposed of, then Delena. I went to the village, and saw the old friendly chief from Lavao. I told him any Loloan coming over the brow of the hill with weapons we should consider as coming to fight, and we were ready. At five, women and children crowded into camp, with all their belongings, and asked for protection. Certainly; we shall do what we can for them. Men are running all about, planting arms in convenient places in the bush. We are told to keep a good look-out—and that we shall. It is now daylight, so we do not care much. The fight has begun in the village. Some Loloans, running after Delena natives, rush uphill; we warn them back, and they retire. There is a loud shout for us to go to the village and fight. I leave Bob with guns and cartridges to keep watch over camp. I have more confidence in the skirmish unarmed, and have no wish for the savages to think I have come to fight. I shout out Maino, and soon there is a hush in the terrible storm. I am allowed to walk through the village, disarm one or two, and, on my return to our friend Kone’s end of the village, he whispers to me, “There is Arua,” understanding him to mean the chief, or vata tauna (sorcerer). I recognize in him the man introduced to me on a former visit, and who in wrath cleared out from my presence. Now might be his time to pay me out. I take his weapons from him, link him on to me, and walk him up the hill. I speak kindly to him, show him flag, and tell him we are maino, and warn him that his people must on no account ascend the hill. All right, he will stop the fighting. I sit down to write this, when again they rush up for me, saying Kone was to be killed. Leaving Bob with arms in charge, I go down to the village, and without my hat. More canoes have arrived. What a crowd of painted fiends! I get surrounded, and have no way of escape. Sticks and spears rattle round. I get a knock on the head, and a piece of stick falls on my hand. My old Lavao friend gets hold of me and walks me to outskirt. Arua and Lauma of Lolo assure me they will not ascend the hill, and we had better not interfere with them. “Right, friend; but you must stop, and on no account injure my friend Kone.” It would frighten them were we to go armed to the village; but then we dare not stay here twenty-four hours after. I can do more for the natives unarmed. I am glad I am able to mix with both parties; it shows they mean us no harm, and speaks well for the future. No one was killed, but several were severely wounded, and a few houses destroyed. They have made peace at last, and I have had a meeting in the village with all; the Loloans have promised to be quiet. I told them we could not stay if they were to be constantly threatening. In the afternoon the chiefs came up, and I promised to visit them all. My head aches a little. Had I been killed, I alone should have been to blame, and not the natives. The Delena natives say: “Well, Tamate, had you not been here, many of us would have been killed, and the remainder gone to Naara, never to return.” There is some pleasure in being of a little use even to savages.

The next Sunday we had a splendid service. All the young fellows dressed for it by painting their faces. It was amusing and interesting to hear them interpret all I said from Motuan into Loloan; and when I attempted to use a Lolo word, they corrected me if I wrongly pronounced or misplaced it. After service we had all the children and young men to school. A goodly number have got a pretty fair hold of letters. Some would beat native cloth, and Kone grew very angry, and, because they would not listen to him, threatened to pull up his recently buried child. I sent word that he must on no account do that, and must say no more to the men beating cloth; that by-and-by the people will become enlightened, and then they will understand the Sabbath. Poor Kone’s idea is that now and at once they should understand.

On June 6th, I once more left Delena to proceed to Maiva, and, although a heavy sea was running at the time, landed safely about eleven a.m. at Miria’s village, on the Maiva coast. I saw a number of people with karevas (long fighting sticks), and wondered what was the matter. I said to my old friend Rua, who met me on the beach, “Are you going to fight?” “No, no; it is all right now.” I gave him a large axe for Meauri and party to cut wood for a house at their village. Meauri and a number of followers soon made their appearance: it seemed strange that they should have come down so soon. Miria, the chief, being away cutting wood, went to Meauri’s village, passing through several seaside villages. We selected a new position for the house, at the back of a large temple; gave them tobacco and red cloth, they promising gladly to have wood cut against my next return. Sitting on the platform, Rua turned to me and asked, “Tamate, who is your real Maiva friend?” Fancying there was trouble, I replied, “Oa Maoni, who sleeps in that house in death, was my friend: Meauri, Rua, Paru, and Aua are now my friends.” “I thought so, and Miria has no business to build a house for you. Before we saw the boat we were down on the beach at Miria’s village to begin a quarrel; we saw you were coming, and we waited for you.” “But I want a house on the coast as well as inland; Miria’s village is small and too exposed, and I must look for another place.” “That is all right; but this first.” “Be it so.” After visiting three villages I had not seen before, and going through all the inland ones, I returned to Miria’s village; he not having returned, I went along to Ereere. After dark, Miria came in. He felt sorry when I told him I could not put a house up in his place, owing to its being exposed to south-east wind, and to there not being many people. “But I have cut the wood.” “I shall pay you for that, and the wood can remain for my return.” I gave him tobacco for the young men and a present to himself, and all was right.

A few mornings later, I found the natives sitting round rice; one said, “Come, we are waiting for you to bless the food.” They have seen our boats’ crews of Botu and Boera natives always asking a blessing. I said to them, “Cannot one of you ask a blessing?”

“No; wait until we learn, and you will see.” A good story is told by the captain of the Mayri. Oa their going to Aroma to relieve the teachers after the Kalo massacre, in the early morning they were pulling along the reef, and just as the sun appeared over the mountains, one of the Motu crew called on all to be quiet, rowers to lean on their oars, and then engaged in prayer, thanking God for watching over them during the night, and praying that He would care for them during the day, and that no unpleasantness might occur with the Aroma natives. All along this coast, and right away down to Elema as far as Bald Head, the Motu tribe has a wonderful influence, and in a few years excellent pioneers may be had from it. They must have been a terrible lot in the past. I have heard much from themselves of piracy, murder, and robbery, and all along here they tell terrible tales. A Motu chief in one of our meetings, speaking of the past and the present, concluded by saying: “Since the arrival of the foreigners (teachers), we have changed and will continue to change.”

An old chief, Aiio, from the Mekeo district, came in to see me, and brought me as a present a splendid head-dress, which is hung up by Kone in front of the tent for all to see. On giving him a present of salt, it was pleasant to see the old fellow’s expression of pleasure. He is anxious I should go inland as soon as possible; I tell him I must wait for tomahawks.

At seven o’clock on the morning of the 13th of June, I started to visit Madu, the chief of the Motu Lavao. We went up from the bight, a large saltwater creek, with dense mangrove on both banks,—a veritable bed of fever,—and anchoring our boats, we walked through the deserted village of Paitana and on for about a mile and a half to Motu Lavao. The path leads along a narrow tract of good country, with dense swamps on both sides. The village is large, with good houses kept nice and clean; but I can conceive of no more unhealthy locality—swamp all around. A number of people were down with fever, some in their houses, others lying exposed to the sun. I asked them if they had no vatavata (spirits) knocking around in their district, and did they not much trouble them. “Oh, trouble us much, very much.” I told them I thought so, and the sooner they removed from that place the better—that they were right in the centre of sickness and death. They said, “And what is to become of the place of our forefathers, and the cocoanuts they planted?” “Better leave them, or in a short time there will be none left to remember their forefathers, or eat their cocoanuts.” Madu was in the country, and we waited his return. He tried hard to get me to stay over-night, but it was of no use. He presented me with a pig and feathers, and we concluded friendship by my giving a return present. An old woman was presented to me, a great sorceress; but, not liking the sisterhood, I did not see my way clear to give her a present. Such as she keep the natives in constant fear, do what they like, and get what they like. It is affirmed by all that the great Lolo sorcerer, Arua, keeps snakes in bamboos, and uses them for his nefarious purposes. Late in the afternoon we left, accompanied by Madu and a number of youths carrying pig, cocoanuts, and sugar-cane. When leaving, the chief said, “Go, Tamate; we are friends.”

On June 14th, I had a long conference with the old Paitana chief, Boutu, and his followers. They looked very much excited and alarmed when I met them, but that wore away during our conversation. Boutu, his party, and other Lolo natives assured me that the attack on Dr. James and Mr. Thorngren was unknown to all but those in the canoe. The excuse was that the day before they were trading on Yule Island one young man had feathers for sale. Dr. James and Waunaea told him to leave; they would not take his feathers because he objected to the pearl shell produced. This, they say, was the beginning. He tried very hard to sell his feathers, and, if possible, get a tomahawk. Failing, he went home, quietly arranged a party, slept in the bush, and before daylight went off to the vessel. On nearing the vessel, Dr. James called out—“You must not come alongside: you are coming to kill me.” They said, “We are not going to kill you, but want to sell yams.” The yams were taken on board, and whilst Dr. James was counting the beads to pay for them he was struck with a club, and afterwards speared, but not quite disabled, as he drew his revolver and shot the man who attacked him. Mr. Thorngren was struck at from aft, fell overboard, and was never again seen. They say, when the people in the village heard of it, they were very sorry, and that ever since they have been looked upon with anger, as they have been the cause of keeping the white man away with his tobacco, beads, and tomahawks. I asked them, “What now?” “Let us make friends, and never again have the like.” “But your young men could do the same again without your knowing.” “They know better than try it again; they are too much afraid; and they see that what was then done has greatly injured us as well as all the other villages.” I explained to them the object of our coming here, and that they must not think we are to buy everything they bring, and must not be angry when we refuse to give what they demand. We do not come to steal their food or curios, and, if we do not want them, they can carry all back; we are not traders. After praying with them, they said, “Tamate, now let it be friendship; give up your intention of going to Mekeo (inland district), and come to-morrow, and we shall make friends and peace.” “I shall go; but suppose the mother of the young man who was shot begins wailing, what then?” “She will doubtless wail, but you need not fear; come, and you will see.” “Then to-morrow I shall go.”

Next morning, the Mayri having arrived the evening before, I carried into effect the intended visit. The chief of Paitana and two followers, with my friend Lauma, of Lolo, waited to accompany me. After breakfast we got into the boat, Lavao in charge. We entered the same creek as for Motu Lavao, and when up it some distance turned up another to the right, too narrow to use oars. When two miles up we anchored boat, then walked or waded for two miles through swamp and long grass. When near the village we heard loud wailing, and Lavao, who was leading, thought it better we should wait for the old chief, who was some distance behind. On coming up they spoke in Lolo, then threw down his club, calling on one of his followers to pick it up. He went in front, and called on me to follow close to him, the others coming after; and so we marched into the village and up on to his platform. Then began speechifying, presenting cooked food, betel-nuts, pig, and feathers. When all was finished I gave my present, and said a few words in the Motu dialect. The uncle of the man shot by Dr. James came on to the platform, caught me by the arm and shouted, Maino! (peace), saying that they, the chiefs, knew nothing of the attack. The murderers lived at the other end of the village; and thither, accompanied by a large party, I went. They gave me a pig, and I gave them a return present. The real murderer of Mr. Thorngren sat near me, dressed for the occasion, and four others who were in the canoe stood near the platform. The mother and two widows were in the house opposite, but with good sense refrained from wailing. I spoke to them of the meanness and treachery of attacking as they attacked Dr. James and Mr. Thorngren. They say there were ten in the canoe—one was shot, three have since died, and six remain. They also say they feel they have done wrong, as they not only made the foreigners their enemies, but also all the tribes around were angry with them. “What now, then?” “Oh, maino (peace) it must be; we are friends, and so are all foreigners now.” “I am not a trader, but have come to teach about the only one true God and His love to us all in the gift of His Son Jesus Christ, to proclaim peace between man and man, and tribe and tribe.” What seemed to astonish them most was my being alone and unarmed. After some time, our old friend came from the other end of the village and hurried us away. It was time to leave them, so, giving a few parting presents, we picked up our goods and away to the boat.