We struck camp at daylight and moved down the river, soon coming upon a number of well-built native lean-to shelters, showing signs of having been recently and hastily vacated; many articles of value to natives had been abandoned, including some cleverly split slabs of green jade from the hills of Collingwood Bay, which they used for making stone heads for disc clubs, tomahawks or adzes; also earthenware cooking pots, which the Maisina identified by the pattern as of their manufacture. A little later we espied a small village situated upon a spur of the Didina Range; a patrol of police searched the village, but the inhabitants had decamped; a number of spears, however, were taken and destroyed. Next we discovered, situated upon a rise in the river bed, a village of about eighteen houses; this village was also deserted, so we took possession and occupied it. In this village we found ample evidence, in the shape of articles manufactured by the Maisina and identified by them, of the complicity of its inhabitants in the raiding; a large store also of recently manufactured sago, clearly proved that they had only just returned from the Collingwood Bay District.

Here we camped, in order to dry our clothes and give our carriers a well-earned and much-needed rest. The prisoners told us that the village was named Boure, and they looked on dismally while the police and carriers slaughtered all the village pigs, and ravished and devastated the gardens, which were but of small extent. Barton, as he thought of the grief of the evicted inhabitants, looked quite as unhappy as the prisoners, while the work of destruction went on, and many a crack from his stick a too exultant yelling Kaili Kaili received, if he incautiously approached too near that humanitarian. “You know now what it feels like to have your villages raided,” said the Dove Baruga to the prisoners; “we and the Maisina have had years of it at your hands.” Our now happy carriers spent a cheery night, gorging and snoring alternately, and well housed from the rain.

Upon leaving Boure next morning, the track led down the river bank through thick clumps of pampas-like grass, twelve feet high; beastly dangerous country to traverse amongst a hostile people. I was with the advance, when suddenly we heard the loud blowing of war horns and the defiant shouting of a large force of men moving up the river on our left. I at once changed our line of march towards the direction of the Doriri, but after going on a short distance, the grass became so thick and the track so narrow, as to prevent any safe fighting formation being retained. A halt, therefore, was made, and the constabulary formed into two bodies, fronting two lanes in the tall grass, from either of which the now expected attack might develop, the carriers being packed between the two lines of police. The voices of Doriri calling, and horns blowing, could now be heard on our front, rear, and, alternately, on each side, which looked as if we were to receive an attack simultaneously on front, rear and flanks. A worse position to defend it was almost impossible to conceive: spearmen could approach unperceived, and launch their spears, from the cover of the grass, into our packed men; while club men could get right on top of us, before we could see to shoot with any degree of certainty of hitting what we were shooting at; and once amongst us, shooting would be out of the question for fear of killing our own carriers. In the event of our advancing towards a better position, we should be forced to straggle in a long line of single file, which would expose our carriers to flank attack; and in the case of a Doriri rush we should be in imminent danger of our line being cut in two. The prisoners told us that the Doriri were now shouting challenges and explaining that they were about to make an end of the whole lot of us. We waited some time: the Maisina whining and collapsing from funk, and the constabulary strung up to the last pitch of nervous tension, waiting with finger on trigger for the expected attack; one private, in his excitement, accidentally exploding his rifle. I fancy that the Doriri were not quite certain of our exact position, as we kept very quiet and the report of a rifle is difficult to locate in thick cover, also I think they were no more anxious to engage us in that horrible spot than we were anxious to receive them there.

Barton and I consulted, for something had to be done, as the Maisina were getting into a state of hysteria; we decided to bring matters to a head by sending ten of the constabulary to crawl through the grass and locate the Doriri, with a view to advancing then our whole force. The ten men left, and shortly after yelled to us to come on. Advancing, we found that the police had emerged from the grass upon a long open stretch of sandy river bed, down which a large body of armed natives were dancing towards them, yelling furiously and brandishing spears, clubs and shields. The police were standing in line, holding their fire for orders; I ran up to them, with some additional police, and ordered them to fire into the advancing natives. Crash went a volley, two men fell, shot dead, while many others staggered into the surrounding long grass, more or less badly wounded. The Doriri, though apparently frightfully surprised at the effect of the rifle fire, still held their ground; but, as the steadily firing constabulary line moved rapidly towards them, they began an orderly retreat. Barton then came up; but, with a long line of straggling carriers in the rear open to attack, we did not consider it expedient to permit a police pursuit, and they were accordingly recalled. We followed the tracks of the retreating party down the Ibinamu, till it junctioned with the Adaua; here we found that the greater portion of the attacking force had crossed to the other side of the river.

The Maisina, from a state of utter collapse, had now ascended to the highest pinnacle of jubilation; loud were their crows and great their boasting. “The hitherto undefeated Doriri had met a force comprising Maisina, and had retired before it with loss, and were now in full retreat!” They made no allowance in their savage brains for the fact that the unfortunate Doriri had encountered, for the first time, a strange, powerful, and terrifying weapon in the shape of our rifles—things which flashed fire, accompanied by a terrible noise, and dealt death by invisible means at great distances. “I have never known such damnable rotters as the Maisina,” said Barton, “they are howling and paralysed with funk one minute, and gloating over a few dead Doriri the next. They are like a costermonger rejoicing at a victory over his wife or mother, gained by dint of kicking her in the ribs.”

We now prepared to cross the river in pursuit of the retreating Doriri: rafting was out of the question, as the river was eighty yards wide, ran shoulder high, and was as swift as a mill-race. The first thing to do was to place a piquet on the opposite bank to cover our crossing; accordingly, some of the strongest swimmers amongst the constabulary waded and swam across, with their rifles strapped on their shoulders and cartridges tied on the tops of their heads, while they were covered by watching men on our bank. Having crossed, they yelled that there was a shallow bank in the middle of the river, affording secure foothold; this information was a great relief to us, as our cotton rope was not long enough to stretch across the full river, and our lighter men (including Barton and myself) were not strong enough to wade without its assistance. On that shoal, therefore, we stationed some strong men, who held the end of our rope; then we all crossed safely on to it, and there clung together, until the constabulary, after repeated attempts, succeeded in carrying the rope over the remainder of the river, where they tied it to a tree. We then left our strongest men to hold on to the mid-river end, and struggled across, with the loss only of a few bags of rice; after which we hauled the rest of the men across, they clinging to the end of the rope. Thus our crossing was accomplished.

Following the track of the retreating natives, we came to the Domara River, where the Doriri foot-tracks dispersed in various directions. The Domara had a fine wide sandy beach, admirable country to fight in from our point of view. The prisoners now told us that Domara village was close at hand, and there accordingly we went, only to find it freshly deserted. It was a village containing, I should estimate, about 180 to 200 men; it was circular in shape, and surrounded by a moat, partly natural and partly artificial, ranging from fifteen to twenty feet in width, and about ten feet in depth, and clean and well kept. The houses were elevated on poles of from twenty to thirty feet high; the poles were merely props, as the main weight of the house was sustained by stout tree trunks, forming a central king post; sometimes additional support was given by pieces of timber fastened to live areca-nut palms. The village was certainly an example of high barbaric engineering skill; moated as it was, and with its high and easily defended houses, a very few of its male inhabitants would be necessary for its defence against any force armed only with spear and club. Hence it was easily seen how the Doriri were enabled to keep so many men absent in Collingwood Bay for so long a period. Some small gardens near were remorselessly stripped to furnish the carriers with their evening meal, and every village pig and dog was slaughtered; many spears and arms were also found and burnt, the Maisina taking keen delight in cooking Doriri pig over a fire made of Doriri spears. We remained two days in this village, while patrols of police went out and endeavoured again to get in touch with, or capture, Doriri; and the carriers plundered and destroyed gardens to their hearts’ content and Barton’s grief. The Doriri, however, had apparently had a bellyful of the awesome, magic fire-spear, and had departed from their villages for the hills. We found in the village, of all extraordinary articles, the brass chain plate of a small vessel, now ground into an axe head.

Now evidently had come the time for departure: the Doriri had learnt that there was a power stronger than themselves, and a power, too, that could make itself unpleasantly evident. The most essential thing to do was to convey a message to them, telling them to abstain from raiding Collingwood Bay in the future, if they did not wish again to incur the anger of that power. This we were shortly able to do. We then left on our return journey, though by a different route.

Leaving Domara village we marched, for about five miles, through jungle interspersed at intervals with small, old, and new gardens; but nowhere did our scouts get into touch with the natives, until we came to the Adaua again, near its confluence with the Domara. The river, at this point, was about one hundred yards wide and in flood, quite unfordable, and far too dangerous for rafts, as the cataracts and rapids of the Musa, passing through the Didina Range, were but a short distance below. The Doriri use a small, triangular raft made of bamboo, and are much skilled in its use; our men, however, were quite unable to manage the contrivance, it requiring as much knack as a coracle. Ilimo village, to which one of our prisoners belonged, was situated on a spur on the opposite bank; and from thence we could hear the voices of natives calling to one another as they watched our party. The scouts reported a small village lower down the river, and upon the same bank, which our prisoners told us was called Bare Bare; so there we went for the night, or until the river went down sufficiently to permit of our passage across. Bare Bare village was deserted, and apparently had been so for some weeks; it was approached by narrow winding tracts leading through a dense tall jungle of wild sugar-canes, which were well sprinkled with spear pits. We cut a wide straight lane through the jungle to the river, in order that our people might go and come with water in safety. The scouts found near here a new and much better ford than the one we had seen in the morning, and which our lying prisoners had said was the only one.

Doriri yelled, howled, and blew horns on the opposite bank most of the night, but did not venture to cross or interfere with us. In the morning the scouts reported that the passage of the river was possible at the new ford, so there we went. As we prepared to cross, eight Doriri appeared on the opposite bank, in full war array, dancing, yelling, turning and smacking their sterns at us. An ominous sound of opening breech blocks spoke plainly of the opinion the constabulary had formed of what would occur before we passed the ford. “We must clear that bank of natives and place a guard there, before the carriers attempt the river,” I said to Barton; “there are only eight men in sight, but the scrub may swarm with them, and if a man were swept off his feet by the current and carried down the river, he would most certainly be speared before help could reach him.” Barton agreed, and I ordered the six strongest of the constabulary and a corporal to cross the river and guard the landing point. The men started across, and had got within about fifty yards of the dancing, yelling natives, who still defiantly remained there, when I yelled to them: “Corporal, shoot those men!” The corporal halted his men, and, shoulder high as they were in the fast-flowing water, fell them into line; then slowly and deliberately, as if parading at the butts, he put them through the movements of firing exercise. “At one hundred yards with ball cartridge, load!” came his voice; “ready!” “My God!” said Barton, “it is like witnessing an execution!” and covered his face with his hands. “Present!” came the corporal’s voice again; “fire!” One man leapt into the air and rolled over, some of the others jumped as though stung; then they picked up the fallen man and bolted into the scrub, while the constabulary occupied the spot just vacated by them. “It is early in the morning,” said Barton, “but I am going to have a little whisky after that.”

All that day and the next we spent in crossing some very steep country in the Didina Range, in pouring rain, having awful difficulty in starting fires with which to cook our food, as all the dead wood was sodden with water. My personal servant, Toku, son of Giwi, at last, however, found a species of tree, of which he had heard from his father, that burnt readily even in its green state; after this we always carried a supply of this tree with us, with which to start the other wood. Getting fires lighted in rain on the mountains is not the least of the minor discomforts of inland work in New Guinea, and without fires one’s carriers are foodless, cold, and miserable. On future expeditions, from the experience I gained on this one, I always made my carriers make their carrying poles of a light, dry, highly inflammable wood, and when the worst came to the worst, took their poles to start the fires with, and made them cut fresh green ones for use until we could again get light dry poles.

Scrub itch and leeches made things very interesting for us in the Didina hills. The former is a tiny little insect, almost invisible to the naked eye, that falls in myriads like a shower from certain shrubs, and promptly burrows under one’s skin; it is not until one is warm under the blankets at night, that it gets its fine work in and renders sleep impossible, until one collapses from exhaustion. Stinging trees are another joy; they are harmless-looking shrubs with a pretty glossy leaf, that sting one more than the worst of nettles; one of my carriers, on the second Doriri expedition, fell over a bank into a clump of the infernal things, and was in such agony that I had to put him in irons to prevent him from destroying himself, while we greased him all over with warm rifle oil. Leeches don’t need any describing, only cursing, which they got very freely indeed from our bare-legged police and carriers, as they beguiled their leisure moments scraping festoons of the brutes off their legs; they wriggled through one’s putties and breeches in a marvellous manner, and rare indeed was the night when we did not find half a dozen gorged brutes somewhere in our clothing, and knew that one would later develop a like number of nasty little ulcers. After crossing the Didina Range, we dropped down to a clear stream, the Dudura, upon which was situated a village of the same name; the inhabitants fled, but the constabulary succeeded in catching one man and his wife. The Collingwood Bay carriers knew of the village, both by name and reputation, and swore it was one of the worst offenders in raiding them. I put a very unfair direct question to the man. “Do you go to Maisina to kill people?” “Yes,” he naÏvely answered, “of course I do,” as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “I am very sorry,” I told him, “but Government disapproves of the promiscuous killing of people, and you must come with me until you have learnt better.” The man’s wife was then told that we were taking him away in order to complete his education, but that later he would be safely returned to her. “You are a set of murdering thieves,” she said. (She was, I may remark, a strong-minded woman!) “I have not killed the Maisina, but you have looted my house.” “Point out any man of ours, by whom you have been robbed,” was the reply, as we ordered the whole expedition to fall into line. Unerringly she picked out several of the Kaili Kaili, incorrigible looters, and abused them vehemently, the while they reluctantly made restitution. Her confidence was then gained by a present of trade goods, to maintain her during the enforced absence of her husband, and as payment for conveying from us to the Doriri a full explanation as to the reason of our visit and hostility to them: she was a most talkative dame, and I doubt not held forth at length to the Doriri. Her husband seemed to regard the prospect of a sojourn in gaol as rather a relief from the company of his very masterful wife.

When we were leaving Dudura, Barton put in a plea for the natives. “Monckton,” he said, “let us now avoid any conflict with the natives; the poor devils did not know what they were doing in the past, they have now had their warning, and I can no longer stand seeing you use your police against them, coldly and mechanically, as if they were a guillotine.” “All right, Barton,” I replied, “the rÔle of executioner does not appeal to me any more than it does to you, but it is sometimes a necessary one; still, I will defer to your views, and spare the people if possible. I only trust that the lesson we have already read them has been sufficiently severe.” Afterwards I had cause to repent my moderation, as the Doriri mistook our clemency, as savages invariably do, for a sign of weakness, and went on the raid again.

Taking our Dudura man with us and walking down the Dudura stream, we soon emerged upon the banks of the Musa, which at this point was a headlong tearing torrent, quite uncrossable; gradually, as we descended the banks of the river, the valley widened and the beach became better. In the afternoon, sounds of chopping were heard, and a native was discovered busily engaged in felling a tree. “I want that man alive and uninjured,” I said to the police. “He has got an axe and looks a sturdy fellow,” they replied; “it looks difficult.” Still, the constabulary, when told to do a thing, generally managed to accomplish it, difficult or not. Four of them noiselessly slipped away into the scrub, crept upon four sides and within a few yards of the working man, unperceived by him; a private then attracted his attention by yelling suddenly at him from behind; he gave a howl of surprise and alarm, and sprang round to defend himself, with his axe raised ready to strike. Then silently and swiftly as a springing greyhound, a Mambare private rushed in and leapt upon his back, bearing man and axe to the ground with the impetus of his rush; the others sprang and threw themselves upon the pair, and after a minute of a yelling, tangled, scrambling worry, during which he used his teeth with good effect, our quarry was disarmed and handcuffed. He was a fine, powerful, intelligent man, and, after he had been induced to stop yelling and made to understand that he was not going to be killed, he answered questions readily. “Who are you?” we asked. “Gabadi, of the village of Dugari, lower down the Musa,” he replied. The Maisina here said that Dugari was a most iniquitous village, and concerned in all the raiding. It was, however, imperatively necessary that we should get into friendly communication with some of the tribes of the Upper Musa, and if we retained Gabadi as a prisoner, we could not attain that end; we now wished to make the object of our expedition clear beyond any possibility of misconception in the minds of the Doriri. Gabadi was therefore released, returned his axe, and given some tobacco, to ease his mind of any feeling of fright or annoyance at the sudden manner in which we had effected our introduction to him.

We then asked him to go down the river to his village, and tell the people where we were, and that we wished to be friendly; also, that we would buy all the food they chose to bring us. Gabadi said that his wives had been in a camp some little distance away from the place where we had caught him, and that they had fled while we were engaged in making his acquaintance; he would therefore like first to find them, in order to leave them safe in our camp while he went off to Dugari. During his absence we pitched camp. After howling for some time in the forest for his wives, he returned to us in disgust; and, after remarking that the silly women would probably alarm half the river, proceeded to make himself comfortable for the night among the carriers. The intrusion of Gabadi was regarded by the Maisina portion of the carriers in much the same light as a roomful of rats might be expected to view the sudden introduction of a bull terrier into their midst. Continuing our way down the river, we came to a small village on the opposite bank; Gabadi, whose night with us had now given him full confidence, called to the people and told them who we were, and asked them to bring food to us. They soon rafted across a quantity of vegetables and a pig, for all of which they were well paid. Then, at great length, we explained to the people who we were, where we had been, what we had done, and why we did it; and they promised faithfully to repeat it to the Doriri. Upon seeing the prisoners, all of whom they appeared to know, and especially the last man captured at Dudura, who, from the concern they showed at his being in our hands, was certainly a person of considerable importance, they were most eager to ransom him; for which purpose pigs and goods were freely offered. They were told, however, that he would be returned when he had learnt the ways of the Government, but not till then.

We were now informed by Gabadi that a large and very bad sago swamp lay between us and Dove village on the right bank of the river, while a good track led down the left bank through Gewadura. We accordingly made rafts and crossed the river, which proved to be no light matter. I got a scare during this operation, for I foolishly crossed first with only Toku and Gabadi with me, before any of the constabulary had come across, as they were busily engaged in making rafts; when, suddenly, a whole mob of truculent-looking natives appeared, who said they came from Mbese village, and who, it was plain, did not regard us in any too friendly a light. The watchful Barton saw me surrounded by strange natives, and promptly sent my constabulary across, and gladly I welcomed them. A few of the Mbese men subsequently helped in the crossing of the rafts, but mainly they stood sullenly aloof, gazing sympathetically at our chained prisoners and savagely at us, plainly wondering whether an attempt at a rescue was worth while or not, and eventually coming to the conclusion that we looked too strong. They flatly refused to guide us to Gewadura, or point out the track there. “Some day, rude people of the Mbese,” said the Kaili Kaili, “we will meet again, and our master will tell us to teach you manners; you are only bush rats, and the police and we will drive you through the bush like rats!” Gabadi stuck steadily to us, and for a consideration in the shape of a tomahawk, undertook to guide us as far as the Gewadura track, but no further. From this point to the sea coast, the course of the river had been traversed and mapped by Sir William MacGregor, therefore our troubles and difficulties were now very considerably lessened.

At midday we came to a large abandoned village and extensive deserted gardens, which had originally been marked on the map as Gewadura, but the former inhabitants had been slaughtered and driven out by incursions of Doriri, and had built a new, strongly stockaded village lower down the Musa. At about five in the afternoon, during very heavy rain, we were preparing to camp in low-lying country plainly subject to inundation, when Barton, who was gazing disgustedly at our unpromising looking camp site, sent on his corporal to see if there was not a better spot for camping that could be reached before night. The corporal returned and reported a large village in sight round a bend, which the Dove men said must be Gewadura, a village friendly to them; so they at once went on to announce our presence. Back they came, bringing four most friendly natives, who guided us to a splendid camp site alongside the village, where men, women and children brought us huge quantities of food and pigs, and assisted us in clearing the camping ground. The villagers left us as soon as night had fallen, retiring within the gates of their stockade. The next morning, taro and all native vegetables were brought to us in abundance, for which we paid well. Gewadura village was new, large, and very clean, and had in its midst a number of houses built in the very tops of gigantic trees. The people were delighted to hear that at last the Doriri had been called to account for their murderous raids, and had been taught that even the land of the Doriri was not secure from the anger of the Government. Three men volunteered to guide us to Dove, and exclamations of delighted wonder came from the people as the expedition filed through the gates of their stockade, and they saw some of their ancient enemies, the Doriri, led past by the village constables.

We arrived at Dove in the evening, and were received with every sign of pleased welcome natives can show; they ferried us across the river in their canoes. Two of our carriers belonged to the village. The good wives rushed to the cooking pots, while the good men hunted the family pig with a spear, and the village dogs streaked for the bush, some, alas! being too slow and furnishing a portion of many a savoury stew. Some of the manifestation of joy we could well have dispensed with: leeches, scrub-itch, mosquitoes, stinging trees, lawyer vines, rough tracks, all had done their worst to our suffering skins, and covered as we were with sores and abrasions, we submitted, as perforce we must, with but ill grace to being violently embraced, hugged, stroked and handled. The two Dove men acted as showmen, and exhibited the prisoners to all and sundry, who cautiously inspected the disgusted Doriri, much as country children peep at a caged tiger in a menagerie; while the Doriri’s feelings, under the regard, seemed much the same as those of the said tiger.

The next day Barton and I, with the prisoners and two of the constabulary, went down the river in a canoe to Yagisa, the police and carriers proceeding overland to that village. From thence, a native track led behind Mount Victory to Wanigela village in Collingwood Bay, over which the Dove men undertook to guide us; they said it was a good track and would take us to Wanigela in two days. It might be considered a good track by an eel, an alligator, or a Dove Baruga native, but we discovered that, from our point of view, it was one of the most infamous roads in New Guinea. First we marched through sticky bogs, painfully dragging our booted legs, laden with pounds of mud, through a glutinous substance varying in depth from six inches to two feet, and punctuated with sludgy holes, anything from four to six feet deep, which looked exactly the same, and into which we repeatedly fell; the frantic cursing of the just engulfed man being aggravated by the half-concealed smiles of the lucky one who had, on that occasion, escaped. All this under deluges of rain and in an atmosphere of steaming heat, with fresh leeches getting into one’s clothes on every side. We then came into a pandanus swamp, through which we walked up to our waists in water and treading upon roots; every time we slipped upon the greasy things, and grabbed at the nearest tree to recover our balance, we caught hold, with festering hands, of a spiky thorny pandanus stem and got yet a fresh supply of prickles in them; if we missed our hold, we rolled over into the nearest spiky tree and got the thorns into some other portion of our anatomy.

At last we emerged on to rolling hills and the spurs of Mount Victory, passing on the way a village site, the former inhabitants of which had been slaughtered and scattered by the Doriri; on the third day we reached a Collingwood Bay village, named Airamu, two miles from the coast and Wanigela. Airamu village is fortified in a peculiar way: it is circular in shape and is built round half a dozen very tall trees, the tops of which are occupied by houses, stuffed with stones, spears and missiles, for the reception of raiding Doriri; the whole is enclosed within two circular stockades, the outer of which is built almost horizontally. A peculiar feature of the houses is, that each one has its separate dog entrance; this consists of a hollow trough, cut out from a palm, and running from the ground through a hole in the floor, up and down which the dogs run constantly in and out of their owners’ houses.

Our work was now done: the Doriri had been found, punished to a certain extent, and warned what would be the result of further raiding; time alone would show whether the warning was sufficient. The Upper Musa tribes, also concerned in the raiding, had likewise received an object lesson as to their fate, if they did not mend their ways.