I find that I have wandered too far in advance of my time, and also away from the North-Eastern Division. Some six months after I had opened the new Station at Cape Nelson, the Government Secretary, the Judge and Treasurer, and in addition, my old enemies of the Government Store, all came down upon me for irregularities in making and sending in Court and Gaol returns, copies of the Station Journal, and receipts for stores received: the Treasurer and Government Store-keeper complained bitterly that I was seriously delaying the clerical work of their Department in consequence. I reported that nothing else was to be expected; that I had an enormous new district to bring into order, the work in which necessitated frequent and long absences from my Station, and that when I was away, my Station was solely in charge of a Corporal of Native Constabulary, who could neither read nor write, and I begged that a Malay or Manilla man, like Lario or Basilio, might be sent to me to act as native clerk and overseer. The Governor was away in Australia, and the Judge in the Western Division; accordingly Mr. Musgrave dealt with my request. In due course, a vessel came in bringing a sallow, lank, unwholesome-looking youth of about twenty years of age, a cockney, bearing a letter from Muzzy saying that he was to act for me as clerk and overseer.

“Do you know anything about book-keeping?” I asked him. “No, your worship,” he replied. “Don’t call me that, except in Court, you fat-head; Sir is quite enough,” I said. “Do you understand building? There is much of that going on at present.” “No!” was the reply. “Agriculture, then? We grow most of our food here.” “No!” ”Drill?” “No!” “Can you shoot?” “No!” “What in Heaven’s name can you do?” I asked; “surely something?” “I was a fishmonger’s boy in London; then I got a job as steward on a tramp steamer; I left her at Thursday Island, and learnt billiard marking in a pub there, while I was employed as a waiter; then, hearing that there were some billiard tables in Port Moresby, I went there to try for a job; I could not get employment, and went to the Government Secretary to apply for a free passage out of the country, and he sent me here.” “Holy Moses!” I said to myself, “this is exactly what I expected Muzzy to do; I suppose I am lucky that he did not send me a mid-wife!” “You don’t seem very promising material for me to work upon,” I remarked aloud, “but I will see what we can make of you. First, I will render you able to defend yourself. Sergeant, take away this man and teach him to shoot; then tell off a couple of men to teach him to swim.” “What will the police call me?” he asked; “Sir or Mister?” “Hoity toity!” I said, “this is beginning early! What were you called when you were a waiter?” “Bert.” “Very good. Bert you will be to the constabulary, until we have made something of you; and I shall call you by your surname without any prefix at all.” “Shall I live with you or the constabulary?” he next queried. “I don’t like niggers.” I saw my orderly, who was standing stiffly at attention, watching for an opportunity to tell me something, give a quick glance at the sergeant, who still waited with a motionless face. “With neither,” I replied; “I will send the gaoler into barracks and give you his house, until we have one of your own built. But remember this: the term nigger, as applied to a native of this country, is strictly forbidden; it is an objectionable term of contempt, and especially so when applied to men wearing the King’s uniform. You have already done yourself harm by using it in the presence of men who are at present in the position of your teachers.”

I was at my Station for about a month after that, endeavouring to make the man useful, but he was exceedingly useless for anything except copying letters and keeping check of the stores that had been used. I then went away for a couple of weeks, and on my return found that a blackguard, beach-combing trader, whom I had once gaoled for four months and whom Sir Francis Winter had also incarcerated for another period, had called at the Station and fraternized with the agreeable “Bert”; the pair of them had then scandalized the whole Station by going on a wild drunk for three days and nights, during which period, the constabulary told me, a large whaler had passed the Cape, filled, they believed, with runaway carriers from the gold-fields. The police had not cared to leave the Station while the drunken riot was going on, for fear that the drunks should do some damage either to themselves or the Station, therefore the whaler passed unchallenged. I was exceedingly annoyed; the more so, that recently I had been keeping a strict watch on large and strange canoes or boats passing, on account of a habit miners’ carriers had developed of stealing their employers’ fire-arms and goods, and making a bolt for their homes in either stolen boats or canoes. They then, in some instances, added to their crimes by shooting stray natives or plundering the gardens of small, weak, outlying villages; on one occasion the offenders had had impudence enough to refuse to produce or surrender their stolen fire-arms, when they were overhauled by my whaleboat, under command of my corporal; and it was not until the corporal had ordered the police to load their rifles, and had clearly shown that he meant fight, that they yielded to the superior force. “Bert” begged hard to be let off this time, and swore that he would be good in future; he wailed that he had been lonely and miserable when the trader arrived, and, in his joy at having a white man to talk to, had lost his head.

I overlooked his offence upon that occasion, at the same time administering a severe reprimand; but his culminating act came when, on my next absence, a large canoe was sighted, and he went in the whaleboat with the police in pursuit. When they got within a short distance of the canoe, the police hailed her and found she was a Kaili Kaili canoe loaded with fish, which her crew were in a great hurry to land and smoke; the constabulary told “Bert” this, whereupon he demanded that the canoe should stop and give him some fish. The Kaili Kaili did not like him in the first instance, and, in the second, they knew that he had no right to demand their fish so they continued on their way; whereupon the jackass fired several shots at them with a rifle, fortunately killing no one. Upon my return, an indignant deputation of Kaili Kaili waited upon me to know why “the man without either strength or sense” had fired at them. I sent for “Bert” and demanded an explanation, which he gave thus: “These natives don’t treat me with enough respect; I must do something to show my authority.” Accordingly, I showed my own authority by telling him to pack his goods and get away next day to Samarai, by the s.s. President.

To that point I also went in the same vessel, with the intention of trying to find a more suitable man. I did get one, a splendid chap named William Mayne, a Scotch ex-ship’s carpenter, who had gone broke at the gold-fields, got loaded up with fever, and wanted to recuperate. He was, like most Scotsmen, a man of good education. I made him acting gaoler and overseer, pending the Governor’s approval. When the Merrie England with Sir George arrived, some months afterwards, I sang Mayne’s praises. “A really good man, sir; he can repair a boat and build a house; he has taught some of my men blacksmithing and armourers’ work; he keeps his books well and cleanly, and only gets drunk on New Year’s Eve. He has an old certificate of character from a Scotch minister, and all his ship’s discharges are marked V.G.” “He seems to be the very man I require as Head Gaoler and Overseer of Works at Samarai,” said his Excellency; “I have had great difficulty in finding a suitable man for the post.” “But, sir,” I wailed, “I found him, and really I cannot get on with ex-billiard markers, waiters or tailors; they are no use to me, and they get on my nerves the whole time.” The Governor laughed. “I shall not ask you to,” he said; “I will give you a full Assistant R.M., young, strong, competent, and a gentleman. Barton, send Mr. Yaldwyn here.” Yaldwyn came, was introduced to me, and then left the cabin. “He will do, sir,” I said, “I like his cut.” Poor Yaldwyn! I did not foresee, within a few months, firstly, his disgrace, and then his death.

Yaldwyn proved to be an uncommonly cheerful and bright person; nothing ever made him down-hearted, and the more I worked him the better he liked it. He became very popular on the Station, both with the constabulary, prisoners, and natives at large; he was perpetually doing them small kindnesses. A child of the wife of one of my constabulary would be sick, Yaldwyn would mix up condensed milk or meat lozenges for her, and show her how to give them. Once, an elderly prisoner moped and pined, and Yaldwyn came to me. “Old so-and-so is bad, I think he should be let go.” “Do you, Mr. Yaldwyn? But only the Governor has power to remit a sentence once passed,” I remarked. “Yes, I know; but he won’t be here for months, and the poor old blighter, who has only got six months, will die unless he sees his home, he’s fretting awfully; do let him go for a week or two.” “Can’t be done, my dear man, by the visiting justice for gaols. I am here to administer and uphold the law, not to break it,” I said. The first time he turned dolefully away; then I called him back. “Mr. Yaldwyn, I am going to Cape Vogel to-morrow, and shall be away for a fortnight; if so-and-so should happen to spend that time in his village, and be safe in gaol and in good health upon my return, of course I cannot be expected to know of it, and it is no one else’s business.” “Yes, but you would know; you always find out everything,” he said. “Perhaps if you dropped a hint to my orderly that I did not wish to know on this occasion, I might remain in ignorance; in fact, I might be even as dense as you appear to be!” Yaldwyn thought for a moment, then permitted himself the liberty of winking at his superior officer before departing. Yaldwyn loved to sing, and thought he had a singer’s voice. He had: it was as bad as mine—only useful for scaring crows! As a general rule, I forbade him to sing; but when I felt unusually cheerful and strong, I would permit him a stave or two in the evening. He would begin “Maid of Athens,” in a bass that shook the window, and then wander into a rusty baritone, streaked with falsetto screeches. On one occasion, after suffering in silence for quite ten minutes, I broke in upon the melody. “Yaldwyn, did your voice ever break when you were a boy?” I asked. “Yes, of course it did. Why?” “Because I wondered why your parents did not have it mended with giant cement or seccotine or something,” I remarked, as I went off to the barracks, leaving him thinking. When I returned, half an hour later, I found him chuckling, having at last grasped my very feeble joke. “I’ve seen it,” he said, “it is very clever; I’ve written it down to use on some one else!”

Some time afterwards, Macdonnell, district surveyor, was attached to the North-Eastern Division staff; he had a very nice trained voice, and was in the habit of singing as he worked at his plans. He came to me one day and said, “I say, R.M., is Yaldwyn all there?” “Yes,” I answered, “a little slow in the uptake, but he has plenty of brains. Why do you ask?” “Oh,” replied the surveyor, “I was singing at my work just now, when he came in and looked at a piece of paper; then he said to me, ‘Why did your parents not have your voice mended with cement or gum?’ and sat down and roared with laughter. When I said that I could see no joke, and only thought the remark rude and pointless, he said it was something very clever you had said to him.” “I did say something of the sort, I remember now; but you tell him a story and then hear him repeat it later, and you will understand,” I replied.

Shortly after Yaldwyn’s arrival, I went to Samarai in search of Mr. Macdonnell and his assistant, both of whom had been appointed to the North-Eastern Division some time before, and had failed to put in an appearance. I found them there, engaged with a boat’s crew of six survey boys, superintending the reclamation of land; they had a whaleboat and full camp equipment. They had received instructions from the Chief Government Surveyor to proceed by steamer to Samarai, do any little thing that required doing there, and then come on to the North-Eastern Division, where I had plenty of work for them. “What the dickens are you doing here?” I asked Macdonnell. “You are a charge upon my Division, the poorest in the Possession, and here you are doing gratuitous work for the richest!” “The fact is,” he answered, “there has not been an opportunity of getting up to you.” “You had your whaler and crew,” I replied, “and it’s a fair wind all the way at this time of year; trot out another excuse.” “I can’t get Turner, my assistant, away; he has fallen in love with the publican’s daughter, and spends all his time spooning with her. He has got a couple of hundred a year of his own, as well as his pay, and is deuced independent.” “Oh, he is, is he!” I said; “well, we sail at midnight, with or without him.”

Moreton, R.M., was away on leave, and Symons acting in his place; accordingly, I went to him. “Mr. Symons, I want the Siai to take the Survey party and myself to Cape Nelson.” “I am very sorry, but I can’t let you have her without orders from Headquarters,” he said. “I will give you a written requisition for the vessel’s services,” I replied. Symons would not let me have her, however; afterwards I heard that he had arranged a picnic party on board her for the white women of Samarai, for two days ahead; it was a case of while the cat, in the shape of the R.M., was away, he—the mouse—was to play. I then chartered a cutter for Cape Nelson, and sent Macdonnell a formal notice that we left, as previously arranged, at midnight. He replied, that Turner had said that he could not be ready, and would not come. “Very good, Mr. Macdonnell,” I said, “he is your subordinate, not mine; but you, your whaler and boat’s crew, come with me. I shall report to Headquarters, that Mr. Turner having refused duty, I shall act as your assistant myself until a substitute is sent to you, or lend you Yaldwyn. I shall also report that I have taken upon myself to suspend Mr. Turner, until the decision of the Chief Government Surveyor be known.” Turner then resigned himself to his fate and the missing of Symons’ picnic, and sailed with us.

I had taken a strong liking to Macdonnell, who was a most pleasant companion, and on one occasion, I flatter myself, I saved his life. As we were very crowded and he was a much older man than the others, I asked him to share my bedroom, for I had a spare field bed and there was plenty of room for two. One night, a beastly hot close night with a thunder-storm on the point of bursting, we both woke up sweating from the heat, and Macdonnell said he would go into the next room and get a whisky; I declined, and he left to help himself; then, changing my mind, I got up and followed him into the ante-room. He always drank his whisky—Scotch custom—neat, and took the water afterwards; he poured out a tot and waited a minute while I did the same, then, just as I poured water into mine and started with surprise at seeing it turn a milky white and hastily sniffed at it, he tossed his off. I did not wait to look at him—he had got hold of a whisky bottle full of pure carbolic acid, which I had filled that day, and had never noticed the large red “Poison” I had written across it—but I made one jump for the medicine shelf, snatched down a pint bottle of olive oil, shoved him on to his back, and poured the oil down his throat; then, yelling loudly for Yaldwyn and Turner, I found and poured about half a pint of Ipecacuanha wine after it. “Is it burning?” I asked. “No,” gasped Macdonnell, “only my lips.” Yaldwyn and Turner appeared. “Macdonnell’s poisoned by carbolic acid,” I said, “bring me a pound of butter, and tell my cook to make a quart of luke-warm salt and water, and tell him to jump like hell about it, or I’ll murder him.” The butter came, of course in a semi-melted state, as tinned butter always was, there; then, with my fingers I began to cram it into his mouth and throat. “I shall be sick,” groaned Macdonnell, as he tried to shove me away. “You infernal idiot,” I replied, “that is just what I want you to be.” Then came the hastily prepared luke-warm salt and water. “Down with this,” I told him. He took a gulp or two. “I can’t,” he gasped, “it’s too beastly.” “If you don’t take it,” I said, “Yaldwyn and I will belt the very life out of you.” He got it down, though, at the finish, he was swelling like a bull frog. “Can you be sick now?” I asked. “No,” he said. “Hell!” said Yaldwyn, “either his guts are clean burnt out, or he has got an inside like an ostrich!” “Get some cotton wool and some string,” I ordered. “What are you going to do now?” asked the unfortunate victim. “Shove the cotton wool down your gullet, and haul it up and down, until that copper-lined still, you call your stomach, rejects something,” I said. “Help me to the edge of the verandah,” said Macdonnell. “Verandah be damned; be sick here on the floor at once if you can,” I ordered. He shoved two fingers down his throat, and then vomited like Jonah’s whale. I retired hastily, and did a minor performance on my own account, from sympathy. Macdonnell went on at intervals, once he had begun, for quite two hours; then he got better and complained of hunger. “As much milk as you like until midday to-morrow, but nothing else,” I said. The sole ill-effects Macdonnell suffered from half a gill of pure carbolic acid were badly burnt lips, where the oil had not at first touched, as it had been poured direct into his mouth from the bottle.

I have mentioned an approaching thunder-storm as the reason of Macdonnell and myself wandering from our room in search of the drink that had such dire effects upon him. Well, Cape Nelson, and in especial the point upon which our Station was built, was very subject to thunder-storms; and, until I at length induced the Government to give me a lightning conductor for my house, it was our invariable custom, when a really bad one came on, to bolt for the gaol or lower ground, where the lightning apparently never struck. When Captain Barton was staying with me after the first Doriri expedition, I had, stored in my house, several cases of gelignite and dynamite, which I used for blasting a road up a rocky precipice; when it first arrived I noticed that the nitro-glycerine was oozing through the paper covers of the cartridges, and that it was really unsafe; but, as it had been very expensive, I did not like destroying it as my Station could not afford a further supply, and I knew that the Government Store people would swear it was quite good, and that I should get no refund; accordingly, I found a place for it in my house, where I could keep an eye on it, and watch whether it got worse.

One night there came on a most awful thunder-storm, and I thought of the stuff and showed it to Barton. “You understand high explosives,” I said; “there is enough gelignite here to blow this house and ourselves into atoms so small that one would have to search the universe at large with a fine tooth-comb to find any remains. I am doubtful as to the effect of an electrical disturbance upon it; have a look at it.” Barton looked. “The stuff is fairly oozing nitro-glycerine; get rid of it, or put it in a safe place at once, is my advice.” I called my orderly, Private Oia, and told him to get a couple of men and remove the stuff with great care to a safe place. “Where shall I put it, sir?” he asked. “Oh, chuck it into the sea,” I replied. “Very good, sir,” and he called a couple of men and removed the boxes. Twenty minutes later there came a terrific flash of lightning; deafening thunder and an awful sound on the iron roof of the house followed instantaneously. My flagstaff, seventy feet high and three feet thick at the base, situated only twenty feet away from the house, had been struck and splintered into shivers, some as small as wooden matches, which had fairly rained on the roof. “Thank the Lord,” I remarked, as we gazed at the spot where once had stood that lordly pole, “that we had first got rid of that gelignite.”

The next morning, I walked into the storeroom under the house, and the first thing my eyes lighted upon was the gelignite! My very blood froze! “Oia,” I yelled, “come here and be killed!” “What is the matter, sir?” asked he. “I told you to remove that stuff to a safe place, and you have put it here. Do you call this a safe place?” I asked. “You told me, sir, to put it in a safe place; there was nowhere else I could put it last night without it getting wet; and when I asked you where I was to put it, you told me with the double meaning you often use, [i.e. irony] ‘to put it in the sea.’” Oia, poor man, had thought I was being sarcastic at his expense, by way of impressing on his mind the necessity of keeping the stuff extra dry.

The time came for me to go again to Samarai, a quinsy in my throat forcing me to visit the nearest doctor—Vaughan, medical officer at Samarai. Vaughan was not really a fully qualified doctor, but was a man who had been for a length of time in the Indian Medical Service, in which he had gained a considerable amount of experience. He had come to the country as the manager of a company, which he had formed himself in Australia, to exploit the rubber lands of the Musa River, but his company had gone bang, and Sir George Le Hunte had appointed him to act as medical officer at Samarai; this appointment was afterwards much questioned, but really at the time there was no duly qualified man available. Moreton, R.M., was back, and accordingly—as of old—I took up my quarters with him. In gossiping with Vaughan, who, by the way, was a great friend of the Rev. Charles Abel, he told me that the Mission had got hold of some serious outrages perpetrated by miners in Milne Bay, and in which they alleged Symons was concerned. “But Moreton is in entire ignorance of all this,” I said. “Yes, Abel is going to spring it on the Governor, upon his return from Australia,” said Vaughan. “That is a nice Christian performance,” I thought, and then said to Vaughan: “It is probably only some cock-and-bull Mission yarn.” He answered, “It is nothing of the sort, I know the evidence they have got.” “Pooh! Medical officers are like missionaries, hardly competent to know what is evidence and what is assertion or mere rumour.” Vaughan had a warm temper, and I saw that I was working him the right way. “If I had not promised Abel not to say anything definite about the charges, I would soon shatter your self-conceited sufficiency,” he snapped. “All right, don’t get warm, I am going to look at my men,” I replied. “I’ll leave you sitting on your mare’s nest,” and off I went, leaving Vaughan snorting.

I then strolled over to the house Moreton had allotted to my men; they were sitting, chatting and smoking, on the verandah. “I hear,” I said, after a little casual conversation, “that these Samarai boys say, that we, of the North-Eastern Division, are ignorant bushmen ‘with no knowledge,’ that we only come here at rare intervals because the Samarai people are ashamed of our being seen by strangers.” “They shall pay for that,” said my men. “Yes, but how?” I asked; “I can’t let you fight them.” “Can’t you put them in gaol, sir?” asked they. “No, not without first finding out something they have done for which to punish them.” “Perhaps we can find out something about them,” said my men. “You are wise men,” I said, “not fools, as these Samarai people say; that is the thing to do. Now, you keep your mouths shut, put on your smartest uniforms and swagger down the street and buy cigarettes, then go to the ginger-beer shop, buy ginger beer and drink it there. Some of them are bound to notice you, and follow to watch; offer any that do so, cigarettes and ginger beer; then go to the stores and buy sardines, salmon, and sweet biscuits, that will attract more attention; they won’t miss a feed like that, if you give them the slightest encouragement. Get them back here and, as you feed, brag of all your fights and the arrests you have made; they will almost certainly answer by telling you what they have done lately, then keep your ears open and your mouths shut.” “Oh, master, it is good. We go dig a pit for a pig, a deep pit. But what about money?” questioned they. “You put in one shilling each, and here is a sovereign. To-night my orderly will bring me what news he can, to-morrow you will parade near Mr. Moreton’s house, and each man will tell me what he has learnt,” I answered. Then off I went to Moreton’s, where, later, I heard sounds of laughter and revelry coming from my own men’s house, and concluded the pig was in the pit.

Shortly afterwards, my orderly appeared. “Master, we have a fence round the pig and it does not know it.” “Where is the fence?” I asked. “In Milne Bay; some white men and the Samarai boat boys caught some men there and killed many pigs, and the white men killed some people.” “In fight?” I asked. “No, murder. One man was led away into the bush by the white men, with a rope round his hands, and was never seen alive again.” “Was Mr. Symons there?” I inquired. “At the killing, we do not know; at the capture, yes,” he returned, in answer. “Phew!” I whistled, “the Mission have got a bomb for Moreton! This sort of thing twenty miles from his Headquarters, and he in ignorance of it!” Then, to my orderly, “Go back to your house, and tell our men not to let the pig discover the fence.” It was high time now that I sought Moreton. “Did Symons tell you anything about trouble in Milne Bay?” I asked him. “Yes, he said that there had been some gold stealing, but that he had arrested the offenders and all was quiet again,” he replied. “Well, Moreton, there have apparently been some serious outrages there, in which Symons is alleged to be concerned; the Mission have got hold of it and are waiting until his Excellency returns to report direct to him, in order to get you into grave trouble for being in ignorance of the matter,” I told him. “How do you know this?” he asked. “A hint dropped by Vaughan of knowledge possessed by Abel, in the first instance; next, I have had my boys pumping Symons’ boat’s crew, and they confirm it,” I replied.

“It is a bad business,” said Morton, “but I don’t see how I can be held responsible. Symons has had charge of Milne Bay for a considerable time. These things have also occurred during my leave of absence, and while Symons was acting as R.M.” “I see plainly how you will be held responsible,” I said; “Symons was your subordinate, and if you choose to give him entire charge of a district in your Division, you should have occasionally looked in there, to see how things were going; you know perfectly well that the R.M. is the person responsible for anything wrong in the Division, whether his fault or not, and to plead ignorance is the worst excuse you can make. It is clear to me, that you must have lost entire touch with the village constables in Milne Bay, for they are trotting in and out of Samarai every second day, and yet you have heard nothing.” “I have allowed Symons control of the Milne Bay village constables; they report to him and are paid by him,” said Moreton. “What!” I exclaimed, “have you been egregious ass enough deliberately to allow the control of a district of village constables to pass out of your hands, the one service that allows you to keep your hand on the pulse of the district, and informed of what is going on? Moreton, if the crimes have taken place in Milne Bay, that I believe have been committed, then a fairly big scapegoat will be wanted by the Governor, and you will about fill the bill.” “Symons had charge of Milne Bay with the Governor’s consent and approval, and Symons did not like to be interfered with there,” said Moreton. “The fact remains that Symons was an officer subordinate to you, he had not joint control with you, he had control subject to your approval of his management of the district; anything he has done there, unless expressly disapproved of by you, can only be held as done with your approval,” I replied. “Symons reports direct to Port Moresby,” said Moreton. “Don’t you ever read his reports, or the copies?” I asked. “No,” said Moreton. “Then you are in the soup up to your neck,” I remarked; “for, on your own showing, you have entirely neglected and ignored one portion of your Division, and that portion a district right under your nose.” “What am I to do now?” said Moreton. “A little advice would be better than a scolding.” “Do!” I said; “investigate at once, and if there is anything in the charges, take immediate action against all concerned; you will then have shown that you are alive to what is going on in your Division, and that you are doing your duty.” “Will you see Vaughan and the Mission, and first find out for me what they know?” he asked. “Yes, I will do it at once, though it is not my affair,” I replied.

Off to Vaughan I then went. “Doctor, I have been talking over what you told me yesterday about Milne Bay with Moreton; he has decided to make immediate and full inquiry, and has asked me to ascertain what direct charges the Mission is prepared to bring against any person or persons. Can you arrange that I see the Rev. Charles Abel in the matter?” Vaughan arranged it, and I saw Abel, who, after some demur, gave me a list of alleged murders and outrages in Milne Bay, committed by three miners attached to a Government party commanded by Symons. I took the list to Moreton; and then, at his request, went to Milne Bay, where I obtained sufficient evidence to show that one miner had deliberately shot an unarmed native, and that another had shot a woman: there was also evidence to the effect that a man arrested by Symons’ boat’s crew had been handed over to the miners and led away into the bush, after which he had never been seen alive again, though there was no evidence of his death, other than that the natives had found a body too far gone to identify. There were a lot of other charges, in which the evidence was not clear. “What is to be done now?” asked Moreton. “Arrest the miners, charge them with murder, suspend Symons from magisterial duties, and leave at once for Port Moresby to consult with Sir Francis Winter,” was my advice.

On the top of everything else, there was a village constable missing, named Lailai; he had been appointed by Symons some nine months previously. Symons, by the way, had no authority to appoint village constables; this could only be done by the Governor, or by the Resident Magistrate by delegated authority. Lailai belonged to a village named Daiogi, one of a group burned by the miners accompanying Symons’ party. The following, an extract taken from my notes at the time, is the sort of evidence I elicited:—

“Lulubeiai, of the village of Daiogi, says, ‘I am the only child and daughter of Lailai. Lailai is dead. I know he is dead though I have not seen the body. He was a village constable. He went one day to the camp of the white men; he never came back. Gamadaudau, of my village, told me that he had seen my father tied up and beaten by the white man, Steve Wolff. My village is burnt and my people scattered. I know no more.’ Gamadaudau says, ‘I am a native labourer in the employ of Robert Lindsay, a miner, and I knew Constable Lailai. He came to the white men’s camp, and was tied up and beaten by Wolff and Morley, and his uniform was taken away by Wolff. Lailai was thrice flogged during the day by Wolff, and was left tied up to a tree for two or three nights; he was then led away by Wolff, Lindsay, and two other white men whom I do not know. He was tied up with ropes, but in such a fashion that he could walk. What happened after that I do not know.’ Two months later a native of Buhutu found the skull and some portion of a human skeleton in the bush, and from the fact that Lailai was the only man dead and not accounted for, and from the fact that near the remains were a pair of arm rings such as Lailai was in the habit of wearing, he came to the conclusion that he had found Lailai’s body, and so informed his fellow villagers. Then this. Charles Ward, miner, sworn. ‘I remember going with Mr. Symons to Wolff’s house, Wolff gave Mr. Symons Lailai’s uniform. Mr. Symons asked where he had got them. Wolff said he had found them in a deserted house.’”

This case afterwards broke down in the Central Court, for though Moreton and I conclusively proved that Lailai was missing, the evidence of his death was not strong enough; and even if we could establish that, then the only thing that we could prove was, that he had been maltreated by the miners, but not that they had murdered him. I had listened to the dead Lailai’s daughter, and seen her grief at losing her only relation; and I swore that, even if Wolff escaped on technical grounds on the first charge, he should not on a second, if effort on my part could prevent it. There was a second charge. Wolff had shot a man, who was running away, and a native with Wolff had seen the shot fired, and knew the running man well, while others with him had seen the killing, but could not swear to the identity of the dead man. The dead man’s relations, however, were able to identify his body. In this case there was no possible weak link. I arrested, upon Moreton’s warrant, Lindsay and Morley in Samarai; they were on their way to a new gold rush at Cloudy Bay, whither Wolff had already gone.

There was now no doubt that very grave offences had taken place in Milne Bay; and that if Symons had not condoned them, he had at all events shown a lamentable ignorance of such things as a missing village constable, a shot woman, and sundry other strange events, such as the always strictly forbidden burning of villages; and all these things had taken place in a locality in which a village constable’s truncheon was the only force likely to be required.

Moreton was frightfully distressed when he learnt the full extent of the mischief done. “What am I to do, Monckton?” he asked; “it is dreadful to think that these things have occurred in my Division.” “If it were my Division,” I answered, “I should arrest every one, however remotely concerned, Government official, boat boy or miner, and send them for trial to the Central Court; but as such a measure might appear too drastic a one, and you would bear sole responsibility for it, up sticks and away for Port Moresby and Sir Francis Winter is still my advice. You have to go half-way there, in any case, to arrest Wolff at Cloudy Bay. In the meantime, I will hie me back to my own Division and work.” “For the Lord’s sake, don’t leave me now, laddie,” said Moreton, using the old name by which he had called me when first I came to the Possession; “I would not leave you in the lurch.” “All right, I will stick by you, old man,” I said; “but we must sail at once to Sir Francis, report, and get his authority for me to remain with you until this matter is cleared up.”

That night we sailed for Port Moresby in the Siai, reaching there after a prolonged passage. Sir Francis Winter instructed me to remain with Moreton, and that we were jointly to investigate every criminal charge brought by either the Mission or others against any person, but not to bother about vague assertions or rumours unsubstantiated by some concrete evidence.

On our way back from Port Moresby to Samarai, we arrested Wolff at Cloudy Bay: Moreton was rather bad at the time from malaria, and asked me to do it; he also asked me to effect the arrest personally and not to use the police, as the miners objected to being arrested by natives. Accordingly I went ashore; and, leaving the police in the boat, I walked up to Whitten Brothers’ store, which was crowded with newly arrived Australian diggers, strangers to me. Robert Whitten was in charge of the store, and I went to him at once. “Hello, stormy petrel!” he said, as soon as he saw me. “There is no trouble here, what do you want?” “I want a man named Wolff,” I answered; “point him out, if here; or tell me where he is.” “There is your man,” said Whitten, pointing to a black-bearded Russian Finn with a villainous countenance, and plainly more than half drunk. I went up to Wolff, while the whole crowd of diggers watched me. “Your name is Stephen Wolff?” I asked. “Yes,” he said, “and what the hell has it to do with you?” “Oh, nothing to do with me personally,” I said; “but I happen to have a warrant for your arrest upon charges of wilful murder, and sundry other felonies.” “Where?” asked Wolff. “Milne Bay,” I answered; “you must come with me.” He broke into a storm of blasphemy and abuse of Moreton, Symons, and the Government, and swore that he would not come; several sympathizers among the miners also murmured.

I let Wolff blow off steam; then I said very quietly, “Stephen Wolff, in the King’s name I command you to yield yourself.” Wolff still cursed and raved. “Stephen Wolff, twice in the King’s name.” Wolff made a grab at a bottle to throw at me. I slipped my hand inside my jacket, grasped and cocked my revolver, while Robert Whitten and a miner grabbed Wolff. “Wolff, I mean to have you alive or dead; I don’t care which. For the third and last time, in the King’s name, chuck up your hands, quick!” Wolff was a wise man, he surrendered promptly, the urging of Whitten and the miners being hardly necessary; but he had gone very near to dying in his boots.

We got back to Samarai to find our troubles only beginning. Lindsay and Morley, who were awaiting trial in gaol, had made up their minds that their present predicament was due to the Mission and Vaughan; accordingly, in order to get even with Vaughan, they made a sworn confession that they, with him, had outraged certain native women, while they were in his employment on the Musa River. Rape at that time was a capital offence in New Guinea. Moreton and I had perforce to investigate this charge; but could find no evidence to its truth, other than the unsupported testimony of the men already under commitment for murder, whose motive for charging Vaughan was only too evident. We finished our cases; and the defendants were all lodged in gaol pending the return of the Governor and the sitting of the Central Court.

Unfortunately the hullaballoo and scandal over the whole affair had thoroughly alarmed the Milne Bay natives. The trial of Vaughan, whom they regarded as partly responsible for the bringing to justice of the miscreants by whom they had been maltreated, finally convinced them that no one who stood on their side was safe, and accordingly they prepared to skip for the bush; which, if they succeeded in doing, would deprive us of all or most of our witnesses. Something had to be done to reassure them, and that something at once. Moreton and I discussed the matter and decided that an officer with police should be stationed there. It was now imperatively necessary that I should return for a time to my own Division; accordingly I volunteered to lend Moreton, Yaldwyn and six good constabulary, until such time as the Merrie England and the Governor returned; assuring him that Yaldwyn’s happy disposition made him a general favourite among natives, and that he was the very man to undo the harm that Symons’ unhappy associations with the Milne Bay outrages had caused.

Moreton gratefully accepted my offer: therefore, on my return to Cape Nelson, I instructed Yaldwyn to proceed to Milne Bay with a detail of the North-Eastern detachment of constabulary. “I don’t want you to do any work, Yaldwyn,” I told him, “I want you to sit down quietly in Milne Bay and smooth down the natives. Do nothing there, and above all things avoid any row or fuss with the Mission; Moreton has got a peck of trouble already, and it does not need adding to.” The next event was the arrival of the Merrie England at Cape Nelson with Sir George and Sir Francis on board, and the first thing I was told was, that they were going to take me to Samarai to hear—amongst other cases—a charge laid by a missionary against Yaldwyn of outraging a native girl attached to the Mission. I was simply flabbergasted. “I can’t understand this at all,” I told Sir Francis, “Yaldwyn is the last man in the Service to do anything brutal or unkind; why, I can’t even order a recalcitrant private half an hour’s pack drill without his trying to beg him off! There is something damned fishy about this business.” “That is exactly what I think,” said Sir Francis, “and that is why I want you to take the case.”

The Merrie England brought me Mr. A.E. Oelrichs to take Yaldwyn’s place as Assistant R.M. He was a very competent man, and remained with me up to the time I left the country for good and all; he had, however, one decided drawback in my eyes, and that was his enormous size; he was an elephant of a man, weighing, when in fine trim, nineteen stone, and plainly only suited for Station or boat work. “What on earth did you bring me that giant for?” I asked Captain Barton; “you know what patrol work here is like, and this means that I shall have to do the lot.” “He was due for promotion,” said Barton, “and so I suggested to the Governor that he should be sent here.” “In order to get him out of your own Division,” I suggested; “thank you, Barton!” Barton was taking the Resident Magistrateship of the Central Division. Oelrichs, however, turned out a good, loyal assistant, a good drill instructor and disciplinarian, and very competent generally.

He afterwards told me that his first impression of me was, that I was the most callous brute in the Service, for he had hardly been half an hour at the Station before he was seized with violent colic and collapsed in a heap on the floor of my office, groaning like a horse with gripes. “Here!” I yelled to the police, “get some blankets and put them in a corner out of the way; then put this man on top of them and undress him.” I then gave the “fat man,” as he was ever after called in the Division, a dose of opium and brandy. “How do you feel now?” I asked. “I am dying,” groaned Oelrichs. “Well, I consider it a most ungentlemanly thing, your coming here and choosing my office as the most fitting place to die in: still, I suppose the dying wishes of a man should be respected; die there, by all means, but do it as quietly as possible,” I remarked. “What is all this?” asked Macdonnell, as he came in and gazed surprisedly at the quaking mountain of misery. “A dying elephant, and a particularly noisy one,” I replied, looking up from my papers; “see what you can do for him, I’ve no time. He is grieved also at the lack of a coffin; I’ve told him such luxuries as coffins are unknown north of Cape Vogel, but I will allow him a blanket to be sewn up in, perhaps as he is extra large, two blankets.” Off then I went to the Merrie England and Samarai.

Arriving at Samarai, I went in search of Moreton, and found him fairly broken up. “This last affair of Yaldwyn’s is the finishing touch,” he said, “and the Judge has been giving me hell for accepting the charge in its present form; also for allowing a missionary to remove a female witness from my Court, and adjourning the Court until your arrival, instead of fining or jugging the man for contempt. The fact is, there is such a stew of trouble already, that I didn’t want jugged missionary added to it.” “Well,” I remarked, “we had better begin at once on Yaldwyn’s case; you send for Yaldwyn and I will send a couple of my own men for the missionary and the girl.”

We held and concluded our inquiry. The evidence showed plainly that, though Yaldwyn had been with the girl in his own camp, yet she was there of her own will and accord. Some Mission natives knew of the affair and told the missionary, by whom the girl was promptly taxed with her offence, and she naturally said that she had been unwilling; whereupon the missionary—not the girl or her father—had laid the charge. The criminal charge against Yaldwyn was dismissed; and I submitted the evidence to Sir Francis Winter, who noted, “The magistrates were quite right in dismissing this case; there is not the slightest criminal element in it.” The Governor’s minute was short and sweet. “R.M., North-Eastern Division, dismiss Yaldwyn at once.” I went to his Excellency and begged him to permit Yaldwyn to resign; pointing out that, though his conduct had been highly improper, he had been most unfairly charged with a horrible crime of which he was not guilty, and that the disgrace of that alone was a punishment he felt severely. It was no use, however; Yaldwyn was dismissed. He then slunk away to Milne Bay, where he moped and pined for a month, and then died. Symons, the man responsible for the state the district had got into, was reduced from magisterial rank, and sent as a clerk to the Treasury; the fact of his being a married man with a family being taken into consideration by Sir George. Moreton was reduced and transferred to the South-Eastern Division, the R.M. there being sent to Samarai in his stead. This was rough luck on Moreton, who was innocent of all wrongdoing, and had married in Australia during his last leave; for, when he was transferred from pleasant Samarai to unpleasant Woodlark, his wife refused to come up and live with him. The miners received varying punishments, from fines up to sentences for manslaughter.

A man was now wanted for Milne Bay, pending the arrival of Campbell, the new R.M.; and Turner, Macdonnell’s assistant—who had consistently loafed ever since he had been in the Service—applied for and got the job, he pointing out to his Excellency that he intended to marry at once; that was enough for Sir George, the domestic virtues always appealed to him, and so Turner got the easiest job in New Guinea at fifty pounds a year more salary than the sweating Assistants of the Northern and North-Eastern Divisions. Macdonnell, his late chief, who had toiled like a tiger, had his services dispensed with; mainly because Turner’s supineness and laziness on the north-east coast had prevented Macdonnell doing the amount of work his chief expected. Turner’s appointment always struck me as a particularly silly one: the reason that he received it was undoubtedly owing to the fact that he was about to marry; but Turner was to marry the daughter of Mrs. Mahony, a Samarai publican. Now, of all things the natives were to be guarded against, it had always been instilled into us that the chief one was any suspicion of their obtaining liquor; and yet here, one of the watch-dogs appointed was to have a direct and intimate connection with the liquor trade in his own district: a man could hardly be expected to watch, gaol, or heavily fine his own wife’s mother. My work in Samarai was now done, and it behoved me to return to my regular duties; accordingly, I went back to Cape Nelson.