The Camp at Parimau—A Plague of Beetles—First Discovery of the Tapiro Pygmies—Papuans as Carriers—We visit the Clearing of the Tapiro—Remarkable Clothing of Tapiro—Our Relations with the Natives—System of Payment—Their Confidence in Us—Occasional Thefts—A Customary Peace-offering—Papuans as Naturalists.

While it was the business of some of us during the early months of the expedition to stop at the base-camp and despatch canoes laden with stores up the river, others remained at Parimau to establish there a second permanent camp and to find, if possible, a way of approaching the higher mountains. It should be said that Parimau is some distance from the mountains—the high point nearest to it. Mount Tapiro (7660 ft.) is some twelve miles to the North, but it was no longer possible to travel in the direction of the mountains by way of the Mimika River, which had dwindled to a very small size at Parimau, therefore it was necessary to find a new route from there onward.

The first camp at Parimau was made on the shallow sandy side of the river close to the native village; the Papuans generally place their villages on gently sloping rather than on steep banks for convenience in hauling up their canoes. The coolies, such as there were of them, were occupied on the river, the natives for the first few months were of little or no assistance in building, and the work was done almost entirely by half a dozen of the Gurkhas. Their greatest achievement was the construction of a log-house in the best Himalayan style, probably by far the solidest building that was ever put up in Dutch New Guinea. The floor was raised about three feet above the ground and it was well that the workmanship was good, for it had not been finished many weeks before a flood swept over the camp and everyone took refuge in the house, the floor of which was just awash. Afterwards the camp was moved to the high bank across the river and the subsequent floods swamped the house and carried it away piecemeal, but two of the uprights survived and were still standing a year later.

We were a good deal annoyed at Parimau by the larvÆ of a small red and black beetle, which infested the wood of which the frames of our huts were made. These larvÆ, which look like small hairy caterpillars, were continually dropping from the roof and when they were killed, or even touched, they emitted the most disagreeable musky smell. They sometimes dropped upon you during the night and the smell of them would wake you from your sleep. The beetle itself too, if crushed or irritated, has the same disgusting peculiarity.

It has been mentioned above (Chapter V.) that Captain Rawling in exploring to the N.W. of Parimau came to the big river Kapare, which we unsuccessfully tried to navigate in canoes from below to the point where he had met it. While he was walking up the river bed one day, the Papuans who were with him caught after an exciting chase two small men, whose build and dress and appearance proclaimed them to belong to another race than the Papuan. A day or two later two more were captured, while they were crossing the river; they were kindly treated and presents were given to them, but they showed no inclination to conduct strangers to their home, a large clearing in the jungle on the hill side, which could be plainly seen from the Kapare River. We learnt from the Papuans that these little people were called Tapiro.13

At the beginning of March I accompanied one of the food-transports up the Mimika and went with Rawling out to the Kapare, where he had made a camp and was occupied with some of the Gurkhas in cutting a track through the jungle. By that time we had no coolies available for land transport; in six weeks our fifty coolies had diminished to ten, who were all wanted for the canoes, so we were entirely dependent on native assistance for land journeys. There was not much difficulty in persuading people to carry loads for us from Parimau to the nearest point of the Kapare River, for they were accustomed to go over there to fish. But it was a different business on the second day, when we wanted to push the camp a few miles further up the river so as to be in a better position for reaching the clearing of the Tapiro. At first they resolutely refused to start at all and retired to the shelters they had made at a little distance from the camp. From there they had to be led back by the hand one by one and then be severally introduced to their loads, but even so a number of them ran away again, and it was hours before we moved from the camp.

When once they were started they went steadily enough for about a mile and then they all put down their loads and refused to go on, but as they had stopped in the middle of the bed of the river it was impossible to remain there, so with promises of cloth and beads we urged them on a little further. The same performance was repeated a dozen times at intervals, which became shorter and shorter until our coaxing and cajoling availed no longer and there was nothing for it but to stop and make a camp. It had taken us more than four hours to cover less than three miles, most of which was easy going over sand and stones in the bed of the river. We should have been awkwardly situated if they had all gone away and left us to carry the loads, as they did a few weeks later to Marshall, who was deserted by them and forced to leave some of his baggage behind him. Needless to say, these misfortunes would not have occurred if our Malay coolies had been suited to their work. As it was, there were considerable periods when we had either to make use of what help the natives consented to give us, or else be content to do nothing at all.

When it suits them to do so, the Mimika Papuans can carry very heavy loads and they manage to cover the ground at a very respectable pace. They wrap up the load in the mat made of pandanus leaves, which every man always carries with him to serve both as a sleeping mat and as a shelter from the rain. The mat is securely tied by ropes of rattan or any of the other innumerable creepers of the jungle, and two strong loops are made to pass over the shoulders so that the load may be carried on the back, ruck-sack fashion. The women carry loads as well as the men and sometimes also the children, when the whole family is making a journey.

From our upper camp on the Kapare River Rawling and I made two attempts to reach the forest clearing of the Tapiro, which could be easily seen from the camp at a distance of about three miles in a straight line; but though careful bearings of its direction were taken, it turned out to be a most puzzling place to reach. Not more than a mile above the camp the Kapare emerges from a deep and narrow gorge in the foot hills—or rather the spurs of the mountains, they are too steep to call foot hills—which descend very abruptly to the almost level country below. Just after it emerges from the gorge, the river is joined by a stream of the clearest water I have ever seen, which we afterwards came to call the White Water (see illustration opposite).

In our first attempt to reach the clearing we wandered in the jungle for ten hours and came nowhere near to it. But the day was not altogether wasted, for we climbed up the hillside to about fifteen hundred feet and by cutting down some trees we obtained a wonderful view across the plain of the jungle to the distant sea. The air of the jungle was heavy with the scent of the wild Vanilla, and all around us were calling (but we could not see them) Greater Birds of Paradise; sometimes we were within sound of as many as six at one time. On that day too I first saw the Rifle Bird (Ptilorhis intercedens), one of the most beautiful though the least gaudy of the birds of Paradise, whose long-drawn whistle can never be mistaken or forgotten.

In our second attempt we profited by some of the mistakes made on the former, but even so the irregularity of the ground and the complexity of the watercourses nearly succeeded in baffling us. “Rawling and I left camp early with two Gurkhas. A mile and a half up the left bank of the river we struck off N.E. from the path we followed the other day. Cut a new path through the jungle for about a mile until we came to a faint native track, which we followed for another mile or so, chiefly along fallen tree trunks overhung by a network of rattan and other creepers, a fearful struggle to get through. Then for a mile or more up the bed of a stony stream encumbered with the same obstructions, dead trees and rattans, until we came to a deep gorge with a torrent about three hundred feet below us and on the opposite side the steep slope of another great spur of the mountain, on which the clearing presumably lay. We slithered and scrambled down to the river, which was full of water and only just fordable. Then up the other slope, not knowing at all accurately the direction of the clearing. Very steep and the jungle very dense with rattan and tree-ferns, so the leading Gurkha was kept busily occupied in cutting with his kukrÍ and progress was slow.

“About one o’clock, when we had been going for nearly six hours, the clouds came down and it began to rain and we were ready to turn back. Luckily the Gurkhas were convinced that the clearing was not far ahead and when we found a pig-trap, a noose of rattan set in a faint track, it seemed that they might perhaps be right. So we went on and in a few minutes we came out of the forest into the clearing. About thirty yards from us was a hut with three men standing outside it. We called out to them and they waited until we came up. A minute or two later two more men came out from the forest behind us, no doubt they had been following us unseen. The hut was a most primitive structure of sticks roofed with leaves, leaning up against the hillside. There was a fire in the hut and beside it was sitting an old man covered with most horrible sores. We went on up the hill for a couple of hundred yards to a place (about 1900 feet above the sea) where we had a fine view. Rawling put up the plane-table and got angles on to several points for the map.

“During the hour or more that we stayed there, eight men came to see us. Excepting one rather masterful little man, who had no fear of us, they were too shy to approach us closely and remained about ten yards distant, but even so it was plainly evident from their small stature alone, that they were of a different race from the people of the low country.

“The most remarkable thing about them is the case that each man wears, his only article of clothing; it is made of a long yellow gourd, about two inches in diameter at the base and tapering to about half an inch at the pointed end. It is worn with the pointed end upwards and is kept in position by a string round the waist. As the length of the case—some of them measure more than fifteen inches—is more than a quarter of the height of the man himself, it gives him a most extraordinary appearance. Every man carries a bow and arrows in his hand and a plaited fibre bag of quite elaborate design slung on his back. Two men wore necklaces of very rough scraps of shell and one had a strip of fur round his head. Two others wore on their heads curious helmet-like hats of grass ornamented with feathers.

“One man had a diminutive axe made of a piece of soft iron about three inches long, set in a handle like those of the stone axes. They must have some bigger axes, as they have cut down some very large trees and the marks on the stumps look as if they had been made with fairly sharp instruments. The clearing altogether is very considerable, probably fifty acres or more. The ground is covered with the sweet-potato plant, and in many places ‘taro’ has been carefully picked out. They have a few coarse-looking bananas, some of which they offered to us.

“Their voices are rather high-pitched and one of them, who met us first and called several of the others to come and see us, ended his calls with a very curious shrill jodelling note. When we came away we offered them cloth and beads to come with us and show us a better way, but they were either too frightened or too lazy to do so. We got back to camp after ten hours’ hard going, drenched with rain and covered with leeches, but well-pleased with the success of the day.”14

That was the last that we saw for a long time of the Tapiro pygmies, for it was evident that the Kapare River was useless as a means of approach to the Snow Mountains and we had to turn our attention to the country to the N.E. of the Mimika. Moreover, it was impossible to keep the camp there supplied with provisions, as we were at that time entirely dependent for transport on the goodwill of the Papuans.

Generally speaking we always remained on excellent terms with the natives and very rarely had any trouble with them. Except that we bought from them the “atap” for our houses, we got little or no help from the people of Wakatimi, but the people of Parimau assisted us in a number of ways. At first, as I have shewn, we had considerable difficulty in persuading them to work for us as carriers; but when they found that they really did receive the payment they were promised, they were willing and sometimes even anxious to carry loads for us, though we often had to wait a few days until it suited their convenience to start. It was a pity that they were never willing to travel further than about three days’ march from their village, but as there were long periods when we were entirely dependent on them for land transport, we counted ourselves lucky in their agreeing to work at all.

Chiefly owing to the help of the natives we were able to make and keep supplied for several months another camp on the Wataikwa River, three days’ march north-east from Parimau. When they went out there first, they were accustomed to receive their pay, cloth and beads or a small knife at the end of the journey; but later, when wages rose, as they inevitably did with every successive journey, it seemed to be absurd to waste perhaps half a load by carrying axes and knives to be given in payment at the end of the march. So a plan was adopted of giving them at the Wataikwa camp a paper authorising them to demand payment on their return to Parimau, and it was a gratifying tribute to the confidence that they had in us that they readily fell in with the scheme. Before starting they were shewn the knife or axe or whatever it was that they would receive for their labour, and at the end they raced back with their scraps of paper to Parimau, covering in a few hours the distance that had taken them three days on the outward journey. Some of the less energetic people in the village, when they saw that their friends received a knife or an axe by merely presenting a small piece of paper to the man in charge of the camp at Parimau, thought that they might easily earn the same reward, and they were rather astonished to find that the small scraps of paper, which they handed in, produced nothing at all or only a serious physical rebuff. But they were so childlike in their misdemeanours that one could not be seriously angry with them.

They shewed their confidence in our honesty in another very flattering way. During the period of the most frequent floods at Parimau, when they were liable to be washed away at any moment, the people took most of their movable possessions out of their houses and hid them in safe places in the jungle. But many of them merely brought their goods across to our side of the river and deposited them without any attempt at concealment within a few yards of our camp, apparently knowing that there they would be perfectly secure from theft.

They are by nature unconscionable thieves and a chance of stealing is to them merely a chance of acquiring property in the easiest way. On one occasion, when a party of our coolies were returning alone from Parimau to Wakatimi, they were waylaid at a narrow place in the river by some Papuans, who relieved them of their baggage and disappeared into the jungle; most of the stolen goods were subsequently returned, when the natives were threatened with punishment. The same thing happened another time when the coolies were accompanied by armed Javanese soldiers, who apparently forgot the use of their rifles until the thieves had got away. But they had a proper respect for a white man and whenever one of us, armed or not, was with the canoes, the natives never tried to molest us. They occasionally stole from the camps a knife or an axe, but though they were constantly about our houses and often inside them for hours at a time, we never lost anything of value.

A temptation, which often proved too strong for them, was our fleet of canoes. At Wakatimi the canoes were moored in front of the camp at the place where the natives, who came to visit us, were accustomed to land. They came mostly in the late afternoon and stayed till sunset, and it happened several times that when they went away they contrived to put two or three men into one of our canoes and slip away with it unnoticed in the dusk. But when on the following day we made a fuss, the canoe was generally brought back with a long story of its having been found floating down the river towards the sea.

An opportunity of looting, which was not to be resisted, occurred one day when a party of discharged coolies were leaving the country. The boat, in which they were being taken off to the ship, capsized as it came alongside the steamer and thirty coolies and all their belongings were upset into the sea. The captain of the ship was only anxious to save his boat and the coolies hastened to escape from the sharks. In the meantime a crowd of natives, who had come down in their canoes to visit the ship, lost no time in picking up the floating boxes and bundles of clothing, and before anybody was aware of their action they were fast paddling away to their villages.

On such occasions and at other times when we had reason to be angry with them, the people of Wakatimi observed a curious custom. There was in the village a coloured china plate and a piece of bent silver wire, which was sometimes used by the owner as an ear-ring. On the morning following their misdemeanour two men came over from the village bringing the ear-ring on the plate, which they gave to us, shook hands and departed. Later in the day they returned and we gave them back their gifts; this happened several times.

At one time there was a serious epidemic of drunkenness among the people of Wakatimi and they shewed their ill-manners by shooting arrows into the camp. This was of no consequence when only one person misbehaved himself. But when one day a number of men waded half-way across the river and began to send arrows into the camp, it had to be stopped. The Dutch sergeant, who was alone in charge of the place at the time, held up his rifle, a weapon the use of which they very well understood, and signalled to them that unless they went away he would fire. As they took no notice of his warning he fired, aiming at the legs of the ringleader, but unfortunately he hit him in the groin. Shortly afterwards, so little animosity did they show and so complete was their confidence in us, they brought the wretched man over to our camp, but nothing could be done for him and in a few hours he died.

They were very appreciative of medical treatment and at different times we were able to do a good deal for them. One man actually went so far as to pay a fee of half a dozen coconuts for the saving of his little daughter’s ulcerated foot, which was rapidly going from bad to worse under native treatment. They often cut themselves severely with our axes and knives before they learnt their sharpness, and their wounds healed astonishingly quickly with ordinary clean methods; the only trouble was that they liked to take off the bandages and use them for personal adornment.

As well as acting as carriers for us, the people at Parimau did a considerable amount of work for us about the camp in cutting down trees, an occupation which they always enjoyed, and in helping to build some of the houses. They were even more useful to us as naturalists and, thanks mainly to them, we made a very complete collection of the reptiles of the district. They were particularly adept at catching snakes and often five or six men in a day would stroll into the camp carrying a deadly poisonous snake wrapped up in leaves. One day Goodfellow was walking through the jungle with some natives and the man in front of him stooped down and picked up a poisonous viper without even pausing in his stride.

We always encouraged the natives to bring us snakes in the hope of getting new species, and when we did not want those that they brought, they were quite content to take them away and eat them. They seemed to have a peculiar knack of catching poisonous things, for besides snakes they often brought scorpions and centipedes in their parcels of leaves. With the more delicate creatures such as lizards they were less successful and among the hundreds that they brought us there were very few which they had not damaged. They always assumed an air of importance and somewhat of mystery, when they brought some animal for sale, and you always knew that when you had bought, or refused, as the case might be, the creature that was offered, the man would instantly produce something else, but the puzzle was always to know whence he produced it, for his scanty costume does not admit of pockets.