We arrived at Torres Straits early in the morning of April 22nd, 1898, and dropped anchor off Friday Island, as the steamers of the Ducal Line are not allowed now to tie up at the hulk at Thursday Island. Shortly afterwards we were met by the Hon. John Douglas, the Resident Magistrate, and Dr. Salter, both of whom were old friends who had shown me much kindness during my previous expedition. They were accompanied by Seligmann, who had left London some months previously in order to visit Australia, and as a handsel had already done a little work on a hitherto unknown tribe of North Queensland natives.
The township of Thursday Island, or Port Kennedy, as it is officially termed, had increased considerably during the past decade. This was partly due to the natural growth of the frontier town of North Queensland, and partly to the fact that it has become a fortified port which commands the only safe passage for large vessels through these dangerous straits. So assiduous have been the coral polyps in defending the northernmost point of Australia, that although the straits measure some eighty miles between Cape York and the nearest coast of New Guinea, what with islands and the very extensive series of intricate coral reefs, there is only one straightforward passage for vessels of any size, and that is not more than a quarter of a mile wide.
Although the town has increased in size its character has not altered to any considerable extent. It is still the same assemblage of corrugated iron and wooden buildings which garishly broil under a tropical sun, unrelieved by that vegetation which renders beautiful so many tropical towns. It is true a little planting has been done, but the character of the soil, or perhaps the absence of sufficient water, render those efforts melancholy rather than successful.
Many of the old desert lots are now occupied by stores and lodging-houses. The characteristic mountains of eviscerated tins, kerosine cases, and innumerable empty bottles which betoken a thirsty land, have been removed and cast into the sea. Thriving two- or three-storied hotels proclaim increase in trade and comparative luxury.
There is the same medley of nationalities—British, Colonial, French, German, Scandinavian, Greek, and other European job lots, in addition to an assortment from Asia and her islands. As formerly, the Pacific islands are well represented, and a few Torres Straits islanders are occasionally to be seen. Some of the latter are resident as policemen, others visit the island to sell pearl-shell, bêche-de-mer, and sometimes a little garden produce, and to purchase what they need from the stores.
One great change in the population is very striking, and that is the great preponderance of the Japanese. So far as I remember they were few in number ten years previously, and were, I believe, outnumbered by the Manila men; now they form the bulk of the population, much to the disgust of most of the Europeans and Colonials. Various reasons are assigned for this jealousy of the Japanese, and different grounds are taken for asserting that the influx should be checked, and restrictions enforced on those who have already settled.
It appeared to me that the bed-rock of discontent was in the fact that the Japanese beat the white men at their own game, mainly because they live at a lower rate than do the white men. A good proportion of the pearl-shelling industry is now carried on by the Japanese, who further play into each other’s hands as far as possible. A good example of their enterprise is shown by the fact that they have now cut out the white boat-builders. A few years ago, I was informed, some Japanese took to boat-building and built their first boats from printed directions in some English manual. Their first craft were rather clumsy, but they discovered their mistakes, and now they turn out very satisfactory sailing boats. It is impossible not to feel respect for men who combine brains with diligence, and who command success by frugality and combination.
The white men grumble that the Japanese spend so little in the colony and send their money away; but the very same white men admit they would themselves clear out as soon as they had made their pile. Their intentions are the same as are the performances of the Japanese; but the white men cannot, under the present conditions, make a fortune quickly, and certain of them cannot keep what they do make. There are white men acting as divers for coloured men’s pay who some years ago owned boats of their own. The fall in value of pearl-shell a few years since is scarcely the sole reason for this change of fortune; bad management and drink have a good deal to answer for.
Some white men contend that as this is a British colony, and has been developed by British capital and industry, the Japanese should not be allowed to reap the benefit; but a similar argument might be applied to many of the industrial enterprises of the British in various parts of the world. As an outsider, it appears to me that it is some of those very qualities that have made the British colonist what he is that manifest themselves in the Japanese. In other words, the Japanese are feared because they are so British in many ways, saving perhaps the British expensive mode of life. It is probably largely this latter factor that renders the Japanese such deadly competitors.
Formerly there were in Torres Straits regular bêche-de-mer and copra industries, now there is very little of the former, and none of the latter. Large, slimy, leathery sea-slugs gorge the soft mud on the coral reefs; these when boiled and smoke-dried shrivel into hard rough rolls, which are exported in large numbers to China. These bêche-de-mer, or, as the Malays call them, “tripang,” are scientifically known as Holothuria, and are related to sea-urchins and starfish. Copra is the dried kernel of the coconut.
When one walks about the township and sees the amount of capital invested, and when one considers what is spent and how much money is sent away, it is hard to realise that all this wealth comes out of pearl-shell and pearls. During the past thirty years very many thousands of pounds have been made out of pearl-shell in Torres Straits; but now the waters have been overfished, and unless measures are taken to protect the pearl oysters, the harvest will become yet scantier and scantier. In any case the time for big hauls and rapid fortunes is probably over.
About the year 1890 gold was found in some of the islands, but I believe that the working only pays in one island, though it may be resumed at Horn Island, which at one time promised to be a lucrative goldfield.
At Thursday Island we met with much helpful kindness. Mr. Douglas entertained a couple of us, and did all he could to expedite matters. Unfortunately he was then without a steamer, and so could not tranship us and our gear to Murray Island, which otherwise he would have gladly done. It took a week to overhaul our baggage, get in stores, and to arrange about transport, and eventually I arranged with Neil Andersen to take us across; but even then there was neither room for all our baggage nor accommodation for the whole of our party. Rivers, Ray, and Seligmann and myself went on in the Freya, leaving the others to follow in the Governor Cairns, an official schooner that was shortly to start for Darnley Island.
It was not till the late afternoon of Saturday, April 30th, that we actually started, and then we were only able to beat up the passage between Thursday Island and Hammond Island, and anchored about six o’clock in the lee of Tuesday Island. There are very strong tides between these islands, and I have seen even a large ocean steamer steaming full speed against a tide race, and only just able to hold her own, much less make way against it.
The Freya was a ketch, a kind of fore-and-aft schooner, 47 feet 6 inches long and 11 feet 2 inches in the beam, and could carry about twenty tons of cargo. We had a strange medley of races on board—European skipper and passengers, our Javanese “boy,” the Japanese diver, two Polynesian sailors from Rotumah, and three Papuans from Parama, near the mouth of the Fly River. Our captain was a fine, big man, probably a good type of the Dubhgaill, or “black (dark) strangers,” who a thousand years ago ravaged the southern and eastern coast of Ireland as far north as Dublin. We “turned in” early—this consisted in wrapping oneself up in a blanket, extemporising a pillow, and lying on the deck.
Left Tuesday Island at 4 a.m. in a stiff breeze and chopping sea, and so could only make Dungeness Island by 4 p.m. Twelve hours to go fifty-five miles! We landed at the mangrove swamp, but there was little of interest. We hoped to have reached Darnley Island next day, but only fetched Rennel Island by 5.30 p.m. This is a large vegetated sandbank, on which we found traces of occupation, mainly where the natives had camped when bêche-de-mer fishing. We all suffered a good deal from sunburnt feet, the scorching by the sun being aggravated by the salt water. Some of our party were still seasick; one lay on the deck as limp as damp blotting-paper, and let the seas break over him without stirring even a finger. We had a wet night of it, what with the rain from above and the sea-water swishing in at the open stern and flooding the sleepers on the deck.
We made an early start next morning and reached Erub, or Darnley Island, at three in the afternoon. Immediately on landing I went to Massacre Bay to photograph the stratified volcanic ash that occurs only at this spot in the island, and which is the sole visible remains of the crater of an old volcano. The rest of the island is composed of basalt, which rises to a height of over 500 feet, and is well wooded and fertile—indeed, it is perhaps the most beautiful island in Torres Straits. Save for rocky headlands which separate lovely little coves fringed with white coral sand, the whole coast is skirted with groves of coconut palms and occasional patches of mangroves. The almost impenetrable jungle clothes the hills, except at those spots that have been cleared for “gardens.” Even the tops of the hills are covered with trees.
Very shortly after landing, a fine, honest-faced Murray Island native, Alo by name, who was visiting Erub, came up and greeted me very warmly. I regret to say I had quite forgotten him, but he perfectly remembered me, and he beamed with pleasure at seeing me. We walked along the coast to the village where the chief lives, and saw Captain H—, and I made arrangements with Koko Lifu, a South Sea man, to lighter our goods off the Governor Cairns and to take the cargo and our three comrades to Murray Island.
Captain H— is one of those remarkable men one so constantly meets in out-of-the-way places. It is the common man one comes across at home. On the confines of savagery and civilisation one meets the men who have dared and suffered, rugged like broken quartz, and maybe as hard too, but withal streaked with gold—ay, and good gold too. Captain H— started in life as a middy in the Navy; owing to a tiff with his people he quitted the Service and entered the Merchant Service. He advanced quickly, and when still very young obtained a command. He has made two fortunes, and lost both owing to bank failures, and is at present a ruined old recluse, living on a remote island along with Papuans, Polynesians, and other races that now inhabit Erub. He is a kind of Government Agent, and patrols the deep-water fishing grounds. I have previously mentioned that the ordinary fishing grounds for pearl-shell are practically exhausted, and the shellers have to go further afield or have to dive in deeper water in order to get large shells. Near Darnley Island are some good fishing grounds, but the water is so deep as to render the fishing dangerous to life, and the Queensland Government has prohibited fishing in these waters. There are, however, always a number of men who are willing to run the risk for the sake of increased gain, and it is all they can do to dodge the vigilance of the wary old sea-dog.
Captain H— lives entirely by himself, and has no intercourse with the natives beyond what is absolutely necessary. He puts in his spare time in attending to his gardens and reading. Amongst other accomplishments he is a fluent speaker of French and Italian, and it was a strange experience to meet a weather-worn old man in frontier dishabille acting and speaking like a refined gentleman.
As on previous nights, except the first, Andersen made a tent for us on board the Freya out of the mainsail, the boom forming the ridge-pole. Ontong, the cook I had engaged at Thursday Island, woke us up at 2.30 a.m. to tell us tea was ready, and it was too! The pungent smell of the smoke prevented me from going to sleep for some time. In the morning Ontong said he thought it was “close up daylight”; and with an energy which is not usually credited to the Oriental character, he had made tea so as to be prepared for an early start.
We started early next morning with Alo as pilot; for the coral reefs between Darnley and Murray are extensive, intricate, and mainly uncharted. Andersen started for the “big passage” that large boats always take; but after some time it was discovered that Alo did not know this passage, but another one to the south-west of Darnley. As half the tide had by this time turned and the weather was very squally and the reefs could not be seen with certainty, we returned to our old anchorage by 9.30, and so another day was lost. We spent a lazy day to give our sore legs a rest. Alo left us in the evening, as he said he was “sick.” The truth was he did not care about the job, so Andersen went ashore and brought another pilot, named Spear. His father was a native of Parama; his mother was an Erub woman. Spear told us he had first married a Murray Island girl, and then half a dozen New Guinea women; but Dr. Macfarlane, the pioneer missionary in these parts, had made him “chuck” the latter.
Next day we started betimes, and sailed down channels in the reefs not marked in the charts. The day was dull, and the little wind was southerly when we wanted it easterly, whereas the previous day the reverse was the case. Later it became squally with rain, and finding it hopeless to reach Murray Island, Spear piloted us to a sheltered spot in the lee of a reef and close to a sandbank. We were only about four miles from our destination, and we could hear the roaring of the breakers of the Pacific Ocean as they dashed themselves against the Great Barrier Reef ten miles distant.
We had a very disturbed night. About eight o’clock, whilst we were yarning, the skipper jumped up and said the anchor was dragging. Then ensued a scene of intense excitement, as we were close not only to the sandbank, but also to a jagged coral reef. It was horrid to feel the boat helplessly drifting, for not only were the sails down, but the mainsail was unlashed below to make our tent, and further, it was tied down in various places. The first thing to do was to haul up the anchor, and furl the jib and mainsail, and unship the tent. We all lent a hand to the best of our ability, and soon we were sailing down the narrow passage. Andersen’s voice was hoarse and trembling with excitement, but he kept perfectly cool, and he never lost his temper, though in the confusion and babel of tongues some lost their heads through fright and did not do the right thing at the right moment, and each of the crew was ordering the others about in his own language.
After sailing about a little we made another attempt to anchor, and again the anchor dragged and we had another little cruise. Again we tried and again we failed, and it may be imagined that our sensations were not of a very cheerful nature, as we were in a really grave predicament; sometimes we actually sailed over the reef, and might any moment have knocked a hole in the ship’s bottom or have become stranded. If he could not effect an anchorage, two courses were open to Andersen. One was to cruise about all night, and it was very dark, keeping the reef in sight, or rather sailing up and down the passage, for if he had sailed out into the open he would probably strike a reef or coral patch that was unnoticed. The second alternative was to run the boat on to the sandbank and let it float off at high water in the morning. The reason why we drifted was because the anchor was let down on a steep gravelly slope, and the movement of the boat, which was naturally away from the bank, prevented the flukes from getting a firm grip.
On the fourth essay the anchor was put on the sandbank in a depth of three fathoms while we swung in fourteen or fifteen fathoms. After waiting some time in anxiety, we found to our relief that the anchor held, and we wrapped ourselves up in our blankets and slept on deck, pretty well exhausted. We had such confidence in the skill and alertness of Andersen, whom we knew to be a pre-eminently safe man, that we soon composed ourselves and slept soundly.
Friday, May 6th.—Again the wind was against us and the weather was squally, and it was not till one o’clock that we dropped anchor off the Mission premises at Murray Island.
I have briefly described our tedious trip to Murray Island, not because there was anything at all unusual in it, but merely to give some idea of the difficulty and uncertainty in sailing in these waters. There is no need, therefore, for surprise at the isolation of Murray Island, a fact which had influenced me in deciding to make it the scene of our more detailed investigations.
On landing we were welcomed by Mr. John Bruce, the schoolmaster and magistrate. He is the only white man now resident on the island, and he plays a paternal part in the social life of the people. I was very affectionately greeted by Ari the Mamoose, or chief of the island, and by my old friend Pasi, the chief of the neighbouring island of Dauar, and we walked up and down the sand beach talking of old times, concerning which I found Pasi’s memory was far better than mine.
I found that one of the two Mission residences on the side of the hill that were there ten years before was still standing and was empty, so I decided to occupy that, although it was rather dilapidated; and it answered our purpose admirably. The rest of the day and all the next was busily spent in landing our stuff and in unpacking and putting things to rights. We slept the first night at Bruce’s house, which is on the strand. When I went up next morning to our temporary home I found that the Samoan teacher Finau and his amiable wife had caused the house to be swept, more or less, and had put down mats, and placed two brightly coloured tablecloths on the table, which was further decorated with two vases of flowers! It seemed quite homely, and was a delicate attention that we much appreciated.
I engaged two natives, Jimmy Rice and Debe Wali, to get wood and water for us and to help Ontong. We had various vicissitudes with these two “boys,” but we retained them all through our stay, and they afforded us much amusement, no little instruction, and a very fair amount of moral discipline. The legs of two of our party were still so sore that they had to be carried up the hill, and on Saturday night we were established in our own quarters, and eager to commence the work for which we had come so far.
We had a deal of straightening up to do on Sunday morning, but I found time to go half-way down the hill to the schoolhouse, and was again impressed, as on my former visit, with the heartiness of the singing, which was almost deafening. The congregation waited for me to go out first, and I stood at the door and shook hands with nearly all the natives of the island as they came down the steps, and many were the old friends I greeted. I invited them to come up and see some photographs after the afternoon service.
We made the place as tidy as possible, and we had a great reception in the afternoon. Nearly all my old friends that were still alive turned up, besides many others. To their intense and hilarious delight I showed them some of the photographs I had taken during my last visit, not only of themselves, but also of other islands in the Straits. We had an immense time. The yells of delight, the laughter, clicking, flicking of the teeth, beaming faces and other expressions of joy as they beheld photographs of themselves or of friends would suddenly change to tears and wailing when they saw the portrait of someone since deceased. It was a steamy and smelly performance, but it was very jolly to be again among my old friends, and equally gratifying to find them ready to take up our friendship where we had left it.
Next morning when we were yarning with some natives others solemnly came one by one up the hill with bunches of bananas and coconuts, and soon there was a great heap of garden produce on the floor. By this time the verandah was filled with natives, men and women, and I again showed the photographs, but not a word was said about the fruit. They looked at the photographs over and over again, and the men added to the noise made by the women. On this occasion there was more crying, which, however, was enlivened with much hilarity. Then the Mamoose told Pasi to inform me in English, for the old man has a very imperfect command even of the jargon English that is spoken out here, that the stack of bananas and coconuts was a present to me. I made a little speech in reply, and they slowly dispersed.
On Tuesday evening McDougall, Myers, and Wilkin arrived, and our party was complete.