I sprang to my feet, flinging my note-book away and
picking up my rifle, and ran back to where Monckton was yelling out:
"Fall in, fall in, for God's sake fall in!"
Two houses were hastily set on fire, and instantly became furnaces
which lit up the surroundings and the tops of the tall coconut palms
over-head, which even in this moment of danger appeared to me like
a glimpse of fairyland. I noticed a line of fire-sticks waving in
the darkness outside. They seemed to be slowly advancing, and in the
excitement of the moment I mistook them for the enemy - and fired!
Luckily, my shot did not take effect, as I soon found out that these
fire-sticks were held by some of our own carriers, who had been told
by Monckton to carry them so that we could distinguish them from the
enemy in case we were attacked. Monckton turned to where the Notus,
were, and seeing them all decked out in their war plumes, dancing
about among the prostrate carriers, and waving their clubs and spears,
naturally took them for Dobodura warriors, and nearly fired at them. He
angrily ordered them to take off their feathers.
Calmness soon settled down again, and we learned that the police had
fired at some Doboduras who were creeping up into the camp. How many
there were we could not tell, but later on we learnt that some of
them had been killed, and seeing the flash of the rifles, which was
a new experience to them, the rest had retreated for the time being,
but soon rallied together for attack that night or in the small hours
of the morning. Knowing that if they once rushed us in the darkness
we should all be doomed for their cooking pots, the state of our
feelings can be imagined.
The first attempt came rather as a shock to a peaceful novice like
myself, and seeing warriors in full war paint and feathers rushing
about with uplifted club and spear amid our prostrate squirming
carriers, I had a very strong inclination to bury myself in the nearest
hut and softly hum the lines, "I care not for wars and quarrels,"
etc. We sat talking in subdued tones for some time, expecting every
minute to hear the thrilling war cry of the Doboduras, but nothing was
to be heard but the crackling of the embers of the burning houses,
the low murmur of our people around their camp fire, and the most
dismal falsetto howls of the native dogs in the distance. These howls
were not particularly exhilarating at such a time, and I more than
once mistook them for the distant war-cry of the Doboduras.
The Papuans, as a rule, do not torture their prisoners for the
mere idea of torture, though they have often been known to roast a
man alive, for the reason that the meat is supposed to taste better
thus. This they also do to pigs, and I myself, on this very expedition,
caught some of our carriers making preparations to roast a pig alive,
and just stopped them in time. For this reason Monckton would always
shoot the pigs brought in for his carriers, but in this case one pig
was overlooked. I have heard of cases of white men having been roasted
alive, one case being that of the two miners, Campion and King. But
we had learnt that this Dobodura tribe had a system of torture that
was brutal beyond words. In the first place they always try to wound
slightly and capture a man alive, so that they can have fresh meat
for many days. They keep their prisoner tied up alive in the house and
cut out pieces of his flesh just when they want it, and we were told,
incredible as it seems, that they sometimes manage to keep him alive
for a week or more, and have some preparation which prevents him from
bleeding to death.
Monckton advised both Acland and myself to shoot ourselves with
our revolvers if we saw that we were overwhelmed, so as to escape
these terrible tortures, and he assured us that he should keep the
last bullet in his own revolver for himself. This was my first taste
of warfare. Monckton had had many fights with Papuans, and Acland,
besides, had seen many severe engagements in the Boer war, but he
said he would rather be fighting the Boers than risking the infernal
tortures of these cannibals. It all, somehow, seemed unreal to me,
and I could hardly realise that I was in serious danger of being
tortured, cooked and eaten. It is impossible to depict faithfully
our weird surroundings. We chatted on for some time, and tried
to cheer each other up by making jokes about the matter, such as
"This time to-morrow we shall be laughing over the whole affair,"
but the depressed tone of our voices belied our words, and it proved
to be but a very feeble attempt at joking. We longed for the moon,
though that would have helped us little, as it was cloudy.
It is quite unnecessary to go into further details of that awful
night. I know we all owned up afterward that it was the most trying
night we had ever spent, and for my part I hope I may never spend
another like it. None of us got a wink of sleep. I tried to sleep,
but I was too excited to do so; besides, all my pockets were crammed
full of rifle and revolver cartridges, and I had my revolver strapped
to my side, ready for an attack, or in case we got separated in the
confusion that was sure to ensue. At about 3 a.m. it began to rain,
the first rain we had had in New Guinea for five or six weeks,
and that saved us, for we learned later on that about that time
the Doboduras were gathering together for a rush on our camp, when
the rain set in, and, odd as it may seem, we heard that they had a
superstition against attacking in the rain.
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