The Murder Of

Weaver

A Tale of Papua

By Henry Dexter

THIRTY years ago murder was very much more common than it is to-day in Papua. Then, it was the ambition of every ablebodied native to wear the white feather —the sign that he had killed his man. One could write quite a long list of lonely whites who were found mur dered, or simply disappeared.

But, to-day, each Division has its Resi dent Magistrate, with his Assistant, and his native armed constables.

Of the many murders of whites, I think the one that interested me most was that of Weaver. He lived out on the bank of the Daloki River, and made a living by growing pines, and other fruits and vege tables; and, particularly, by shooting wallabies. As Port Moresby had no cold-storage in those days, the meat found ready sale.

One day, news arrived in Port Moresby that Weaver had been taken by a croco dile. The office of sheriff has since been abolished, but then it was the duty of the sheriff —W. C. Bruce —to investigate such matters.

Sending for his horse, he proceeded— accompanied by his armed police—out to the Laloki. There he was shown some clothes that were recognized as Weaver’s.

These, the local natives said, had been found on the bank of the river; also a pair of boots. There were tracks of booted feet leading down to the river, but none of the wearer having returned.

Every native present was closely ques tioned, and the enquiry closed. Bruce was quite convinced that the man had been taken by a crocodile, whose tracks could be plainly seen along the muddy banks of the river.

Bruce returned to Port Moresby, and made his report.

Some time later, Mrs. Bruce was in a delicate state of health. She spoke to her husband of a nightmare, in which she saw Weaver being clubbed by the natives. This dream recurred night after night, until Bruce —more to satisfy his wife than with any thought of anything being discovered —sent out his shooting boy—Wasagi—with orders to visit the villages round about where Weaver was supposed to have been taken, and to keep his ears open for anything that might be said about the occurrence.

Wasagi carried out his instructions.

After a week’s patrol of the villages, he was one evening under one of the houses, apparently asleep. Close to him came two natives. They held a whispered conver sation, then moved away.

Wasagi stretched, rose, and prepared to leave. When asked if he would not stay the night he said, “No, my talbudda he talk he want me morning time when cockarock sing out” (cock crow).

On his return to Port Moresby, he im mediately told Bruce of the conversation that he had overheard. Bruce reported this to the authorities, and then left with his police for Weaver’s place.

News of his arrival soon ran from vil lage to village, and there was a crowd of natives present. Although Bruce was certain now that Weaver had been mur dered, no trace could be found of the body. If it had been consigned to the river, the chances of recovery were prac tically non-existent —crocodiles would leave no trace.

Among the crowd was a little lad, who approached Bruce and said; “Talbudda, suppose you give me that tomahawk, I show you where Weaver stop.”

Bruce promised him the tomahawk, and the lad led him to a clump of banana trees. Here, under a few inches of soil, they found the body of Weaver. He had been clubbed to death.

Later, certain natives who had been involved in the murder, but who had not actually struck any of the blows that killed Weaver, turned King’s evidence.

One of the reasons for the murder was the fact that Weaver was known by the natives to possess a considerable sum of money in silver.

The actual murderer became a fugitive.

In some colonies —other than British —it is the custom to send out a punitive ex pedition to avenge the murder of a white man. This often leads to the killing of men who were probably miles away when the murder concerned was committed. In Papua, however long it may take, the actual murderer, or murderers, is arrested.

Month after month, the search went on for the wanted man. It transpired, later, that he was given information of the future movements of the patrol by a vil lage policeman. With this assistance, he ■evaded the patrol for a long time.

Why did he not clear out into another district? A “foreign” native in those days would have been quickly speared—in some districts he would have figured in the menu.

At length, he could stand the strain no longer, and came in to Port Moresby, and surrendered. He was tried, pleaded “Guilty,” and was sentenced “to be hanged by the neck in full view of the populace, his body to remain hanging for one hour.”

The execution took place on the flat at Konedobu, about a mile out from Port Moresby.

When Bruce arrived at the place of execution, he found that some well meaning people had screened off the scaf fold with canvas. This, of course, was contrary to the terms of the sentence, and he had the screens removed. A large gathering of natives was present, also Rev. Mr. Lawrence, of the London Mis sionary Society.

Five minutes before the time fixed for the execution Mr. Lawrence asked the condemned man: “In five minutes you will be in the presence of your Maker.

Is there any message of love you desire to leave behind?”

“Yes,” replied the murderer, “I wish the other who were in it with me Avere here also!”

“That is not a message of love, but a message of hate,” replied the missionary. ■“ls there nothing else you Avish to say?”

“Yes. Although it was my son who gave the information, which led to the finding of Weaver’s body, I should like to knoAv that he will be brought up by the Mission.”

“That shall be done,” was the assurance given by the missionary, and the promise AA'as kept.