One Wild Night In Wau

Tfugo Adolf Bernatzik Is A Re

nowned German anthropologist. He visited New Guinea in 1933, and he has written a book about it — Sudsee.

It is evident, in one chapter, “How gold-diggers live and die,” that the good man unfortunately reached the Bulolo Hotel, at Wau, one night when there were “doings,” and the mad-headed sec tion were on the rampage. It doesn’t happen very often: but the traveller who runs into one of those wild nights in Wau will never forget it.

We are indebted to Mrs. Mollie Lett, of Port Moresby, for the following transla tion: — • “There lay the Hotel, regarded by the initiated as the best ‘claim’ in New Guinea. I got a room there—or perhaps we had better say a place.

“For the whole hotel consisted of one large wooden shed, in which cardboard partitions a quarter of an inch thick had been erected. They had neither doors nor ceilings. In a few cases a boundary was marked by means of a much too narrow curtain.

“The partitions and walls were just too high to climb over with difficulty. But no one need take this trouble, because his neighbours’ bedroom was anyhow acces sible through the ‘doorway.’ In the rooms thus separated stood three or four plank beds. The hotel guest must not expect anything better.

“A larger room served for meals, and a second as a bar. Here, behind a table, were piled up all those precious things with which gold prospectors love to poison themselves.”

It appears that Mr. Hugo BernatziK, feeling tired, attempted to go to sleep very early, at 8.30, but midnight found

him disturbed by various “guests,” drun kenly disputing the possession of his bed.

The half drunken hubbub coming from the raw throats of gold diggers made sleep impossible. An appalling uproar and the sound of smashing glass forced him to rise in exasperation, and witness a fight between two Italians, one of whom seized a beer glass and threw it at his opponent’s head. “The head won; only the ear got something to think about...”

“When it was all over, and the unfor tunate man’s ear had been sewn on, I crept back to bed. In the meantime, it must have turned 12, when a staggering figure wound his way through th'e door way and fell heavily on the edge of my bed.

“ ‘This is my bed, this is my bed,’ I heard him mumble, while a penetrating smell of alcohol went up my nose, “ ‘This is not your bed,’ I said in a friendly manner, ‘this is mine.’

“ ‘This is my bed,’ he repeated obstin ately.

“It is useless to get into a discussion with a man in this state, so I jumped up and said: ‘You’re right; that’s your bed,’ and pushed him on to one of the three vacant plank-beds that stood in my ‘room.’

“For 10 minutes or so he lay there, and I was just thinking that sleep had over come him, when the wretched man stood up, swaying, and mumbled, ‘That’s not my bed.’

“I got angry. I went for him, caught him by the arm and none too gently shoved him out of the doorway. The push was so vigorous that the man landed on the other side of the passage in the middle of the bar, where he was hailed with general acclamation.

“ ‘Well, he won’t come back,’ I thought, contentedly. But hardly had I got to sleep again when I was awakened once more. It was another fellow who had

confused his bed with mine. . . .

“The night’s adventures were not fin ished yet. At half past two the proprietor appeared with two completely unconscious customers, and proceeded to stow them away in the vacant beds in my ‘room.’

“One of them seemed convinced that he could find gold under the blankets, for he started grubbing with his arms like a crazy mole, and flinging the bedding about in the air. When he at last settled down, the other man started snoring in a hor rible manner.

“This woke my neighbour in the next ‘room.’ He took the disturbance in bad part, and expressed his displeasure by hammering on the wall so fiercely that it threatened to collapse.

“Then old ‘Goldrush,’ who had lain still for a while, began to belch loudly and emphatically. ' It sounded like the quack ing of a bull-frog. Then he was violently sick. He lay on his back and spewed like a fountain straight up into the air—a truly remarkable sight.

“When an opportunity offered, next day, of flying to Bulolo, I fled with joy.”