Unappreciated

Host and Guest in Old Papua Written by Mollie Lett. from the Diary of an Old Miner

I WAS working at McLaughlin’s Creek, in 1902, and was anxious to finish up in January, and this meant working right through Christmas Day.

It was the usual custom for store keepers, at that time, to send presents to all the miners, and on December 25 a store boy arrived with a bottle of whisky, a tinned fowl, and a tinned cake. The messenger brought these delicacies to my camp and was directed by my boy to the creek where I was working.

To find me at work on Christmas Day so disgusted the savage that he demanded the reason. “Altogether ’nother white man he no work”, he declared indig nantly, “he makem Christmas”.

And so much did the breach of cus tom trouble him, that he told the store keeper on his return to the store, that I was a “man-bush”—a term used by natives to describe a person of no class.

“Merry Christmas” was not over yet at Finnigan’s Creek, when I reached there on the evening of the first day after leaving McLaughlin’s. Several of the miners were enjoying themselves and. with the usual boundless hospitality of the New Guinea miner, they invited me to join their cheerful party, and “have a feed”. They had a huge pot oh the fire, and were cooking what they said was something special in the way of stew.

The host had a name of not being too particular about what he ate. This

caused me to hesitate about accepting the invitation; further, a large and mangy dog of the staghound breed, who ap peared sick was licking all the plates on the table, acting apparently as washer up to the camp. So, on the whole, I thought it as well to decline with thanks, giving the good old excuse of “fever”

Fever stands for many things in New Guinea—whisky, sea-sickness, a broken appointment, any reason or none—in fact almost any ill of mind or body, short of a broken leg, is put down to this con venient ailment.

I left the merry party, and camped in a quiet spot by myself. But the hospital ity of my friends was not so easily to be denied.

When the stew was cooked, and the banquet ready, they sent down a boy, bringing another invitation to the feast As soon as I saw him I got into my bunk and lay there, feigning sickness, but they refused to accept the explana tion, and one of the miners came down.

Thereupon I commenced to groan, and he expressed his sympathy by persuad ing me to sit up and try a little of the whisky that he had brought with him.

On my assurance that I would try one, and go to sleep, he left me at last, and so I avoided the stew.

The dog was killed that night. Whether he was turned into stew or not, later on, I cannot say, but I have my suspicions.

Some little time before this, the host of the occasion had invited a miner to have lunch with him, offering as an in ducement a meal of fresh fish. The lunch came off. The host helped his guest and,

waiting to see his friend fairly started, he served himself.

“Do you like the fish?” he asked.

“Yes, it’s good”, replied the guest.

' Mine goodness, then I also will have some”, declared the host. “I was not know how it would go. It was not fish, it was frog.”

This was too much for the guest, who bolted outside, and declined anything further for the day!