Old Tomato Station

and The Murder of John Green

THE old Tamata station, on the Mambare River, Eastern Papua, stood on a small strip of land formed by the junction of Tamata Creek, some 40 miles from the coast. It was low-lying and, save for the river frontage, surrounded by dense jungle. It was a melancholy spot, subject to floods, soft, squelching mud. mosquitoes and sandflies; and it was here that the first government agent, John Green, and his handful of police, erected rough build ings and a stockade, and attempted to establish some form of law and order among the truculent tribes of the dis trict.

This was in 1895, shortly after gold had been discovered on the upper reaches of the river; and Green's duties were to patrol the district, establish friendly re lations with the natives, and generally to make himself useful to miners journey ing in from the coast.

Green was an experienced man, but his abilities were severely taxed—not only by the hostility of the natives, with whom he had no means of verbal com munication, but by the inexperience of the miners. Many arrived unequipped for the extremely difficult journey ahead; while others, disregarding the advice of more exnerienced men and all precau tions against malaria, made for the ranges singly or in parties, carrying their own swags, with the result that many died on the track and as many in their camps, which they established near Tamata station.

IN his first year, Green did excellent work, and his patrols extended from along the coast to the far-away slopes of Mt. Albert Edward, where he succeeded in making contact with moun tain tribes who were of great assistance to the miners. According to his reports, he was gratified by offers of friendship from most of the principal men of the neighbourhood. In this, he was assisted by a Tamata man named Dumai, whom he had enrolled as a member of his police force.

Dumai had originally been a prisoner, and subsequently a prison warder, at Samarai. He was intelligent, and his smattering of Pidgin English and Motuan had enabled Green to secure a better understanding among the tribes, who had resented his presence. But Dumai was open to suspicion—which was justified by later events, which showed that, under pressing threats, he assisted in the murder of his master.

Below Tamata station stood the large villages of Peu, Apotchi and Gadara, and these, though outwardly friendly, were, like Dumai, under the influence of Busimai, a powerful chief who certainly gave the impression that he could not be trusted.

Still, some progress was made, and Green, on returning from a patrol, felt iustified in devoting a little attention to his living conditions, and made prepara tions to shift to higher land, clear of the floods, which rose 2 and 3 feet Pbove the banks, to the floors of his dwellings.

IT therefore became his daily custom to proceed, with his fullv-armed police, to the selected site, to work on the buildings, where he was followed by a curious crowd from the neighbouring villages. Green offered no objection,

though he made it a rule that they must come unarmed. At first, they agreed to this, apparently without reluctance; but, suddenly and apparently by agreement among themselves, they complained bitterly of the arrangement, and accused Green of cowardice and lack of confi dence, in that he and his police carried rifles, while insisting that they should come unarmed.

Green, who seems to have been de ceived by the lofty tone of their griev ance, informed them that they should have no further cause for complaint; and, on the following morning (January 14, 1897) he gave orders that the police should leave their rifles behind. Corporal Sedu and others objected strongly, know ing better than their master the treach erous nature of the people. But, when Green ordered those who were afraid to stay behind, they refused to consider such a suggestion, and all marched to the new station site—and some to their doom.

On reaching the scene of his work, Green unstrapped his revolver, in full view of the natives, and, flinging it into a nearby tent, climbed to the roof of one building.

This was the moment for which the

natives were waiting They rushed Green and two of his police and, after spearing them to death, turned their attention to the native prisoners.

Corporal Sedu and a number of police were some distance away, getting timber.

They heard the disturbance, and returned to see if they could be of any assistance to their master. He was past help when they arrived; and most of them paid for their bravery with their lives.

Those who managed to escape made for the miners’ camp. The miners hurried to the scene and rescued Green’s mutilated body, carried it back to the old station, and buried it in a prominent position on the river frontage.

The massacre did not end with the killing of Green and his police and prisoners. Twenty-two carriers also had disappeared.

The miners, realising that as soon as

the news spread, the whole country would be up in arms, made for the coast. They went down the river on rafts, and they were forced out to sea by natives, who had just attacked and murdered a party as it was entering the river.

Except for three men on the distant slopes of Mt. Scratchley (Schmitt, Ryan and Burns, with whom the Tamata miners were unable to communicate) the Mam bare was left in possession of its war like tribes until Sir William MacGregor arrived, with his Commandant of Police, and restored order.—MOLLIE LETT.

Mrs. W. E. Grose, widow of one of New Guinea’s best-known and most highly respected planters, who died a few months ago in Melbourne, is now matron at the well-known Tudor House School, Moss Vale, NSW.