Invasion Rabaul (5 page)

Finally, in 1700, English explorer William Dampier sailed completely around the crescent-shaped island and charted its coastline. Realizing that it was the largest island in a closely grouped archipelago, he christened it New Britain in honor of his homeland, then continued with the Anglican theme for the other important islands and waterways: New Ireland, New Hanover, the Duke of York Islands, and St. George’s Bay.

However, even after Dampier contributed to the nautical charts, explorers avoided
New Britain for the same reasons as before. Perhaps some captains took their ships into the flooded caldera, but they were satisfied to observe the volcanoes from a safe distance. Shore parties searching for water did not stray far from the beach, and for many years the island remained mysterious, a place where no man who valued his head should wander.

Captain Cortland Simpson of the Royal Navy sailed the HMS
Blanche
into the caldera in 1872 and claimed its “discovery.” Ironically, another Englishman, Philip Carteret, had explored the protected waters a hundred years earlier and even named the biggest volcanoes; however, he did not name the various bays or natural harbors, and so Simpson claimed the privilege. In honor of himself he named the inner anchorage Simpson Harbor, and the large outer caldera became Blanche Bay.

Carteret’s biggest contribution was to name the ancient volcanoes ringing the caldera. He named the dominant volcano, soaring 1,600 feet above the harbor, the North Daughter. The South Daughter anchored the southeastern tip of the peninsula, and between them stood the Mother, her twin peaks resembling breasts. Carteret also surveyed much of the surrounding archipelago and correctly changed the name of St. George’s Bay to St. George’s Channel.

Missionaries came next, for neither headhunters nor malaria could stop the inexorable spread of Christianity. By the mid-1800s, after first bringing the Gospel to Micronesia, European missionaries began to push into Melanesia, the “black islands.” The cautious tribes proved to be incredibly diverse, confounding newcomers with thousands of different languages and rituals that included headhunting and cannibalism. Not surprisingly, the Europeans considered them to be
“a wretched, barbarous race in the extreme.”

The Reverend George Brown, a fervent Methodist, established the first mission on New Britain around 1875. Several natives from Fiji and Samoa, themselves converted to Christianity, served as catechists. The local natives responded favorably at first, but a village chief named Talili came to distrust the newcomers. Regarding them as sorcerers, he believed they were responsible for a frightening volcanic eruption in 1878. He therefore arranged the murder of four Fijian catechists, to which Brown responded with an Old Testament form of revenge. By personally leading an attack on Talili’s village, he discouraged further uprisings.

With the gradual placation of the local Tolai (generally considered to be the people indigent to northern New Britain and nearby islands), the island was soon experiencing a surge of European settlers. Traders and sundry opportunists also began settling near the caldera, though none could keep pace with
the missionaries. Numerous denominations built schools and churches all across the northern plateau, generating fierce competition between Catholics and Protestants to convert the natives. Despite some disputes, the customs of headhunting, cannibalism, and other taboo rituals gradually disappeared as the Tolai responded to the Christian message.

The missionaries failed, however, to gain much ground against the natives’ belief in the supernatural. This was due mainly to the earthquakes, known by the Tolai as
gurias
, which frequently shook the island. Also, the Tolai believed that malevolent spirits called
kaia
inhabited the volcanoes. Although the Mother and the two Daughters were extinct, plenty of other vents and fumaroles were not. As early as 1791, English sea captain John Hunter had observed a vent next to the South Daughter erupting a large column of ash and smoke. Sixty years later, another eruption occurred along an odorous gully known as Sulphur Creek, which emptied into the eastern shore of Simpson Harbor near the old volcanoes.

There was nothing supernatural about these events. Magma still collected beneath the caldera, which alternately swelled and settled over the centuries. One result was the birth of Matupit Island, a bell-shaped landmass that rose like a blister from the harbor floor. Another geological phenomenon appeared literally overnight during the aforementioned eruption of 1878. Located near the western shore of Blanche Bay, the landmass featured a small crater that vented steam for several days. The locals named it Vulcan Island. Directly across Blanche Bay, a squat volcano called Tavurvur also erupted, killing vegetation for two miles downwind. It was the same volcano witnessed by Captain Hunter in 1791, and would continue to be a trouble spot. Other geological oddities included a tall outcropping of rocks nicknamed “The Beehives,” which jutted from the middle of Simpson Harbor. Elsewhere, several small unnamed vents lined the banks of Sulphur Creek, which itself emitted strong-smelling gases. In all, the finger of land curving around Simpson Harbor was crowded with so many volcanoes, vents, and fumaroles that it became known as
“Crater Peninsula.”

C
OMPARED WITH THE ARRIVAL OF
E
UROPEANS AND EVEN THE DESTRUCTIVENESS
of volcanic eruptions, nothing altered the landscape of New Britain like the humble coconut. In the mid-1800s, the German trading company Godeffroy und Sohn took an interest in processing coconut oil, fast becoming
popular as a key ingredient in candles and soap. The industry expanded throughout the Pacific as demand for the oil grew, and evolved even faster after the Godeffroys made an important discovery: rather than shipping heavy caskets of smelly oil all the way to Europe, they chopped up the flesh of coconuts and dried it on racks in the sun. After drying, the pieces were bagged in burlap sacks and shipped to Germany, where presses extracted the oil. Thus was born the copra industry.

Within a few years the relatively flat terrain of New Britain’s northern plateau supported dozens of huge plantations. When labor requirements began to exceed the population of able-bodied workers, natives from outlying islands were brought in and labor compounds sprang up. Various trading companies constructed a shipping center on Matupit Island, then expanded their businesses along the shore of Blanche Bay. Soon a network of roads connected the villages and plantations so that copra could be delivered directly to the wharves.

In 1884, imperial Germany claimed the archipelago as a protectorate and named it after the first chancellor, Otto Von Bismarck. A year later, after formally annexing a large portion of northeastern New Guinea, the empire chartered the privately held New Guinea Kompagnie (NGK) to administer the territory from company headquarters at Finschhafen. However, rampant malaria forced NGK to move to New Britain. The new headquarters was established at Kokopo, no doubt because of the town’s proximity to Vunapope, a prosperous Roman Catholic mission led by a German bishop. As the regional headquarters for the Order of the Sacred Heart, Vunapope boasted a large, attractive campus of whitewashed buildings overlooking St. George’s Channel.

Unfortunately for the Germans, Kokopo proved less than satisfactory as the headquarters for the Protectorate of German New Guinea. Its main drawback was the small harbor, which offered scant protection against the elements blowing in from St. George’s Channel. In 1899 the administration reverted to government control, and within two years a governor was appointed.

Soon after Dr. Albert Hahl arrived to fill the position, he decided to move the headquarters to the north end of Simpson Harbor. The location offered superior protection but was choked with mangrove swamps, and heretofore had been considered unsuitable for development. Undeterred, Hahl obtained the necessary property in the name of the government, and
with efficient German engineering the swamps were drained and cleared. The first wharf was built in 1904, several substantial buildings were erected within a year, and a narrow-gauge tram line was laid to move goods from warehouses to the waterfront. The ambitious engineers even cut a tunnel through the rim of the caldera, and a set of tracks went all the way to the village of Ratavul on the island’s north coast.

By 1910 the capital was established in the new town, named Rabaul, meaning “place of mangroves.” The well-designed community featured shade trees lining the main boulevards, sturdy wooden buildings in the commercial district, and attractive bungalows with landscaped gardens in the residential neighborhoods. Hahl lived in Government House, an impressive mansion on Namanula Hill next to a substantial hospital. Both of the buildings stood on piers to allow cool air to circulate underneath, and had deep verandahs to take advantage of the sea breezes and spectacular views. As Rabaul grew, it earned a reputation as one of the best shipping ports in the Southwest Pacific. Newcomers immigrated from Europe and Asia, bringing a sense of sophistication to the settlement until World War I interrupted in 1914.

With the onset of war, the British Admiralty appealed to Australia for help in capturing German installations throughout the Southwest Pacific. Responding quickly, a naval expeditionary force departed from Sydney on August 19. Escorted by six warships, two submarines, and three colliers, the ex-liner
Berrima
arrived in Simpson Harbor on September 11. Troops landed that afternoon to search for German wireless stations, and one party encountered resistance en route to Bita Paka, the site of a giant steel radio mast. Five of the expedition troops were killed in the fight, thus becoming Australia’s first casualties of the war. That evening the expeditionary force captured the radio station, and the following day Rabaul was occupied without a fight. In less than a week, the Germans surrendered the entire protectorate.

For the duration of the war, the Australian army interned most of the German citizens in the territory and maintained martial law. The army also continued martial control for three years after the war until 1921, when the League of Nations authorized civil administration by the Commonwealth. The former protectorate was renamed the Mandated Territory of New Guinea, and Rabaul continued to serve as capital.

In some ways the new territory was a liability for the Australian government. Much of the land was wild and remote, and therefore received little attention from politicians who were more interested in domestic issues. Even after large gold deposits were discovered in the mountains of the Papuan Peninsula, Canberra was disinclined to provide financial assistance for the territory. As for the Melanesian natives, the government’s record of dealing with its own aboriginals did not bode well for an effective administration, especially considering the Melanesians’ history of tribal warfare, headhunting, and deep suspicion of outsiders.

With surprising efficiency, however, the Commonwealth gained the support of many tribes and villages. This was achieved in large part by training some of the tribesmen as constables and police-boys. The Tolai and other Melanesians held great stock in “big men” who wielded local power; thus, it was an honor to receive a government assignment, however small, especially when the position included a military cap or some other token piece of uniform. Australian patrol officers trained the natives and acted as regional administrators, mediating disputes and other matters as necessary. The system worked well and resulted in a generally peaceful coexistence.

Also, the government had a clever method for rehabilitating former
German plantations and other businesses: Australians either purchased them at a fraction of their value or commandeered them outright. During the 1930s, the government even published advertisements seeking army officers to take over plantations that had been “abandoned” by their German owners. One of the many who responded was Richard K. P. Moore, an ex-lieutenant from the Light Horse who had earned a Military Cross in World War I. He submitted an application in the mandated territory and was simply given an entire plantation called Tatavana.

Meanwhile, mining companies were eager to develop the New Guinea goldfields, and several large trading companies saw great potential in further developing Rabaul. Burns, Philp & Company and W. R. Carpenter and Company constructed wharves, warehouses, and copra sheds all around Simpson Harbor. They also opened department stores and employed numerous citizens. The Asian neighborhood, naturally called Chinatown, supported several swank establishments including the Chin Hing Hotel on Yara Avenue and the Ah Chee Hotel across the street.
Rabaul, it was said, never lacked for a watering hole. During the 1920s a young vagabond from Tasmania named Errol Flynn was well known among the pubs and hotels, which he frequented between jobs in the goldfields.

The town’s citizenry benefited directly from the cosmopolitan development. Rabaul boasted a movie theater, the Regent, which showed British and American films several days a week. Other public venues included a library, a book club, social clubs, druggists, a printing office, taxi stands, pool halls, gas stations for motorists, and an ice-making and cold-storage plant. Among the sporting facilities were a large concrete swimming pool (filled with seawater), a cricket field, a baseball diamond, and even a golf course, the latter built on a low volcanic plain at the edge of Crater Peninsula. Nearby, next to a coconut plantation named Lakunai, an airstrip served the weekly mail plane. On the eastern shore of Simpson Harbor, near the outlet of Sulphur Creek, a seaplane terminal and ramps were built for Queensland and Northern Territory Aerial Services (QANTAS), the oldest airline in the English-speaking world. Lastly, the Rapindik Native Hospital and a housing compound for Melanesian laborers stood near the airdrome. In the same general vicinity was the town dump, known by locals as “The Malay Hole.”