Invasion Rabaul
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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.”
COMPARED WITH THE ARRIVAL OF EUROPEANS 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 a
uthorized 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.”
That the native facilities were miles from town but close to the dump was no accident. Australia’s white population was no different than their American counterparts when it came to racial discrimination and bigotry. Throughout the mandated territories, the Melanesians were commonly referred to as “coons” and “fuzzy-wuzzies,” while the Pidgin English word for a European man was “masta.” Some insisted that master was merely an honorific, but the whites generally projected an air of colonial superiority over the Melanesians and treated them like children. Virtually all of the European households employed natives for domestic chores but paid them minimal compensation.
By the late 1930s the population of Rabaul township had grown to approximately eight hundred Europeans, a thousand Asians, and three thousand natives. All were capably governed by Brigadier General Walter McNicoll (later knighted), a decorated combat veteran of World War I. His proudest achievement was leading the 6th Infantry Battalion ashore at Gallipoli, where he was twice wounded. As a postwar politician he steered the mandated territories through the depression with a tight but effective fiscal policy. Under his administration, Rabaul was said to be “euphorically comfortable in its established routine.”
Underground, however, conditions were less than ideal. In choosing to develop Rabaul inside the rim of a caldera, Albert Hahl had evidently overlooked the island’s geological history. Perhaps he was simply ignorant of the volcanic past, else he might not have built the town where it stood. The Tolai, on the other hand, were fearful of the kaia that supposedly dwelled within the volcanoes. White missionaries worked hard to dismiss such superstitions, but the natives’ beliefs were eventually validated.
Strange things began to happen on the afternoon of May 28, 1937. First, a strong guria shook Rabaul for half a minute. It caused no damage, but the water in Blanche Bay withdrew and then surged back in a minor tsunami, stranding numerous fish on Vulcan Island. The following morning, residents of Rabaul felt another intense earthquake, then another, until eventually the whole town was rattled. Between tremors the residents felt a weird sensation, as if the ground itself was vibrating under their feet. At about four o’clock, Vulcan gave another heave, and a portion of foul-smelling reef rose up around the little island. Moments later, the vent on the islet opened up with a mighty roar.
Compared with the epic event that had occurred some 1,400 years earlier, the 1937 eruption on Vulcan Island was small, disgorging perhaps half of a cubic kilometer of material. Yet the results were devastating. Several natives who had paddled to Vulcan to gather the stranded fish were vaporized, a large sailboat crossing the bay from Matupit Island disappeared, and two Tolai villages were completely buried under volcanic debris.
As the eruption continued to build, heavy ash piled up on the landscape. Brilliant flashes of lightning split the air, sparked by static electricity within the cloud, and thunder added its din to the roar of the volcano. Mud and seawater, sucked into the already saturated cloud by powerful convection, fell to the ground in torrents of dirty rain.
Rabaul’s residents, having dropped whatever they were doing to watch the spectacle, suddenly realized they were in the path of the ash fall. Thousands tried to flee by the only roads leading north out of the caldera—one over Namanula Hill, the other through Tunnel Hill—but both routes were soon jammed with refugees. Day turned to night as the thick gray cloud overtook them, the heavy flakes of ash accumulating on the heads and shoulders of panic-stricken citizens. Lightning and thunder added to the hellish experience, which lasted throughout the day and all that night.
Sunday morning revealed that Vulcan was no longer flat, nor was it even an island any longer. Overnight, it had been transformed into a conical mountain more than seven hundred feet high. On the surrounding plateau, everything within three miles had been destroyed. The Rabaul Dairy was gone, its entire herd of milk cows killed. In the two native villages near Vulcan, an estimated five hundred islanders lay buried for eternity under thirty feet of ash and pumice. Ironically, they had gathered to conduct secret Tolai ceremonies, much to the dismay of local missionaries. Casualties were light in Rabaul proper, where a Chinese woman was killed and a crewman from the American freighter Golden Bear was reported missing. Presumably he fell overboard, but his body was never recovered.
By Sunday afternoon most of the displaced citizens had gathered along the eastern shore of Crater Penin
sula near the village of Nordup. Brigadier General McNicoll, who had been on New Guinea when the eruption occurred, flew in and began organizing emergency relief. A small fleet of steamships and sailboats gathered to transport the refugees south to Vunapope, which was adequately equipped to provide shelter until Rabaul could be cleaned up. During the afternoon, Tavurvur suddenly erupted with a blast of steam and heavy smoke. The flaming debris was frightening in appearance, but the eruption soon subsided, the only casualty being a man who had been seen hiking in the vicinity of the crater.
Two weeks later, the people of Rabaul returned to an eerie ghost town. The once-lovely streets lay in ruins. Trees had snapped under the weight of several inches of wet ash, cars lay buried as though by a gray blizzard, and outbuildings and sheds had collapsed. A thick sludge of pumice choked most of the harbor’s surface. Ships were aground, scattered at odd angles on the beaches. Some roads had been buried by rockslides, while others were sliced by huge ravines. Most of the substantial buildings in town had suffered only minor damage thanks to their steeply pitched roofs; nevertheless the task of cleaning up was a long and frustrating affair.
Long before the job was finished, Rabaul was deemed unsuitable for continued service as the territorial capital. Three towns on New Guinea were considered as alternates. Salamaua prospered as the air-freight center for the goldfields, and Lae, twenty miles to the north, had a good airdrome.* The third choice was Wau, the administrative center for the goldfields high in the Bulolo Valley. The administration could not reach an agreement, however, and discussions dragged on until 1939, when the decision to shift the capital to Lae was finalized. Before Brigadier General McNicoll could complete the move, however, he fell seriously ill with malaria. Major Harold H. Page, the deputy administrator, assumed McNicoll’s duties and remained happily in Rabaul.