Stitches in Time: Two Centuries of Surgery in Papua New Guinea

By David Watters

This book deals with the history of surgery in Papua New Guinea from the early 1800s until the beginning of the 21st Century. It spans the period from the first European contact to the emergence of highly educated sub-specialist national surgeons. It tells the story from the first impressions of ships surgeons to the introduction and development of surgery. Between 1870 and 1950 the country and the lives of its peoples changed greatly as a result of exploration, evangelisation, colonisation and war.

The history traces the surgical challenges encountered as well as the colourful characters who provided the health services run by missions, companies, governments and armies. After World War II PNG progressed politically from an Australian Administered Territory to become an Independent Nation. Within a generation it had trained its own doctors and surgeons.

The history is set within the context of tropical pathologies, introduced diseases, surgical progress and the lives of the medics who have contributed to the Stori bilong kamapim long dokta bilong katim man (The history of surgery).

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris AU
• Release date: Aug 23, 2010
• ISBN: 9781453554937

David Watters

This book deals with the history of surgery in Papua New Guinea from the early 1800s until the beginning of the 21st Century. It spans the period from the fi rst European contact to the emergence of highly educated sub-specialist national surgeons. It tells the story from the fi rst impressions of ships surgeons to the introduction and development of surgery. Between 1870 and 1950 the country and the lives of its peoples changed greatly as a result of exploration, evangelisation, colonisation and war. The history traces the surgical challenges encountered as well as the colourful characters who provided the health services run by missions, companies, governments and armies. After World War II PNG progressed politically from an Australian Administered Territory to become an Independent Nation. Within a generation it had trained its own doctors and surgeons. The history is set within the context of tropical pathologies, introduced diseases, surgical progress and the lives of the medics who have contributed to the Stori bilong kamapim long dokta bilong katim man (The history of surgery).

Book preview

STITCHES IN TIME

Two Centuries of Surgery in Papua New Guinea

David Watters

Copyright © 2010 by David Watters.

Cover design: David Freedman

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

1-800-618-969

www.xlibris.com.au

[e-mail]

500201

Contents

Foreword

Preface

Acknowledgements

Section I

1800-1941 The First Doctors in Papua New Guinea

1 First Sight

2 First Contact

3 First Doctors in PNG

4 World War I

5 Between the Wars—Two Territories

Section II

The Second World War—Conflict and Specialist

Surgeons 1942-1945

6 The Second World War

Section III

Training the First Nationals in Medicine, Surgery,

and Surgical Subspecialties 1946-2009

7 First Surgeons

8 First Surgical Training

9 First Surgical Subspecialists

10 First Specialists in Ophthalmology, Ear, Nose, and Throat, Dentistry, and Oral and Maxillofacial Surgery

11 First Anaesthesia

12 Other Specialties

Section IV

First Surgery in the Provinces and Regions

Introduction

13 Surgery in East New Britain, 1945-2005

14 Surgery in Bougainville and the Solomon Islands

15 The Highlands

16 First Surgery in Madang, Lae, and the Sepik

17 First Surgeons in the Provinces of the Southern Region

Foreword

Stitches in Time—two centuries

of surgery in Papua New Guinea

Between the ages of six and eight, I spent a great deal of time with my grandfather, Paramount Chief Aibung. He took me sailing across the Vitiaz Strait, travelling the Bismarck and Solomon seas to do business with his traditional trading partners. I was largely unaware of the potential risks of these journeys by sea, but my grandfather understood the weather pattern, was a competent navigator, and had acquired many traditional emergency medical skills, having received ‘the power to heal’ passed down from our ancestors. He was a man who had killed traditional enemies to defend his tribe; he had used his knowledge of the land, handed down through generations, to ensure a successful outcome for the harvest. To this day, I still cannot understand the logic of these special powers passed down from my ancestors over generations and hundreds of years. On one occasion, we were sailing from Siassi to Cape Gloucester in a fleet of ten traditional sailing canoes, and during the trip, one young sailor fell from our double-mast canoe, fracturing his right forearm on the deck. Grandfather Aibung had him held down by four strong men, had him bite on a stick, then proceeded to reduce the fracture manually by traction before applying two straight wooden sticks on either side, then tying rope around them to hold the forearm in a straight extended position. To the forearm he also applied salat, medicinal leaves with anaesthetic properties. When we arrived in Kilenge Mission Station, the sister in charge, a nun called Sr Theresa, took over, applied a plaster cast and supplied aspirin.

I was born at the same Kilenge Mission Hospital under the supervision of Sr Theresa in September 1963. I grew up on the Kilenge Mission Station, where my father was a school teacher at Kilenge Mission School. I spent many hours in the Mission Hospital with Sr Theresa, observing her treating patients in the wards and clinics, and in the evening hours, I would sit around a campfire, learning from my grandmother and grandfather about traditional healing.

During the Christmas holiday of 1969, a German doctor based at Vunapope was visiting Kilenge Hospital in order to conduct surgery. I was fascinated by his work and sailed with him, my mum and dad to my mother’s village (Mandok Island) in Siassi. I observed him excising lumps and bumps under local anaesthetic. I was amazed by his skills and I announced to Mum and Dad that I would like to learn them.

My grandfather advised me on numerous occasions that one day I would take over from him as paramount chief and that I would inherit the traditional healing powers passed down from our great ancestors. However, my dreams were fixed on the healing powers of the ‘white man’. Fishing and hunting were a regular part of my childhood and I was taught the art of preparing the pig, wallaby, etc. But I always wondered what the anatomy of a human was like, even at the age of seven. My great-grandfather once told me that he had ripped out an enemy’s heart to destroy the enemy tribe’s spirit and that he had participated in cannibalism of defeated warriors of invading enemies so as to destroy their spirit. These were interesting stories for a seven-year-old but, in truth, I did not believe him. Rather I was fascinated by what I imagined human internal anatomy to be, and therefore I regularly visited Sr Theresa at Kilenge Mission Hospital to find out. The rest is history; today I am a doctor, surgeon, obstetrician and gynaecologist, busy resecting gynaecological malignancies and preaching public health messages to the whole country.

Medicine and surgery in PNG has advanced rapidly over the years. It began with the traditional healers, progressed with the arrival of the early European, German, and Australian doctors who established their medical and surgical practice on mission stations and colonial posts. These events have been superbly described in this book, so much so that I sincerely believe many readers in PNG and those associated with our country who live abroad can enjoy reading this important history of our young nation. The messages of the book, those stitches in time over two centuries that chart the progress of surgery in PNG, is that what once seemed to be skills only known to the visiting Europeans/Australians/Germans are now practised and taught by Papua New Guineans. This was something I never believed possible when I was young in the 1960s, then I believed that there was a ‘white man’ magic that I could not master.

This book makes an important contribution to what is written on the history of PNG. I would like to acknowledge the effort of Prof. David Watters for compiling this excellent book and its importance for our nation. The people featured in this history were truly remarkable individuals who left their comfort zone and who achieved great things. Many of the first doctors and surgeons were successful in their own societies and made significant contributions to European or world history. The first doctors and surgeons from each of the provinces of PNG have proved to be equally successful and are deservedly classed among the pioneers profiled in this history. The period covered is focused on the last two centuries, centuries that saw the arrival of Western doctors and surgeons, and their art and craft reflecting the stage of development of surgery internationally at the time. The nineteenth century witnessed the advent of anaesthesia, an understanding of the role of microbes in surgical and other infections, and the need for asepsis. It was not until the 1930s that antibiotics were discovered. During the last 100-120 years, most of the operations we know today were devised and evaluated in famous Western medical schools, particularly in continental Western Europe, Great Britain, and the United States of America. But it was only after World War II that Papua New Guineans were given the opportunity to become doctors and surgeons. Yet within a quarter of a century of medical training, the first national surgeons were graduating and taking on the challenges of providing surgery to their nation.

As I read these pages, my mind wanders off into the future—I wonder what the future holds for medicine and surgery in PNG. My elder daughter, Yvonne, is a surgical resident medical officer (MO) at PMGH, while my second daughter, Tania, is studying medical science in Brisbane, following father’s footsteps. So what lies ahead for PNG’s doctors and surgeons?

The projected economic boom in PNG over the next five to fifteen years brings with it a great challenge for the profession to establish a road map to guide the development of the service provided by PNG’s doctors and surgeons, a future harnessed from our economic wealth. We as a nation must respond to this challenge by establishing a medical workforce training agenda as a priority for the next forty years. The National Health Plan should ensure PNG converts its economic wealth to improved health outcomes, particularly through the development of high-quality human health resources. By 2050, PNG’s projected population will be about twenty million. Therefore, we as a nation will need to graduate about 600 doctors per year if supply is to match demand. This means that the UPNG Medical School must expand to produce at least 300 doctors per year and at least one or more other medical schools, for example Divine Word University should produce another 300 per year. It is incumbent on the National Government of PNG to support postgraduate specialist training so that forty to fifty specialists graduate per year.

The lessons learnt from the past two centuries described in this history will, I hope, inform us for the future and assist us to plan health care for the next forty years as stipulated in our Nations Vision 2050. It is obvious to me that PNG must adopt public-private partnership to address health care in the twenty-first century because the disease pattern will change with increasing economic wealth and therefore the disease landscape will change from infectious to non-communicable diseases, as it already has elsewhere in the Pacific. Therefore, we need to plan to incorporate high-tech medicine and surgery into our future development planning.

Finally, Grandfather Aibung once said, ‘pasin blong tumbuna yu mas holim bai yu save long aburusim birua na ron long nupela rot tomoro.’(The traditions, principles and philosophies of our ancestors must be upheld to guide you from possible misfortune and pave the path for a better future).

Mathias Sapuri, O. L.

President of Medical Society of PNG,

Chairman of PNG Medical Board

Preface

In January 2000, my eight years as professor of surgery at UPNG were coming to an end. I was in the office one afternoon when my wife staggered through the door, clutching her abdomen, in obvious pain. An ultrasound scan showed her abdomen to be full of blood, and within a few hours, she was undergoing surgery for a ruptured ectopic. The anaesthetists, surgeons, and nursing staff were all Papua New Guineans. They asked me to stay out of the theatre and let them do their work, which I did, though it seemed a long wait. But everything went well and she was saved; there were no complications. For me it was a sign that it was my time to leave and that the surgical care of PNG was securely in the hands of their own surgeons. The nation not only had trained doctors and specialists, but subspecialists as well. A quarter of a century before when the specialist training scheme began, that was the outcome hoped for, but its realisation seemed remote. Half a century earlier, when the training of nationals as doctors was commenced, few living in PNG would have imagined trained national surgeons operating to save the life of an expatriate.

When I gave my valedictory address to UPNG in late 1999, I gave my first ever address on ‘The History of Surgery in PNG’. I closed with the words, ‘Expatriates have mostly written your history in the twentieth century and I, as a departing professor, am happy to do that for surgery up to the end of the twentieth century, but the history of medicine and surgery in the twenty-first century should be written by the citizens of PNG, and I hope this address will inspire some of you in this lecture theatre.’ Ten years later, I am assured it did stimulate in some of the audience an interest in history, not least Dr Perrera, who has contributed to the history of dental surgery in this book. My research and writing has taken ten years. It could have taken much longer, and I admit I could have examined more angles, but every project deserves to be brought to a conclusion. This book will not be the last on the topic, so I look forward to those readers who wish to delve deeper, to develop a particular theme, to probe what I could not, and correct any failures in how I have interpreted the events. I have a large library: many notes on interviews and amassed a large collection of former surgeon’s archives and photos. My records will be available to those who want to pursue any aspect of the history further.

Acknowledgements

I lived with my family in Papua New Guinea, based in Port Moresby, from 1992 to 2000. During that time we learned much and, we hope, contributed something. It was a wonderful experience and we were all sorry to go finish. There were no clouds hanging over our departure, it was just time. Many persons, both national and expatriate, contributed to the positive experiences we had, our growing love for the country, and therefore the willingness to undertake writing this book. Anna Koestenbauer is one of the members of our family; her fluency in German, her skills in writing, industry in research, and ability to draw maps, have made her deserving of being listed as a co-author. I’d like to thank my wife Olga and all of our children for the encouragement given, and for the sacrifices they made in terms of my time with her and the family, particularly in the final year.

I could not have completed it without the help of many people, some of whom have sadly passed on since I began this project in 1999. In this respect, I thank particularly the late Frank Smyth, Ian Reid, Frank Gray, Kaii Dagam, Reuben Kila and their families for the information they provided. Also the families of Bruno Kröning (Chapter 3), Eric Giblin (Chapters 3 & 5), Douglas Leslie (Chapter 6) and RK Wilson (Chapter7), provided me with access to family archives never before made available for research. I would like to particularly thank Beatrice Tandy, daughter of Bruno Kröning, Peter Giblin, grandson of Eric, Margaret Mace, daughter of John Akeroyd (Chapter 6), John Leslie and Sue Giffney, children of Douglas Leslie, and Richard Wilson, son of RK. I would like to thank Maggie Dawkins and Jenny Maruff, daughters of Alan Maruff (Chapter 7), John Roth, son of Lajos Roth (Chapter 7) for the assistance they gave. Karen Barclay provided me with the relevant chapters of the memoirs of her father, Ian Reid (Chapter 8).

There have been some experienced PNG hands who have given me considerable advice. I would like to particularly thank Ken Clezy (Chapters 8 & 15), Albert Speer (Chapter 7), Roy Scragg (Chapter 7), Len Champness (Chapters 7, 8,13&16), and Robin Cooke (Chapters 12 and 15) for the many questions they were able to answer and the valuable sources of material they willingly shared or directed me towards. Speer provided me with files on Charles Haszler and Norman Bennington Watch and made available his information on the Mt Lamington disaster. Adolf Saweri (Chapter 8), Isi Kevau (Chapters 6 & 8), Ikau Kevau (Chapters 8 & 9), Glen Mola (Chapter 12), Siba Dubey (Chapter 10) and SL Perrera (Chapter 10) often assisted me with information and also provided small contributions which are duly acknowledged in the text.

The expatriate surgeons who performed surgery from the 1960s to 80s have been generous in their efforts to support the project. Each warned me in some way that the task was daunting, as indeed it has been. They have all specifically contributed to their appropriate regional chapter. Ken Clezy (Rabaul, Madang, Port Moresby), Clem Nommensen (Rabaul), Alan Shepherd (Lae and Goroka), Frank Smith (Goroka and Port Moresby), David Hamilton (Rabaul), Sankar Sinha (Port Moresby), David Freedman (Mt Hagen), Roy Kirkpatrick (Mt Hagen), Derek Berg (Lae), Hamish Foster (Bougainville), Charlee Griffiths (Goroka and Kundiawa), Arehalli Srinivasa (Wewak), Graeme Tucker (Balimo), Bill Ramsay (Madang &Balimo) and John Niblett (radiotherapist, Lae). I thank them for what they have written, the queries they have fielded, and the photos or surgical audits they have sent. They have been patient even when I asked the same questions twice and overlooked their original submissions. Some of the rotating registrars from Melbourne, Brisbane or Sydney, most of whom are now either senior surgeons or retired, have also corresponded and contributed (Chapters 8 and 13). At least two of these surgeons are artists. David Freedman has designed the book cover and David Bleakley (registrar, Port Moresby), has allowed me to reproduce three of his many paintings. Derek Berg has written a book, The Paper Trail, and kindly allowed me to quote from it and include a couple of photos from his time in Lae. Margaret Spencer directed me to relevant sections of her ‘Doctor’s Wife in . . .’ trilogy. John Sturt (Angunanak), Mary Gunther (Lutheran Medical Service),Myra Kennedy Macey (Gemo) have also written books of their service in Papua New Guinea, and assisted me by providing relevant images. Other medical writings that I have drawn on in the relevant regional chapters though failed in my attempts to establish contact with the authors include Ross Pennie’s Unforgiving Tides (Vunapope), and Ana Phillips As the Catalina Flies (Frank Tuza in Bougainville). I have quoted from and referenced medical journal accounts by Mary Jung (Chapter 15 Mt Hagen) and Mark Witowski (Chapter 15, Mendi).

I must also thank the many national surgeons and other doctors who agreed to be interviewed, shared memories of their upbringing and training, and supported me in this venture. Their knowledge of their own country, its peoples and their experience of medicine and surgery is much more extensive than mine, particularly in the last 50 years. My role has been to turn their many recollections and stories into a readable account of the progress of surgery in Papua New Guinea. They have cooperated whenever I have asked them a question, and had I thought of more questions, I would have had even more answers. It has been a struggle to restrict the length of this account and so much more could have been said. If some feel they would have liked more, perhaps they will be inspired to write a focused history of their hospital, Province or Region.

I must also thank the anaesthetists, without whom modern surgery cannot take place, nor could an account of surgery in PNG be complete. Roma Varoneckas (Mt Hagen and Port Moresby) sent her photos for me to archive, Pankart Patel wrote an account of anaesthesia during the 1980’s in Madang and Port Moresby, Chris Marjen spent an hour or two explaining events of the early 1960s, whilst John Foley (1960s) and Harry Aigeeleng (since 1990s) were always on hand to provide or check information.

The above people have made special contributions. But when the chapters are written and there is an advanced draft, the task is far from finished. I must thank Max Quanchi (Pacific historian) and Margaret Spencer (author and old PNG hand) for reading the entire manuscript and making many helpful comments. Brigadiers Iain MacInnis and Rob Atkinson read Chapter 6 on World War II. Roy Scragg read Chapter 7, Clem Nommensen read versions of Chapter 13, and Frank Smith Chapters 8 and 15. The next stage was the medical editing and I thank Rivqa Berger for improving how the material is arranged and for her many comments designed to improve consistency and content. The copy editing has been done by the publishers, Xlibris.

The photos and illustrations have multiple sources. There are many I would have liked to include but could not and there are also many sitting in photoalbums and drawers that would have fitted the bill perfectly had they been made available. I’d like to thank Jakob Koestenbauer for his work on improving or cropping many of the images to provide maximum impact. Each photo has a message and if you, the reader, know of better ones that are available, send them to me and perhaps I can create a stitches in time album with supplementary photos on the world wide web. The photos provided by the Bibliotheque National de Paris, National Library of Australia, Australian War Memorial, National Archives of Australia, Department of Medical History United States Army have been acknowledged next to the photo.

At the Geelong Hospital, I thank Lyn Payne, who has scanned hundreds of photos, printed chapters, and sourced references with help of librarians Stephen Due and Joan Deane. At the Royal Australasian College of Surgeons I thank the Archivist, Geoff Down, and his team who have provided information on Fellows connected to PNG. I must also thank Marianne Smith and Steven Kerr, librarians at the Royal College of Surgeons of Edinburgh, for their assistance with information on R K Wilson, Raynor Bellamy and George Ernest Morrison.

David Watters, August 2010.

SECTION I

1800-1941 The First Doctors

in Papua New Guinea

1

First Sight

About noon we sighted two white sails out to sea . . . as they drew nearer to us we said they are ‘memetua’ (something supernatural).

(Done Watakaloni and others in 1877 as they saw the Ellen Gowan and a whaleboat, Logea, approaching with the first missionaries[1])

Sitting under a palm tree on the shore, a father watched his sons fishing on the reef. The beach was calm; tiny waves gently lapped up and down the sand, while the big breakers vented their might on the outer reef. As the man stared lazily out to the ocean beyond, he was shocked to see an enormous shape coming over the horizon. It seemed like the biggest canoe he had ever seen, tall and broad with many sails and carrying a multitude of people. He had heard from his father stories of large vessels containing pale-skinned men with wondrous goods for trade. He had also heard that they had dangerous sticks that shot lightning.

1.1 Buka Islanders and Canoes.tif

Natives off Buka Island, Copy of a sketch by whaling surgeon, John Wilson, during the cruise of the Gipsy, 1841.

He wondered, ‘What sort of people are coming now? Invaders to be fought and repelled or friendly traders with whom to barter?’ Whatever the intent, there was no time to waste. His sons were already paddling back to shore, shrieking in nervous excitement. He summoned other fighting men from the village and then armed with not only spears and stone axes but also stowing yams and coconuts for trade launched four canoes towards the oncoming ship. The women were ordered to conceal themselves, the children, and the pigs in the forest. As they traversed the reef, the warriors were briefed to be alert and ready to fight if the visitors were hostile.

Whaling ship’s surgeon, John Wilson, described such a scene from the deck of the Gipsy, moored off New Ireland on 12 October 1840 as follows:

Numerous canoes put off and made their way rapidly to the ship . . . They approached the ship very cautiously, waiting until several canoes had joined, when they made signs by standing up in the canoe and patting the crown of their head with one hand, holding in the other a cocoa-nut or shell, all the while coming nearer: by making signs to them and showing some iron hoop they came alongside, making a deafening noise by their whooping and incessant jabber . . . They brought with them in their canoes cocoa nuts, a few yams, tortoise shell and shells, spears etc . . . The sight of a knife or axe threw them into ecstasies . . . Gold and silver to these natives are of no value and would stand no chance with a piece of rusty iron hoop!! A fish hook is more prized than a costly diamond . . . To judge by their modish persons, their well-constructed canoes, and appreciation of iron, we may conclude they have considerable ingenuity, and though a rude yet subtle skill.[2][pp.118-9]

The first explorers (before 1800)

The Chinese and Malays had been trading off the coasts of the island of New Guinea since at least the eighth century. For generations prior to the nineteenth century, coastal Melanesians were accustomed to the sight of an occasional sailing ship dropping anchor, offering the potential to barter for items that they might never have seen before. Many of the European seafaring greats sailed along the coastline of New Guinea. They kept logs, compiled charts, and often published accounts that ensured their place in history. Some of the islands, capes, and passages were named after them, their crew, or their monarchs. European exploration began in the early 1500s, and the official government-sponsored expeditions are the most easily traceable.

First came the Portuguese and the Spanish, then the Dutch, French, and British. In 1511-12, Antonio d’Abreu and Francisco Serrano sailed along the north coast of New Guinea but did not land. In 1526, Jorge de Meneses, Portuguese governor of the Moluccas, landed at Warsai and named it Ilhas dos Papuas, a term derived from the Malay ‘orang papuwah’ meaning frizzy-haired. In 1528, Alvaro de Saavedra, a Spaniard, sailed along the north coast and gave the name Isla de Oro. In 1545, another Spaniard, Inigo Ortiz de Retes sailed along the same north coast en route to Mexico. As he was not aware of the name Isla de Oro, he called it Nueva Guinea (New Guinea) because the black, woolly haired people reminded him of the natives of Guinea in West Africa. Thus, early European explorers gave Papua New Guinea its name.[3][pp182-183]

1.2 explorers FINAL.tif

Map of Papua New Guinea showing early exploration routes,

by Anna Koestenbauer.

Luis Vaez de Torres, another Spaniard, charted the Milne Bay area and much of the southern coast in 1606, although the name Milne Bay was not given until the area was resurveyed by Capt. John Moresby in 1873. The details of Torres’s voyage were lost for some 150 years. Diego de Ribera, the surgeon on board Torres’s ship, most probably went ashore for food and water and would have had similar experiences to those of ships’ surgeons in the early 1800s, which are recorded later in this chapter. Willem Jansz, a Dutchman, also sailed along the western and southern coasts in 1606.³[pp¹⁹⁶-¹⁹⁷] Other Pacific explorers made passing but significant European ‘discoveries’. William Dampier on the Roebuck, with ship’s surgeon William Borthwick, discovered New Britain, giving the date of discovery as 1 January 1700.³[p²¹¹] Philip Carteret landed in New Ireland (1767) and Louis de Bougainville in La Boudeuse (1768) gave his name to Bougainville. With Bougainville were surgeons le Porte and Vivez. On the north of Bougainville the inhabitants of canoes that approached his ship repeatedly shouted, ‘Bouca, bouca, onelle’, which inspired Bougainville to call the island, Bouka.³[pp²¹⁹-²²⁰] He also named the Louisiade Archipelago after Louis XV of France. On 3 September 1770, Capt. James Cook, Joseph Banks, and Daniel Solander, a physician naturalist, went ashore at de Jong’s Point, (Dutch) New Guinea, but to the disappointment of his crew, they beat an early retreat because the inhabitants appeared hostile.

Jean-François de Galaup, comte de La Pérouse (1741-88), led a French expedition to the South Pacific in the Boussole and L’Astrolabe, a voyage from which he never returned. Dr Rollin, surgeon of La Boussole, wrote a dissertation on the inhabitants of Easter Island and Maui, which was dispatched home on a British ship from Sydney. After sailing from Botany Bay, the ships were wrecked or ran aground on the reefs of Vanikoro, today a northern atoll in Vanuatu. It is unlikely they ever reached the archipelagos of PNG. Joseph-Antoine Bruni d’Entrecasteaux (1739-93) was dispatched with the Recherche and Esperance to find La Perouse and to spend time, visiting the Solomon Islands, the Admiralty Islands (Manus), and the north coast of New Guinea. He made significant contributions to charts and shipping routes, and the d’Entrecasteaux Islands are named after him. The Trobriands were named after his lieutenant on the Esperance, Jean François-Silvestre Denis de Trobriand. However, he failed to discover the whereabouts of the La Perouse expedition and died on the voyage. Almost forty years later in 1827, an Irish captain, Peter Dillon (1788-1847), located the site of the wreck and established that there were no survivors of the expedition living in the islands.

On his second journey through Australian and New Guinea waters in July 1793, d’Entrecasteaux passed through the Dampier Strait and travelled along the north coast of New Britain. There he thought the Willaumez Peninsula was an island. By then he was unwell, suffering acute abdominal pain, passing black bowel motions, possibly due to scurvy or a bleeding ulcer.[4] Whatever the cause, d’Entrecasteaux’s surgeons Pierre Renard and Denis Joannet consulted and jointly recommended a hot bath! Upon being placed in the bath, d’Entrecasteaux was seized with violent convulsions and fell into unconsciousness, no doubt because of peripheral vasodilatation and circulatory collapse. The spasms and twitching persisted all morning, followed in the afternoon by complete prostration. He died that evening and was buried at sea in northern New Guinea waters off Anchorites Island, north-west of the Admiralties.³[pp²²⁵-²²⁶]. The cause of death was recorded by Renard as ‘bilious spasmodic colic’.⁴[p.¹⁹⁰] Renard’s report also suggests that d’Entrecasteaux had a series of digestive attacks, so perhaps he had some sort of internal hernia. Renard and Joannet would certainly have been competent enough to recognise an external hernia but should have also been able to recognise a distended abdomen with bowel loops. Perhaps, as Horner suggested, it was a perforated peptic ulcer, some other perforation, or dead gut.⁴ It is likely that without experience of operating on abdomens, they would not have been able to save him, regardless of whatever abdominal catastrophe he suffered.⁴

In 1792, John McCluer, a marine officer, was stationed at Bombay and commanded to survey the coastline of New Guinea. The surgeon of this expedition was slaughtered when he boarded a canoe in the hope of trading a bird of paradise.³[pp²⁴⁵-²⁴⁷] The first attempt to set up a colony was in 1793; Capt. John Hayes (1767-1831) of the British East India Company established Fort Coronation at Dorei Bay and took possession of New Guinea for the British monarch, King George III, without proper authority, an act that was later repudiated. The colony of fourteen Europeans and eleven Lascars and Sepoys was abandoned in 1795 and the survivors evacuated to Ceram.³[pp²⁴⁷-²⁴⁸]

Merchant ships and whaling (1800-60)

Once news of peoples and lands in the South Pacific reached Europe, there was no stopping those who had the means to fund an expedition to the South Seas. A mix of commercial, political, and evangelistic motives drove their ventures. The success of the penal colonies in Sydney and Tasmania resulted in increased sea traffic connecting New Holland (Australia) with Batavia (Jakarta), the East Indies, and China. Settlements were being established on various Pacific Islands, including New Zealand. Soon the Coral Sea, the Torres Strait, the Louisiades, and the Bismarck Archipelago were busy shipping lanes, despite their treacherous reefs and poorly charted waters. Coastal Papua New Guineans traded with, fought, or hid from these passing vessels. Those living inland remained undisturbed by Europeans.

Captains of merchant vessels and whalers were usually hired for a share of the profit, but the wealthier ones preferred to purchase their own ships. Their crews saw an opportunity for adventure and to gain a small share of the cargo, although some were recruited by coercion. Those who signed on as a ship’s surgeon often did not have the means to pay their final examination fees or establish themselves in a practice. Western Europe was in the middle of the industrial revolution. For the crew, ocean life often seemed preferable to the factories or coalmines of middle England or Continental Europe. There was the added advantage of having few expenses for the three to four years at sea, together with the likelihood of amassing a lump sum on arriving home.

Each ship was required to have a medical handbook and a chest containing medicines and surgical instruments.[5] In 1617, John Woodall (1569-1643) published The Surgions Mate, the first textbook for surgeons at sea.⁵[p.¹⁷] It was written to accompany the medical chest and included instructions for the use of instruments (including a trepan and saw) and guidelines for performing emergency surgery, such as amputation. As there was no anaesthesia, Woodall advised that the surgeon should hide ‘his sharpe instruments’ from ‘the eyes of the patient’ until the last possible moment. On some vessels, the crew had to pay for medications—the costs were deducted from their final entitlement. In the event of illness, they were attended by the ship’s surgeon or the captain if there was no surgeon. Another advantage of having a surgeon on board was the presence of another crew member (besides the captain) who was educated, capable of keeping a journal, and who might later write an account of the voyage.

During the early 1800s, the increasing seafaring traffic described above resulted in Europeans becoming scattered across the Pacific Islands, including PNG. The sources of these ‘Robinson Crusoes’ were castaways, shipwrecks, and escapees. Sometimes mariners became sick of the sea. Others fell out with members of the crew and asked to be put ashore wherever they met hospitable natives or on an uninhabited island. Escaping convicts from Australia and New Holland were another source of an occasional white inhabitant stranded on the shores of New Guinea. Those with the ability to make themselves understood and worthy of respect had a chance of becoming accepted by the native people, who represented their only hope of survival. Those who did not have the luck to land among friendly tribes, or did not have the means to defend themselves, were killed and sometimes eaten. Ship’s surgeons undoubtedly perished in the South Seas during this period. However, people who die or are eaten on a remote Pacific Island are not able to tell the tale.

Shipwrecks

Over fifty shipwrecks are listed in the Torres Strait and the Coral Sea between 1800 and 1860.[6]⁶ Some of these ships carried surgeons. Survivors were faced with the unenviable decision as to whether to stay put and hope to be spotted by a passing vessel or chance their luck at sea in a makeshift float. Many perished without rescue.

1.3 Sauvetage, Le Breton.tif

Rescuing a grounded ship in Torres Strait. Painting entitled Sauvetage d’un Navire à la Côte by surgeon and illustrator, Louis Le Breton, on D’Urville’s second voyage in L’Astrolabe which visited the Louisiades and Torres Strait in 1840. Reproduction from Bibliotheque Nationale de France.

On 4 January 1837, a Sydney whaler, Cornwallis, had attempted to send boats ashore for water on Buka. They were attacked and five of the crew were injured. Fortunately, an American whaler, The Mechanic, was also in the vicinity. When departing Buka, a change in the wind resulted in the Cornwallis, commanded by Capt. Bardo, being wrecked on rocks. The captain, his wife and two children, and seventeen crew members abandoned the ship and were rescued by The Mechanic.[7] In 1839, a German brig, Gazelle, was wrecked on Woodlark Island, where the crew were then murdered by the inhabitants as they attempted to lower their boats.[8] A British whaler, Eleanor, registered in London, was wrecked on Yule Island on 25 May 1846. Her crew were more fortunate as there were no casualties.⁸ Another ship, Grimenza, had 800 Chinese on board and was bound for Peru when she was wrecked on Brampton Reef, off Queensland on 4 July 1853. The master, mate, surgeon, boatswain, and several others left hurriedly in the best boat, landing safely in New Ireland after a twenty-five-day voyage. Most of the Chinese crew died or were never heard of again. In 1858, the French vessel, St Paul, was wrecked on the eastern tip of the Louisiade Archipelago while carrying 327 Chinese gold seekers from Hong Kong to Sydney. On this occasion, everyone got safely ashore. The captain and nine crew took a boat to seek help, and although they succeeded in reaching the Australian coast, where they were rescued, the Chinese were not so fortunate. When the Styx was sent to Rossel Island to look for the stranded Chinese, only one was found.

The whalers

This section draws on some of the few documented accounts by surgeons who sailed to what is today PNG in the first half of the nineteenth century. In Europe, the physician had only a few useful drugs, and surgery was only performed on the extremities, and in haste, as anaesthesia was yet to be introduced. The outcome of wounds and open fractures was affected by infection, yet the relationship between microbes and infection had not yet been recognised. As a result, doctors and surgeons placed little value on cleanliness. In North America, the suggestion that surgeons should wash their hands before operating was greeted with disdain by one professor (Charles Delucena Meigs (1792-1869)), who believed that surgeons were gentlemen and ‘gentlemen’s hands are clean.’[9] Most hospitals in Europe suffered dreadful epidemics of puerperal sepsis (childbed fever) with hospital maternal mortality in the order of 10%-30%. The medical progress made by Semmelweis (handwashing), Lister (disinfection), and Pasteur (microbes causing disease) took place in the middle of the nineteenth century.

The year 1814 saw the end of the East India Company’s monopoly of trading privileges in the Pacific Ocean. From then on, British whaling ships began to enter the Pacific, spurred by rising demand and high prices for sperm whale oil. In the 1830s, British, French, and American whalers worked in what would be later called the Bismarck Archipelago, particularly between October and April. North American whalers sailed from New Bedford and Nantucket on the East Coast, the state of California having been only recently purchased from Mexico. Whalers sought oil, seal furs, and whalebone. Reviewing the perils and potential for loss of life during a whaling voyage, a French whaling surgeon, Felix Maynard (1813-58), commented, ‘Oh women! How dearly are the bones of your corsets paid for!’[10]

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Painting of whaling in the South Seas entitled, Pêche à la Baleine dans les Mers du Sud by Ship’s surgeon and illustrator, Louis Le Breton. Reproduction from Bibliotheque Nationale de France.

Whaling boomed in the 1830s as the price of whale blubber was high enough to justify the long trip from Europe to the South Seas. But the price fell due to a reduction in duty on foreign whale oil, most of which came from America.² In 1839, when John Wilson set sail on the Gipsy, it had been fetching £95 per ton, but within a few years the price plummeted to £63. British whaling became less competitive because of the long journey times. By 1843, only sixteen British whalers departed for the Pacific, compared with eighty-eight from America. Australian vessels (mainly from Hobart and Sydney) also entered the market, freighting their oil to London. The inhabitants of Manus, New Ireland, New Britain, Buka, and Bougainville would have regularly traded food and ornaments for iron and cloth. We are fortunate that some of these surgeons wrote journals and even published books on their ‘adventures’. Their writings give us a first-hand account of the whaling industry, the places they visited, and the people they met, but are scant in their discussion of medical and surgical problems on board.

British and French whaling ships were required by law to enlist a surgeon, although the same was not true for the Americans. A surgeon’s share of the profit was meagre, less than that of a carpenter and never more than a 95th of the total value whereas the captain got a 16th. John Wilson on the Gipsy received only a 140th.⁵ Table 1.1 lists some of the Pacific whaling fleet surgeons whose accounts have survived. John Wilson and John Coulter are noteworthy, as their accounts document their trips to PNG. Unfortunately, neither surgeon wrote much about their medical practice. On board, they would have had a fairly standard medicine chest and surgical instruments.⁵ The instruments included dressings, sticking plaster, an amputating knife, tourniquet, saw, tooth key and hooks, bleeding lancets (for bloodletting), needles for suturing, a large injection syringe (for enemas), and two penis syringes to manage venereal disease, which was common.[11]

Table 1.1: Journals or books written by whaling surgeons in South Seas, 1820-60⁵

FRCP = fellow of the Royal College of Physicians, FRCS = fellow of the Royal College of Surgeons, LRCPEd = licentiate of the Royal College of Physicians of Edinburgh, LSA = licentiate of the Society of the Apothecaries, MO = medical officer, LRCP = licentiate of Royal College of Physicians (of England), MRCS = member of the Royal College of Surgeons (of England).

John Wilson (1810-79)

John Wilson was born in Yorkshire. His parents were modest farmers and he was the only boy among five children listed in the 1841 census.²[p.xiv] He had graduated LSA (licentiate of the Society of the Apothecaries, the equivalent of the College of Physicians) just before departure in 1839. He sailed on the Gipsy (1839-43). His son, Henry, who also became a surgeon, suggested in the 1920s that his father may have gone to sea both for health reasons and because it was hard to get work as a doctor there being an oversupply at the time. The following section is drawn from his journal, made available through the editorial work of Honore Forster.²

On 15 December 1840, off the coast of Buka, the Gipsy met the Vigilant, which under the command of Capt. Grey had already picked up 700 barrels in Japan the previous season and 70 barrels in the area. John Wilson and the Vigilant’s surgeon, Mr S. Morris, exchanged news and Wilson received three bundles of cigars. The next day, the Gipsy approached Buka. Wilson was aghast at the lack of clothing of inhabitants of Buka and Bougainville. ‘They are entirely naked, and yet have no shame!’²[p.¹³⁶] However, he was soon able to appreciate their innate intelligence:

That they are artful and knowing is evident from their weapons and canoes; and by the shrewdness they evince in their temporary intercourse with the white man, whom they have every reason to fear and hate . . . The natives of Bougainville seldom or never come off to ships, afraid to venture near the vessels the like of which have vomited forth lightning and death! . . . it is only among the natives of Bouka and Bougainville that I have noticed bows and arrows, the New Irelanders and New Hanoverians including the small islands in their vicinage, do not bring off any to the ships, nor have any been noticed among them ashore by those who have ventured among them.²[pp.¹³⁷-⁸]

On the shores of New Ireland, on 18 January 1841, he recorded, ‘There was one Englishman seen ashore, he had left a Sydney vessel, along with three more who had since gone away in ships. Some of the natives spoke broken English which they had learnt from runaway sailors.’²[pp.¹⁴⁵-⁶] Some had made a temporary settlement at Gower’s Harbour, close to Cape St George, the east point of New Ireland. That they were hospitably received is evident from Wilson’s journal entry: ‘Several of the natives ashore, were observed parading the beach with a musket thrown over their shoulder: already they are stooping before the invincible power of the civilized man—they now crave for muskets and powder and tobacco! The last great step is yet to be made—Rum has not, as yet, obtained footing among them; soon I surmise it will . . . then their fall will be certain.’²[p.¹⁴⁶]

There are only glimpses of Wilson’s medical work in his journal. In Guam, he was wakened at midnight by the surgeons of the Vigilant and the Indian, another whaler. A native had fallen from a coconut tree and sustained a fractured ulna with dislocation. Wilson described the other injuries as

besides, a severe bodily concussion: we found his arm bound up with rollers soaked in cocoa-nut oil, so tightly, as to impede the circulation and endanger the limb; the fractured end of the bone sticking out, and no attempt having been made at reduction: splints of bamboo were also used! The limb was tumefied and painful; the patient was sensible. We replaced the ends of the broken bones in apposition, and reduced the dislocation; then applied splints loosely . . . We had no idea of amputating the limb, yet it might have been better as we subsequently learned the man had died; if I mistake not, from Locked-Jaw.²[pp.¹⁷⁶-⁷]

Probably an amputation would have saved the man dying of tetanus, as failure to adequately clean and debride a contaminated open fracture predisposes to gas gangrene or tetanus.

In Europe at that time, the practice of bloodletting was still employed, although it was soon to go out of fashion. Early settlers noted that healers in PNG employed it during the 1870s and 1880s. It is therefore worth noting that in the first half of the nineteenth century, trained and licensed medical practitioners from Europe still put faith in its supposed benefits. For example, once in the Eastern Ocean near Japan, the second mate of the Gipsy fell into the hold and sustained an occipital head injury and a dislocated shoulder.²[pp.¹⁹⁸-⁹] John Wilson described, ‘A puffy swelling over the right occiput and though initially unconscious [the patient] started to writhe and complain, appearing in pain.’²[p.¹⁹⁸] But the patient was also shocked and clammy, with peripheral shutdown. His condition deteriorated and he developed a dilating pupil; his respiration became slow, brief, with some apnoeic periods and, not surprisingly, bradycardia. These signs were carefully described by Wilson and indicate an intracranial haematoma with brain stem compression due to coning. Wilson responded by trying to bleed him, opening the jugular vein (presumably the external jugular). The procedure was, as would be expected today, unsuccessful—‘not much blood was seen to flow and the patient died within 5 hours.’² Wilson may not have been able to find the collapsed vein because the patient was already hypotensive, perhaps from an associated injury. If only the injury had happened on New Britain, a tena papait (local healer) might have trepanned over the fracture and drained any haematoma; that would have at least afforded some chance of survival. The body was committed to the sea the same day, 18 August 1841.

On the voyage, Wilson was only qualified as an LSA, and not yet a member of the Royal College of Surgeons (MRCS) of England. We cannot adequately judge his surgical abilities on the management of these very difficult cases, and in the context of the limited treatments available during the 1840s, the outcome is not surprising. This was a quarter of a century before Lister when surgeons did not even wash their hands.

Wilson passed his MRCS the year after he returned, no doubt able to pay the examination and membership fees with his cut of the cargo. The second degree made him dually qualified in medicine and surgery and allowed him to set up as a general practitioner (GP). He set up a general practice at Golden Square in the heart of Westminster, London; his practice was successful and popular.²[p.xix] He married and in 1860 was elected a licentiate of the Royal College of Physicians of Edinburgh. He retired to Brixton, London, in 1876.

John Coulter (c.1800-62)

John Coulter was an Irishman who signed up to go whaling shortly after obtaining his MRCS on 15 June 1827. He was hoping for adventure and a taste of the exotic. He made a second voyage on the Stratford in 1832. Two books of his adventures were published.[12] He may have drawn on other stories that people told him to add content to his own account. However, the journey of the Stratford is well documented, and there is little doubt that the events he described happened even if he did not experience every event himself.

Coulter clearly had a good and friendly relationship with his captain and was allowed to spend time, exploring. He noted that the ship’s bartering with visiting canoes generally went smoothly though they had always to be wary that things might turn nasty. Even when cordial relations were established, they kept guard in case of a surprise attack. Once on New Hanover they were attacked and boarded; they came close to losing the ship (and their lives), but after firing a number of rounds, the assailants were finally repelled. On another occasion, they encountered a Chinese trading vessel and found the natives reluctant to paddle out to the ships. There was a loose-knitted whaling community that would meet up every now and then in some part of the Pacific or in port. The captains knew one another, and the surgeons also had opportunities to share experiences and discuss cases. Sometimes two ships sailed the same routes in convoy.

Coulter described meeting several ‘Robinson Crusoe’ castaways, providing further evidence of Europeans sometimes being well treated by Papua New Guineans. On a small island off New Britain, they met James Selwin, who had been marooned there for over seven years. He had not seen another ship for the first five years and then had had no contact with the vessel. He had been the first mate on a trading ship, but illness had resulted in the crew numbers falling to dangerous levels until they could no longer handle the ship and it was wrecked. A party of about twelve survived, but those who the natives did not like were killed and eaten. Selwin and his captain were accepted as ‘good people’ by the chief and allowed to take wives. They paddled out to a deserted island with their wives and children and set up home there. Selwin had three children. Unfortunately, the captain was taken by a shark, and Selwin was left as the last remaining member of his ship with two families to support. He had no interest in leaving the island to return to Europe as he had become accustomed to living there.

Another Englishman found in New Ireland was Thomas Manners, who was from London. He had requested to leave his whaler and take up residence. He held a high rank in the village and was well regarded by Boolooma, the paramount chief. Manners had been presented with four wives, one the daughter of the Boolooma, the other three being daughters of chiefs. On another occasion, Coulter came across an escaped convict, Terence Connel, who had become the leader of the natives; he chose to remain in New Guinea rather than returning home. These three journeymen all refused ‘rescue’; they had discovered, like so many who would follow them, that PNG, if not paradise, offered something preferable to what they had experienced at home.

Naval expeditions

Naval expeditions were strategic in nature. They were designed to identify future sites for colonies, commercial activity, or prospecting. They charted coastlines with a view to making travel by sea safer, but their ships also carried scientists. Among the officers were a ship’s surgeon and assistant surgeons, who also participated in science and discovery. In addition to their medical duties, their contributions included philology, zoology, and anthropology. Their medical practice included prevention of scurvy, control of dysentery, and management of wounds and other injuries. Any surgery performed was minor; general anaesthesia would not be introduced until 1846.

French naval expeditions in the Pacific (1800-40)

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Paul Gaimard (1793-1858), Lithogaph from life by Emile Lassalle in 1839. Gaimard was a ship’s surgeon on the voyages of Freycinet, Duperrey and D’Urville which visited New Guinea in 1818, 1823 and 1827 respectively. Plate 1 in: ‘Voyage en Islande et au Groënland exécuté pendant les années 1835 et 1836 sur la corvette Le Recherche . . . publié par ordre du roi sous la direction de M. Paul Gaimard’ Atlas Historique, Arthus Bertrand, Paris,1838-52.

During the late 1700s, the French had actively explored the Pacific (Bougainville, La Perouse, and D’Entrecasteaux). Back home, France was gripped with unrest and often at war. King Louis XVI was deposed by revolution in 1789, and the first republic was founded. The early years of the nineteenth century witnessed the rise and fall of Napoleon Bonaparte who, despite conquering much of western Europe, was defeated by Great Britain. After Napoleon’s final defeat at Waterloo in 1815, France took the opportunity to continue her exploration of the Pacific. Her motivation included science, discovery, and a search for locations for colonies, in the hope of establishing a penal settlement, similar to what the British had achieved in Sydney and Van Diemen’s Land (Tasmania). The surgeons and naturalists on board these vessels made significant contributions to anthropology, natural history, and philology. Some of their discoveries relevant to PNG and the naval surgeons who made them are summarised below and in Table 1.2.

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René Primevère Lesson (1794-1849) who was a ship’s surgeon on the voyage of Duperrey in La Coquille, which visited PNG in 1823. He wrote a comprehensive zoology of the voyage as well as publishing a medical audit of cases encountered. Photo available from Wikipedia and also in R Duguy ‘Aventures scientifiques. Savants en Poitou-Charentes du XVIe au XXe siècle’ Les éditions de L’Actualité Poitou-Charentes, Poitiers, 1995.

Louis de Freycinet (1779-1842) sailed along the north coast of New Guinea in 1818 on board L’Uranie and La Physicienne. The ship’s surgeons, Joseph Paul Gaimard and Jean René Constant Quoy, collected many specimens, but some were lost when L’Uranie was wrecked at the Falklands on the way home. The voyage did not achieve its aims, and the crew suffered badly from scurvy, dysentery, and general ill health. Quoy and Gaimard co-authored a volume on zoology based on the voyage and discussed their observations of Papuans and their skulls.[13]

Louis Isidore Duperrey (1786-1865) who had sailed with de Freycinet was given a command to explore and chart the South Pacific and to make an assessment of the possibility of establishing a penal colony. At this time, New Zealand was Maori and had not yet been claimed by the British Crown. The surgeons included Quoy, Gaimard, and René Primavère Lesson. The ship left Toulon, reached the Pacific round Cape Horn, visited Lima, and at Bora Bora (Tahiti), they learnt of a local healer who had performed around 200 skull trepanations. ‘Who would have thought to find in the middle of little civilized tribes of the South Seas, the performance of an operation that so often fails in the hands of more skilled surgeons in Europe!’[14] René Primavère Lesson (1794-1849) had served as a naval surgeon during the Napoleonic wars. He was classified as an assistant naval surgeon/pharmacist on the voyage of La Coquille under Duperrey (1822-26) but was to become a leading authority on the Pacific and its zoology. In 1829, he published an account of his medical and anthropological observations and listed the conditions he was required to treat at different stages of the voyage.¹⁴ His journal listed over 400 cases, ranging from wounds and soft tissue infections (furuncles, whitlows) to sore throats and venereal disease. They treated five groin hernias, two of which entered the scrotum. Other surgical conditions included burns, back pain, gastritis, dislocations, and fractures. He and his colleagues recorded some, but limited, medical observations on the indigenous people of the Pacific. They took particular interest in the medical conditions they saw, such as elephantiasis, leprosy (probably they saw leprosy-like skin conditions, usually tinea, a harmless fungal infection), scars, keloids, and ulcers. They noted the traditional method of leaving wounds open as there was no knowledge of suturing. Lesson lost most of the medicinal leeches between Bora Bora, Tahiti, and Port Praslin, New Ireland. Some of his text is devoted to better methods of storage. Later, in 1833, Lesson wrote a two-volume Manuel naturelle médicale et de pharmacologie for naval surgeons. Bam Island (just east of the mouth of the Ramu) was originally called Lesson Island by Duperrey, although the name has not persisted.

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Skulls drawn from specimens obtained in the interior of New Guinea by RP Lesson on his voyage in Duperrey’s La Coquille during 1823. Sketch entitled Crânes D’Alfourous, habitants de l’interieur de la Nouvelle Guinea, sketch by RP Lesson, ‘Voyage Autour Du Monde, exécuté sur la corvette du Roi La Coquille, Commandée par M L I Duperrey pendant les années 1822, 1823, 1824 et 1825’ Volume 1 on Zoology by Messrs Lesson and Garuon, doctors of the royal navy, Arthus Bertrand, Paris, 1827.

His brother, Pierre Adolphe Lesson, was a surgeon on D’Urville’s first voyage on L’Astrolabe (1826-29). Pierre wrote at least one account of his travels, Voyage aux iles Mangareva, which was published in 1845 and included a contribution from René Lesson.[15] He also wrote a scholarly book on Les Polynesians published in 1880, which reviewed all the anthropological and migratory theories of the peoples in the Pacific. He cites the numbers and the studies of head, skull, and facial measurements and appearances, and concludes that D’Urville’s division of the inhabitants of the Pacific into Melanesian, Polynesian, and Micronesian was correct and that these peoples were distinct from the indigenous peoples of Australia.

Joseph Paul Gaimard (1796-1858) was an extrovert, renowned for his gallantry with women, but never married. He was a member of Freycinet’s and Duperrey’s voyages before joining D’Urville for his 1826-29 voyage and Gaimard’s third voyage around the world. In Carteret harbour, New Ireland, D’Urville was suffering abdominal cramps for three days, which prevented him going ashore. Gaimard prescribed enemas and leeches, supplemented by hot baths and rest. D’Urville’s pains recurred on both of his voyages though from this point he placed great faith in the therapeutic benefit of his baths. Gaimard was also a skilled linguist and compiled many vocabularies, including some from New Ireland and New Guinea. As a career naval surgeon, he also visited Iceland Greenland on Recherche in 1838.[16] In Iceland, he became something of a household name and was prone to hand out sketches of himself to admirers.

Jean René Constant Quoy (1790-1869) gave his name to a mollusc of New Guinea, an Australian marsupial (now known as Bettongia lesueur), and a street in St Jean de Liversay. Cape Quoy (Kwoi) on the south coast of New Britain, just east of Jacquinot Bay, was named after him. He was educated in the naval school of medicine at Rochefort in 1806, rising through the surgical ranks on various ships