Bruno Mencke | Ethnographic Collector and Organizer of the Ill-fated First German South Sea Expedition
Bruno Mencke
Ethnographic Collector and Organizer of the Ill-fated First German South Sea Expedition
By Rainer F. Buschmann
Bruno Mencke (1876/77-1901) was a somewhat tragicomic figure associated with the First German South Sea Expedition to German New Guinea. His death on Mussau Island in the St. Matthias group cut the elaborate venture short and presented a significant challenge for the new German colonial administration. Nevertheless, a sizable ethnographic estate of well over 1,000 ethnographic artifacts supported the collections located in the cities of Berlin, Hannover, and Stuttgart.
Bruno was the son of Eberhard Mencke, a wealthy sugar and chocolate merchant residing in Braunschweig, who later moved the family to Hannover. Little is known on whether or not Bruno Mencke attended university, but it became evident that he sought to employ his family's wealth to make a name for himself. Around the turn of the century, he tasked Ernst Tappenbeck, who had led several expeditions for the New Guinea Company, to organize a trip to German New Guinea. Tappenbeck lived in Mencke's six-room Berlin Charlottenburg apartment and was writing on a book about German New Guinea in which he recommended: "To travel [to New Guinea] one requires above all money, money and more money." With his fortune, Mencke fulfilled this requirement and purchased a steam yacht from Prince Albert I of Monaco, which he renamed Eberhard after his father, equipped for deep-sea exploration. Completed with laboratories and the latest equipment, the yacht's steep price of 120,000 marks was an initial investment to bring Mencke scientific fame and state honors. He then hired a capable crew and an assortment of scientists: the zoologist Oskar Heinroth, the ichthyologist Georg Duncker, and the taxidermist Paul Kote. Christening his venture "First German South Sea Expedition," (Erste Deutsche Südsee Expedition) for which he had professional stationery printed, he steamed towards New Guinea for a planned three-year expedition. To ensure state honors accompanying his collection activity, Mencke contacted Felix von Luschan in Berlin and Karl von Linden in Stuttgart. Mencke, so Luschan, desired "something in his buttonhole," a common euphemism for a state decoration in return for his expected ethnographic collections.
Mencke's venture best fits the description as a train wreck in the making. The steam yacht Eberhard was constructed to weather the Mediterranean Sea's calmer and more sheltered waters rather than the open and stormy Pacific Ocean. Moreover, since it consumed six tons of coal on an average day, its coal bunker of about 60 tons proved inadequate for the long voyage to New Guinea. As a result, the crew stored an additional 70 tons of coal below deck to supplement the yacht's limited storage capacity. This further encroachment on the existing crammed conditions significantly contributed to tensions on the ship and pushed its hull well below the waterline, thus preventing the opening of the portholes. In addition, numerous clangorous celebrations quickly established the reputation that the expedition was both "wet on the inside and the outside."
Steam Yacht Eberhard
Mencke, more of a maverick than a serious scientist, quickly developed differences with the naturalists onboard. Due to ever-increasing disagreements with the expedition leader, Georg Duncker, the expedition’s ichthyologists, abandoned the Eberhard shortly after reaching German New Guinea. Resident ethnographer Richard Parkinson noted: “Yacht Eberhardt has arrived… There seem to be plenty of disagreements on board. My impression of Mencke is that he is a little superficial, which clashes with the more serious scientists.” Late he added: “It became obvious that the ship-owner was more fond of pleasure than science… Herr Mencke was getting tired of the whole affair, and malaria had robbed him of the last bit of interest in science.” The characterization of Mencke’s endeavors as a pleasure rather than a scientific undertaking set the stage for subsequent failure and human tragedy.
Upon his arrival in the Bismarck Archipelago in December of 1901, Mencke initiated his ethnographic acquisition by purchasing artifacts from the existing networks of collectors. Hernsheim Manager Max Thiel (see Provenance biography), for instance, allowed the Eberhard to anchor in Matupi’s harbor to shelter the yacht from the strong northwestern Monsoon winds. From Thiel, Mencke presumably acquired the lion’s share of the Admiralty Island collection returned from the expedition.
Canoe Ornament from the Admiralty Islands, VI 17906, Ethnologisches Museum, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin, Preuβischer Kulturbesitz
Admiralty Island Kapkap, VI 17923, photo by Peter Jacob, Ethnologisches Museum, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin, Preuβischer Kulturbesitz
Admiralty Island Bowl, VI 17952, photo by Anika Niemek, Ethnologisches Museum, Staatliche Museen zu Berlin, Preuβischer Kulturbesitz
As much as Thiel appreciated the wealthy traveler's monetary resources to sell his commercially sourced ethnographic objects, other colonial residents resented the competitive advantage provided by Mencke's deep pockets. Richard Parkinson, for instance, got to experience Mencke's pecuniary infusion first hand. When the E. E. Forsayth Company steamer Mayflower returned from a mission from southern New Britain, Parkinson, who prided himself to be the premier resident ethnographer in the territory, hoped to acquire ethnographic collections for 500 marks. However, when Mencke offered the steamer captain four times the figure, the artifacts soon changed hands to the newly arrived outsider. Among the artifacts shipped by the Mayflower were some of the first specimens of the Sulka speaking people in eastern New Britain that the German administration had not contacted. The vessel's parent company technically employed Parkinson to add insult to injury. Nevertheless, such affiliations meant little compared to Mencke's fortune.
Sulka shield. Linden Museum Digital, 014325
By bringing the Eberhard to German New Guinea, Mencke had hoped to obtain a high degree of independence in ethnographic collecting. But as much as he pried ethnographica for good money from the resident collectors, Mencke still longed to move into territories not yet saturated with European trade wares. He also felt that the colony's new governor, Rudolf von Bennigsen (see provenance biographies), kept a close watch over his expedition. For instance, in December 1901, Mencke entertained Bennigsen on the Eberhard since the governor lacked a personal steamer. While Mencke appreciated the governor's guidance and advice, he was still underwhelmed by the ethnographic output from their tour to coastal New Guinea. Mencke felt that his German South Sea Expedition was abused as a pleasure cruise and his ethnographic results were meager. He thus took advantage of Bennigsen’s absence and in late February of 1901 he steamed the St. Matthias Islands, little contacted by commercial and naval steamers, to finally operate outside of the dreaded imperial supervision. Hiring Ludwig Caro, who worked for the colonial administration, as his aid certainly did not endear Mencke to the colonial leaders.
Unsupervised Mencke steamed headlong into disaster. Nevertheless, initial dealings with the indigenous peoples of St. Matthias were peaceful, and ethnographic collecting proceeded at the desired pace. By mid-March, the expedition focused on the main island of Mussau of the St. Matthias group. After an initial encampment on the shore became too muddy following rainstorms, Mencke decided to look for a different settlement. Upon moving the expedition to a higher plateau, the clearing of the area caused friction as many of the trees were felled without permission, and police officers from Mencke's protective detail helped themselves to local coconut trees without asking. These violations caused frictions and even minor skirmishes with the local population. Despite rising tensions, Mencke allowed the Eberhard to steam to Herbertshohe to take on coal and pick up mail. Likewise, his assistant Caro instructed the protective forces to disassemble their rifles for cleaning. Unfortunately, in the early morning hours of March 31, a large group of armed warriors mounted an attack. Unarmed, some of Mencke's police members started to ward off the charge with previously collected spears, while others hastily assembled the rifles. Dr. Heinroth intervened in the conflict with his sidearm. Mencke's tent, which he shared with secretary Caro, was in the line of fire. A thick cloud of spears converged on the tent, immediately killing Caro and badly wounding the wealthy collector. When the smoke cleared, about twenty indigenous warriors were dead, and a moribund Mencke asked to be taken to the nearby Hernsheim station where he would perish a few days later.
The news of Mencke's death quickly reverberated in the national and international press and placed the colonial administration on its heels. Governor Benningsen disclaimed all responsibility for the violent encounter in the St. Matthias group and faulted Mencke's brash and inexperienced behavior for the incident. Yet, at the same time, the deadly event called for punitive actions against the indigenous population of Mussau Island, even if there were voices among the colonial administration urging careful investigation and a clear identification of guilty parties.
In the summer months of 1901, German cruiser SMS Cormoran arrived in the territory presumably ordered there by German Emperor Wilhelm II. Franz Boluminski (see provenance biography) assembled a large police force and, in tandem with the Cormoran, steamed to Mussau Island. Rather than carefully investigating the incident, Boluminski and his men indiscriminately killed 26 men and destroyed numerous boats, dwellings, and weapons. The Cormoran's bombardment forced many inhabitants to seek shelter in limestone caves. Police and naval soldiers surrounded them and cut down every individual emerging from the caves' entrances. Another 55 individuals lay dead and colonial justice was served without identifying a clear culprit for the Mencke disaster. During this "police action" against St. Matthias, numerous ethnographic objects came in possession of naval officers that cast little doubt on their violent and deadly provenance.
The colonial administration attempted to draw lessons from the young explorer's death. While avenging Mencke's death was one of the last actions of Governor Bennigsen, his successor Albert Hahl (see provenance bibliography) proved to be a quick learner. During his tenure, professionally trained ethnologists' arrival went from a trickle to a significant stream. Hahl ensured that these individuals were firmly suspended in a net of colonial connections. He welcomed the ethnographers' insights and expected their exploration to be within rather than outside imperial control to avoid further conflict with the indigenous people. A few years after the event, Mencke received a monument near Herbertshöhe (Kokopo). Less directed at the memory of the young explorer, it served as a stern warning for those explorers who sought to venture beyond the colonial pale.
In Germany, the struggle over Mencke's ethnographic estate pitted Felix von Luschan in Berlin against his Stuttgart counterpart Karl von Linden. Although Mencke had promised Luschan that his expedition would follow the provisions of the Federal Council's Resolution of 1889 that sought to centralize all ethnographic collections in Berlin, Linden pledged to the young man a high decoration, an action that greatly swayed the young collector’s mind before departure. Following Mencke's violent death, Linden promised to provide a worthy exposition for his ethnographic estate to his heirs, securing Stuttgart the lion's share of the artifacts. Incensed over Linden's actions, Luschan attempted, to no avail, to involve colonial authorities to prevent the departure of the artifacts to Stuttgart. Finger-pointing and biting commentary ensued. Linden, for instance, invited Luschan to inspect the Mencke objects but added: "naturally from its Olympic heights Berlin will little appreciate the activities of Stuttgart's insignificant earthworm." Luschan retorted: "Your ridicule ... is unnecessary. I am well aware that you have outstripped us in terms of many private and official collectors, but we can do little about this ... We would like to use orders and titles, but we have to do without them."
Sulka “ngeile” shield, Linden Museum Digital, 014345
