CHAPTER XVII.—AN ENCOUNTER AT BOMOBORI.
It was on a clear day a little more than a week later that the lookout announced land dead ahead. All on board knew that it must be New Guinea, the wild and little known country where Mr. Jukes had confident hopes of finding his lost brother. Captain Sparhawk made an excellent “land-fall,” as sailors call it, and by night they came to anchor off Bomobori.
It was a beautiful scene. The waves dashed against a golden strand. Behind lay vast and mysterious forests, looking dark and uninviting in the evening light. Beyond the forests rose great mountains veiled in the bluish mist of the far distances. As darkness fell, the lights of Bomobori began to twinkle, casting reflections in the still waters of the harbor and river, the mouth of which latter could be seen to the north of the town.
“Well, I’m ready to go ashore,” remarked Raynor, as he joined Jack on deck at the conclusion of his duties in the engine-room. “It will certainly feel good to put foot on shore once more.”
“Indeed it will,” agreed Jack, warmly. “I’m anxious to get a look at New Guinea too. It’s a country about which very little is known—I mean so far as the interior is concerned.”
“Well, we are likely to have plenty of opportunity for exploration,” said Raynor. “I heard Mr. Jukes telling the captain that he believed, from what he had heard about ‘Bully’ Broom at Tahiti where he is well known, that the rascal has a secret hiding place in the interior somewhere.”
“Then it’s likely to take a long time to locate him,” said Jack. “This is a pretty big country and very densely wooded, with big mountains and rivers galore. I’m afraid it’s a needle and hay-stack job.”
“I expect Mr. Jukes means to get a clue in Bomobori, where Broom is probably well known,” hazarded Raynor.
“That is probably his idea,” said Jack. “Anyhow, he is not a man who would give up his purpose for any ordinary difficulties.”
It was decided not to leave the yacht till the morning. It can well be imagined then that the sleep of the boys that night was not as sound as usual. Both lay awake wondering what lay before them, and whether they would succeed or fail in the mission, for that evening Mr. Jukes had appointed them members of the expedition, and declared that he would rely upon them to the uttermost to aid him.
It was then that Jack had made a suggestion. The yacht was to be left in the harbor with a crew to guard her, but communication with her might be important, even necessary, if they were driven to some other part of the coast and were unable to return to Bomobori.
Jack’s suggestion was that, with the spare parts of the ship’s wireless, of which a big stock was carried, he should construct a portable radio apparatus by means of which they could at all times be in touch with the yacht. He had an idea that he could do this easily. Thurman, who had been conducting himself in an irreproachable manner, could be left in charge of the Sea Gypsy’s plant with perfect safety, the boy felt confident. And so, subject to his success with a portable set, it was arranged.
“This doesn’t appear to be much of a town,” observed Raynor, as they landed the next day, a little before noon, in a warm, gentle shower of rain such as frequently swept across the island at that time of the year.
“Well, you could hardly expect to find it a New York or London, you know,” rejoined Jack.
In truth Bomobori was a very fair specimen of a town in that section of the world. Along the water front, back of which squatted a line of tin-roofed warehouses, were moored native craft from up the river with bamboo cabins and great lattice sails that housed a whole family of natives. In spite of the rain it was warm and steamy, and a strange assortment of odors greeted their nostrils as the boat was run up to the principal dock and made fast.
The population was a very mixed one. Pallid white men, who looked like Frenchmen for the most part, rubbed elbows on the water front with Chinese, Lascars, Malays, Javanese and the wild-looking Papuans from the interior with their frizzed hair and ornamental cloaks of bird skins and long spears. Here and there a stout German in white ducks waddled by with a sun-helmeted Englishman. There appeared to be quite a lot of trading going on.
But they were anxious to hurry on to the hotel where Mr. Jukes hoped to begin the inquiries which he was sanguine would result in his finding his brother. The hostelry for which they were bound lay some squares back from the water front. It was situated, like most tropical hotels, in a park in which flowers and shrubs of all kinds grew luxuriantly, and bright colored birds flew with harsh cries, like (bright) jewels, among the brilliant foliage. It was a two-story affair in front of which a fountain plashed coolingly in the hot, heavy air. Verandas, upon which every room opened, completely surrounded each story.
They entered the office where the hand baggage they had brought was picked up by barefooted, white-garmented servants. Mr. Jukes was bending over the register writing his name and those of his party when Jack caught sight of somebody lounging in a bamboo chair in the reading room that nearly took his breath away.
“Well, if that isn’t——”
“What is it, Jack?” asked Billy quickly.
“Look at that chap there reading a paper. It’s Donald Judson—Donald Judson, as sure as you’re a foot high!”