Having once undertaken the job, Mavai was as good as his word, and took us down to Oo-fa-fa, where we got boats. There I had a nasty accident. We put up for the night in a hut belonging to Mr. Jack Exton, the sandalwood trader, a very industrious and indefatigable man, who has made good roads to haul his timber down to the coast, and is very popular with the natives. “Jack,” as we called him, entertained us very kindly at his camp when we first went to Epa, and gave us every assistance in his power. During the first night at Oo-fa-fa I was sitting on a native hammock in the hut, when suddenly the cords gave way and I fell backwards upon a sharp stump and hurt my back severely. My leather belt saved me from any very serious injury, and there was fortunately no penetration, but the pain was intense for three or four days. I fomented the bruises with hot water at Oo-fa-fa, and managed to get down to the canoe next day, but I had to lie still during the rest of the voyage. At Pokama I was greatly relieved by the application of Elliman’s Embrocation, but I had difficulty in walking and was not free from pain for ten days.
At the Sound some of the native carriers, those paying their first visit to the coast, drank great quantities of salt water without evil consequences.
The canoe voyage was rather uneventful. Our flotilla was not numerous enough; the canoes we had were overladen, and, accordingly, we sent some baggage overland to Pokama. At that point the Rev. Mr. Dauncey received us with great hospitality, and with him we stayed while we were paying off our natives. To Ow-bow I entrusted the wages of the five rascals who had run away from us at Epa, and I have no doubt he paid it over scrupulously.
After our business was concluded, the mountain people went away with very happy faces, and bade us good-bye, cordially hoping that they would see us again, and saying that on my return, if I sent for them, they would come down to the coast and carry me up-country. Some of them even wept as they took leave, and I must confess that I was genuinely sorry to part from my warm-hearted, good-natured followers, who had up to the last served me faithfully, in spite of occasional fits of refractoriness, which, after all, were easy enough to understand. It said a good deal for them that they followed the unknown white man as cheerfully as they did.
CHAPTER XIV
A FORTY-MILE TRAMP BY THE SHORE
A Comfortless Voyage—A Forty-Mile Tramp along the Coast—Wonders of the Beach—Armies of Soldier-Crabs—A Crocodile River—A Dangerous Canoe Voyage—At Port Moresby—A Pathetic Incident—Last Days of our Stay in New Guinea.
CHAPTER XIV
A FORTY-MILE TRAMP BY THE SHORE
At Pokama we got on board a vessel very heavily laden with sandalwood. I did not notice how perilously deep she was in the water until after we had put to sea. This promised a voyage of great discomfort, and Harry shortly became very sick. Partly on this account, and partly because we wanted to see a certain part of the coast more minutely, we went ashore in a small boat, and slept that night at the house of a coloured teacher in the service of the London Missionary Society. Next morning we set out on foot for Manu-Manu, forty miles distant, a long and very toilsome tramp, often rendered doubly difficult by the uncertain sands of the beach. Where the tide had left it wet we found it as firm to walk upon as a bicycle track, but in the dry sand we often sunk to our knees. Harry, especially, suffered severely, and his ankles were sore for a long time after. The heat also was terrific, and added greatly to our discomfort; but the walk was not without its interest and its diversion, although in point of scenery it was rather monotonous. Very conspicuous on the fringe of the coast vegetation was the true species of the shore Pandanus. Inland was dense forest, diversified with patches of grass and marshland. Our itinerary was as follows: Our first stage was twenty-two miles from Giabada to Issu, the way being greatly lengthened by the need to follow the bend of ever-recurring bays, where the treacherous sand and the lack of shelter from the sun proved particularly trying. But at this part of the march we saw one of the most extraordinary sights of all our travels—many thousands of soldier-crabs traversing the sandy beach in detached, regularly ordered bodies that moved evidently by the signal of some common commander. These “armed battalions” stretched for miles, and no matter what figure they assumed—whether wedge, triangle, or rhombus—the dressing, so to speak, of the outer ranks was perfect, and would have put many a Volunteer corps to shame. Not a crab was out of line. The advance was fairly rapid, and was always towards the sea, for a distance of, say, two hundred yards. When the crabs come out of their holes in the sand they throw themselves into this compact formation probably for safety. There was no walking along the beach for them—scarcely a clear hundred yards for miles. When approached, they quickened their pace perceptibly.
The individual crab is small and has no shell. The spread of the legs would probably be 1½ inches, and the body is of a dark fawn colour, exactly resembling the wet sand of the beach, so that the creature’s hue is without doubt yet another of Nature’s adaptations for protection. It is remarkable also that it imitates only the wet sand, for the dry sand is of a dazzling silky whiteness.