The weather cleared towards evening. Some natives stayed on the shore all night, lighted fires and sang songs in anticipation of the coming dance. Our boys mimicked them, laughed at them and felt very superior, though we whites failed to see much difference, and, as a matter of fact, a short time after having returned home these boys can hardly be told from ordinary bushmen. The shrieks of the savages pierced the velvet of the night like daggers, but by and by they quieted down, and we heard nothing more but the rhythmic rise and fall of the surf.
In the silver light of the rising moon the boats rolled gently behind the ship like dark spots, and light clouds glided westward across the stars, eternally rising behind the black cliffs and disappearing in the universal dimness. We were asleep on deck, when suddenly a violent shower woke us up and banished us into that terrible cabin.
No natives came next day; they were all busy preparing the feast. We had nothing to do but to loaf on the beach or on board, and smoke, as we had no fishing-tackle and no animals to shoot. The grey sky, the vague light, the thin rain, were depressing, and all sorts of useless thoughts came to us. We noticed the hardships of our existence on board, felt that we were wasting time, grew irritable and dissatisfied. If only my companion had been less sulky! But with him there could be no pleasant chat, no cosy evening hour over a cup of tea and a pipe; and I would almost have preferred being alone to this solitude à deux. I sat on deck and listened to the breakers. Often they sounded like a rushing express train and awakened reminiscences of travel and movement. The cool wind blew softly from afar, and I could understand for the first time that longing that asks the winds for news of home and friends. I gave myself up wholly to this vague dreaming, call it home-sickness, or what you will, it enlivened the oppressive colourlessness of the days and the loneliness of the nights. As usual, a heavy shower came, luckily, perhaps, to interrupt all softer thoughts.
Then followed a few clear days, which changed our mood entirely. The cutter rolled confidingly in the morning breeze, and the sun glowed warm and golden. In picturesque cascades the green forest seemed to rush down the slopes to the bright coral beach, on which the sea broke playfully. Once in a while a bird called far off in the depths of the woods. It was delicious to lie on the warm beach and be dried and roasted by the sun, to think of nothing in particular, but just to exist. Two wild pigs came to the beach in the evening to dig for yam that the natives had buried there; a chase, though unsuccessful, gave excitement and movement. We could venture far inland now without fear, for the natives were all away at the feast. Brilliant sunsets closed the days in royal splendour. Behind a heavy cloud-bank which hid the sun, he seemed to melt in the sea and to form one golden element. Out of the cloud five yellow rays shot across the steel-blue sky, so that it looked like one of those old-fashioned engravings of God behind a cloud. When everything had melted into one gorgeous fire, and we were still helpless before all that glory, the colours faded away to the most delicate combinations of half-tones; soon the stars came out glittering on the deep sky, first of all the Southern Cross. Halley’s comet was still faintly visible.
In the morning the sky was cloudless, and changed from one lovely colour to the other, until the sun rose to give it its bright blue and paint the shore in every tint. Then every stone at the bottom of the sea was visible, and all the marvellous coral formations, with their weird shapes and fiery colours, glowed in rose and violet and pure golden yellow. Above lay big sea-stars, and large fish in bright hues floated between the cliffs in soft, easy movements, while bright blue little ones shot hither and thither like mad.
Bourbaki arrived with his younger brother, a neat and gentle-looking boy. The feast was to begin that evening, and I asked Bourbaki if they had plenty of pigs to eat. “Oh no,” he said; “but that is of no importance: we have a man to eat! Yesterday we killed him in the bush, and to-day we will eat him.” He said this with the most innocent expression, as if he were talking about the weather. I had to force myself not to draw away from him, and looked somewhat anxiously into his face; but Bourbaki stared quietly into the distance, as if dreaming of the past excitements and the coming delights; then he picked up a cocoa-nut and tore the husk off with his strong teeth. It made me shudder to watch his brutish movements, but he was perfectly happy that morning, willing and obedient. At noon he went away to his horrid feast, and for two days we saw nobody.
We passed the time as usual; the weather was rainy again, and everything seemed grey,—the sky, the sea and the shore, and our mood. One is so dependent on surroundings.
On the third day Bourbaki came back, a little tired, but evidently satisfied. Some of his friends accompanied him, and he brought word that the chief had given permission for a few boys to enlist, but that we would have to wait about ten days until he could come to the shore himself. Not wishing to spend the ten days there, doing absolutely nothing, we decided to go farther south, to Tesbel Bay, and try our luck at recruiting there, as we had another boy, Macao, from that district. George gave leave to Bourbaki, who had been somewhat savage these last days, to stay at home till our return, and he seemed delighted to have a holiday. We were all the more surprised when, just before we weighed anchor, Bourbaki came back, shaking hands without a word. We were quite touched by this remarkable sign of his affection, pardoned his many objectionable ways, and never thought that perhaps he might have ample reason not to feel altogether safe and comfortable at home.
The wind being contrary, we had to tack about all night long without advancing. Squalls rushed over the water, and then, again, the breeze died down completely, only black, jagged clouds drifted westward across the sky, and here and there a few stars were visible. The cutter’s deck was crowded with stuff, and there seemed less room for us than ever, except in the hateful cabin. The boys sang monotonously “for wind,” quite convinced that the next breeze would be due to their efforts. A fat old man sang all night long in falsetto in three notes; it was unbearably silly and irritating, yet one could hardly stop the poor devil and rob him of his only pleasure in that dark night. We felt damp, restless and sleepless, and tried in vain to find some comfort. Next evening we reached the entrance of Tesbel Bay, and the wind having died down, we had to work our way in with the oars, a slow and hard task. Bourbaki yelled and pulled at the oars with all his might, encouraging the others. These are the joys of sailing.
Tesbel Bay is framed on two sides by high cliffs. Big boulders lie in picturesque confusion where the surf foams white against the narrow beach. Wherever there is a foot of ground, luxurious vegetation thrives. Ahead of us lies a level valley that stretches far inland to the foot of a high mountain, whose head is lost in grey clouds. A little creek runs into the bay through high reed-grass, behind a sandbank. Just before setting, the sun shone through the clouds and smiled on the lovely, peaceful landscape, seeming to promise us a pleasant stay. The smoke of many village fires rose out of the bush at a distance. Two ragged natives were loafing on the beach, and I engaged one of them for the next day, to guide me to some villages. Bourbaki and Macao marched gaily off, as they were to spend the night in Macao’s village.