Papuan Pictures

by H. M. Dauncey

Well, what were we to do? We were miles from any land. There were nine all told on board, and the dinghy would carry three in a calm sea. I admit I had a look at the hatch covers and wondered what sort of a raft they would make, and what travelling upon it would be like when it was made. There was nothing we could do that night, and fortunately the tide was falling, and soon the Mary was resting on her side without that sickening bumping. Adjusting ourselves to the changed angle of everything in the cabin, we went to bed, but not before the captain had told us that we were not far from the spot on the reef where some natives, when out diving, had found heaps of Spanish coins all of old date, and believed to have come from a Spanish ship wrecked in trying to get through the Straits, but so long ago that not a trace of her remained.

Next morning the tide was not high enough to float the Mary, so I waded about the reef with the crew. My eyes were on my feet all the time, not because I was looking for more Spanish treasure, but because I had been warned not to tread in one of the giant clams which lay around. I soon forgot the Mary and her plight, in the delight at what I saw spread out at my feet. Water as clear as crystal allowed everything to be seen distinctly. All the colours of the rainbow were represented by both vegetable and animal kingdoms, but most beautiful of all was the sight of the open giant clams. The shell could hardly be seen, so completely was it draped by the waving fringes of the fish. A great bowl of flashing gems could not have produced a more sparkling effect; but behind all this beauty lay a cruel strength, for the shell could close with a grip that nothing could unloose, and the natives told of unfortunate men who had, while fishing on the reef, put their foot into an open shell, which had closed upon them and held them till the rising tide ended their agony.

The crew, however, wanted some of the fish to eat and managed to get them without danger to themselves. Taking a large piece of firewood they quietly approached the fish. A sudden movement would have caused it to close, and then nothing could have forced it open. Silently and adroitly the wood was placed between the two halves of the shell, which instantly gripped it, but could not close owing to the size of the wood. With another piece of wood shaped for the purpose the men then cut the live fish away from its shell, and did their cooking on the Mary.

The reef was interesting and the talk of the native crew instructing, but the question was how were we to get the Mary off and afloat in deep water again. The morning tide only rose enough to bump her, but in the afternoon when there was a higher tide, with each wave she lifted and we managed to punt her right over the reef, and at last she was afloat. Very few vessels have made the journey over the Great Barrier Reef, though many have struck it and gone to pieces.

It was a case of Reef to the right of us; Reef to the left of us; while behind us the Reef we had just left volleyed and thundered. The sun was down and we had to anchor, or run the risk of again getting on a reef. All night long the buckets had to be kept going, and the next morning with part of the crew still at the buckets, the other half managing the sails and keeping a look-out, and the two missionaries using big oars in place of the lost rudder, we made for Murray Island. There the Mary was hauled up on the beach, and on the spot where she was built and by the man who had superintended her building made ready for sea again. The work took a month to complete. That month on Murray Island cleared all the fever out of me, and did away with the necessity of the trip to Australia. Instead I accompanied Chalmers to the Fly river. Three not easily forgotten months resulted, and the poor Mary came in for more knocks, and once again lost her rudder, this time by striking a sunken log in the bed of the river.

One night, under stress of tide and wind she broke her cable and drifted ashore near Saguane on Kiwai Island, where Chalmers was then forming his head station for the district. We thought we had taken our last journey in the Mary. She settled down in the mud and sand and no amount of running out anchors and heaving on the windlass would move her, though everything possible had been taken out to lighten her. Amongst other things eighty bags of rice had to be got ashore. It required some manœuvring to get the Saguane people to carry that rice over the soft sand and mud. Each bag was supposed to weigh 50 lbs. It may have done, as it was taken over the side of the vessel, but every hundred yards through that mud and sand increased the weight, till it was more like 100 lbs. by the time the boat-house was reached. I know one of the carriers who, after his second journey, considered it his duty to remain in the boat-house and superintend the stacking of the bags as they were brought in.

On we worked till the east began to glow, and then feeling it was hopeless I made my way back to the teacher’s house and lay down for a sleep, as dead tired as ever in my life. There seemed no time to get comfortably settled when Chalmers rushed into the house, snatched up as many of my belongings as he could manage, and calling, “Come along; she is afloat,” made his way down to the shore. I followed, picking out of the mud such of my things as Chalmers had dropped. Just at the darkest moment, when there seemed little hope of the Mary ever floating again, the wind had come from the land, and supplying that little help which the anchors required, had given us again the use of our little Mission vessel.

That was my last voyage in the Mary. A few years later she went ashore at the mouth of the Kerema river, and there went to pieces. Years afterwards when walking along the coast we saw some of her ribs sticking up through the sand.

On the coast most of our travelling is done in a whale boat, and at night, to save the glare of the sun. Few experiences could be more enjoyable than such a journey when the night is fine and the sea calm, and there are willing boys at the oars or a gentle breeze filling the sail. No need to think of accidents then. The nights are not all fine, however, and the sea is not always calm. It can be very angry and rough and make those anxious who have to land on a surf-beaten coast. Most people who have lived for any time in Papua have had nasty experiences of this kind. I will tell you of one at Maiva.