My wife was fortunately outside the village in the camp while this demonstration took place. It was a day of rest for all after the toil of the preceding one, and after the feast the boys divided their time equally between sleep and chewing sugar cane. We explored a little, and enjoyed the beauty and the stillness of the tropical forest. Had we known that later on, but a short distance from Korona, the manager of a rubber plantation would find it necessary to offer so much per head for snakes killed, and would have to pay for as many as 500 in one month, it is probable we should not so freely have poked about amongst the ferns, or pushed our way through the undergrowth. Ignorance was bliss, and we laid in impressions that will never be effaced. We could hear the bird-of-paradise calling and were fortunate enough to see some playing round the top branches of a tree. The brush turkey ran from in front of us, and overhead flew the hornbill, making a noise like a rusty old engine, and not a snake did we see in our glimpse of paradise.
The second night was as uneventful as the first, and in the morning our newly-made friends accompanied us on the first part of the return journey. There was the same stumbling through the sweet-potato vines, and attempts to dodge the foot and a half of every sapling which the natives leave standing when they clear a track. Halts at the same places for food and rest, and then to our dismay we found the tide low, and not enough water to float the boat. To wait meant a delay of six hours and an impossible journey in the dark. It was one of those tight corners which bring out the best side of the Papuan character. The boys soon settled that we were not to wait, and went to work with a will. Where the water was shallow the boat was dragged through the mud. Where driftwood had blocked the course it was either cut through or torn away. Very slow progress was made, but it was progress, and all were in hope of soon reaching deep water, when right across the stream, just under water, was a big tree. The boat must have passed over it when the tide was higher. Tired as the boys were, they would not attempt to cut through this, and to move it was impossible. The only chance was to get the boat over it. Donisi Hahine sat in lonely state, and all the others took to the water. Pushing, pulling, straining, shouting, we got the boat on top of the tree like a well balanced see-saw. Then all the strength was put under the stern, and with one big lift she was launched into the deep water on the other side, and we all rushed or swam after her.
Three hours on the river gave us no interest: we were all tired, and thankful at last to reach Morabi.
CHAPTER XI
Kabadi
The headings of the last four chapters suggest one of the greatest difficulties that stand in the way of Mission work in Papua. That is the number of different languages spoken by the people. At Delena both the Motu and Maiva languages are used. The Nara villages have a language of their own. Hisiu is an offshoot from Maiva. At Morabi we are amongst the Motu people again. Korona has a different language, and that of Kabadi is distinct from either.
Fortunately in all the villages Motu speaking people can be found, as well as some who know a little English, but unity amongst a people who have no common language is not to be expected.
The Kabadi villages lie on the flat land between the hills, and the sea, in Redscar Bay, and are all some distance from the latter. With a guide they can be approached by way of Galley Reach, and the Apiisi River, but in fine weather the best way is by entering the Aroa River, which flows into Redscar Bay. The Samoan boat was ready for us, and the only incident of the journey was the seeing of a big crocodile on a mud bank near the spot where we made fast to the bank of the river to have breakfast.
Vanuabaka is at the end of a long creek leading out of the main river. The houses are scattered about under the tall cocoanuts, which, as you will see in the picture, appear to be trying to get out of the ground in which they are growing. This peculiar appearance is probably the result of the continual sweeping up of the village, and sometimes the people find it necessary to place wattle fences round the roots and fill in with the sweepings of the village. Here, unlike Nara, the houses are all separate, and neighbours are given rather a wide berth. Timoteo’s house stands near the centre of the village inside a neat fence. His wife, with true Samoan hospitality, has wreathed vines and flowers not only round the verandah posts, and along the front of the house, but even round the posts of the home-made bedstead and over the wall of the small room devoted to our use.