The Adventures of Louis de Rougemont

by Louis de Rougemont

We passed any number of submerged trees, and on several of these found snakes coiled among the branches. Some of these reptiles we caught and ate. About the middle of the second day we heard a tremendous roar ahead, as though there were rapids in the bed of the river. It was now impossible to pull the catamaran out of its course, no matter how hard we might have striven, the current being absolutely irresistible. The banks narrowed as the rapids were reached, with the result that the water in the middle actually became convex, so tremendous was the rush in that narrow gorge. Yamba cried out to me to lie flat on the catamaran, and hold on as tightly as I could until we reached smooth water again. This she did herself, seizing hold of the dog also.

Nearer and nearer we were swept to the great seething caldron of boiling and foaming waters, and at last, with a tremendous splash we entered the terrifying commotion. We went right under, and so great was the force of the water, that had I not been clinging tenaciously to the catamaran I must infallibly have been swept away to certain death. Presently, however, we shot into less troubled waters and then continued our course, very little the worse for having braved these terrible rapids. Had our craft been a dug-out boat, as I originally intended it to be, we must inevitably have been swamped. Again we camped on shore that night, and were off at an early hour next morning. As we glided swiftly on, I noticed that the river seemed to be growing tremendously wide. Yamba explained that we were now getting into very flat country, and therefore the great stretch of water was a mere flood. She also prophesied a rather bad time for us, as we should not be able to go ashore at night and replenish our stock of provisions. Fortunately we had a sufficient supply with us on the catamaran to last at least two or three days longer. The last time we landed Yamba had stocked an additional quantity of edible roots and smoked meats, and although we lost a considerable portion of these in shooting the rapids, there still remained enough for a few days’ supply.

In consequence of the ever-increasing width of the river, I found it a difficult matter to keep in the channel where the current was, so I gave up the steering paddle to Yamba, who seemed instinctively to know what course to take.

On and on we went, until at length the whole country as far as the eye could reach was one vast sea, extending virtually to the horizon; its sluggish surface only broken by the tops of the submerged trees. One day we sighted a number of little islets some distance ahead, and then we felt we must be nearing the mouth of the river. The last day or two had been full of anxiety and inconvenience for us, for we had been simply drifting aimlessly on, without being able to land and stretch our cramped limbs or indulge in a comfortable sleep. Thus the sight of the islands was a great relief to us, and my ever-faithful and considerate companion remarked that as we had nothing to fear now, and I was weary with my vigil of the previous night, I had better try and get a little sleep. Accordingly I lay down on the catamaran, and had barely extended my limbs when I fell fast asleep. I awoke two or three hours later, at mid-day, and was surprised to find that our catamaran was not moving. I raised myself up, only to find that we had apparently drifted among the tops of a ring of trees rising from a submerged island. “Halloa!” I said to Yamba, “are we stuck?” “No,” she replied quietly, “but look round.”

You may judge of my horror and amazement when I saw outside the curious ring of tree-tops, scores of huge alligators peering at us with horrid stolidity through the branches, some of them snapping their capacious jaws with a viciousness that left no doubt as to its meaning. Yamba explained to me that she had been obliged to take refuge in this peculiar but convenient shelter, because the alligators seemed to be swarming in vast numbers in that part of the river. She had easily forced a way for the catamaran through the branches, and once past, had drawn them together again. The ferocious monsters could certainly have forced their way into the inclosure after us, but they didn’t seem to realise that such a thing was possible, apparently being quite content to remain outside. Judge, then, our position for yourself—with a scanty food supply, on a frail platform of logs, floating among the tree-tops, and literally besieged by crowds of loathsome alligators! Nor did we know how long our imprisonment was likely to last. Our poor dog, too, was terribly frightened, and sat whining and trembling in a most pitiable way in spite of reassuring words and caresses from Yamba and myself. I confess that I was very much alarmed, for the monsters would occasionally emit a most peculiar and terrifying sound—not unlike the roar of a lion. Hour after hour we sat there on the swaying catamaran, praying fervently that the hideous reptiles might leave us, and let us continue our journey in peace. As darkness began to descend upon the vast waste of waters, it occurred to me to make a bold dash through the serried ranks of our besiegers, but Yamba restrained me, telling me it meant certain death to attempt to run the gantlet under such fearsome circumstances.

Night came on. How can I describe its horrors? Even as I write, I seem to hear the ceaseless roars of those horrible creatures, and the weird but gentle lappings of the limitless waste that extended as far as the eye could reach. Often I was tempted to give up in despair, feeling that there was no hope whatever for us. Towards morning, however, the alligators apparently got on the scent of some floating carcasses brought down by the floods, and one and all left us. Some little time after the last ugly head had gone under, the catamaran was sweeping swiftly and noiselessly down the stream again.

We made straight for a little island some distance ahead of us, and found it uninhabited. Black and white birds, not quite so large as pigeons, were very plentiful, as also were eggs. Soon my Yamba had a nice meal ready for me, and then we lay down for a much-needed rest. After this we steered for a large island some nine or ten miles distant, and as we approached we could see that this one was inhabited, from the smoke-signals the natives sent up the moment they caught sight of us.

As we came nearer we could see the blacks assembling on the beach to meet us, but, far from showing any friendliness, they held their spears poised threateningly, and would no doubt have thrown them had I not suddenly jumped to my feet and made signs that I wished to sit down with them—to parley with them. They then lowered their spears, and we landed; but to my great disappointment neither Yamba nor I could understand one word of their language, which was totally different from the dialect of Yamba’s country. Our first meeting was conducted in the usual way—squatting down on our haunches, and then drawing nearer and nearer until we were able to rub noses on one another’s shoulders. I then explained by means of signs that I wanted to stay with them a few days, and I was inexpressibly relieved to find that my little passport stick (which never left my possession for a moment), was recognised at once, and proved most efficacious generally. After this I became more friendly with my hosts, and told them by signs that I was looking for white people like myself, whereupon they replied I should have to go still farther south to find them. They took us to their camp, and provided us with food, consisting mainly of fish, shell-fish, and roots. So far as I could ascertain, there were no kangaroo or opossum on the island. After two or three days, I thought it time to be continuing our journey; but feeling convinced that I must be in the vicinity of the Cape York Peninsula—instead of being on the west coast of the Gulf of Carpentaria—I decided not to go south at all, but to strike due north, where I felt certain Somerset Point lay; and I also resolved to travel by sea this time, the blacks having presented me with a very unsubstantial “dug-out” canoe. Leaving behind us the catamaran that had brought us so many hundreds of miles, we set out on our travels once more—taking care, however, never to lose sight of the coast-line on account of our frail craft. We passed several beautiful islands, big and little, and on one that we landed I came across some native chalk drawings on the face of the rock. They depicted rude figures of men—I don’t remember any animals—but were not nearly so well done as the drawings I had seen in caves up in the Cape Londonderry district.

We also landed from time to time on the mainland, and spoke with the chiefs of various tribes. They were all hostile at first. On one occasion we actually met one or two blacks who spoke a few words of English. They had evidently been out with pearlers at some time in their lives, but had returned to their native wilds many years before our visit. I asked them if they knew where white men were to be found, and they pointed east (Cape York), and also indicated that the whites were many moons’ journey away from us. I was sorely puzzled. A glance at a map of Australia will enable the reader to realise my great blunder. Ignorant almost of Australian geography I fancied, on reaching the western shores of the Gulf of Carpentaria, that I had struck the Coral Sea, and that all I had to do was to strike north to reach Somerset, the white settlement I had heard about from the pearlers. I felt so confident Cape York lay immediately to the north, that I continued my course in that direction, paddling all day and running in-shore to camp at night. We lived mainly on shell-fish and sea-birds’ eggs at this time, and altogether life became terribly wearisome and monotonous. This, however, was mainly owing to my anxiety.

About a fortnight after leaving the mouth of the Roper River we came to a place which I now know to be Point Dale. We then steered south into a beautiful landlocked passage which lies between the mainland and Elcho Island, and which at the time I took to be the little strait running between Albany Island and Cape York. I steered south-west in consequence; and after a time, as I did not sight the points I was on the look-out for, I felt completely nonplused. We landed on Elcho Island and spent a day or two there. Being still under the impression that Cape York was higher up, I steered west, and soon found myself in a very unpleasant region. We explored almost every bay and inlet we came across, but of course always with the same disheartening result. Sometimes we would come near being stranded on a sandbank, and would have to jump overboard and push our craft into deeper water. At others, she would be almost swamped in a rough sea, but still we stuck to our task, and after passing Goulbourn Island we followed the coast. Then we struck north until we got among a group of islands, and came to Croker Island, which goes direct north and south. Day after day we kept doggedly on, hugging the shore very closely, going in and out of every bay, and visiting almost every island, yet never seeing a single human being. We were apparently still many hundreds of miles away from our destination. To add to the wretchedness of the situation, my poor Yamba, who had been so devoted, so hardy, and so contented, at length began to manifest symptoms of illness, and complained gently of the weariness of it all. “You are looking,” she would say, “for a place that does not exist. You are looking for friends of whose very existence you are unaware.” I would not give in, however, and persuaded her that all would be well in time, if only she would continue to bear with me. Both of us were terribly cramped in the boat; and by way of exercise one or the other would occasionally jump overboard and have a long swim. Whenever we could we landed at night.