He is verily a king. In most districts of New Guinea the chiefs are generally the leading men of the village, with a certain amount of influence, but not to any great extent.
In this case it is quite different. The king of the Trobriands is as much a king to his subjects as the autocratic Czar is to the serfs of Russia. I was extremely disappointed at not seeing him. Unfortunately he was absent from home, and would not be back for a week or so.
The natives took the most absorbing interest in our cutter. They gazed at it in wonder and astonishment. They felt it in their hands to make sure it was a reality and not an empty delusion. We steered by a wheel. The wheel seemed to take their fancy immensely. Every now and then, when something fresh attracted their notice, they would rend the skies with their shouts, their mouths wide open with astonishment and admiration. We were no less surprised at the beautiful construction of their canoes, but did not exhibit our feelings in so marked a manner. They stayed by us from sunrise to sunset. They ought to have felt tired, as they never stopped talking, and stood up most of the time.
At sundown they left us in peace, and sailed back to their town, which was glistening in the distance. It was a moving sight. Here were we three, over a hundred miles from the nearest white man, calmly sitting on deck, watching a large fleet of canoes full of wild and treacherous savages wending their way homewards. What a relief to be rid of them. There is nothing so tiring and trying to the system as being continuously, for hours together, on the watch lest you be taken suddenly by surprise and cruelly murdered. We felt thoroughly wearied out, and longed to get away from their unceasing attentions. We knew they would not visit us again until the first thing in the morning, so we took the opportunity to discuss our future plans.
We decided to leave for the Duke of York Islands at break of day.
Not having been there before, we got out a general chart, which we studied with great interest. We carried a sextant and compass, so we entertained no difficulty in reaching our destination. We had no "sheet charts," but that was of no great moment. The south-east "trades" were still blowing, and we hoped they would hold with us until we commenced our return voyage, when we trusted to be favoured with the north-west monsoon, as the winds generally veer to that quarter towards the end of December.
Having obtained a plentiful supply of yams, and a couple of bags of Bêche-de-mer, we took farewell of "Lagrandiere," steering our course due north.
We passed through a perfect archipelago of islands, and on the second day rounded Jurien. Although we did not land, I took a great interest in this island. Several years ago the schooner Kate Kearney left Queensland for New Guinea, for the purpose of engaging in the Bêche-de-mer fishery. On board of her was a great friend of mine, named McDonnell. She was successful in obtaining a large quantity of fish, but through a series of gales she found herself at Jurien Island almost dismasted, and minus sails, etc. Here she had perforce to remain at anchor for six months. The anchorage is in a narrow passage between Jurien and a smaller island, and completely hidden from passing vessels. They were obliged to remain prisoners here until the change of the monsoon to the north-west, as without a favourable wind in their then disabled state, it would have been impossible for them to have reached a port. From their isolated position, and the fact of being right out of the track of any vessels, not a word of their fate reached Queensland. They were six months overdue, during which time nothing had been seen or heard of them. The vessel and her crew had long been given up as lost.
McDonnell's family, who lived in Brisbane, having hoped against hope, reluctantly numbered their son with the dead. They went into mourning, stricken with grief at the untimely fate of their cherished offspring. Imagine their intense joy and surprise upon receiving a telegram from their long-lost son, who had arrived safely in the Kate Kearney at Cooktown, safe and sound. The meeting that took place, when so many emotions must have contended for the mastery, is not mine to describe.
It may be of interest to relate that about a year afterwards the Kate Kearney was wrecked during a flood off the mouth of the Endeavour River.